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Meet C.T. Sullivan

C.T. Sullivan lives in West Sussex with his wife, Deborah, and golden Labradors Woof and Splosh.
A twenty-five-year career as a foreign exchange broker in the City was followed by spells as a lorry driver, landscape gardener, pub singer, film extra and musical comedy entertainer whilst learning his craft as an author.
Chris began writing poems and short stories from the age of ten, shortly after the death of his mother. His love of the written word is equal only to his passion for music, sport and humour.
Writer of the acclaimed crime thriller novel "Reasonable Force".

Singer and songwriter

Chris has written and performed with guitar, musical comedy for corporate and sporting audiences - composing personalised songs for single or multiple characters present at the occasion.

He has , for many years, written and performed his own songs.

C.T. Sullivan | Blog News, thoughts and poetry.

Change

Twelve months of endless sunshine or constant cold and rain? Neither thanks. Luckily the UK has been issued with four seasons.

Avoiding The Brazilian

I read stories in newspaper articles like most people. But sometimes I just have to write poems about them. Any man reading this should be put off bananas for life.

I Find That Hard To Swallow

In 2008 we were treated to the Beijing Olympic Games. Before the competition commenced I read an article in a daily paper telling its readers of some of the culinary delights eaten in the location’s homes and restaurants.

Never Say Die

‘Memories, like the corners of my mind.’ I don’t know about you but I have no idea what shape my mind is and whether it even has corners. But it certainly has pockets that, when dipped into, are chock full of memories. Here are some that I’ve found.

Watch This Space

Some years ago I read a story that high street banks were charging us to withdraw our own money from their cashpoints. Do what? --- It got me thinking.

Silent Witness

Silent Witness - great series, superb actors, gripping storylines. But have a thought for the squeamish, the thin-skinned, the haemophobic viewers hiding behind the sofa.