Thursday, 14 December 2017


Sometimes, or even many times, the creative process can fail. I need to bite, to feel a subject, before pressing the keys on a keyboard. I can start but quickly realise that I'm simply not 'feeling' something. Sometimes it's difficult to finish a Blog.

Here's a collection of words that didn't quite make it to an actual Blog post.  I go from the moment I start typing with Blog posts so I have to be fast. It's all about the feeling, as mentioned above, the actual emotion at that moment in my heart. Every... single... time.

There was once a time when I actually had to venture out into the day, to say hello, to speak actual real words that could be heard in person but that was a long time ago. We’re now in a new age, the Twitter, Tinder, social age of connecting without barely even lifting a finger.

It’s madness that I can copy in a hundred people, the never ending friends list, sending many words of worth or, at times, words that barely make any sense. There’s no room for grammar, soliciting wasted moments when all you need is a letter. It matters not that the word, or letter, conveys barely any understanding but that’s okay, that’s perfectly fine, as it’s all quickly forgotten.

The stream keeps on moving, endlessly, capturing vacant thoughts, reposts, copy and pastes, with barely any new media assembled to ensure a smile. We’re passive, aggressive, ever ready for a fight and quicker to vanquish something that shows success from another. We’re guilty, we’re all there, with the digital eye ever asking us to submit more and more.

But, when that is said, I’d prefer the analogue way, the olden days, of actual dates within a day, to share, to laugh, to smile with an actual person.

I always wanted one, a life, that thing that so many purported to own and share on a daily basis via social media. It seemed so serene, magical, filled with happiness and smiles of glee. Each picture, every single word, living a never ending dream of clean surroundings and soul feeding bliss.

I always wanted one, that life, with every solitary moment, each emotion, captured, distilled, created in a maximum shape of 2048px wide. Such beauty, such providence, a spiralling monument of momentary collages. I can, almost, taste the life I need to live, the life I want in so many ways.
I always wanted one, the life, where my moments were displayed to the world like a canvas full of fractures and faint ripples. I have shattered dreams to share, broken souvenirs, with doubts and fears hidden behind a smile or prevalence.

I always wanted one,

Suddenly, from the inner wishes of my soul, I decided to chase the moon that seemed to be surrendering in the dark sky. Jumping as high as I could manage I reached ahead, with all of my energy, grabbing hold of a star flying fast through the same sky. Swiftly, with ease, zooming away with the world’s wishes.

From the distance I spied a mountain, filled with forbidden fruit, a valley of wishes and fantasies. As the view approaches, appears, then vanishes behind me, surrounded by the star’s glow, I make a thousand wishes within a few seconds and moments. I want to be something that’s between black and white, something else, something… better.

I can see it, way away in the distance. The moon, glowing, smiling, casting a kind of solemn refection onto the world. It’s my destiny, it’s what I’m shooting for, where I need to be. Maybe I’ll float within the outer space, for a while, basking in the calm and silence of space. It’s hard to breath, it’s a place of splendour and fear, but that’s okay as I’m on an adventure of space and time.

I’ve mentioned flying, a few times, which seems to be a valid inflection of my spoken life. If you’re not flying then you’re grounded.

With all the strength I have in the world, I grasp, I hold, I try to retain you in this world but that’s not going to work. That’s never going to happen. The energy, the fire, it’s not enough and never will be. 

As a child we held hands, day after day, knowing that all the help I ever needed in the world was right by my side. I simply never, ever knew, that one day that hand may actually, forever and one more day, vanish from my reach. I’m strong in the world. I’m a bridge for others in this place, yet that came from you. You’re my blood, my life, which can never be forgotten as long as I can open my eyes and see the world.

There’s a lesson, there’s a momentary pause, there’s the life I’m in, within, that reminds me that I’m no more special than any other person. But, to you, I’m your Son, your life, the very reason why you still smile. 

We all must let go, at some point in our lives, as that’s life. There’s no preparation, there’s no saviour, there’s no book that will ease the answers before the question even appears. Time. The luxury of it all. Seconds. The moments we take for granted. Never look back at what you didn’t do, the things you said, as that’s all forgiven when a Mother looks at her son and tenderly whispers, “I love you!”

When you look into the eyes of your own children, if you have them, they too may one day have to say goodbye and that, that thought, is an extreme black hole of madness waiting to stab your heart until you bleed tears. It all comes back to time. How long? How much? What can we pay for more? 

