Category: Stories

A Match made in Heaven: Short Story Competition.

Scene One: Castel Sant’Angelo, the Library.

He looked at Simon, the picture of despair, his elbows resting on the other side of the desk, his head in his hands.

What the hell are you going to do, Simon? It’s make your mind up time, I need some sleep. Are you going to marry her or what? Frankly, it’s a bit bloody late in the day to be having this conversation. We’re supposed to be at the church in precisely seven hours.


Ed, I just wanted to be normal, you know, not the target for stupid jokes from bigoted nutters. Jesus, I haven’t done it since I was seventeen. Do you know what that feels like? Always hiding, pretending to be something I’m not.  Look, Edward, just give me the bloody key; this may be my last chance!

Edward shook his head sadly as Simon just groaned again and poured himself another brandy. Edward took the key from the desk, opening the windows and raising his eyebrows, stood clear, and tried again to get through to his brother.

Who was it said “The one charm about marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties.”. Just don’t do anything stupid, and I really think you should tell Kate if you are determined to go through with this. It’s her life too, you know.

Oscar Wilde? Simon responded automatically.

No, I can’t let her go and I can’t …

Simon hurled the glass in the direction of the fireplace , unfurled his wings and flew slightly unsteadily out of the open window. Continue reading “A Match made in Heaven: Short Story Competition.”

Aunt Lisl comes to stay

He was the sole occupant, his left hand grasping the remains of a pint that was resting on a small copper-topped table, its polished surface weakly reflecting the evening sun through a puddle of what looked like blood, but was probably only Campari. The key was placed carefully away from these dregs, lying half concealed by his leather driving gloves. Nobody wears them any more, but in the early sixties they were still an accessory to be admired, an indication of a certain wealth, or at least of breeding, in the owner.

I had followed his instructions to the letter, turning left off the A3 at the Malden roundabout, and heading south towards Worcester Park. His directions had been accurate, The Plough coming into view on the right almost immediately after I had passed under the railway bridge. I had pulled across the traffic into the car park and rushed into the bar. Mine host had looked up expectantly, but I had already seen what had to be the Snug; a small room half-hidden behind the fireplace. Progress has since replaced it by a modern extension of the restaurant, but in those days it was a lovingly preserved adjunct to the old building, roughly built from local stone, with two tiny windows and ancient wooden bench seats, now comfortably covered with deep red cushions. Continue reading “Aunt Lisl comes to stay”

Withering Heights

Seats were scarce in the café as queues of tray-laden customers circled the room looking for a place to park. Those already seated sat smugly with their meals. There were a few plush couches in the establishment whose patrons would leisurely, aristocratically pick at their lunches. Even in a greasy spoon you’ll find snobs.

One window stool facing out to the main road stood empty. This sticking out like a sore thumb location was sub-prime. Windows to the world are for writers only. From this spot they can observe humanity in all its guises giving them reams of future material. I gave it a miss. Continue reading “Withering Heights”

The Imminent Wedding

Zorb of Klig slithered across the room on five of his tentacles, swiveled his single green eye towards her and bid a hearty hello to his inamorata, the lady Billa of Arachnia.  She had curled her millipedal self into a perfect spiral in the middle of her favorite armchair and was awaiting his arrival with interest.

Continue reading “The Imminent Wedding”

Short story competition relaunch – October 2011

It is time to restart the short story  competition and as I raised the subject this time I have I stepped forward to set the ball rolling…

The short story should be posted as a separate blog and linked to this one.
It should be up to 2000 words long on the theme of ‘wedding.’
The first scene will start with two people in a room. There’s a key on the table. During the story you should include the words ‘football’ and ‘armchair’.

The closing date is October 31st at UK midnight. I will judge the entries and announce a winner. The winner will set the next competition.

Have I missed anything?

The War Journal : Three Spartans


The Muse gig campaign was a Stonewaller. With great inspiration we laid a trail of destruction in our wake, living off the land, taking no prisoners before triumphing without any casualties. We had reached our goal within a few songs. In front of us, swelling as big as a carpet burn, stood the mighty legions of fans of the medieval torture instrument. They would be a more formidable foe.

Our numbers were only three: Chibber, Steff and me, sometimes less is more as stealth can win out in a crowd of 10,000. None of us knew the difference between tactics and strategy, all we knew was that our objective was to get to the front row. The front row is the ultimate in concert-going. Continue reading “The War Journal : Three Spartans”

Read any good books lately?

Two of the books in this pile were not for me, but for Cycloman. I expect you can guess which two, without much thought.

There’s something so very different about reading on holiday.
I had started and not progressed with ‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’ months ago and put it away. Something made me pull it out and pack it for the holiday and this time I found it an enjoyable and informative read while relaxing in France. Amusing and light, but still managing to convey some of the horror of living under German occupation. Continue reading “Read any good books lately?”

Impulse

Ever fed up doing the same old thing? Has routine got you down? The only way to stop the rot is to do something out of the ordinary. You know the types of things I’m talking about: go to the library and hire out a Louise Doughty book, memorise pi to seventy-three decimal places, seek out broken traffic lights on a four-way junction and direct the traffic.

Well I always like to cover new ground and a dangerous inclination came upon me in the pub this morning. Continue reading “Impulse”