Monthly Archives: February 2013


“Do you like the silence?”
The words felt awkward the minute he’d used them.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean?”

He reached down and took a sip from the cold coffee without moving his eyes.

“Actually, I’m not sure I do either” he scanned the room looking for help, some inspiration from somewhere.

“Why did you say it then?”

She sounded angry, at least he thought she did. Probably. Maybe. He wasn’t sure, but in this situation it was always best to side with caution.

“I dunno, I… I just. . . . I’m sorry.” A sigh left his mouth, though the last few h’s stuck to his bottom lip. His shoulders dropping so quickly and unwittingly that for a moment he thought he felt the weight of his own head.

“Sorry? What are you sorry for, do you even know?”

I’m not getting drawn into this one. Not again, he thought. He knew he wasn’t the only person to have had that thought and he also knew he was almost certainly going to get drawn into this one. Again.

“Look, I, I just mean to say that I’m not sure I can handle the cold, silent treatment. I mean, I get it, ok? I understand the reasoning behind it all,” his confidence began to swell with each word, “but frankly this is shit. I’ve spent the last 6 days staring at the walls, wishing they’d close in. I’ve barely eaten, I’ve drunk more in the last week than I did in the whole of December and can’t even remember the last piece of work I actually did. I don’t like it and more importantly I don’t want to like it”.

“Are you quite finished?”

He paused for a moment, the confidence draining from him like yesterday’s bath water. “Yes.”


He knew she was thinking.

He stared at the screen.

“It’s not all about you. You know that, right?” He nodded in agreement towards the words.
“You can’t have it your own way all of the time. It just doesn’t work like that. I know you know that.”

“I just..” his fingers fell from the keyboard, defeated.

“I know.”

He tried again, “I can’t…”

“It’s hard. I know it is. It’s hard for me too, you must know that?”

It was his turn to sit in silence. He stared at his fingers, poised over the keys considering an answer that needed no thought at all. He believed her. He always did. He trusted her with his entire life so why would he suddenly have reason to doubt her now? He took a deep breath.

“I do.”




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The gardener

Last night we discussed show and tell techniques, the extremes of both and how to strike the ideal balance. Below is my show piece using the feeder line “I brought the gardener out a cup of coffee. “Thanks,” he said”

It was interesting to hear some of the other pieces, a great many of which went with a slight Mills & Boon slant to the gardener. I wonder what that says about my class mates?

I brought the gardener out a cup of coffee. “Thanks,” he said as he took the chipped crockery from my hand. I noticed the filth under his fingernails as his rough fingers brushed mine and clasped the drink.

I stepped back, wobbling slightly as I avoided the freshly dug up flower bed.

“Careful,” he instructed, as he wiped the murky brown liquid from his lips with the back of his hand. He took another sip. “Mmm, it’s really good. Thanks again.” I smiled knowingly. The good stuff was still brewing in the kitchen.

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Who want’s coffee?

Living life behind a two way mirror.
Can’t see out but they all look in.
Staring at the monkey as he peels his banana.
Trapped inside his false blank grin.


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Asleep in the hay

College assignment: An eye witness account of something I couldn’t possibly have seen.
I decided to attempt a scripted version of this. Not sure I really got what wanted down on paper, so I might tackle this again some other time. Anyway, here it is. Excuse the formatting, it’s gone a bit shonky.

Fade up from black.

Int- Pub. The sound of pool being played, beers being ordered and fruit machines being fed.


Seriously mate, you a’narf come out with some utter bollocks sometimes. Like that time you tried to tell us you used to be Peppa Middleton’s bum chum?




Her name was Pippa. Is. Her name’s Pippa. And I never said I was her bum chum. I used to go out with her best mate’s cousin and…


Peppa, Popper, Plipper, Pippa, whatever. The point is, you really do come out with some shit, Bill.


Hang on, I think we’re missing the point a bit here. Claiming to be a mate’s mate of the queen’s sister is one thing but to come in here, bold as brass, on a Sunday of all days and say that..


…that I was at the birth of Jesus Christ.


That you were at the birth of Jesus Christ. Yes. Can you even hear yourself speak, mate? How are we only hearing about this now, by the way? Why not last Wednesday at 5s, or the other month at the Lane? Why now? Why are you choosing today to come forth with this grandiose bullshit? Was you touched in the night by an angel..?


[under his breath so everyone can hear] More likely he was touched by his uncle Dave.


…Or are you just bored?

Billy stands staring at Craig, then looks down at his pint glass.

Flashback- Billy is staggering home drunk from The Cross on the Hill, a trail of chips behind him as if Hansel and Gretel had taught him a clever way of remembering how to find his way back to the pub the next day. Suddenly there’s a brilliant bright light in front of him and a loud roar. Billy drops the bag of chips and shields his eyes.


We hear a car door open and the sound of Dr and The Medics’ Spirit in the Sky pumping from a car stereo. The light still blinds Billy as the angel stands in front of the headlights casting a fantastic silhouette.


[A deep, meaningful voice calls] Be not afraid, Billy. For I mean you no harm.


wh…wh…who are you?


Billy, Billy…


And how do you know my name?


Bill, don’t you remember? It’s me! Gabe! Shit, hang on.

Gabe reaches into his pocket and finds his keys. He pushes a button and the music stops and lights go out.


It’s me, Gabe. You are, William Blenheim aren’t you? Fuck it, course you are, I never forget a face.


I think I dropped my chips.


Chips? Don’t you worry about that. Listen, have you got time for a quick pint?


I.. erm.. We. I mean, the pub kicked me out. They’ve closed.

Gabe is walking Billy back to the pub door. The lights are off. It looks empty. Gabe knocks once. Then Twice. Then again with a flourish. The door opens.


Evenin’ Gabe. Evenin’ Bill.


Brian? I thought you…


In you come, son. Fosters is it, Bill?
Still drinking Archers, Gabe?


Fuck off Brian.


Ha! I’ll bring ’em over, fella.

The pub seems lighter than it was before. Cleaner too, but not by much. The floor just seems a little less sticky. We follow behind the pair as they make their way to a table next to the jukebox.


So I’m guessing by the way you’ve been staring at me for the last 3 minutes that you really don’t remember me?


I… Well to be honest mate, no.


That’s alright. It has been… a while.


Honestly mate, I really think you’ve got the wrong guy.


Look, I sort of knew you would think that. I took the liberty of preparing this, let’s call it a montage.


A what?


Give me your hand.


You what?


Give me your.. oh just come here.

Close up of Gabe grabbing Billy’s hand.


We flash back to a dark night and a long winding road cutting through a desert. Next we see a line of camels walking single file. 4 well dressed men ride atop. A giant shining star lights the way. Next we see lots of old buildings and animals wandering the streets. We see a crowd of people gathered outside of a barn.

POV of someone moving shoulders of people out of the way and pushing through the throng. Inside the barn we see a woman lying, crying, exhausted. We hear a a baby screaming a newborn scream.

We follow Billys eyes as they come to rest upon the infant laying, swaddled in amongst hay.


Cut back to Gabe and a shell-shocked Billy.


So I thought that would be easier. Did you get the jist?

Billy? Bill?

We see Billy staring down at his pint. Cut back to present day and Billy staring at his pint.


Bill? Billy…?

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Doesn’t feel right

I’ve been dreaming of you with my eyes wide open
Thinking of things with my lids shut tight
You can spin the truth however you want it
but the fact remains, this doesn’t feel right.

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