A friend just told me I saved his life. “Literally?” “Literally.” “But how?” “You know that day we bumped into each other?” “You looked awful.” “I felt awful. But then you appeared, so I went home and sorted my life out.” “Really, it was that easy?” “Yes, really, that easy.”




All I deserve

May 30, 2013

I’m an Online Reputation Management expert. I airbrush people’s digital pasts for a living. You’d think, then, that I’d be more careful with my own internet activity. That’s what my wife thought too, until she caught me red handed in a photograph on Facebook. Tonight, I’m sleeping at the office.

Facebook photo

Original photograph by Rileyroxx

Art for love’s sake

May 29, 2013

“If Postmodernism followed Modernism,” the eager art student queried after the class, “what came next?” “Nothing,” replied Caroline, his tutor, “or rather, everything.” Silence. “Because everything produced now is Postmodern,” she explained. But the student wasn’t listening because all he really wanted was to ask Caroline out for a drink.




The metamorphosis

May 28, 2013

“You’re practically nocturnal!” I yelled at my teenage son, whose routine was to sleep all day and go out all night. I was worried, especially the morning he returned with blood around his mouth. “Are you ok?” I asked. It was only then that I noticed his especially sharp incisors.

** this week’s WordPress writing challenge asked for us to tell the story of a human to animal metamorphosis. I know vampires have been done to death (ha!), but I just couldn’t resist. Details of the challenge are HERE

“Where to then? Somewhere romantic. Paris? Or Venice?

“I was thinking somewhere a bit different. Istanbul perhaps. Or even Reykjavik.”

“Maybe we should be a bit closer to home though, what with things at work.”

“And your mother’s hip.”

“Should we just stay here then?”

“It’s probably for the best.”


War is not the answer

May 26, 2013

From the war ravaged rubble that was once her home, the small girl smiled up at the man who had come to help. A doctor, he would surely heal her mother’s wounds. That was what she believed, because the alternative, for such an innocent young child, was just too terrifying.

Doll in rubble

** sorry if this is rather heavy for a Sunday story, it’s just what’s on my mind.

“Hello?” I called out as I stepped through the door. Silence. “It’s me,” I tried again, “it’s freezing out there.” It was no use pretending that nothing had happened, we both knew your temper and my jealousy were the problem. And suddenly, there you were. “Cathy,” you smiled, “you’re home.”

wuthering heights

 ** HINT: my friend, Paul Kerton, once wrote an Illustrated Biography of the singer and writer of this song



May 24, 2013

“Wait…did anyone follow you here?”




“Ahem…the cat is on the chair.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The cat…is on…the chair.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You mean you’re not who I think you are?”

“That depends who you…”

“Look, are you or are you not my contact?”


“Oh, never mind.”

The cat is on the chair

Mary’s borders were well stocked, her lawn perfectly manicured and the greenhouse overflowing with flowers and fruit. But unlike her friends at the local horticultural society, Mary had not yet gone organic. Instead she chose to employ every available garden chemical, which is how she became known as Contrary Mary.



GROUPIE: What do you do in the band?

JACK: I play guitar.

GROUPIE: That’s so cool.

JACK: We’ve got a gig tonight.

I’ll put you on the guest list if you want.

GROUPIE: Really?

 The groupie yelps excitedly.

Jack winks at the lead singer.

100 Club

** this fictional story is dedicated to my little brother (pictured) who played with his band at the 100 Club in London last night. For the record, he’s not called Jack and he won’t have been hitting on any groupies.