Space Travel

Space travel is a perilous adventure. Asteroids, Space dust, cosmic rays can all clog filters or knock you out of orbit, hurtling you towards the nearest sun. So imagine my surprise when on holiday I found myself cruising towards the pleasure planet of Sol550 and happened to see a fighter class frigate half-way between a fatal collision with a sun and annihilation by a laser beam from enemy cruisers attacking as a pack. With only a radio and a light sabre for self-defence, all I could do was to watch on as the frigate dodged the attack from the attacking cruisers while on a trajectory taking it right towards the burning surface of the sun. Time and time again the cruisers circled and then attacked in formation sending deadly pulses of weapons class laser beams towards the helpless frigate and time after time the frigate managed to dodge and weave around them and return fire damaging the attacking ships and still avoiding the gravitational pull of the sun.

I pulled up from my ascent towards the pleasure planet and tried to radio for assistance but as luck would have it I was out of range of the police force. I sent instead a message in semaphore to all surrounding craft in an emergency code I remembered from college many years passed. Then, with a knot in my stomach I sat and watched and waited for help to arrive.


Mental Health, Writing

Notwithstanding, I will continue


*******Warning: Adult Themes*******


Scene: Aboard a Steam riverboat cruiser ‘Miss Dolly’ USA, 1910.

‘Not as I am accustomed to public speakaling I will do my uppity to continue in the style I have become accustomed’ said the compare, putting on what he hoped was his cheeriest sounding voice.

‘It is with a great sense of pride that I announce the speakaling for today. Rowbottom muck spreader filthy tart… who has crawled up from the depths of the muddy brown stagnant pool he inhabits for a holiday aboard the steamer ‘Miss Dolly’. Unbeknownst until now.’

Honk, Honk went the onboard tannoy. The guest takes center stage.

‘Ahem, Good evening ladies and jelly babies. Tonight I expose a coverup. ‘

Hushed awe.

‘Ahem, Ladies and Jellybeans. Tonight I announce a big jelly cup.’

Muttering resumes.

‘Ahem Ladies and jelly wotsits. Tonight I assume the role of Whistleblower!’

‘For tonight, I will expose…’

Tutting and heavy breathing…

‘Tonight ladies and gentleman For your tantalization. A wonder. Nay An extreme event. Nay A miracle! Speakaling David Didion!’ said the compare.

Applause and whooping.

‘Ladies and Jellybeans. David Didion!’ David Didion claps himself

‘Good evening, good evening all. Now take a look at my hands. See they are holding a pack of cards. now I will perform for you a trick..’


‘If I can have a volunteer please’

Volunteer shoved forwards.

‘Hello. What is your name?’ ‘Lisa. Welcome, Lisa. I want you to pick out a card from the pack, any card will do. OK?’

Lisa nods.

‘Now don’t tell which card it keeps it to yourself OK’

Lisa nods and takes a card from the pack.

‘What is the card, Lisa.

‘Seven of Spades’ says Lisa.

‘Fail.Fail.Fail.Fail.Fail.Fail. Womanhood has failed to keep a secret! Fail’

Laughing and cheers from the audience.

Lisa walks away.

‘Go away and walk you unredeemed whore’ says David Didion.

The audience cheers.

Compare looks upset and interrupts the speaker cutting off his mike.

‘Ladies and gentlemen we interrupt this broadcast to bring you a live broadcast..’

Sound over the tannoy system aboard the boat.

‘Well, I really love her…actually’

The compare smiles a beaming smile.

Then a different voice comes over the tannoy.

‘What did she say?’

‘She said she’d think about it,’

‘that’s good…’

‘I know I can’t bear to think of her all …undecided,’

New voice…

‘And at KWZT we have a news report…A Man overcomes his emotions and accepts leap year proposal!’

‘Oh she’ll never agree,’

‘Be patient. Wait. Until Friday. Then you can ask her again’


The crowd is silent. The Compare adjusts the mike sending feedback through the speakers.

