Haunting my dreams or flavouring my lemonade?

It’s a sorry story the truth. Let’s tell a story instead.

Of struggling with Saturday afternoons on the pool

Of fighting for the right cocktail

of drink and alcohol.

Let us promenade down the front and talk of inconsequential things

Like how the muses get on with all that musing

and what the papers say on a Sunday

and if you buy into it at all.


You are my dream.


Like A Shining beacon in the Sky

An attraction to animals and fireflys

And various humans with different talents

Be our hinterhands, our winterlands , or grazing lands.

Be our home. Let the Stars Land Gently On Your Runways.

Tinseltown. Rock, Hewn out of the hills. Now Listen.

This land this fame, the coastal epiphany is closed

no more. Throw Open Your doors before the temperature

rises to above 451 inconveniently. Dancers, artists, thieves.

Actors, Directors, Leaves all flutter on by in this fairies dream.

Take a hold of the  nearest hand and dance off into wonderland.

Or send in your scripts, get on the right lists and continue on the road

to celluloid hard disc immortality or bread and butter to you and me. Be prepared: the

story never ends and pieces fall into place from all  over the place and time. All standing in

line legs swinging, bells ringing, chins held high in a procession you have never seen the

like since the nineteen thirties roared into being over a century ago. Check your Rolodex

email and see World Peace is scheduled in for 3:30. Make a cancellation for glee. or the

Never Ending Party now going on in the valley.


Who’s At The Door?

It’s Mr Bean, International Man Of Mystery and Intrigue and he has a Pizza For You.

Let hIm In.

Mr Bean gives you the internationally recognised sign with his free hand rubbing thumb and fingers together. Payment For the Pizza.

Pay The Man.

I haven’t got any cash. Do you take cards?

Mr Bean shakes his head and grins at you. Then he rubs his thumb against his fingers and mouths the words ‘Money’

You remember that tenner you keep down your emergency sock. It’s in your room. You say

‘I’ll go get it’

Mr Bean nods and smiles at you.

You return 45 seconds later with a rather shabby ten-pound note. Mr bean is standing inside the room at the same place but is no longer holding a pizza. Instead, he is holding himself shivering and looking upset.

You stare at him

Speak to the MAN.

‘What No Pizza?’ Say you smiling encouragingly.

‘Spider said Mr Bean gesticulating wildly, ‘spider – out there, BIG Spider’

Mr bean falls to his knees and begins crying and hugging himself to his knees.

Wha! BIG Spider? Out there? Ahhhh! Let me SEE.

You open the door to the hallway and your jaw drops to the ground. There is a Mini sized spider in the hallway and it has a knife and fork between two of its mandibles and is feeding cut slices of pizza into its mouth. It’s eight pairs of eyes suddenly turn towards you and it stops feeding.

You meet it gaze, or gazes. Your mouth closes as you take in the grotesque sight before your eyes. You salute it casually before closing the door on it.

What happened to that pizza, comes a voice from the living room.

‘Wrong order,’ you say looking at yourself in the hallway mirror.

‘Bloody anchovies. I hate anchovies.’

Wheel Of Fortune is ON. Come on in and sit yourself down. I’ll make you a sandwich.

You wake up.