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.