‘Sorry ladies and gentlemen we seem to have a slight technical problem.’ More feedback

‘One of the speakers explodes showering white dust over the audience. The audience laughs.

‘Sorry ladies and gentlemen’ says the compare wearily

‘Tonight for you delectation…all the way from Russia…Wanderlust’ says the compare with a groan.


‘Good evening ladies and Gentlemen. I am Wanderlust (bows to audience)’


‘I come from Russia from the steppes of cold Siberia. From the plateaus of Vladivostok to St Petersberg there is not a whorehouse, hen party or town and village church I have not desecrated, No?’,’Where is my wenches, Yes?’

Cheers from the audience.

‘Bring out the wenches’ shouts Wanderlust

A few cheers from the audience.

‘Bring out the wenches!’ he shouts again. The crowd cheer louder.

The compare takes the stage again shoving off Wanderlust.

‘And now for Wholesome George…’ he says with a desperate smile.’Wholesome George!’

Wholesome George takes the spotlight. He is wearing a beige suit and is wearing a Panama and navy deck shoes ‘ The compare looks pleased with him.

‘Good evening ladies and guests and gentlemen. Tonight I will tell you all of how I fucked women on five different continents whilst writing my book. Fuck story From Gibraltar to the Bahamas on five different continents’.

Applause and whooping from the audience…

Compare shoves wanderlust to the ground then takes a revolver and levels it at his forehead.

‘Enough’ Interrupts the compare,’Enough’

The boat goes silent.

‘Haven’t you had enough of sex, misogyny, and more fucking sex? Isn’t it about time we had something nice to write home about? Wouldn’t you like to tell your kids a true story of how you enjoyed your riverboat cruise entertainment without the tawdry smut and sex without lying?’

Silence greets him like a newfound friend. All eager to please.

‘Shut Up. Bring back wholesome George’ shouted a member of the audience.

Soon the whole audience is chanting in unison.

‘Wholesome George.Wholesome George.Wholesome George’

‘That’s enough,’ shouts Wholesome George getting to his feet.’ Let the man thing speak’

Laughs from the audience.

‘ I do this for the good of humanity’ Shouts the compare and pulls the trigger.

There is a spray of blood and a loud bang and the compare falls off the stage onto the deck of the boat the gun tumbling from his fingers.

A loud sigh from the audience. Someone shouts ‘Sick bastard’

Then the crowd begins muttering again.

‘Oh God’ says Wholesome George falling to his knees. ‘Oh God’


In this fictional short story, we saw how someone was pushed  to suicide. What pushed him this far? Was it the debased nature of the acts he introduced? Or were it financial troubles? Was his love for himself outweighed by his love for humanity so much that he made the ultimate sacrifice to prove his love for humanity, above all else? Unfortunately, He can never tell.

Suicide support. Can suicide be prevented? Perhaps if Samaritans had been around he wouldn’t have pulled the trigger. Their numbers are below. There is also a website www.samaritans.org

Telephone Samaritans (UK) 116 123

Samaritans (US) 1 (800) 273-TALK


Mr SnodGrass

Mr Snodgrass was a punk and a caretaker at St Cuthberts School, Daventry.

He listened to all the pop punk bands and wore his hair in spikes died grey down the middle.

In his nose he wore a silver nose ring

His ears were a pincushion of stones and platinum and silver

In his lip he wore a plug which meant you could see his bottom row of teeth through it.

You could find him sweeping up leaves and litter in the corners of the playground

Kids would call him Wolfy and then he would chase them saying he was going to eat them up or blow down their straw houses.

There was a rumour going around the teachers at the school that he had slept with the headmistress but in truth he had a steady girlfriend, Ruth.

Ruth, ‘the Truth’ was a legal secretary at the local law firm and her hobbies included running, drinking and live music.

