This is the post excerpt.
This is my very first post. At this stage there is no plan. No structure. No idea where this is going! I am not a natural or gifted writer but for some reason I often get the urge to write. I’ve never shared any of it before but now, perhaps it is time!
Stitches in a head wound, the most money I’d ever spent.
There’s a spaceship in the window of the corner shop.
I’ll buy it one day.
There’s an oak tree over a concrete bus stop,
I’ll climb it one day.
The car chased by the cousin’s dog. Fighting in a garage. Football on the pitch. It wasn’t a pitch.
It’s all true.
the folks who say was when it
should be were
then the ones who say their when it should be there
or the crowd that write where when it should be were
and those trying to write were but end up with we’re
They’re over there with their auto correct not auto correcting them
you’re right to point their mistakes out but it is non of your business
anyway not as bad as the people who say innit
I’m a worrier by nature, a non believer.
I remember growing up never quite believing what the teacher was saying. I’m not sure if that makes me a smart free thinker or a twat! Probably the latter.
I remember watching Mark splattering the white lab coats of the engineering instructors in Crewe works and thinking; that’s not right!
But I still laughed. Does that make me a bad person?
So when I see the idiots not complying with the ever so simple rules of “Stay at Home” , is it the same?
Because when Mark splattered his fountain pen on the back of the white coated teacher, – Nobody was going to die as a consequence!
I still worried! I still couldn’t believe it!
Stay at Home !
inequitable inequality of life bears down on poor souls who can’t go to town to rid themselves of stress in pubs or cafes. Oh what a mess.
those with gardens can de stress, videoing copies of celebrities doing stuff no less
kicking balls into bins or playing music and singing
non the less
The time has come to confess
This virus is winning and to to deny that is sinning
where’s god when you need him?
All because Colin didn’t ever forgive Geraldine her incontinence, just kisses Lottie more naughtily on purpose, quoting rodent squirrels talking utterly vile words. Xerus yielding zoophobia.
Mexican keeper started out in the lower leagues in China before a successful move to Italy and finally a lucrative transfer to the UK – Never popular in fact he divides people.
Young lad from the Valleys who runs through walls for his team mates. Failed rugby player – bit thick to be honest.
Son of the famous Brazilian Moses but pretends he comes from Israel and knows Donald Trump
Erudite German with delusions of grandeur. Likes a good night club VIP room.
Scandinavian centre half who takes no prisoners but refuses to fly for away games. Nickname- Babybel
Zimbabwean son of a former dancer. Fast feet and a penchant for class A drugs
Full trans in a man’s world – Takes no shit from feminists and misogynists alike.
Tall Scottish lad from a long line of Johnson’s who always call their first born son John. French wife, two kids called John and Jean
Karl de Police
Dutch father German mother, takes penalties and liberties on team nights out.
Lawrence Faq Known as Lol.
Millennial, speaks fluent text and has double opposable thumbs.
Youngest nephew of 1980’s pop legend Ivor, frequently the focus of changing room banter because of the nominal lie.
Wannabe brothers who really really wannabe themselves.
None of these people are connected to Frank Lampard in any way!
She talks a lot
she tells stories
there are characters and drama
there is jeopardy and karma
people win people lose
there is always booze
She talks a lot
there are plot lines and images
there are idiots and villages
People win people lose
some choose the booze
Fat bodies betrayed by the poor choices of the poor, steak bakes, happy meal deals, lager and more.
Betting shop reeking of desperation disguised as hope,
a poverty trap play pen where mostly men’s dreams ride on a dog or a horse. A football accumulator never-land, never wins of course.
Machines offer undeniable friendship coded to strip them monetarily naked whilst leaving them certain they can beat the odds. The poor sods leave the arena skint and numb, believing they were unlucky, instead of sad with a hint of dumb.
Vape shop to pastie shop to betting shop,
daily routines of Britain’s next crop
of benefit beneficiaries, the entitled poor,
tory hating, nationalist; racist for sure.
Adidas street warriors, social media zombies.
Ironic tracksuits and pyjama onesies.
An nhs timebomb built on misspent youth,
sucking up extreme opinion delivered as truth
Paris in the sunshine of early June is a lovely place. Sitting on the pavement terrace of a cafe / restaurant and every time the metro train passes underneath the ground shakes a little! There are many nationalities in this city – mostly tourists; but also lots of the service workers seem to be from elsewhere. There’s a Chinese man drinking cafe latte with a spoon! Two elderly German ladies are arguing (or maybe not, it is hard to tell). Hybrid Buses, cars, taxis and middle aged men on electric scooters go past on the road, stopping and starting with the rhythm of the lights. The pavement is equally busy as lunchtime approaches and Parisians must be fed.
I ponder what this street and terrace and cafe would have been like 75 years ago in early June when the Germans would have been young men hearing rumours of an Allied invasion. I’m sure even then Paris, in the sunshine, was a lovely place!