Soft Spot

 

beer

 

I often seen him down The Dog & Duck where he’s wont to cheat at darts and neck back unattended pints of beer. I  walk back home with him time to time as we live in the same part of town though I’ve never invited him in for a coffee. I’ve a soft spot for him but I don’t want fleas in my flat.

 

Soon Be Over

Bloke In A Green Jacket

 

Marvin‘s Christmas present to himself is to boycott Christmas.

Ahhhh the peace.

Mmm…Except for the neighbour’s illuminated Santa hanging from the drain pipe and flashing Christmas lights keeping him awake.

Oh well. Soon be over.

Shopaholic High

The world is going to end in a couple of weeks, or so some believe, so best hide in the mountains to survive the prophesied flood or meteor collision. Or why not spend two weeks drunk, stuffing your face with your favourite cakes, or your preferred food of choice?

yellow benchJasmine doesn’t need no end of world hype to realise the human race is in nose dive, what with scientific advancement bringing mass destruction that much closer. But hey we can have boob jobs and inject Botox, become cartoon clones, self obsessed and swallowing whole the mass media’s drone drone drone.

Jasmine has switched off her phone, her computer, instead walks down the precinct watching the world: the masses making their way home weighed down with Christmas purchases they queued for in claustrophobic shops, stressed to the bone.

At least if the world ends they’ll go out on a shopaholic high, crammed in the supermarket aisle, trolley heaped high, texting as they walk.

Then BAM! The world is no more.

Zombies All

Be grateful you can’t hear what this lass is saying. Burn your ears it would and scorch your hair too.

She’s forthright alright especially when contentious matters are at hand, ones brushed under the carpet or hidden behind CCTV-eyed compounds.

Meat eating, Monsanto, consumerism, air transport, drone wars, vivisection, genetic modification, the arms trade. Ow! My ears are red as rashers and I’ve only been stood next to her for five minutes!

Yes, luv, I do get your drift, if it’s not an environmental disaster that’ll see us all off then its Extra Terrestrials or the Illuminati plotting. Failing that a global-tribal genocide or nuclear incident.

And in the meantime we’re gonna become genetically modified clones spending our lives micro-chipped and controlled by some Big Brother consortium of billionaire shareholders.

Zombies all, that’s what she says we are.

Be warned!

Tale At The Traveller’s Rest

The other night I walked to The Traveller’s Rest pub and a biting night it was too. Frost glistened upon rooftops and the roofs of cars sparkled, it was quite magical.

All in all I was glad to be within the warmth nestling behind the old oak doors and to be asking for my usual brew, a golden real ale with a packet of salted nuts.

So I made myself comfortable and the mutt sniffed around for old crisps on the floral carpet and I glanced across to the window seat and espied a couple of blokes chatting.

They were in fact conversing upon the subject of how to better themselves as they both worked down the local 24 hour supermarket, one in the warehouse unloading lorries and the other on tills. They debated a move to Spain to work in better climes abroad in the bars of the Costas.

I thus engaged them upon the subject and this story unfolded as told by the one with stubble and a mobile which regularly shivered and lit up beside his half drunk pint.

 

They said a mate of theirs worked for a while on a farm in Glamorganshire for a couple called Rowli Pugh and Catti Jones who were known to have bad luck.

Their wheat was always patchy, their lambs sickly, their Landrover kept breaking down and their tractor had permanently unresolved hydraulic problems. On top of this Catti was depressed and thus rendered incapable of doing a moment’s work.

One day Rowli was sat upon the wall of his yard contemplating the drastic step of selling up in order to improve their lot by emigrating to Spain where property was cheaper and they could find some work, surely. And all that sunshine!

While he was mulling over his woes an old man turned up, shepherd’s crook in hand, and asked why it was Rowli had such a gloomy countenance.Rowli was about to pour out his problems when the old bloke piped up,

“Don’t worry mate, hold yer tongue for I know more about you than you know and you’re going nowhere, I’ll make sure that your life becomes one of contentment right here. Tell the missus to leave a candle burning tonight when she goes to bed and every night henceforth.”

With that the old man or Ellyll as he in fact was, that is to say Fairy in more modern parlance, upped and offed.