Every Tuesday night Ruth would come around to the caretakers house where they would order Chinese food and wash it down with a bottle of wine or two and listen to music or watch a DVD . Ruth lives only a five minute walk away from Wolf so they got on like a house on fire.

One day…Ruth proposed that she and Wolf should get married.

Wolf accepted and then one fine April day they got married at the local Anglican Church. Wolf’s friends came around with their nose rings and spiky hairs and Ruths boss from work and her friends came from all around  and they partied until the early hours of the morning.

They settled down in the caretakers house and soon a baby was on the way. Ruth the Truth said to Wolf. ‘I love you, I want your baby but you must agree I cannot call you Wolfie any longer. Wolfie is no name for a father’

So Wolfie changed his name from Wolf to Pooch and died his hair white which gave all the kids at school a fright and his friends deserted him and soon rumours were going round the school that not only had Wolfie lost his cool but that he had to ask permission to change the channel on the television at home.

The baby was born nine months later and when deciding a name Ruth The Truth gave Pooch a task to complete. To go through the baby name book and to pick an appropriate name for their newborn baby.

Pooch studied the book day and night for two weeks. After work, in the spare room he would sit poring over the book and write different names down on pieces of paper and stick them with blu-tack to the wall and then pace backwards and forwards holding his chin in his hand and scratching his head. Then after narrowing it down to ten names he threw away the nine remaining and looked at one name with a big smile on his face. It was decided. He had chosen a name.

Everyone was waiting. The schoolchildren were waiting. The teachers at the school were waiting. Even the headmistress was interested. Ruth was being asked at work by her colleagues what the name of the baby was going to be but she had said. That decision belongs with Poochy.

Poochy left a message on the phone at Ruths work and told his wife that he had chosen a name for the baby and that its was going to be called ‘……’. Ruth ‘The Truth’ Snodgrass wasted no time at all. She asked a collegue to draw up divorce papers on the grounds of ‘Unreasonable Behavior’ then she called her parents and said she was moving back home until she could get her own place with the baby.

All this happened very quickly and some changes were happening just as quickly to Pooch. After Ruth and the baby left home he changed his name back to Wolf and he dyed his hair again with a grey streak down the middle, just like he used to have it styled. The kids in the play ground were giving him respect again and he was chasing them once more. He slept with the headmistress who came to work with a smile on her face and when she saw Wolfy she would wolf whistle him and he would wave to her broom in hand.

The kids in the playground were impressed. Once they heard what the name of the baby was to be called never grew tired of repeating it to each other.

They said things like. ‘Rad’, ‘Cool’ and ‘awesome’ and talked about the name in hushed tones with awe in their voices.

The divorce went through quickly and the story was even picked up by the local paper who printed the name of the baby on the front page. ‘……..GATE’ read the headline.

20 Years later it was time to retire for Wolf and days before  his planned do he had a heart attack and died. When the people were clearing out his belongings they found a box containing newspaper cuttings and a piece of paper with a name on it. It read ‘……’

The story was revived by the local newspaper which was now being ran by the old headmistress daughter with the byline ‘Wolf In Pooches Clothing – STILL UNFORGIVEN BY WIFE 20 YEARS LATER’

You might be surprised to know that the name Wolf chose for his baby wasn’t derived from legal nomenclanture history or Greek or Roman Mythology but was the simple name ‘……..’

Fiction, story, Uncategorized

Mr Pianoface

There was once a clunky town. In that town lived Mr Brown. He lived in a clunky house had a clunky wife and two clunky children. He drank his tea from a clunky mug and when he looked into the mirror he saw a reflection of his clunky features. His eyes was uneven and clunky. His eyebrows were one bigger than the other and his nose was the clunkiest nose you ever saw in your whole life. Mrs Brown loved her husband. For all his clunkiestness he was still a good father to his clunky children whom he loved dearly. The Browns did not live in a big house or drive a flashy car. The children did not have many presents at Christmas and on their birthdays. Mrs Brown did not work but stayed and made home and looked after the children. In their own clunky way they were a happy, if somewhat clunky family.

