Breathe. Observe the breath. Follow the breath. Find the space at the end of the exhale. Unfurl as slowly as a fern; marvel at the spine’s design, your personal information superhighway cradled inside the supreme architecture of that serpentine curve. Stand firm as a mountain grounded by gravity; stretch skyward...
Reg watched the two cyclists, a couple, wheeling their bikes towards the bar. Like a textbook illustration of the difference between the human male and the human female in their skin-tight black Lycra shorts, so sweaty they looked spray-on, their every cleft and bulge mercilessly delineated like strange beasts in season... more
A letter to Barack Obama from The Compost Doctor
That’s how you start this sort of thing. Not Dear Sir. Dear Sir’s a bit too personal. Sir on its own sounds far more, oh I don’t know … respectful. It’s got gravitas, if you know what I mean.
There was a page in the paper the other day full of letters by so-called important people to the President Elect, I’m sure he never saw them, you know the sort of thing... more
A clerical error
I’m ever so excited about it. I have been for some time. I don’t like to boast, but I do feel quite proud of myself really. Making a difference. Not like Angela Jolly or anyone like that, although maybe, if we really hit it off. No, I’m being silly now. Anyway, I wouldn’t want just to swoop in and pluck a good chubby one, a boy naturally, and leave the rest to make do with their huge T-shirts from Oxfam emblazoned with the name ‘Tommy Hilfiger’ – whoever he may be... more
‘That would be lovely!’ Anna regretted it the minute she’d said it.
She should have said that she’d check her diary, counted to ten, then said, sorrowfully, that she had a prior engagement, preferably some obligatory family business that Laura could sympathise with, something that, as much as she’d love to, she really couldn’t escape... more
There’s a song Jackie and I used to sing; we found it on some ancient disc in a box-full in the dayroom – ages ago, turn of the century time I think, no, later, ten years or so in. We didn’t even know what they were. We smashed a couple up, chucked a few around like crappy Frisbees – just messing about – when Ian came in. He seemed pretty pissed off... more
Love you to death
Today is Thursday. I know it is, because two days have passed. It’s been a lifetime. Beginnings and endings. Chapters contained within a novel. I’ve read chapters that can stand alone; I’d like to think I had written some too. Two days. Maybe it would be better to call it a short story... more