I signed up for a course - Creative Journaling: it ticked all the boxes. Something that I've always done. Well, you gotta have a hobby, innit. The amusement being me (I should put more effort in). The notebook is the end of the novel - Wish I'd said that - I just did (I note … Continue reading My Strasse.
The photo has faded since last I looked. I thought, this only happens in films and books. "He had a fondness for attics," said the rook. Still tells tales, 6x4, a little stained. The boys' names were, Eenie, Meanie, Minnie, Moe, Daniel, Luke and me. Fish fingers and ice-cream cones. Content in wellies. Similarly, it … Continue reading Fondness for attics.
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a barefoot shuffle did evolve on the blue and orange rug around which, from heel to toe, we did not speak, but listened to side one of beggars banquet. the silent television screen (in the mirror) shows the moon from the window of our room [space] hoo-hoo "tranquility"
Considered reckless by some, he could, to these eyes, should the occasion arise, be relied on to act out open heart surgery upon chilled packets of vacuum sealed beetroots and the like. "A pair of old hairdressing scissors, a loose grip on the lingo and a souchon of common. Modus operandi." The running commentary, I … Continue reading the ear of the dim-sighted diner.
a bowlegged woman and a woe betide gent and a worrisome teen with marker pens, come suddenly through the door. Over the rim of his jar, he decides them, "a very rum number indeed."