Write This Down Before They Shoot Me

We hide behind protocol
Concealing the value
And the impact
And the outrageousness
Of the truth.
It's not politeness or correct politic
It's fear
That stops us from
Declaring the obvious
Yes
The truth hurts
But a stronger
More resounding
YES
Says
The truth shall set you free
Free indeed.

A Christmas Story

Nick stood on the street corner in the freezing rain.  His soaked beard hung limp on his chest and his hat crept over his eyes.  He pushed it away with a sodden mitt.  He rang his bell and shouted: "Ho ho ho!" into the cutting wind.  People hurried past him, their shoulders at their ears, holding on to their hats: "Get a real job ya bum!"

"Merry Christmas" replied Nick as he rang his bell.

A well dressed lady bustled along the street, juggling shopping bags and a small girl with a candy cane.  The girl peered around at the buildings, sucking on her treat as her mother dragged her along.

"Don't dawdle Jenny!  Mummy has so much to do."  The girl took little notice as she enjoyed the sights of the big city: "Jenny!  Do hurry up child or I shall leave you here in the street."  The girl trotted along, jostled by the bags of shopping.  They stopped at Nick's corner, waiting for the traffic to clear before they could cross the busy street.  Nick rang his bell.  The girl looked up: "Happy Christmas Santa" Nick smiled at the child: "Happy Christmas Jenny." he said, giving her mother a wink.  She adjusted her grip on Jenny's tiny hand and bent close to her: "Come on Jenny  Let's go get some hot chocolate and ginger bread.  We can shop later."

"Yay!" squealed Jenny as her mother lifted her and hugged her all the way across the street.

"Ho ho ho!" cried Nick as he rang his bell

More tomorrow...

Pigeons

How do they know where’s safe to

Sleep, those pigeons?

Hugging the stonework

Bird sized shelter

I see the wind and know they won’t

Be affected

Sleeping and dreaming

Wrapped in feathers

More tomorrow...

Heart's Song

The heart leaps, behind a wall

Straining, aching for freedom

For cool fresh air

For peace

The heart shut behind a door

Jumping, longing for opening

For wide spaces

And life

The heart’s love comes near to it

Soothing, resting, relaxing

Joining the soul

With light

The heart stays in a pure place

Cleansed and softened, slow breathing

Calmed by the love

maker

more tomorrow...

Demolition Crew

Hugs break down walls, they say, so I cuddled the side of the
Clydesdale Bank.

Come Mr Tardy Man etc...

So I looked and saw thursday

and thought 'shit. It's Saturday'

and it's not like nothing happened

Oh yeah that shit happpens

day after day

week after week

to all and sundry.

Then comes the referee.

The final decision. The period . dot.

And this is where the bravery of the poet

the storyteller will force you

or him/herself to continue

and even if you don't the scriber knows

your emotions already

poured out irrespective

becoming a circus while your anger is

harboured

but

by the time we come around again

angry as you were

now you crave

an autograph.

Love Poem

I like it.

I really like it

when it’s me and you.

The simplicity

instead of duplicity.

You love me as I am.

And I love you.

More tomorrow...

Marianna Trench

Mechanical breath

From a wheezy machine

Wards of death

From lungs unclean

Medicated sleep

Too many tasty pills

All you’ll reap

Is new forms of ill

Sharpened edge on wrist

To make the veins flow

When you’ve had enough of this

Not the way to go

More tomorrow...

(To anyone worried, this is an old poem not indicative of current feelings.)

Frustration

The irritation
Of a tickly cough
Is more than the occasional
Barking bout.
The pain is mild,
the agitation negligible
But the anguish in not being able to speak,
the sore headed de-habilitating fever
That stops you
Prevents you
Holds you down
This is the real menace nay the terror of
A bit of the sniffles.

More tomorrow...

Cooling Down

The weekend had screamed past, snatching and snarling with its own
special brand of man made fun; forcing me into its attire that choked
and pinched, restricting my freedom. Yes, yes it was fantastic, damn
right it was but I puffed and panted for too long, took an entire day
to catch my breath then eased into the evening. Yawning and smiling I
suckled at the teat of a caring Monday that refreshed, replenished and
soothed. And I miss those undramatic days of solitude and will gather
more of this tranquility at any price.

