Mike Hoban was sitting in the armchair of his apartment in Finchley, London. At his feet, Amanda Abraham, his girlfriend, was working on a quilt she’d started just before Christmas. Mike is reading “The World According to Garp”.
“Is that good?” Amanda asked without looking up.
“Very,” Mike replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever read anything like it.”
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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.
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I must say, it was the weirdest outing ever. I can try to laugh about it now but really, it just reinforced all my early fears about not getting into things where you can’t see a clear way out. (I completely blame the Brothers Grimm for this, what with Hansel and Gretel having such a close encounter with an oven – nightmare).
Dilly, my sister, (Delia, but she hates the name)and I live far apart so we take the occasional weekends together and meet up for hotel stays, meals out, the odd show and whatever we fancy.
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Dafydd scanned the dirty, black surroundings as he approached the colliery. Clouds of acrid dusty smoke belched from the tall chimney that covered the hillside. The pit head wheel rotated lowering colliers underground at the beginning of each shift. Dada and Dafydd, wearing their worn corduroy trousers and jackets, arrived promptly at the mine entrance.
They reported to the office where the manager’s voice called out. “Bring him in Dai. Duw Dafydd, you’re starting work today. Are you looking forward to it?” Nervously he replied yes. Dafydd showed his anxiousness. Dada’s firm and comforting hand calmed him. “Steady bach, you’ll be fine”. They entered the cage and the door shutting unnerved Dafydd. The winding wheel clunked into life. His pulse quickened, his stomach churned, his palms and forehead became sweaty. The cage lowered. They were met below by Emlyn, a well-built giant whose face was covered in black dust.
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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.
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‘Do you swear to never rat on any of us?’
‘I do.’
‘Do you swear on your mother’s life, you’re committed to the gang?’
‘I do’.
Harry just played along and said what was expected of him, it had all seemed like proper boy’s stuff until Adam pulled out his knife.
Harry’s lower lip started to tremble.
‘We won’t have any cry-babies,’ Adam stated as he used his penknife to initiate Harry into his gang.
Harry winced.
‘We’re blood brothers now, there’s no turning back,’ announced Adam.
Harry had thought that it would be fun to be accepted into a gang at his new school. Now, after seeing the pleasure that inflicting pain gave Adam, he was beginning to have some doubts.
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“Everything has been going wrong for so long,” Eric thought, “I forget what normal looks like.”
He is in his garden on the last day of his occupancy. The bank forecloses tomorrow. His wife left after he lost his job, but that wasn’t what finished it for him. He looked at where his legs used to be. That was the car crash.
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If you ask me, you can’t beat a good pilgrimage for a leisurely outing offering structure and purpose. It is a bit like the Ramblers but with fewer hills.
Maybe we can agree that what’s needed for a good pilgrimage is a common destination and plenty of people to talk to along the way. Yes, alright, a decent pair of shoes, maybe an umbrella, a level of hardship and precarious access to toilets and food all help with the authenticity. Shared purpose or religious intent are sometimes valuable in holding things together.
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Are you:-
If you can answer yes to all of the above and have a superpower, we want to meet you! Interviews here, commencing at 9.00 a.m. on Tuesday, 3rd May.
Henry and George were both seated in front of the stage.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” asked George.
“Yes, a Superhero will be someone the common people can look up to, someone they can believe in, it is exactly what we need right now. We need a big distraction to stop them focusing on us.”
“Can’t you just bribe them? That’s worked well in the past.”
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Morgan Ratcliffe locked the car door, opened the allotment gate wearily, and crept like a snail on Mogadon up the rise. Long Covid wasn’t going to beat him.
Alice Rees had lent him a small part of her allotment plot to assist his recovery. She’d also lent her neighbour – he lived several doors down from her – a few long-handled tools. Ratcliffe came daily in all weathers, scratched at weeds with a rake, turned a few inches of earth with a hoe, and half an hour later limped back to his car. Occasionally Alice discreetly removed clumps of weeds and sowed a few seeds on the strip. Otherwise Ratcliffe’s labours would’ve been wholly in vain.
Three months after starting, Ratcliffe’s health was unchanged. His walk was still laboured, his actions and thought as if made in slow motion. ‘I do what I can,’ he muttered. He was a tall, elderly man, his rugged features putting Alice in mind of a rocky steep. His cheekbones were hollowed out, his shoulders sunken, his expression as bleak as hard snow in the Brecon Beacons.
Continue readingAll the phrases she could think of to do with dilemmas seemed spiky and harsh: between a rock and a hard place; the horns of a dilemma; in a cleft stick, no avoiding the discomfort.
Louisa had systematically cracked all her finger joints (again) and had returned to pacing the length of her small room whilst twisting bits hair round her right index finger when the doorbell rang. It was, she knew, Julia. She knew, because she had summoned Julia to help with the insoluble decision-making process. It is possible that Louisa had dramatized, maybe even over-dramatized her predicament, of this she was also aware.
After a restorative hug the two settled to their task
‘I’m so glad you could come round so quickly,’ Louisa managed to get out between sniffles.
‘Well of course I came, you’re my oldest friend,’ soothed Julia, at least she hoped it was soothing.
‘Oldest?’.
‘Look, we’re the same age. OK, my longest serving friend. Get us a couple of glasses, I’ve brought Prosecco and Pringles to help us get through this. Oh, and I promised to meet Charlie at 9 so we need to get this wrapped up before half eight’.
Prosecco was drunk and Pringles were munched as the skeleton of the dilemma and its potential for resolution were laid out for consideration.
Julia attempted, to no avail it must be noted, to de-escalate the problem:
‘It’s a matter of the road not taken. There will be regrets and doubts but at least you will have made a firm decision for one path. And it will be the path that seems to be the least painful’
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So much for the boasts of virtual indestructability. Ground realities differ. Paul searched his memory for that specific web page. The photo that oozed seduction – a golden leather top layer and then 2 further layers, splayed like the pages of a flicked book. All fully breathable and heat conserving:
“This traditional snowshoe binding is composed of three layers of material riveted together. Each binding attaches to the snowshoe with two anchor points to reduce lateral movement of the heel, meaning the foot stays in line with the snowshoe”
Yvonne opened her eyes to a blackness and silence that caused her breath to stop and her heart to stutter. She lifted her hands up to feel her face, OK, I seem to be alive at any rate!
Putting her hands down she felt around, perceiving a slightly scratchy covering, probably a blanket, and a cool stiff fabric, a sheet. I can’t be in that much danger if they’ve put me in a bed!
Yvonne turned and put her feet down until they touched the floor. It was warm and slightly slippery. She stood up and, waving her hands in front of her, tried to find a wall in what she hoped was a bedroom.
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