Mr Brown or Chris as he was known (Clunky Chris actually) did not have a hobby until one day the next door neighbours the Greens trundled out an old upright piano into their driveway.

‘A Piano Mr Green,’ said Mr Brown

‘Yes Mr Brown. Its too old and clunky for us. Maybe you know someone who can use it…’

Mr Browns eyes lit up and his larger than the other eyebrow raised itself a few millimetres.

‘I have an idea!’ said Mr Brown.


A few weeks later in the Clunky Browns house Mrs Crimson was giving a piano lesson to Mr Brown.

‘No, not like that’ said Mrs Crimson ‘Al Dente like this,’ and she played a sequence of notes that sent Mr Browns eyebrows up and down and all over the place.

‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Brown, looking crestfallen.

He put his hands above the keys like Mrs Crimson had shown him and read off the sheet music on the rest.

‘A-Cflat -B minor G’ said Mr Brown and then dropped his shoulders’ I’ll never be able to do this’ he said and slammed the lid of the piano shut.

‘Patience is everything Mr Brown’ said Mrs Crimson looking dissaprovingly at Mr Brown.

Mr Brown said a rude word and stormed off upstairs leaving Mrs Crimson looking even more dissaprovingly around.

‘Well…’ Said Mrs Crimson, more to herself than to anyone else.

It was then she noticed two heads peering at her from around the living room door.

‘That was Dad. Don’t worry He’ll calm down’ said the older girl smiling at Mrs Crimson.

‘He’s always losing his concentration, but it doesn’t run on the family’ said the boy, also smiling.

‘I’m Jack and this is Jane’

‘Hello children. Nevermind your father. I’m sure your father knows what he wants, deep down,’ she said mischeivously

‘Now who of you wants to use up the rest of the hour learning how to play the piano,’

Huge grins appeared on the faces of Jack and Jane as they both put up their hands at the same time.

‘me,me’ said the children.

‘One at a time please’ said Mrs Crimson, One at a Time.

And it was like this that the two Brown children became interested in the Piano and after their father who had a good heart came around and paid for their lessons would later play their Mini Grands in Madison Square Garden in front of Twenty Thousand People. They are known as the Brown Siblings. Have you heard of them?

Lyrics, Music, Other Stuff, poem, Poetry, prose, song, Uncategorized

Low Fat Peregrine Margarine

Love, control, incest

Love, control, incest

Bees pour down on me

from their honeyed home

Annoyed because I poked his

hive, tongue-tied, now dying alive.

Love, control, incest, sting, sting, sting

Give me support, give me support

take my legs from under me and attach

me to a star, so I can swing merrily along.

Take my backpack and burn its contents

furnish me with clothes and a staff

so I may wander these hills alone.

Love, control, incest, sing, sing, sing.

Still love me to this day

continue in your efforts to contain me

while I walk away up to there, where I

can shout and point at all of you.

Love, control, incest, ring, ring, ring.

Nesting and egg laying birds astound you

where nothing is further than the truth

of laying down and taking and giving

what you are worth.

Sing, Ring, Love, Control, Incest.

Hear me sing (x3)


Fiction, Uncategorized

Death On the Moor Chapter 3

Smelling bad and festering with yellow maggots and pus in the jellyfied state is how I imagine briefly Myra would look on her deathbed, laid flat on  a mortuary slab in an old building with peeling paintwork. I was there looking at her while someone held a clipboard. Then I was thinking about my poster on my wall then back to the mortuary scene, before I think again of the task in hand, retrieving the dead sheep from the hill and bringing it back to the farm where it will be collected and burned.