Wisdom

"Never trust a man who when left alone with a tea cosy doesn't try it on."

Billy Connolly

Kerouac Insomniac

Coffee fills my mind with things that need to be unthunk and left to rest so I can rest easy and dreamy in duvets and feathers.

The caffeine courses through my veins like a kick of cocaine keeping my eyes wide and brain alive to everything and new things every second.

Try lying down and my ears fill with sounds of the day and imagined conversations play out their songs in a crescendo of noisy thoughts.

Activity itches to have it's way and steal my sleep away leaving me bought and spent in the morning.

Words tumble and mingle inside my skull clamouring to be at the forefront and brought to life by an overactive imagination.

The eyelids lie: "We're heavy now" but still they burst open straining to see light and life in the darkness.

Resigned to tomorrows tiredness I sit up and let the mind flow exercising and exorcising till at last it flops down weary and begs: "Let me rest."

More tomorrow...

Wee Boy

Mind collecting stickers?

Got, got need

Chewing gum with tattoos

First taste of aniseed

Mind a ten pee mix up

Came in a bulging bag?

And you had Tom and Jerry selling

Sweets that looked like fags

Remember Chelsea Whoppers,

A sherbert double dip?

The smell of fresh fired caps

Strawberry Fields by Candy Flip

Mind Vanilla Ice

And reading the Look In?

He man and Transformers

We are the champyins.

More tomorrow...

Still Hurts

Remember they used to;

Yeah, in the cartoons,

They used to drop an anvil

on some poor bugger’s head?

Yeah! And the birds would

all tweet round his skull.

Sometimes an anvil

drops in like that

on my heart

and nothing tweets,

there are no songs,

only heaviness.

But, like the cartoons,

in the next scene

I’m ok.

Hopefully.

More tomorrow...

Three Minutes

Henrietta blinked in the suffocating darkness. The noise of the others around her made her own cries indistinguishable and all the more desperate as she struggled in vain to make herself heard. She had been there three days although day and night had become meaningless in this constant darkness; waking and sleeping had merged into one endless nightmare.

The tiny cage that held her prevented her from spreading her wings and standing up meant she hit the floor of the cage above her. She was forced to sit and since she could not move to preen herself, she sat in her own filth.

Why was she here? What terrible sin had she commited that meant she had to live, work and die in this awful place?

Overwhelmed by the heat, denuded of the feathers of which she had once been so proud, Henrietta lay gasping for air.

Three minutes later she was dead.

In a bright and airy kitchen James set his timer.

Three minutes later he enjoyed his cheap, boiled egg.

More tomorrow...

Still Looking

Upside down,

they say,

I’m at forty-five degrees

and admit it.

We might get

obtuse later.

However,

someone with a cell or two

and lipstick

distraction

to say the least

the chemistry of

the old filler of

the cranial cavity

is impressive

when you’ve seen

the atlas.

More tomorrow...

Urban Myth

The streets were easier.

They had names

and filtered into other streets

and some had shops

or pubs that I’d been in

and I got used to the

changing seasons,

differing skies,

sunsets and rainfall

and still I knew them.

Yet as I write this

page is held down

by four fingers and a thumb,

innumerable tiny hairs,

freckles and lines,

marks and knuckles

I barely know.

And I realise

I no longer know that place

like the back of my hand.

More tomorrow...

Yesterday

Late again but will post properly later today.
"whit's the point in living somewhere picturesque if it's gonnae get
wahshed away?"
My climate coward friend may be correct.

More etc...

Murder In Bird Land

Their shrieks woke me

Screams from the street

I parted the curtains

Dazed by the sunlight

And watched the scene

Two stood so calm

As others raged

Shouting and posturing

Enraged at the carnage,

Their fallen friend

I saw them gut him

Then remove his head

Left it under a slab

Escaped with his body

Struggled, the weight

And still they bawl

Too late to cry

I went back to bed

Shut out the sunbeams

Ignored their cries.

More tomorrow...

