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 Dylan's face to the wall at the end of the bar. "No, no, Sam," he was saying. "It's ‘uff’, not ‘ow’. Stoneyclough." He … Continue reading The Bristol Arm.
1 Time passed like what it does waiting for dinner to cook and then PING, one day, a Tuesday or a Monday or something, the ugly folk of Twelve Shitty Acres got a break. One of them, an orange coloured dolly who went by the name of Lil-Let, came home with a little stapled book. … Continue reading Twelve Shitty Acres.
Meet Me In The Morning/cassettes (Dylan) Happy Birthday Bob! 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 … Continue reading Meet Me In the Morning.
May 9th 2016 (South Shields) Arriving back from the city on a late night Metro I decide to treat Jayne L and myself to a nice drop of wine. I pop into Safeways, where, at the end of the quiet aisle I am accosted by a member of staff as I carry a bottle of … Continue reading Notes From a Fragile Island. 21
Short story 8 minutes Downfall - short story excerpt
Rabbit gazed with fairly no unease, like this, over the awkward shapes issuing, one by one by one by one from her own soft mouth and she sounded (to these hot ears) to be speaking from just behind the curtain; almost-present. She roller coasted her eyes around her nose and I liked it. So, she … Continue reading Behind the curtain
nickreeves 