As there are no labourers in the workforce. not that’s it’s a job entirely of labour. The sheep need a familiar voice around after the other night when the jaguar struck again. I volunteered for the job. I got the job. And seeing as how I am bust tomorrow over at Myra’s, tonight is when I am gong to do it. Shouldn’t be hard really. Just tie a bowline around the two back legs and lift mostly off the ground and drag  back to the farm. A mile and a half over grass and through two fences. Should be easy. Getting there in this cold will be a challenge though hence the vodka. I can feel the warmth in all my extremities and can feel it’s giving me a buzz despite the early frost. I break into ‘Jean went out and bought some old barn, only to find it contained – another barn,’ an old song I learnt as a child and was walking along merrily blowing a great load of breath into the frigid night air. I turned a corner and heard a movement from the woods., like an animal, a big one. I stopped and swore wishing that I had bought my flashlight with me.

‘Whose in there then?’ I said into the bushes ‘Anyone in there?’ I stepped into the forest by about two metres and looked around. Nothing in the clearing up ahead and nothing in the trees. It’s the vodka playing tricks on my mind I hope I added. I turned around to go back to the path and that’s when I heard it again. A thud on the ground I felt more than heard. It then trailed off. I turned around quickly shouting this time ‘Whose there?’ but again I could see no-one.

‘HELLO!’ I shouted but there was no reply. I took another swig from the bottle to settle my nerves and shouted a threat into the darkness lest there be anyone wanting to fool around and headed on back to the path.

Bloody sheep, bloody imagination.

I saw in my head where the sheep minus its brain had lain, right up in the corner of the top field by the dry stone wall. When I got there I could have a sit down first finish the bottle then take the fastest route back home with my load.

Feeling good, I was about to round the corner to the field when I heard a shotgun blast from the top of the field nearby and shouting and screaming.

I ran towards the sound and just heard the gurgle of a death rattle in the mouth of Ted Flanders one of the men from the village always preaching about this and that and one firmly in favour of catching the Jaguar alive.

In the moonlight, I could see that half his face was covered in blood and that his jacket was hanging down between his legs. He turned and fell and I could see that it wasn’t his jacket but his entrails flowing from his stomach that had been ripped open before he fell by what I thought… A Jaguar?

Up ahead was a commotion lit by a Coleman lamp sitting on the wall that one of the men must have bought with them. I heard another shotgun blast and what looked like a man with the head of a jaguar in the flash. I threw away the bottle of vodka in disgust and grabbing a stout stick from the ground rushed up closer to see what was going on.

I saw another body lying on the ground, Aldred Baker, another village man, then I saw his son Jeff Lying on the ground missing one of this arms. And I could hear a gnawing sound and a guttural roar coming from up ahead. Someone screamed, A high terrible sound and then all went silent.

I dropped to the ground. The Coleman lamp above in the field was showing a scene of carnage but no sign of an attacker but something was wrong with me. My face and jaws ached and I could smell the blood and there was something wrong with my fingers.

I lay there in the wet grass and tried to gather my thoughts but all my thoughts were on the pain in my head and face and the feeling in my hands and feet. I tried to stand up but puked instead. I felt bad. very bad but excited by the smell of blood which seemed to permeate every thought and instinct.

I sensed, more than heard a body move  above me and turned over my arms held in front of me in defence. And what I saw coming out of the ends of what used to be my hands surprised me more than the face of the jaguar/man  creature who was now helping me to my feet. I had three-inch claws instead of the hands I used to have and from what I could tell I had grown fangs in my mouth that extruded from my jaws and wrapped around my lower jaw in imitation of the monster now gently mopping my brow and making purring noises. What was happening?

I was gently lead to the body of the former shotgun wielding farmer Giles May He Rest In Peace whose neck was broken judging by the odd angle of his head. I felt sad in the parts of me that were still human but also sad on a new level too aware that a ritual had not yet been completed.

My companion picked up the farmers corpse by his head and bent over him. I heard a large crack and knew that was the man’s skull be opened from the top.  I knew then what I needed to do.