Avatar

Just had an exclusive interview with James Cameron. I asked him what
the new movie Avatar was all about. He said: "I don't know. Beasties?
Want a cup of tea?"
Clearly a cinematographical genius.

More tomorrow...

Wisdom

"Naw Jem, I think there's just one kind of folks. Folks." Jean Louise
Finch.
If only we stayed as clever as we were when we were eight-years-old.

More tomorrow...

Espanol

"Where are you off tae?"
"The king of Spain's paying a visit. Comin fur a look?"
"Naw. No me."
"How no?"
"Ach, when ye've seen Juan Carlos ye've seen them aw."

Curiosity

The brave ones

Always ask

Assuage their doubts

In answered

Questions of

Enquiry

Filled with a smile

Tentative

Yet demands

That answer

My honesty

Is tested

Satisfied

And intrigued

Story to tell

Remembered

More tomorrow...

Hip Hip Hooray

More tomorrow...

Man Flu

Apologies for missing yesterday. Here's today's blog.

It’s a weird experience feeling ill. I mean most of me is ok but I feel like spewing most of the time and really tired and a tad dizzy. I’m mixing up my words so much that my spell checker has fallen out with me and has gone home to its wife and weans moaning about how bad an employer I am and I don’t blame it. As I type I’m doing that swallowing thing you do when you don’t want to be sick, trying to coax my body into feeling ok.

Well that didn’t work. Tea and soup just crashed the party backwards through my teeth at 100 miles an hour. Now my head is starting to throb. Very strange. I wonder why we have to feel bedraggled and worn out while we’re ill? I was ok when I woke up, made breakfast, read some Brontë, all feeling dapper. Then round about noon I felt a bit peaky. I picked up my mum form the beautician where she’d been having here eyebrows tortured and went to get some bread and milk and cigarettes and on driving away from the store I announced: “I’m feeling a bit ropey.”

Still, all was ok. I had my soup, sneezed a few times, the odd cough here and there then suddenly whilst watching last Sunday’s Top Gear I felt like I’d contracted cholera. I suppose those small symptoms before were warning signs but I hardly expected an onslaught as swift as this. I can see me retreating to bed as now my muscles are getting that achy way, right into the bone. Aye, that seems like the best plan.

More tomorrow...

Things I miss hearing

Sports socks! Two poun the per, twooo poun the per!

Er yer gas lighters! Two fra poun, two fra poun!

EEEEEEVAAANAYYYYNG CHOAMZ!

Dead Drunk

It’s the fumes

They get you

So they say

I reckon it’s the

Liquid before it.

Flammable

And toxic

So they say

Spins your head and whirls

The stomach and heart

Last fag falls

On duvet

So they say

The smoking did it

Not the pints before

More tomorrow...

Chocolate

"See that gorilla off the Cadbury's advert?"

"Aye, playing Phil Collins?"

"That's the one. I seen him live at Edinburgh Zoo."

"Any good?"

"Nah. Rubbish without Peter Gabriel."

More tomorrow...

Sousse

Tunisia was hot. I lay in the sun, eyes screwed shut, to no avail, your eyelids are just too thin to keep out that intense beaming natural light, and it felt like someone was holding one of these electric fires about a foot from my face, these old fires with electric bars and the fake coal and the shimmering lights to fool you into thinking it’s a real fire, and you can always smell the dust burning on it. That’s how hot it was. And we went inland for more. We had to see those Roman ruins. Columns and mosaics and walls but never a roof. Statues with no heads so tourists could stand behind it and take the corny photograph and think they’re being original. And we dehydrate - scared to re-hydrate because there’s no toilet on this bus and the driver won’t stop. Ruins and then home to try to stop what’s already happened. You can eat as much watermelon and drink as much as you like but you’re gonna feel bad because that one pee behind a cactus, that bursting bladder and that bottle you needed to drink from but couldn’t because the driver won’t stop at any more cacti has taken it’s toll.

So you get back and you make a toga from your sheet and relive the day under the ceiling fan and swear you’ll never dehydrate again. They all want a piece of you these Tunisians. So friendly but they want you to buy.

"Hubble bubble pipe? Camel? Cheaper than Asda!"

