Tag Archives: like

THE BISHOP’S DEAD LOSS

Posted on by under 2023, August 2023 - Loss

The Bishop was shrouded in a sterile melancholia. No Paul, no Barnabus. The preoccupied silence intermittently splintered as believers, heads studiously bowed to their books, whispered ritualistic rejoinders to the calls to silence. Not like the pub book-reading club at all!

*****

My thoughts drifted back four, no five, months. The conversation flowed then with that lack of embarrassment of familiars who knew exactly where the boundaries of safe conversation lay.

            “Can’t bend… belly’s in the way.” The speaker, Betty, strained to retrieve a biscuit for Barnabus, a particularly yappy male Jack Russell, enthusiastic to the point of obvious sexual excitement whenever a woman entered the bar.  That was one reason I routinely assumed a seat in the snug opposite; in clear view but removed. The other was discomfort. The invite “Come and join us” was no longer repeated, – no doubt deterred by my repeated rebuttals. I swigged a mouthful of stout and continued my solitary reading. Chapter 5 “The Surprise Accident.”

Continue reading →

Descent

Posted on by under 2023, July 2023 - No way out

In retrospect, I suppose it was kind of like stepping through a door with no staircase on the other side. That’s what it seemed like initially anyway, the rush of fear, the clenching knot in your stomach that you’re dropping, the knowledge you’re going to really… and I mean really hurt yourself when you land.

Funny thing is, I don’t know how long it’s been now, but I’ve still not impacted on anything solid, and I’m not sure anymore that I’m falling, either. I look around… at least, I presume I’m doing so, but I can’t see any light receding behind me. Or one growing in front of me either, I’m pleased to report. It’s scant comfort to not be in a long tunnel with a light at the end, but I’ll take it.

Continue reading →

A refuge in the storm

Posted on by under 2023, June 2023 - Home Sweet Home

Of course, the forest was dark that night, in these sorts of stories it always is. But, even as I stumbled through the undergrowth, the wind whipping razor-sharp branches into my face like an enraged banshee, I couldn’t allow myself to slow.

There it was, by some miracle, a light up ahead. I almost physically stretched toward it, like a dying man in the desert offered a flask of water or, perhaps, to flip the analogy, a drowning man thrown a rope from a passing ship.

What it was, was hope. Lower case, yes, but hope nonetheless.

Continue reading →

Hear me out! Here’s a pitch!

Posted on by under June 2023 - Home Sweet Home

Okay, there’s certain stories you really dig. Sometimes it’s high art that you feel smart for liking. An approving conscience says well done, yada-yada.

Sometimes you like silly fluff for reasons you can’t justify but it was Crimson Camel who said a good paperback is preferable to bad literature.

Think about it, what would you rather eat, a fresh big mac or mouldy caviar?

So, this story, penned by the always entertaining Arizona Davies, takes us to a modest house. It’s during lockdown and two people are fucking.

They’re roleplaying with the guy doing a hearty pirate voice: “Yer be my kidnapped wrench ha-ha” but the gal decides to dial up the romance instead.

“I love you,” she states with puppy eyes “My heart aches for you.”

He frowns somewhat puzzled.

Continue reading →

Magic Moments

Posted on by under 2022, April 2022 - Magic

She comes once a month with her weeny plug-in keyboard. A pair of legs are attached to them, taken from a long solid case. Then she sits on a borrowed chair, as battered as her audience, and holds her hands above the three octaves, poised like a concert player, as if the large room were the Albert Hall, as if the old dears with food stains on their mouths and tops were aristocracy in tiaras and gowns.

            Ta-ra-ta-tum! The opening notes of I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside, in an electronic tinkle, and she is singing in a pleasant tenor, smiling at the half-ring of armchairs and wheelchairs. Slumped heads lift, minds which exist in a fog have moments of clarity, return to childhood holidays, recall sandcastles, brylcreemed fathers in turned up trousers with braces, and shirts with ties, mothers with fat red legs spread in deckchairs, the sun roasting them stealthily.

Continue reading →

Galloping Johnny

Posted on by under 2020, February 2020 - Desire

My name is Stephen Sacks and I’m a complete faggot.

Oh, I know, I know, bluntness is discouraged these days and words like that reek of self-loathing but I’m not pussy footing around, tonight I aim for honesty.

I’ll tell you about a revelation I had last week which stoked the embers and relit my passion. I was at an outdoor pool party, held by my sister’s in-laws. A celebration over the fact they had stuck it out for fifty years.

So, there I was, meekly maundering by the barbecue when I became aware of somebody’s nephew, Johnny whatever, wafting by the swimming pool. And as that handsome youth, wearing nothing but tight trunks, beer in hand, talked to another Adonis, dear reader I felt the desire.

Continue reading →

The Letter

Posted on by under 2020, Jan 2020 - New Year Resolutions

Jane almost skipped out of the clinic.  She had been told by her consultant that she was free of cancer.  Striding down the road, she passed the travel agents with its tempting array of holidays.  Telling herself that she could do this on her own, she went into the shop and bought a train ticket to Athens and a ferry ticket to the incredibly small island of Halki.

A month before the all-clear, Jane received a letter from Stella who now lived on Halkii.  Jane had opened the letter with shaking hands and felt slightly sick.  Stella and Jane were the best of friends in the early 80s but in 1987 they had a row to end all rows, on a cliff top of all places!  Jane told Stella she did not want to see her and Stella cut all contact.

Continue reading →

A Christmas in Wales

Posted on by under 2019, December 2019 - Christmas in Wales

I remember years ago Christmas was very special and not about commercialism like it is today. You would have a stocking with an apple and peach and orange, and a shiny fifty pence, and some nuts and some bath salts, and then you would have one or two presents if you were lucky. Not like today where everyone wants loads of gifts like the latest gadget or iPad or phone or T.V. The good old days are gone.

Continue reading →
error: Content is protected !!