All entries for February 2010
February 27, 2010
Many thanks for reading my piece Sue, and for your comments. This was an experiment with voice and character rather than a comment on any actual situations or real people. I'd rather leave those comments (and the reading of them) to the people who wouldn't agree with your statement.
February 26, 2010
Disclaimer: The following piece is fiction based on an issue in the press and needs to be read in a high-pitched Geordie accent. I understand that it could be seen as a cheap shot at people in the public eye, but I actually do feel for the person it's based on. Although she would feature in most of those ridiculous 'Most Beautiful' lists, her husband can't get enough of other women. It just goes to show that there can never be enough when you're chasing vanity and it's trappings ... blah blah blah.
There were always difficulties with my marriage. Looking back, a black gay footballer probably wasn’t the ideal match for the racist member of an all-white girl band. But these conditions had been agreed, they were in our contract. He could continue to see his six foot six centre-half while I could smack whoever I liked in the face and I’d still be able host my telly shows.
In the end, it was his fault. Everyone was telling me to get rid of him. The Sun, the Daily Mail, the Star, even the Mirror: everyone. I phoned Adriana, my solicitor and she said that he didn’t have a leg to stand on. That was quite funny at the time, because he was injured with a broken ankle.
It was the women that did it, that destroyed the wonderful life we had together. And there wasn’t just one; you needed two hands to count them on. I didn’t mind that they were pretty; he’s got to keep have standards. And a couple of them were OK. Like Sophia the glamour model, and Laura the air hostess. But Julie was a hairdresser and Jacqueline worked on a market stall. I thought he’d broken into a TV soap. How he could touch me after being with them, I don’t know. Good riddance. That’s what my mam said, anyway.
February 01, 2010
This is inspired by (our very own) George Ttoouli.
I plucked up the courage
to send her a message
using a networking site –
the type you hate.
It’s not like going to a door and knocking,
more like slipping a note under it saying:
‘I called but you were out,’
but without calling first.
I’m in a great place creatively,
but after a week I’m still trying
to open my fridge from the wrong side
and my pears all ripened at the same time.
I know you how much you like your metaphor,
but I really love a ripe pear.
Thanks for the advice.
It was a stroke of luck
that I got a washing machine drum
and, you were right, it makes a perfect furnace.
I left her my best wishes
then wrote a bear into my next piece.
It didn’t attack anyone
but, psychologically, the damage was long-term.
(Inspired by Static Exile, George Ttoouli, 1979 – )