They’re on holiday too. Laughing, joking, selling. Too hot to work.

"How much for the girl?"

More tomorrow...

Hawkers

Roses for sale

and cowboy hats

and light up bunny ears.

I came here

because life at home was hard.

Can you imagine?

Can you conceive

how hard life can get

before

roses for sale

and cowboy hats

and light up bunny ears

is better than

the life I once lived?

More tomorrow...

Nearly Icy

A thin cellophane film

floated atop the puddle

frozen in place

till schoolboy’s feet

crunch it

in a foiled attempt

at sliding.

White sparkles

more sticky

than slippery

till a few degrees

a few nights

deeper in to winter

turns it black

and makes walking

either fun

or treacherous.

Depends on

how many times

you’ve been there before.

More tomorrow...

Yesterday's blog a few minutes late.

More journalism from the past.

RAIN soaked Glasgow was host to some Southern sunshine in the form of Hayseed Dixie, an Appalachian Blue Grass outfit who played the Barrowland Ballroom on Monday.

But there’s a catch, Hayseed Dixie don’t just play mountain music, oh no, they rework rock classics then thump them out on their banjos and mandolins creating a sound midway between Spinal Tap and Deliverance.

Lead singer and fiddle player, Barley Scotch explains: “The Lost Highway of Brother Hank Williams and the Highway to Hell: they’re the same damn road!” He preached to the audience before a note was played saying: “Verily, verily I say to ya’ll, there’s four key elements in any good song. Drinking, cheating, killing and Hell.”

It was then they launched into AC/DC’s ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’ with lead mandolinist, Deacon Dale Reno looking like Keith Richards’ grandfather and sounding like Jimi Hendrix on helium.

It’s not until the boys are several numbers into their set that you notice there’s no drummer.

The rhythm comes from their black and twisted hearts.

Between numbers Barley Scotch became storyteller relaying drunken escapades and the back-story behind some of the music.

He endeared himself to the Glasgow crowd when he revealed that after drinking 29 beers in a bar in Edinburgh, the Reverend Don Wayne was robbed of all his possessions except his banjo.

He said: “I guess them folks in Edinburgh wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

Thank the Lord that the good reverend knows what to do with it.

You may have made love to the world’s most beautiful women, dined in the finest restaurants, swam with dolphins and been at one with nature but no-one has really lived until they’ve witnessed a septuagenarian clad in dungarees and an AC/DC baseball cap play a banjo solo.

Bass player Brother Jake Byres may look like a bare knuckle boxer but shows a gentler side than his grim exterior suggests by offering advice to his love-lorn buddies. His words of wisdom include: “Make it so that you come out the winner” but his piece de resistance has been turned into one of the band’s greatest hits.

‘Keepin Your Poop’ includes the lyric: “I’m keeping your poop in a jar / so that when you come back I don’t forget just what you are. / I’m keeping your poop in a jar.”

This is Jake’s sure-fire way of maintaining perspective in a relationship.

For the encore, Barley Scotch led the crowd in a sing-along to The Bangles’ ‘Eternal Flame’ before playing what is mandatory music for inbred yokels, ‘Duelling Banjos’.

It may have been the East end of Glasgow, but with music like this blasting off the stage, it became as Southern as the Stars and Bars, moonshine and General Robert E Lee.

In the words of Hardrock Gunther: “I believe that mountain music’s here to stay.”

More tomorrow... (or rather, later on today...)

Crabs

A wee piece of journalism I wrote a few years ago.

ONCE viewed as an expensive delicacy only to be savoured on special occasions, crab is enjoying a resurgance in popularity thanks to its new status as a superfood.

According to a report by analysts TNS, sales of all types of crab have risen by almost 50%in the past year in the UK.

Stewart Crighton, general manager of the Orkney Fishermen’s Society said: “Undoubtedly crab sales have taken off. Part of the reason is that crab is now being eaten in a lot of different ways. It is being offered as an ingredient and with other seafood such as langoustine and mussels.”

Health conscious customers are recognising that crab meat is low in fat, high in minerals and a good source of iron, potassium, selenium and omega 3.

