I once went to a Frankie Miller tribute concert at the Glasgow Barrowlands when Joe Walsh played Rocky Mountain Way. It was the perfect musical occasion. A favourite song played by a kick ass band in a great venue. Hairs stood up, chills went down my spine and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with happiness. This happens when I walk onto a stormy beach. This is like my favourite band playing in an intimate venue just for me with sound and visuals provided by nature. I love it. View full post »
The door swung open with a rather grand sweep into a small hall whose walls were covered in posters for the various community outreach programs, health board initiatives and council schemes to keep the populous healthy. He glanced at them as he started climbing the stairs to the first floor rooms of the councillors. With each step his feet felt heavier. He heard a door crash open and the clip of high heels cross the floor above him. With an effort he kept his pace and continued climbing while another door crashed open and a female figure appeared on the landing.
“Where the Hell have you been? I’ve been waiting for ages!” she hissed. View full post »
Two men sit in large comfortable arm chairs either side of a low coffee table in a darkened office. A light shines softly above the table, the rest of the room is in shadow. There is music pulsing from below. Their conversation stops as the door opens and the music becomes much louder. A large man wearing an immaculate if conservatively cut suit walks through it carrying a tray with two cups, a cafetiere, a jug of milk, a bowl of sugar and a plate with shortbread on it. He half pirouettes as he closes the door with his foot and the music returns to a muffled thump. The man carefully places the tray on the table, delicately pushes on the plunger on the cafetiere until it is fully depressed then carefully pours coffee into both cups. He then adds milk and two lumps of sugar to one cup.
“And you sir, how do you take your coffee?” He asks
Eh, loadsy milk an’ three sugars pal” replies the smaller of the two men. He seems ill at ease. He constantly shifts to find a comfortable position. His name is Joe. View full post »
It is a midweek evening in early 2003. I am sitting slumped in my car, disconsolate, arms folded, staring sullenly out of the side window. Rain speckles and blurs the glass. The wipers intermittently clear the screen. I can’t get the variation in the timing of the sweeps quite right and every so often the blades screech and judder their way across the glass.
I am half a mile from my house, in fact I am looking at the back of it. As the crow flies it’s only about a quarter of a mile. I have been sitting staring at the house for 20 minutes now. It is as dark inside the house as it is outside. Nobody home yet. I can see the steam rise from our central heating boiler vent. At least it isn’t a cold dark house. Just dark. I wonder why my wife Rosie isn’t home. I am in a queue for the last of the 16 roundabouts that come between my work and my house. My work is as dreary and unrewarding as the journey to it. 16 roundabouts in 17 miles and I am stuck waiting for whatever is blocking the last one. One more to go but I am trapped in my car, in the dark and the rain. I am going nowhere. I am very depressed. View full post »
It was the 7043 hour of Christmas Day and Epiphanius was tired. Being one of Santa’s Little Helpers was hard enough but each day of Christmas Day seemed longer than the day before. He hadn’t had a day off for weeks now and he was exhausted. It must have been easier in the old days. Back then Santa only delivered to a few children but now there were hundreds of millions of them, each expecting a visit on Christmas night. Epiphanius wished a few more children had been naughty this year.
He wished that his ancestors hadn’t discovered trans-dimensional travel. He really wished that the first person they met wasn’t that crazy bishop guy. He wished that they hadn’t brought back his religion that now had Epiphanius and tens of thousands of others spending what seemed like every waking hour of their lives delivering presents to children on that insane, self destructing, over populated and ungrateful planet. View full post »