I tried to pick up the shotgun from the floor where it lay loaded broken but ready to fire, but my claws could no pick it up. I cried tears of blood trying to pick up the thing but then realised I could probably do more damage than I could with the shotgun through my claws and teeth. The jaguar-headed and human bodied man was now slurping over the head of the deceased farmer paying me no attention so taking advantage of my position I launched myself at its neck ripping it open from behind  and felt a  great pleasure in feeling its hot blood spurt over my claws. Despite its injury, the monster turned around to face me dropping the corpse and drawing itself up to its full height. Instinct took over and I launched myself again at its throat and with my teeth ripped out what was left of its neck. The creature fell backwards in a spray of  bright red arterial blood and then lay silent.

I was breathing heavily through my nostrils and the smell and taste of human blood were heavy in my thoughts as I figured out my next move.

I moved over towards the dead creature that had taken so many of my friends lives and lifted it up till I held its head in my hands. I opened my jaws as far as I could as I reached down and bit hard. After it was done. I sat down and waited for morning.





Death On The Moor Chapter Two

Death On The Moor Chapter One






Death On the Moor Chapter 2

The keys on my keyboard are full of magic. They should believe in themselves!

It’s Christmas again and the movies are playing on television as the big day looms ever closer. Hams and Turkeys are flying off the shelves at supermarkets up and down the country. Dads are stocking up on beer and candles and mums are doing that last bit of Christmas Shopping and making sure Sue, Benjy and all the little ones are happy.

It’s a Jesus-themed Christmas time at our local church with nativity plays and fayre to enjoy even though it’s cold!

Teens are indifferent to the real meaning though and are busy compiling lists of why Christmas is overrated and too commercial while looking forward to big presents and parties!

I hate Christmas. I like Doom Metal, Death Goth Metal and Black Metal. I remind myself.

Myra is at the bar and I am finishing up an assignment. The death goth movie poster I have on my wall is cool. I want tonight to be as cool, no cooler! Myra might go off on one, as usual, not that its usual, it could be my imagination playing tricks on me. Colin and Luke will be there. I fold up my laptop. Time to go.

I walk out to the hall and countdown the seconds to the car. Now I am walking past the car and heading up the road towards the village. Nobody is about. A text arrives ‘Where R U? Myra x’. I’m five minutes away. I text back saying it will be with her in ten. There’s something I need to do first. I head towards the off license and buy a bottle of vodka that I stash in the hedge. I mark the spot with a piece of red rag I find in the gutter. That’ll do for later tonight.

At the pub, I try to ignore the sideshow of the chatter of the jaguar remembering that I still need to drag down that sheep off the hill and join my friends. Hurrah! The night starts slowly but soon builds a momentum of its own and me and Myra have some quality time together. She talks of a new store opening on the other side of town and we agree to go there on opening day. A celebrity will be there to open the store, but I will be with my own celebrity, Myra. We cheer the oncoming Christmas with a row about which politician we would vote for if he or she lived locally and soon the night was dark.

Outside the quiet was as still as a single blade of grass. An owl hooted in the trees and underfoot was a thin frost. Footsteps were approaching crunching the gravel. The smell of burning pipe tobacco followed by grunts and the sound of low voices whispering. The sound of a shotgun being snapped shut followed by laughter preceded the pitter-patter of dogs feet and a single bark punctuated the night.

‘CHEERS ALL!’ shouted the landlord at the end of the night and we headed outside where people smoked and waited for lifts or taxis.

‘So I’ll see you tomorrow then?’ asked Myra

‘Yeah, at yours,’ I say

‘Bye then,’ said Myra

‘Bye Hon!’ I say

I stand at the kerb as Myra gets into her taxi and heads off towards her place in the next village.

I have a quick smoke and then zip up my jacket against the cold. I have something to do. I begin walking. I retrieve the bottle of vodka from the hedge where I left it  unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig. I felt a warmth spread into my fingertips and I screwed the cap on tight. Before I headed on. Further along, the hedge I retrieved a piece of rope. All I needed for the task in hand – Midnight Sheep retrieval.


Chapter Three – Death on The Moor