The shellfish has had exposure from celebrity chefs having appeared on Gordon Ramsay’s the F Word and Rick Stein has included it in his recipe books.

Environmentally conscious consumers opt for crab as a sustainable fish and a viable alternative to consuming breeds of fish from dwindling stocks.

Retailers are meeting the demand for the shellfish with Marks & Spencer introducing Snow Crab Legs priced at £6.99 for 100 grams.

Pisces Fishmongers in Hamilton report that more customers are ordering crab meat due to its exposure on television programmes and magazines.

Brigitte Read from the Sea Fish Industry Authority says: “Crab is now far more available. Previously, you could only get dressed crab or whole crab but now you can get it in lots of different ways that are easier for customers to eat.”

CRAB FACTS

1.5 million tonnes of crab meat is consumed world wide every year.

There has been a 20% increase in the UK catch in the last year.

One third of that catch (around 7000 tonnes) comes from the West coast of Scotland.

Brown crab is the most common edible crab caught in Scotland.

More tomorrow...

More Cardiff

Solitary strolling through Cardiff has done me the world of good. I
had space to think and got my mind back onto my page; my agenda.
Holidaying in clans is great fun but it leaves little room for the individual so I stole some 'me' time. After a long walk I chose a pub for a rest and chose wisely. Apart from the warmth the Queen's Vaults has two of my favourite things. Desperados beer and pinball. The former is the tastiest liquid ever to grace my palate and the latter? Well, pinball is something I adore. It is entirely engaging for the mind and even the physical bumps and bangs are, to me, as relaxing as massage. I'm glad to be here. If I had a book it would be akin to paradise. Ah well, pinball it is.

More tomorrow...

Cardiff

Or Caerdydd (according to a suspicious Welshman beside me) is a town spruced up and scrubbed clean looking beautiful to all visitors. The trouble is, the cleansing agent has deprived the place of any kind of character. Or maybe the rugby emptied the streets?

More tomorrow...

Dave's Choice

There was a few of us there at the bar, swapping pints and so many stories. The barmaid cleaned glasses and eavesdropped, taking in the news. Jim was just back from holiday bringing cheap cigarettes and cheaper vodka. His shining suntan radiated around him, creating an aura of health and wealth.

Dave sipped at his lager, silent, yet part of the noisy whole.

“What’s up Dave?” asked Jim.

“Eh?”

“You’re not sayin’ much.”

“Just listening.”

“Naw ye’re no’. Ye’re miles away. Whit were we talking about?”

“Eh? Your holiday and that. The folk you met from Kirkcaldy.”

“Naw ya tube! That was ages ago. We were talking about the new Coldplay song.”

“Oh? Aye, well, maybe I was daydreaming.”

“Aye we know you were. What were you daydreaming about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ye must know!”

“Eh? Well, I was actually thinking about the dichotomy between the sovereignty of God and free will. Like, is it possible for both concepts to co-exist? How can everything be foreordained and us have the freedom to choose our own paths in life? Or, is it simply the difference between fatalism and providence?”

Dave stopped as he realised that everyone was staring at him.

“Whit? Are you havin’ a laugh?” asked Jim.

Dave paused, gauged the situation and laughed: “Course I am. Pffft! Free will? I was thinkin’ about your wife’s tits!”

The laughter echoed in Dave’s ears as he went back to sipping his pint: “Free will my arse.” He muttered as he winked at Jim.

More tomorrow...

Too Loud

This need to shout
Bewilders me
Bawling at one's friends?
Why? Calm down and chat
You assualt my ears
With your selfish performance
Like a toddler crying for attention,
Learning to talk
Seriously
Shut the hell up
Put in your dummy
And give us all some peace.

More tomorrow...

Lost

Blood pumps, heart throbs

Beads of sweat

Dampen hair and clothes

You pace, same steps

Up and down

Searching here and there

Doors bang, drawers shut

Phone a friend

Ringing out, no help

Eyes rove, thoughts chase

Leather pouch

Cannot have gone far

Cry out, relief

Wallet found

Cards and cash all safe

More tomorrow...