There is no more time. There never will be.

I have to let you go

The darkness crawls, aware, knowing how and what I’m feeling. Looking through the large glass windows, surrounded by man made plastic, into the night sky, sleep evades my every single thought. I’m awake, I know why, I cannot state the how, but this is the case no matter what flows through this heavy mind of mine. I cannot stop thinking about you.

As with many thoughts in this world it started with something so innocent, a moments momentary glance, a whisper that seemed to be passed across the room like a magical voodoo spell with intentions to play with my mind, body and possibly soul. Forget the mention of my soul, it’s as if I no longer have such a thing, as it’s yours. Cursed, the long-forgotten emotions left behind within the void of past situations. I’d misplaced such thoughts, banished them towards a place that could never be found again, in the safe knowing smiles that I’d no longer be a slave to the fruits of this life.

They say that the very first hello, that singular moment of impotence, when the air escapes your lungs and forces your heart into a place of suspension, is one of those life changing instances that seldom happens to most of us. You turned and in one instant I had to stop. Gathering composure, reaching for a smile to appear on my lips as I ask my stance to behave, I approached and began the usual play of words.

I’m still here, looking at the ceiling, glancing across to the time displayed on the wall, wondering how I’d managed to get to this place, again, once again, the place that I’d wished I’d never approach. 

As the words flow, from my lips, the soft echoes exhaled from my mind, I can see that you’re not quite aware of the deception forming around you. I smile, ever so slightly, while mirroring your stance in a way to create conformity, symmetry, a bonding of moments and intentions. We’ve already discovered so much about each other, the same interests, the same visions, the various moments that we’ve shared, in this life of ours, while walking separate paths. Until now. Right now, here, together, minutes after saying the very first hello.

A few more moments fly past, words moving as they should, from person to person, respecting the flow of conversation, never interrupting other than to laugh or show a facial expression or two. I can appreciate, I can envision, but I’ve heard it all before. The same differences in all of us.  We’ve all seen a sunrise, possibly walked a few mountains in our time, kissed a few fools, slept with a few misses and regretted a second or two.

The drinks vanish, with renewed glass re-appearing as the hour strikes its hand against the clock. Time, flowing as it does when you’re having fun, within the objective, doesn’t care for what we have to say. It’s all forgotten before the words even appear within our minds. I know that I’m wearing a mask...

Staring at the phone, wasting time, thinking, excluding the thoughts that I should be thinking, I wait that little bit longer. It’s been awhile, an age, which feels like years, since I last listened to your voice. 

It thrills me, excites and fills my blood full of warmth and calm. You’re special, you’re ‘that’ person in my life. I miss you. Love you. Need you. But, when all thought is said and flutters through my mind, the words are nothing when compared to actually being with you. Around you, holding that hand of yours and, of course, battling through this world that’s been graciously given to us.

For everyone, for everything, find the warmth this Christmas and never, ever, let it go.  No matter the distance, or time… give love this Christmas.

Or £50. I’d also like £50.  Thanks.

Focussing across the ring, I know that you’re there, celebrating an early victory and relishing your jubilant outcome. I’m not one for confrontation but, when that’s said I’ve heard what’s been done, I’m hardly a shrinking violet and will protect what’s mine. This means, right now, that I’m here and I’m going to fight for what it’s all worth.

Vile words, pretentious assignations with others, it’s all been going on for far too long and, as I stand, I smack the gloves together knowing what I’m about to do, no matter what, needs to happen. Standing, slightly hoping from one leg to the other, adrenaline spikes and I’m called forward. The words of the ref resound in my head, meaningless moments, all vanishing as you stand in front of me.

The bell rings, echoing through the room, as the resonant shouts, screams and insane advice are thrown into the air.  Stepping forward with speed, you’re upon me as I defend my head. Words, slapping around my ears, doing little damage until you throw a solid jab into my...

Frank leaned over, opening the drawer, pulling out a small photo album. With sorrow filling his eyes, the moment suddenly slowing to a standstill, he places a hand onto the album and smiles through the sadness. Looking away from the photos, smile vanishing as quickly as it arrived, he handed the leather encased collection over to me and started his story.

