Tom Wiggins, Letter Carver & Writer

Samsa was now a human.  He’d recently become a human after his architect decided to put a human heart in him and give him feelings.  The five litres of blood that now pumped around his body warmed him up.  It made for incredible nose bleeds, spasms, cramps and bruising, to name o nly a small fraction of the symptoms, but his architect assured him that it would all be worth it and that he'd feel normal very soon.  He didn't know what normal was, but he knew it wasn't puking and shitting and bleeding all over the place for the first two months and then just feeling terrible for several weeks after that.  Human life is agony, he thought, but he trusted the process.  One day, a little over twelve weeks after the operation, he woke up from his first good night's sleep and was able to open the curtains without the light splitting his skull in two.  Samsa had known Shabeezi before she became a human woman.   All they had done was fight.   Samsa es...

I met your folks at a church in St Albans.  Moon warned me they'd be quirky.   'Quirky how?' I asked.   'They're theatre people,' he replied.  He winked, gave me the church address and his business card and sent me on my way.   I'd loaded the van the day before.  Headstone, concrete shoe, sack truck, wheelbarrow, fixing kit.  Double-checked for things that are easy to forget.  Everything secured.  Okay, good to go. Your Granddad's grave was near the east end of the church.  It was marked with a little plaque and I set the wheelbarrow down next to it and began unloading the spades.   There was chatter and the squeaking of chairs and the blowing of instruments from inside the church.  Then all of a sudden, after a brief silence, the interior erupted with music.  A brass band flew into a rendition of Abba's Take a Chance on Me.  The bottom of the stained glass window was about a foot higher than eye level so I ...