Mountain Top

The top of a mountain is always an event for men. A day out, a world record, some kind of challenge. For birds and sheep it's nothing. They got there looking for food, aimlessly wandered their way to the summit then headed off to the next one oblivious to any achievement. Why do we go up there? It's only half way. A cold, windy, inconvenient place to eat sandwiches and drink tea from a flask. You can't stay up there. No food, no water. But there is satisfaction up there and you get to keep it. Starting out at the bottom and ending in the same spot a change has taken place. "I went up there and now I'm back and it feels good. I saw the top and from there the bottom looks good." Back at the bottom everything is the same except those who went up top, tired, sore, weary, happy, satisfied. "I went up that mountain." "What did you find up there?" "Nothing much. But when I got back down I had memories and a smile."

More tomorrow...

Fresh Fruit

Lime time

Out comes the knife

I avert my eyes

Protecting them from

Wayward juice

That sprays

Into my pint

I enjoy the smell

Of citrus and rind

Freshens me

It’s plugged

Into a beer

Drowning in the foam

Infusing it with

Tangyness

And soon

It lies dried out

Like so many of

The hasty drinkers

Left to rot.

More tomorrow...

Bang Bang Bang

There’s always someone

Hammering somewhere

Nailing wood

Hanging frames

Or just making a noise

But I’ve never met anyone

Who hammers for a living

Not even

Trini Lopez

Yet it never stops

More tomorrow...

Wise Words

"Tomorrow is the most important thing in life. Comes into us
at midnight very clean. It's perfect when it arrives and it puts
itself in our hands. It hopes we've learned something from yesterday."
John Wayne

More tomorrow...

Cough

Thick lines of stereo flashing fake lights dance before me.

My head feels like it’s someone else’s,

The pain cuts but the thoughts are muffled.

The airholes block and contract and send me into sleepiness.

Weariness rules from a distant throne of smothered senses.

The liquid drips and starts and presents itself, much stronger, after each laboured breath.

Medicate, eliminate, dry up the symptoms and rest.

More tomorrow...

Free writing from quotes

"The world is your oyster but your future's a clam." Paul Weller

I once heard a comedian deconstruct 'the world's your oyster.' He asked: "Have you ever seen an oyster? Once you get the shell open it's basically a giant grey bogey." I laughed as every good British pessimist should.

Does the adage still apply? Well if you get oysters at the right time of year and cook them properly they are absolutely delicious. They go well with Champagne and good company. So does life so it seems to work.

However, eat them out of season and you'll get at best a stomach ache and at worst poisoned. Also could apply to life. I've met a few poisonous people and I've had my fair share of sore tummies.

You can't mention oysters without considering pearls. Shellfish that might produce a precious stone? Still, it seems it's all about luck. Maybe we should say: "The world is your oyster, it might give you something beautiful, it might taste really nice or it might kill you." Hmmm. Doesn't really work that way does it?

I think it's our view of the oyster needs changing. Maybe it was never meant to be the shellfish. Maybe, just maybe it means the magnificent creation you got from the ice-cream van. Delicious vanilla in a wafer shell with a spot of chocolate topped off with shavings of succulent coconut!

The world is a treat so you might as well enjoy it before it melts.

More tomorrow...

Background

There is a street

that’s never silent.

Doorbells chime

and cats meow.

Postmen whistle,

lorries rumble,

TVs clamour.

The only time

You can’t hear its nonsense

is when you shut the window

and go to sleep.

More tomorrow...

Dear Diary

This story came second in a writing competition.

Just click the title to go to the website.

More tomorrow...

Swimming

We stand around in our trunks

Uncomfortable at baring our bodies

Bellys hanging over

Fat arses squeezing into lycra

Nervously we start to chat

About the times when we all swam like dolphins

Please don’t make us prove it

Eventually we get cold

Milling about by the glaring poolside

Goosebumps start appearing

Our scrotums the size of walnuts

Splash! He dives. Big torpedo.

Down the steps gently for some of the others

Front crawl, breast stroke, back stroke

All different yet we’re all swimming

More tomorrow...

Free writing from a quote.

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes."

Marcel Proust.