They’d met, 42 years previously, in a busy market. He couldn't actually understand, or even recall, when he’d even visited the market on that precise day but, nevertheless, he was thankful for being there. Walking slowly, not really interested in all of the various items, ranging from old compact discs, to VHS tapes, he wasn't really that interested.

As he approached the exit he heard a commotion behind him and, looking behind, he caught sight of a woman complaining about a purchase with her back to him. In those days he was a big chap, bulky, as he worked out and, being honest, he didn’t really bother with hair gel so it seemed to just stick out a bit. It made him look tough, or stupid, but he didn’t mind either one really as he knew who he was at heart. He turned, walked over, to stand behind the woman. He glared at the guy who, catching Frank’s eye, quickly and quietly exchanged the item.

Tuesday, 12 December 2017


Licking his lips, just after exhaling the cigar smoke, he placed a finger ever so slightly above his head for what appeared to be less than a second. Watching the smoke move through the air, he held the dice between his fingers, quickly capturing the numbers and their position. The numbers flew through his mind and he settled on the digits required.

Double deuce, to many, was not the most important number but, right now, it was all he needed. He called it, spoke the numbers and there was no going back. The noise, within the area, settled to a calm buzz and as he threw the dice at a specific angle, while leaning towards his son, he whispered, “You see son, it’s all about the specifics in this life.”

The dice flew, almost reaching slow motion to the people gathered around the table. With the brief second, which is all it took before the dice started to bounce across the surface, he blinked and rested his hands onto the edge of the table. A sudden calm feeling reached his mind, a resting feeling, almost the same as a running water tap being turned off. Two bounces, maybe four, are all that the gatherers witnessed before they all focused on the dice.

The uproar nearly filled the entire place. The dice, exclaiming their number in virtual silence, screamed the double two that he’d predicted. He’d smile, maybe even dance a little dance, but any further attention, at this point, would not be warranted or required.  “Shall I add the winnings to your account Sir?” the host asked, to which a nodding head replied.

A small smile broke free, from his cast iron resolve, as he stepped away from the table taking his Son with him. “How do you keep on doing this, time after time?” his Son asked, realising that he’d never actually heard the solution the previous ten times he’d asked. As they reached the doorway, with a brief look behind him, they stepped out into the street. He realised, now that his Son had reached the age of understanding, that maybe it was time to explain everything.

Looking into his Son’s eyes, while slowly walking, he started to explain, “Maybe it is time. I know that you think that I’ve been cheating all…”
“I don’t Dad, not at all,” his Son interrupted, “Sorry, carry on!”
He could literally feel his Son’s interest escape from every single pour of his being, which was a good thing but, hopefully, he also had the resolve to see things through. Life wasn't easy, often cruel, but even worse than that is a mind going to waste. “What you see, is the dice fly through the air, coming to rest and the correct number appearing. What you don’t see, are the angles, the air within the room, the people around the table, the weight of the table, all of the opportunities to gather as much information on how the dice will land. You, as well as I, have a brain that can compute any number of outcomes. We've been to the Moon, we've split the Atom, so surely, honestly, you, or I, can gather information to ensure that the dice land exactly as they’re called?”

His Son, stopping in near disbelief, looked slightly confused as he tried to work through what was just said, “You, literally, figure out the amount of dice bounce, from just standing there?”
“It’s as simply as that. How hard will I throw the dice, with different surfaces presenting a different outcome. We've a veritable calculator up here Son,” pointing to his head, “which is left to rot. Filled with such rubbish that rests with us until the day we die.”

A great, big, silly smile appeared across his Son’s face finally, after all this time, realising that it wasn’t magic, or cheating, but actual talent. It moved him. “Can you show me?” he asked.
“Starting tomorrow, I will. But,” his Son’s smile slightly fell in fear of what was to be said next, “when you’ve analysed, figured everything out to a precise fashion, there’s the most important aspect that bonds it all together. Through failure, trying again and again, we realise that pure intelligence, or even just using what we have, is not enough without the heart. The heart forms and completes everything. Without that heart you cannot read the room, feel the room, know when to quit or to carry on. It’ll keep you going when your mind lets you down. When the world lets you down!”