Rowli turned the conversation over in his mind and concluded that yes, he would tell his wife Catti Jones that an old man had said she must light a candle each night before bedtime and their luck’d change.

And Catti would probably laugh her head off at such an idea. But what had they to lose? So that’s the angle he took and that’s the angle that got Catti to dig out the candles and light one having put the cat out and brushed her teeth.

And it’s a fact that from the next day onwards their life did change. When they went down in the morning to put the kettle on for a cuppa the previous day’s washing up was and put away.

There was a freshly baked loaf on the table, croissants and a fat chocolate cake. The dirty washing was drying on the line clean and crease free and the bathroom was immaculate. And their home brew was bottled and ready to be enjoyed.

Each night Catti would light a candle before going to bed and by morning the baking, brewing and washing was all done. Rowli now always had clean clothes and bed sheets, tasty bread and well brewed beer and it made him feel like a new man, and he worked like one.

For Catti it was the make-over she’d always needed and she set up a business from home selling scented candles. Their farm prospered, the grain grew thick and strong, the pigs were the fattest at the market and the lambs too.

They had a conservatory built and a gravel drive snaked up to the farmhouse where an eight grand Aga sat in the kitchen and double glazing kept the Welsh weather out.

Thus their life continued thus for a full three years until Catti could contain her curiosity no more. When Rowli was snoring one night she sneaked down the stairs and opened the kitchen door a crack.

There she saw the Fairy Folk busily making bread and beer and dancing and laughing as they did so.

Catti was so bemused by the sight she burst out laughing and in an instant they scattered in a whirl of fairy dust and the kitchen was silent.

Rowli and Catti’s luck stayed with them however which is often not the case when the Fairy Folk are spied upon.

The blokes in The Traveller’s Rest confided to me they were hoping for a similar chain of events by sitting on the car park wall by their block of flats that night looking miserable as hell in the hope an Ellyll would appear.

Slurring his words the stubbled one said they were off down the supermarket right now for some candles to light each night they were so desperate to escape their dead end jobs, overdrafts and singledom.

Though the thought did cross my mind that hanging around a car park late at night was asking for trouble, not from Otherworldly Folk but from the police. But I kept my mouth shut.

Anyway, all said, good luck to ye lads, I hope the magic works.

White Rabbit

White rabbits are the deftest darting under the shed, the decking or into the garage mess. Why ever did she get a rabbit? To save it from a cooped up pet shop cage and as a symbolic gesture for all those rabbits experimented upon in barbaric labs, chemicals rubbed in their eyes, their brains opened up.

Thus she lives on edge having liberated this fiend of fleetness that eats her French marigolds and taunts her terrier that shakes like a leaf at one whiff of rabbit smell: terriers have been honed down the centuries to be ratters and rabbiters extraordinaire, the poacher’s dream on a moonless night. But in suburbia he’s another white test of the nerves as he lunges for the liberated rabbit disappearing behind the barbeque, rediscovering her wild rabbit ancestry in this modern world.

Tho recently the fleet beast did disappear for a few nights…off after a mate or tastier dandelions on the other side of the fence? She even suspected the fat ginger tom down the road had finished her off. But white rabbit reappeared munching nonchalantly a couple of days ago.

Maybe in the end a neighbour will flatten her one night with his four wheel drive on the smooth tarmac of the cul-de -sac or an urban fox will commit the final act. Not a nice end for the twitchy red-eyed madam bringing all these thoughts of death…

So she prays she long continues her escapade and doesn’t get caught on CCTV eating the neighbour’s much lauded sweet peas.

Bye bye!

She’s been hearing birds recently, even above the growling traffic of the urban grey. It must be something to do with spring and the blackbirds at dawn and dusk, the prehistoric shriek of the gulls scavenging bins and the chit chat of sparrows on branches as she makes her way to work.

In fact she’s begun imagining herself to have wings that lift her up over the streetlights and tarmac to blue skies, away from the rush hour fumes and angst, all those creased faces who’d give anything to be on holiday or under the duvet dreaming still.

Her wings stretch six foot to each side and she’s climbing high.

Bye bye!