Silk-black skin and long neck. Graceful, she glances away, longs for another place, beyond the burning red-hot glass of a red bus, double-deckered, on a roasted trip with a man, unshaven and unpruned, pale and raw, who mutters to her out-turned cheek, as if she can hear his stabbing red-hot words, his obscenities his tauntsContinue reading “Bus Games”
Category Archives: writing
Top-Down
Not keen. Not for me. Not at the top. Not for … Me? Orange, glossy, gilled, miniscule. Unwillingly lurching over, lumping back, avoiding shiny low bars – perfect for hurdling over – and secured by man-handled devices. A short, snappy jolt. Catapulting high, head crashing out of exploding glass, eyes bailing out, cannon-balled over intoContinue reading “Top-Down”
Fag-Stop Killer
Bus stop pick up? Driver-change? Brake? Stop. Break. Driver desperate, desires to kill – ten minutes, just ten minutes of our time. Spluttering stop; bus cranks out in lullaby lay-by. Engine gasps, grumbles, grizzles, groans; passengers fidget and fudge – ferocious and desperate to kill. Driver’s all chewed-up, choking, croaking – “Just ten minutes!” HoldingContinue reading “Fag-Stop Killer”
Refuel
Cumin, chilli, coriander, turmeric – combined, create turmoil in my head … Confused, dizzy and disorientated, I resist further intoxication, hold my breath, ignore the rumbling pleas from the labyrinth within and stumble onwards to Head Street to the 754, that waits patiently for today’s meal, an undernourished battery hen, past its best, unable toContinue reading “Refuel”
Tenner An Hour
‘Tisn’t bad, for a tenner an hour, to take the 87, for a morning run, for a couple of hours and a couple of passengers, for a break from routine, a drive to the town. The money’s not bad, if you’re on the way out From a life on the go … a pilot’s careerContinue reading “Tenner An Hour”
Bus Youths
Flaps – dark eye-shutters, open at right angles to head-windows – clear, translucent, sparkling ports of access to a mass of perfectly-tuned, white-grey matter. Still young, still sprightly, and polished, ready to take on another day, to make synaptic deliveries, to utter profundities to similarly fresh-minded acquaintances about: the nocturnal habits of toilet rolls, enlistedContinue reading “Bus Youths”
Not Now
Two and a half hours, I’ve had to wait. Two and a half hours, I’ve been standing waiting here at this bus stop stuck desperate. See this hand here, my hand. See the hole here, in the middle. A knife hole. Last night. Last night I stopped a fight. Grabbed the knife. See, the hole,Continue reading “Not Now”
High Street Millionaire
Wrap me in; keep the gap closed. This is my space, on the pavement, in the High Street, by the window. My space. Pirate flag. Plastic cutlass. Open book. Marking my page, and my space … next to and part of McDonald’s. A multi-millionaire. A McDonald’s man, with a little bit of pavement – toContinue reading “High Street Millionaire”
Lost in the Lavender at Haughley
Lost in the Lavender at Haughley It’s fortunate for some, perhaps, that my role as a Portacabin Loo Inspector is just a sideline. In reality, I’m here at Haughley Park Farm’s Sheepdog Trials, to inspect the comedians. It’s a difficult job, especially when one has shrivelled-up soaking wet (no, not that – I’m female – IContinue reading “Lost in the Lavender at Haughley”
The Story of Haughley Park Farm’s Lost Mutton
I’m pacing up and down in a wet field at Haughley Park Farm, on a desperate quest to locate Suffolk Punch Comedy Club’s latest venue. ‘Just head straight on in there,’ PJ, the emcee, instructed (ordered), ‘and follow the ‘Competitors’ sign!’ What he neglected to inform me about was that, in order to compete, I’dContinue reading “The Story of Haughley Park Farm’s Lost Mutton”
The Silly-Savvy Salopian in Suffolk: read, believe and write ... 