Nearing the subway, he realised that there was a lot to learn, with many months ahead of them both, but he also knew that the mind could be used for so many other tasks. He’d decided on throwing a dice after his day job, but what would his Son truly become. No matter what he knew, what he said, he still couldn’t see the actual future. Sure, he rolled the dice, made his bets, judged the odds and won, but this wasn’t about his life. He turned to his Son, looking straight into his eyes while calmly asking, “Are you ready to roll the dice on life Son?”  His Son nodded, smiled, smirked a little, knowing that the future was about to get much more interesting. Besides, no matter what happened next, he knew that a mind was a terrible thing to throw away. It was, as his Father said, time to role the dice on life. Now or never, his numbers had arrived and he was going to embrace this path with vigour.


How are you going to roll the dice today?

Wednesday, 6 December 2017


The music flowed through the air, soothing, sending calm vibrations into the dimly lit room. He knew, he literally tasted the music in the air, and felt its embrace as he walked across the room to the decanter.  Lifting a Glencairn glass he poured the exquisite Macallan whiskey and, as the aroma rose into the air, he savoured the experience and sipped. Slowly, tasting, feeling and ensuring that the pleasure reached his inquisitive mind.

Satisfied, aware that there were other pleasures in this lavish room, he placed the glass back onto the magnificent wooden cabinet and walked across to the Plume Blanche sofa. Running his fingertips across the soft fabric, which, above all things, featured a diamond encrusted setting, he smiled. With closed eyes, he let it fill his senses. He started to laugh while whispering ‘Magnifique’, to himself.

He was born, all those years previous, with a sense above others, a knowing, an innate longing. It started, slowly at first, like a flame wishing to roar, threatening to whisper words of desire and need. He’d sensed it, even talked about it at an early age, wishing and wondering about what he was experiencing. Knowledge, after all, could be a pleasurable endeavour. What you know, how you think, could design your life into a perfect state of order or, even, complete chaos if decided upon.

Opening his eyes, feeling his mind move from place to place, taking in the scene with unprecedented speed, he knew exactly what he liked and ensured that he would have it. Everything. No matter the cost, would be experienced. As a child, on the first day that he’d held silk, he knew that he had to experience everything life had to offer. He never struggled, as he knew his vices, his requirements of life, which meant study and placing himself in the right place, at the right time.

Money, that one thing that many desire, became such an easy commodity to acquire. It bored him, it held little value, as there was always an endless stream to be made. It never stopped, the pursuit of wealth, to which he decided to leave to a selection of others. He held a watchful eye but, after figure x, or even y, it held little worth.

He recalled the first time that he was truly upset, the first real time that he’d experienced real mental pain in his young life. His pet, the family dog, had passed away after living such a good life. He’d seen to this as it was his duty to ensure happiness for others. It hurt all the way to his very core, his beliefs, but this was life. After this moment, that one instance, he protected himself. Happiness, to him, had to stay stable. It was an absolute necessity. Pleasure, on the other hand, was the most important fact within his thinking.

Be it food, the finest wine, the lavish clothes or the latest accessory, he would experience it all. Maybe he was lacking something, some crazy chemical in his mind, or maybe he was far more attuned to touch and the aura of things. He needed to feel, to envelop his life with all good things. He’d worked damn hard, exhaustingly hard, which many simply did not see, so he deserved what was in front of him.

Looking back to the Whiskey, leaving the sofa to sit in its place, while touching the fabric on his Alexander Amosu Vanquish suit sleeve, he looked at his Audemars Piguet Royal Oak watch. It was nearly time. The greatest experience, he’d ever experienced, above the fast cars, the luxury apartments, the visits to the most aural locations in this world, was about to arrive. He’d always held his guard, for many, many years, as he didn't want to fully embrace his desire to feel with another, to touch, until a year ago. He knew that he had a weakness, a method to his inner madness, which he’d felt while taking a lover, or two, maybe even three, if he felt like it, but on that one very solace filled moment, he let his eyes become his soul, his wiring cross, his pleasure capacity finally letting go and falling.

The greatest pleasure, the most intense experience he’d ever had, ever felt, ever desired, was, above all, you.

Monday, 4 December 2017

Influx - Intro

At first you wonder what’s going on, standing there, living within the utter silence, with everything and everyone static for 12 minutes. At first you just stop, looking in disbelief, then, after the second time it happens, that disbelief starts to turn into whatever you like.

