‘The Tale of Wilbur’s Victorian Sewage Pumps’ by Anita Pati

The Tale of Wilbur’s Victorian Sewage Pumps The two-barrelled Prince Consort engine designed by a colonel named St John, was fantasised fondly in Hitchin. Colonel St John had pondered how sewage, to fuel one onward, like money, should never be squandered. Conceived over parlour-time Horlicks, cream-splashed Imperial promise twirled ostrich eggs, rare hot-house relics. And if he was right in his thesis, Lloyds would fund … Continue reading ‘The Tale of Wilbur’s Victorian Sewage Pumps’ by Anita Pati

‘Mal’ by Anita Pati

Mal Them dogs won’t touch us three. On Pendle Hill, no wind can whip us, no brack of clouds from Chorley pall us. Look. Dogs here are bogbounce happy, kiddies snuffing balls and whatnot near Malkin, families tripping from the corrugated towns. They skirl around me, my own dog Whistler: springer spaniels, border collies, Sunday walkers flush-cheeked fed. Proud marchers in their slimy wellies, clodding … Continue reading ‘Mal’ by Anita Pati