January 31, 2013

I am on an island, though I can’t say where exactly. Tall palms line the sandy beach, lush vegetation beyond. The sky is turquoise blue, the sea is clear as glass. My boat is nowhere to be seen, but I like it here, it feels safe. I think I’ll stay. 


A changed man

January 30, 2013

I won the lottery yesterday. But unlike those people who insist the sudden acquisition of a small fortune won’t change them, my new bank balance most certainly will change me. In fact, I’ll have so much cosmetic surgery to alter my appearance, no-one will recognise me. Not even my wife.

The bigger picture

January 29, 2013

On the face of it, all was well. The warmth of summer  soothed passersby as they strolled, carefree. Only the young couple, locked in grave embrace, had heard the cataclysmic news. Within minutes the trams would fail, the sun would cease to shine and the people would be gone. Forever.

**This is my entry to this week’s WordPress writing challenge. Details, plus the photograph this Fifty Words is based on, are here: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/01/28/writing-challenge-1000-words/#more-13580

This morning I was woken by the futile, wretched labour of a new week’s birth. Then the fraught denial of five more worthless working days ahead, painfully punctuating the tragic conclusion of my wasted weekend like a full stop, cold and final. Why don’t I like Mondays? You tell me.

“That went down like a damp squid,” my girlfriend sneered, seizing the opportunity to criticise me in public. “A damp what?” “Squid,” she repeated.  “All squids are damp,” I scorned, “it’s squib, you idiot.” Her friends stared, then snarled: “that went down like a damp squib.” Then she left me.

Being a follower of fashion doesn’t mean I’m a fashion victim. It’s up to me if I spend a month’s salary on a spring 2013 capsule wardrobe. Or if I choose to queue overnight to be first in line for the new high street designer collection. Victim? No, just dedicated.


Suburban frontline

January 25, 2013

As the war correspondent for a national newspaper I have to keep my wits about me at all times. Snipers, missiles, landmines, they all pose a serious threat. So imagine my surprise when, strolling through the park one lazy Sunday afternoon, I was struck down by a low flying pigeon.

I got engaged last night. “No way!” squealed my best friend, “prove it.” “I can’t,” I explained, I’ve lost the ring. We searched everywhere. Later, eating my homemade apple crumble, I bit into something rock hard. “Here it is,” I shouted excitedly. The proof was, quite literally, in the pudding. 

Cold hands, warm heart

January 23, 2013

Complaining this morning about the Arctic conditions, a friend asked if I had a hot water bottle, because hers provides great comfort through the long, cold nights. I did have one – red and heart shaped, a gift from an ex-girlfriend – but it perished. This is the story of my life.

As the singer in a world famous rock band I have a duty to live up to my fans’ expectations. Throwing televisions out of hotel windows, inviting groupies backstage, wild antics on the tour bus. It gets a bit tedious though. Sometimes I just fancy a nice cup of tea.