It started six months ago, while walking through the streets of this great big metropolis, minding my own business when everything around me, literally, stopped. Cars, buses, dogs, cats, even pigeons, everything and everyone just froze. I recall eating popcorn, when it first happened, as I watched a couple of them fall only to stop a few inches away from the floor. It took me awhile to realise but I might just be the only person that this doesn't happen to.

After the fear fell away, descending into playful mischief, I’d started to re-arrange scenes but that was before someone died due to my meddling. Life has a force, a speed, which cannot be stopped. Or so I believed. Wind up a toy car, set it in place, then let go to see a great big thrust of life speed things back into action. Each change that I made had consequences, so after that death, I decided not to change anything unless it seemed reasonable.

In each of the 12 minutes I’d managed to gather as much money as possible, any possessions I liked, leading to life becoming a little bit stale. Imagine having the opportunity to own whatever you liked. Sure, it was stealing, but in the great scheme of things, the way things worked, we were all being short changed anyway. Anything and everything, for those 12 minutes within a day, were available and readily within reach.

Once, on my daily travels, I actually decided to stop a bank robbery. It was easy. Just wait, then on the dot, as the time approached, I’d just nip in and remove all of the weapons and drag each of them outside. Quite a bit of work depending on the size of the person but it was fun seeing their faces once the time elapsed.

12 minutes. Madness. Fun. Sometimes exciting, often strikingly cold and empty, but it carried on happening day after day. I recall visiting my family, the ‘olds’ as they liked to refer to themselves. They were still so young but, once the time arrived, I’d sit there just looking at them, burning their image into my mind as I knew that, one day, they’d leave this place. 12 whole minutes of calm and remembrance. Anything they wanted, they had, without question, but with limits. Although 12 minutes wasn't the longest time, I made sure that each item wouldn't be missed. It was one thing to be able to do whatever I liked but, eventually, someone, somewhere, might just notice.

I’d listen, wait, and then travel to a location where crime ran free. They wouldn't miss their cash, or guns, and they wouldn't come looking that far in fear of questions. They usually turned on each other but that was away from any conscience I had.

I realised, after a while, that if I walked up to an item, once everything stood still, I could usually get it to continue. It took concentration and effort, but eventually I’d get there. I knew, however, not to drive a car until after the time elapsed. That could get tricky smashing straight into a stopped car.

Everything became normal, very normal, as with many things in life. I’d see devastation in some of the buildings I’d visit, looked into the eyes of stone vapid killers, then take every single scrap of cash they’d taken from others. I’d leave gifts for people that didn't seem to have much in life, but with many things it was the individual day that decided what I’d do.

Many would think that I'm being calm but, you would be to, because losing my mind just wouldn't work with the situation I'm in. I want to stay alive, I need to keep on living and although I'm on my own in all of this, I’d going to find help on this very day. There’s a couple of people that I think can help so the time is now. After all, although I've come to terms with things, although I know that this may never stop, I'm okay with the way things are, or were, until the day that I saw them everywhere. Then, as the 12 minutes arrived, they moved.

Tuesday, 21 November 2017


Flicking the light switch, up, then down, then repeating a few times in a vain effort to change the known, a smile appears on my face and I look down the long corridor. Serene, at peace, a long solemn but never forgotten building. I’d lived here, as a child, until I thought that I was ready to face the world, the great supposed known. I knew little back then, probably still don’t know enough, but if I could I’d have probably stayed a little bit longer.

I was eager, alive, full of energy, just like the walls in front of me and probably as tough.  They most certainly no longer make houses like this. Running my fingers across the wall, as I slowly walk forward, I close my eyes a little, remembering the daily buzz. Playing with toys, from one end to the other, trying not to trip anyone as they went. My Father, as with many Fathers, wasn't here that much or, if he were, silence was the spoken tongue until he left again. Mother, as usual, stayed to turn us into the adults we were destined to be. She tried her best, being as magical as she was, always remaining someone to cherish, to look up to, but like many things in this world… there is a time.

A momentary second of sadness floods my mind. I know that I'm never alone but, no matter who I'm with, there will always be that space. This building, with its mood filled light emanating through the window at the end of this hallway, would always stay within a small little secret place within my mind. Memories, mostly good, always a smiling event, bring with them a longing to return to such easier days. I know that it won’t happen, it’s far too late for that, but I can at least revisit one, last, little, time.