I took a walk this summer round the grounds of an old stately home. It was a well-trodden path and one I had used myself many many times. This day, however, was different. I walked slowly, noticing the trees bend in the wind, smelling the earthy aroma of pine needles and mud. I took that walk with an intentionality about me. I would notice everything and be ready to describe it in great detail.

A few days after the walk I wrote several poems about that day and what I experienced. Had I gone out simply wishing to burn fat or count footsteps I’d have missed everything.

A renewed vision of creation in turn makes the onlooker creative.

More tomorrow...

First night at work

Angela scanned the bottles on the shelf muttering to herself: “Whisky, bottom left. Vodka, bottom right. Rum, middle left.” She knew the guys dotted around the bar were watching her as they sipped their pints; she’d been introduced to most of them earlier, the regulars. They seemed nice enough.

“Can I have a Zywiec please?” said one of them. She must have looked puzzled as he continued: “It’s a beer, bottom fridge, top shelf. It’s got Polish people dancing on the label.”

“This one?”

“That’s it.”

“Would you like a glass?”

“Yes please.”

“That was easy enough.” she thought, “These regulars will probably be my best asset. They know where everything is.”

Linda came to see how she was doing: “Everything ok?”

“Yeah, I think so. There seems so much to remember.”

“You’ll get the hang of it. Anyway, these nutters will keep you right.” Linda nodded at the regulars.

“This is a great pub.” said one, “I’m Alan, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Angela, pleased to meet you Alan.”

“I see Linda’s not broken with tradition.”

“What tradition’s that Alan?” asked Linda.

“The tradition of hiring beautiful barmaids.”

“He says that to everyone.” said Linda.

Angela laughed: “I bet he does.” All the same, it was nice to be complemented.

“He’ll be giving you his phone number before the night’s out.”

“I don’t think my boyfriend would be too pleased about that.”

“Don’t tell him then.” Said Alan, “Is he nice?”

“He’s lovely.”

“That’s great. But I better give you my number, just in case you’re a terrible judge of character.” He started to write it down.

“Two Peroni please.” barked another customer. Angela glanced at Alan. He was nodding at a beer tap. “Does no one drink normal stuff in here?” she thought, “and so expensive!” The total on the till had startled her but the customers didn’t seem bothered. Linda was asking some other guys for a similarly exorbitant sum of money and no one batted an eyelid.

“These guys must be loaded.” she thought, “and they tip well. Maybe my boyfriend’s not lovely enough.” she smiled.

“Is that your number Alan?”

“Sure is”

“I’ll keep this on file.” she grinned as she put the slip of paper in her pocket.

More tomorrow...

Words of Wisdom

You can't stab a jelly.

More tomorrow...

Last Weekend (The End)

And here's Sunday morning

Unsatisfied

What I got on Friday

Was a lot of fun.

But ultimately,

me,

me and that other guy too

and I assume all those others,

we like fun, sure we do

but we weren’t looking for that.

We wanted to be accepted.

We wanted to be loved

and that’s what we got

but none of us recognised it

because we looked outwards.

We looked to everyone else

And forgot to love ourselves.

We’d have been having fun

Without the expense,

without the pretence.

We already had all we needed,

but we got distracted.

We will again.

So it makes this time,

this time now,

when to be myself is contentment

all the more precious.

More tomorrow...

Last Weekend (The Beginning)

This is some stuff I wrote last weekend. It starts with Friday night and finishes on Sunday afternoon. It's a semi-autobiographical look at contrast. So here's Friday. Sunday will follow tomorrow.

