The Bristol Arm.

[I'm reposting this from a couple of years back as it's Bob Dylan's birthday today - keep on keeping on. Peace x]   Martin Kettle, formally of Stoneyclough but now resident of Penn Beacon, was stood on a table in the Eight Kings. He was taping the fourth corner of a large poster of Bob … Continue reading The Bristol Arm.

‘Brocken! – serious offers only!’

Saturday sunshine - honey on a slice of white - spreads the length of South Street. Its smear blesses nearly every pale thing. The windows in the terraces cannot help but grin. Front doors yawn on their hinges. The traffic rolls up and down in slow motion, the engine sweat beneath the bonnet; a cyclist … Continue reading ‘Brocken! – serious offers only!’

Threadbare Last Century.

Sam crossed the ankledeep, blackrain street, and setting his back to it, stepped up to the redbricked Rotten Fox. The panes glowed yellowblack and orange. He capped his brow, saluted the glass and glimpsed her therein, almost at once, a rose among ruins. The carpet was threadbare last century. It wonders what these new feet … Continue reading Threadbare Last Century.