It’s odd to think, to realise, that no matter how many oceans you travel, no matter the names you write across your lips, you still return to those special places and moments. As children we might eventually let go of the comfort blankets, the teddies of safety, but there will always be moments that hold and comfort. I know that I don’t need such things, as I'm supposed to be strong, a statue, never failing to protect the ones I love, but there will always, always, be cracks just below that surface of valour. I do, after all, harbour broken souvenirs that no-one will ever take from me.

I remember stamping my foot, in defiance, in this very doorway all those years previous. My Mother, being the way she was, didn't shout and simply waited for me to calm myself. Shouting didn't work, as we were kids, my Sister and I, but what did work was common sense. Mother would eventually sit me, while I was still in a mood, then calmly explain the circumstances.  On this occasion, she said something that has stayed with me right until this very day and that little slice of advice was the following, “The longer you spend in a mood, the longer you waste time that could be used playing. There’s a reason why Mother says no and, if you’d just accept that, your life would be a lot easier”. I reflected for a long time, sat there, using this silly brain of mine, to reach a conclusion that was obviously obvious. Mother knew best. Always had. Always did. Always will.

This house, right now, was reaching the end of its life, with a new dawn arriving, looking for a friend that was no longer there. Time moves on, always, which means the old is eventually, in many cases, replaced with the new. It’s a progression, it’s life, it’s the cycle we’re stuck within and, even when this house and home is torn down I’ll still drive past and remember. This place, right here, held my heart within my Mother’s hands. It’s part of me. We all have places that are part of us.

As I reach the end of the corridor, I glance back down the hallway, for the very last time. Nodding ever so slightly I remind myself to never forget, to never let time fade my memories and moments. This place has felt my tears, had my blood touch its surface in one of those grandiose childish falls, heard me shout and held me so close. “Goodbye”, I said under my breath.

For everything, there is a time.

Thursday, 16 November 2017


Walking into the room, the heavy door closing slowly behind me, I cast my eyes quickly across the surroundings and people. I know that I'm not your favourite person, right now, but I know what I'm here for and, if it’s something that I'm very good at, it’s apologies. The thing with apologies is that you only have to do one, simple, easy, little thing and that’s to frankly mean the words that escape from your mouth. Three simple little words. I’d chuckle a little, even smile, but I have to remain in the mood, keep the composure constant, as I wouldn't want to portray anything other than the solace I'm bringing with me.

I brush my shoulders, just in case, ensuring the spick and span etiquette be kept along with that mood I’d just mentioned. Reaching the bar, not too fast, not too slow, walking with defined confidence I make an order which receives a polite nod from the chap behind the bar. Something sensible, not too strong, as I can save that type of luxury for later. A type of credence is required, for the moment, with restraint being kept in control.

Turning, ever so slightly, I'm aware that you’re here. That’s unavoidable. I can feel you before I even enter a room. Maybe that’s why we’re so good together. Maybe that’s why it hurts when I know that I've done something wrong. I'm usually not the type to actually say a bad word, a moment out of time, or a lax interjection, but I'm human and the pretence of perfection is a hard thing to maintain. I'm not perfect, I'm far from an ideal dream filler, but I do try. You know that I try.

Demons entering my mind, as I take a small sip of my chosen sustenance, I make a move and in that second I can feel my heart start to taint my thoughts. That little trip, the cacophony of beats reaching into my ears trying to destroy that ever so controlled composure mentioned before. It will not have its way. It will not control me. Adrenaline be damned, be it controlled, or ruin what I'm intending to do and say.

The room suddenly feels very, very small. The view from my eyes seems to be closing in as I approach. It’s haunting, it’s an embarrassingly embracing feeling to know that I care so much for a person that my own body betrays my mind. Breathing, starting to shallow, before I admonish myself for letting my emotions over ride my thoughts. Again and again, I remind myself that I'm only here for one reason, for one person, which means that my own self-preservation can, for now, be pushed to the side.

As control returns I gather myself and look ahead, straight towards you. Eyes lock, small smiles appear, but I can see that you've been caused pain. It’s written across those eyes of yours whereas, being honest, I should only ever write my name across those lips. I've missed you, so damned much. If I'm not kissing you, then I'm failing with life. It’s a command, it’s my very reason, to love and hold you. It’s not a difficult task, it’s hardly moving a mountain, but it’s what I would and should do anyway. I'm supposedly a man and, to me, that’s what men should do.