The Strategist

The week had been long, busy with bureaucracy and emotionally draining. Phone calls had been made and the due diligence had been done, ticked off, filed and left to gather its own dust.
Robert had finally escaped from the humdrum monotonous buzz of the daily grind. He’d done lunches, been for coffees, smiled at clients and braved the snarling jams at rush hour. He skipped tea, threw on his hat at its jauntiest angle and made his way pubwards.
The weekend beckoned with sleek, glossy hair, fake tan and miles of mascara. He was ready to charm and was already imagining that tinkling giggle and adoring smile.
He opened the door, doffing his hat and spun it on the bar as he ordered up a bottle of the finest red wine. He looked around and his smirk began to fade. Bald heads, beer bellies. The fruit machine clamoured and Pink Floyd were fifteen minutes into a solo on the jukebox. He drained his glass in disappointment but declined to leave. He knew this. He’d been here before. It was a man monsoon in the middle of a female famine. But he would get by. Either things would pick up soon or he’d steal someone’s girlfriend.
He withdrew from the pack, let them howl together and lick each other’s wounds. He became aloof; stood apart knowing this would engender curiosity. Let the rest take the scraps; the barked camaraderie.
And soon? His plan worked so he put his pen back in his pocket.


More tomorrow...

Hospital Ward 2 (The Sad One)

Glenn Miller music drifted amongst the smell of milky tea and wilting flowers. The big band sound competed with the television that no one was watching. There were people sat around it but their grey heads dropped in sleep. This was the ‘Day Room’. Supposedly a hub of conversation and activity. In reality, that only happened at set times.

Breakfast time, nurses wheeled the patients in to their foreordained chairs: “There you go Elsie. A nice seat in front of the TV,” Elsie drooled in reply “and here’s your tea.” The nurse took Elsie’s hand and thrust into it a plastic mug, capped with a spout like a toddler’s cup: “I’ll see you later Elsie.” and the nurse left to wheel in her next charge.

Medication time, the trolley arrived and nurses called out names like schoolteachers. They distributed drugs to these husks of people. Drugs to dry them out; drugs to keep them flowing; drugs to calm the heart; drugs to start it up; drugs to let them have a few more weeks asleep in front of the TV.

Visiting time brought clergymen and family with the occasional grandchild. That child would lift every head, glazed eyes would sparkle, loose faces tighten into smiles and hands grope in handbags for a shilling that’s not been there in decades; a coin for the child. This prancing, noisy youngster reminds them of life before it got so tiring.

Dinnertime, the nurses persuade their patients to eat: “Lovely stew Mr Parks” he nods his head as the liquidised pulp is washed down with milk: “Was that your son here today?” he nods again “He’s a fine young man eh? Takes after you eh?” still nodding. The nurse knows he’ll keep on nodding long after she’s gone.

Soon after dinner it’s bedtime. The TV continues to glow in the corner but the room is in darkness, its patients have gone to sleep elsewhere. In the night a porter comes to take away a chair. It won’t be needed in the morning.

More tomorrow...

Hospital Ward 1 (The happy one)

Men group at the door waiting to be buzzed in. Tired eyes glitter with bewilderment and joy.

“First one?” says the one in denim.

“Yeah. Little boy. Michael” says a beaming face.

“Me too. Alan. He’s not my first though. Got a three year old girl.”

The door buzzes open and the fathers sweep through.

“Here they come,” says the nurse to the mothers. A dozen heads turn to their children: “Daddy’s come to take us home. Yes he has. He’s not seen you for hours. No he hasn’t and he can’t wait to see his little daughter. Yes. That’s you, his little daughter, yes.”

Cameras flash and record these moments. Smiles and coos permeate the atmosphere, ripe with newness and warmth. Grandparents begin to pepper the crowds. Clucking grandmas brood over the bundles as Dad stands back, holding a balloon, so proud of his daughter, remembering his times in this ward, delighted to see his family grow.

“Hello Michael. Who’s Daddy’s little boy? Oh you’re a big chap eh son? Aw look at him Denise. He’s got tiny little fingernails.”

“He’s beautiful. The lady next to me had a little boy too. There’s only us two with boys. Loads of little girls.”

“Hear that Michael? Loads of little girlfriends for you here eh?”

Denise gathers up the well-wishing cards and stuffs them into her bag. She pops her head round the curtain separating the beds: “That’s us off now. Good luck with little Alan.”

“Aw thanks love. You too. Hope to see you at mums and tots eventually.”

“Yeah. I’ve got the address in my bag. Bye now, and thanks.”

“Cheerio love.”

Michael nestles in his carrycot, cocooned in white wool. Mum and Dad hold hands as the new family makes its first trip outside.

More tomorrow...