My mind wants to race, it even wants to hide, but it’s too late as I'm here, you’re there in front of me, so now is the moment and this is where I do what I'm supposed to do. The smile doesn't hide your feelings but it does betray that you've missed me and, of course, I've missed you. Life simply isn't the same without you. It’s empty. Expressionless. Void of many reasons. I've already spoken the most important three words that a person can share with another, with each other, those ‘I love you’ moments, but now I'm here to simply say the second most important words,

 “I'm very sorry”.

Friday, 10 November 2017


Let me tell you a quick story, about how I used to be. I was a bad little f**ker back when I was a kid and it was only going to get worse! You see, being honest with you, I had already done a lot of crazy sh*t, hurtful stuff, but that’s what you get when you've been dragged from place to place, home to home, not quite knowing where and how things would happen.

It all changed, one day, just after my mother cried for the second time. I don’t know which day as I didn't care about that stuff back then. Wednesday, Monday, all the same when you’re a kid waiting for something to happen. I’d just been expelled from another School, something about smacking a kid in the face until his lip burst, as well as smashing a window, but that’s neither here or there. We did stuff back then.

You see, I’d smashed the sh*t out of my Piggy bank, filling my hands with whatever I could find, as well as my secret pennies taken from the burst lip kid, as I wanted to get my Mum something to eat. We’d hit hard times, as usual, with another dead beat guy using my Mum for the usual stuff, making all of the promises in the world, delivering none, then taking another dream away. It was real. A wake up call for a kid like me.

I made my way to the shop. Sure, I could have bought some sh*t, chocolate, or filled myself with sugar, but I just wanted to buy my Mum something. That was all. I’d seen her cry far too many times as she just wanted a break, something real to hang onto, so there I was, a sh*t of a kid, barely passing an adults knees in height, off to the shop on my own.

I got there, as it wasn’t far, looking at the prices while being watched as usual. Yeah, okay, I’d stolen a f**k load of stuff but I wanted to do better. This was my present to my Mum. Maybe I was already starting to realise the sh*t I’d done. Maybe. Don’t know. Anyway I looked at the damn Pot Noodles. Bloody Pot Noodle. Two for one, or some sh*t, with me barely being able to count. Pays to listen in School you know.  Anyway the guy walks over, not happy with me being there, muttering something about being two for three quid. Yeah… I didn’t have enough and he just wanted me out of there.

So, there I am, in some f**king shop, crap all over my face, looking like a train had hit me, standing there looking confused as  the store guy goes on and on obviously wanting me to leave. A guy comes over, some stranger, saying in a calm voice, “I’ll get them for you!”  He reaches up and grabs two Pot Noodles, taking them over to the till. I didn’t know what to do. It’s new to me. I walk across, looking up, to announce, “I have money for them!”

The guy looks down, quickly, “I know you do but it’s okay.” Just like that, one moment of damn kindness confused me. Mum always said to never speak to any strangers and, looking at it from where I am today, the guy wouldn’t look at me so I didn’t have to talk to him anyway. He had a calm voice, kind, obviously, then when finished he handed them to me and before I could say anything else he walked out of the shop. I stood there wondering what had just happened and then, slowly, walked out of the store. The store keeper kept an eye on me the entire way. F**ker.

By the time I’d walked outside he was in his car, starting to drive away and, I kid you not, I put my arm into the air and gave him the biggest thumbs-up I’d ever given in my life and, for a second, a smile appeared across my face. F**k me. Someone being kind. Baffled me. When you’re a little, nasty, nasty f**ker you do give off that kind of appearance that people ignore.

I ran home, burst through the door, handing my Mum the Pot Noodles. She looked at me, with a daft expression on her face, before small tears appeared in her eyes. I know, I know, I was a damn kid, but that melted something in my head, maybe even heart if I had one, but it changed something for me. Some random person being kind, not a twisted f**ker, with nothing to gain, just being kind and, seeing my Mother cry, made me think about my actions moving forward. Yeah, I was still an evil sh*t but I was still kind. I was just evil to people that deserved it, not just everyone. Look at me now, with my own kids and wife, doing what I’m supposed to be doing. Providing, being there, helping. Being kind.

All because of Pot f**king Noodles.


Could be a true story. Maybe. Somewhere.