Blimey, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? As those who very kindly opted to receive update notifications will know I’ve become somewhat lax as far as blogging goes. I would love to say this is because I’ve got caught up in a whirlpool of exciting and lucrative-but-time-consuming ventures that have kept me far too occupied to post, but of course I would be lying. I’ve just been busy doing nothing (well, next to nothing), and as far as my financial situation goes I’m just as skint as I’ve always been. Gold-diggers be warned – seduce me by all means, but as far as payouts go fish and chips and the odd pint of bitter is about as far as my wallet will stretch.
Anyhoo, a blog saying ‘I’ve done bugger all since Christmas’ is probably even worse than no blog at all, so here are a few bits and pieces I’ve done / am doing that justify the parenthesis (that’s “brackets” for those standing in the corner with pointy hats on) in the above paragraph. Continue reading “How long?!”
Bring oot the haggis, bring oot the neeps
Bring oot the tatties in mountainous heaps
Bring oot the pipers and single malt too
Tonight we toast Rabbie: Och Aye the Noo!
Nearly forgot. Recycling the same ol’ pic I knocked up two years ago AGAIN as I forgot to do a new one, but the sentiment is in no way diminished. Whatever you’re up to tonight have lovely one’s and I look forward to seeing you all again on the other side early in 2016.
Blimey, it’s Christmas Eve! My mince pies and sossidge rolls are all ready to go and the goose is ready for bathing overnight in a big bucket of fruity, herby, boozy brine – I’m ahead of the game for once! Here’s a little bit of fiction I wrote for the Tunbridge Wells Writers Christmas Countdown. I hope you enjoy it, but even if you don’t have a Very Merry Christmas and Wonderful New Year anyway! x
TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY SANTA
The street is silent, the early darkness and biting cold keeping people inside their homes. The shower of snowflakes falling from the sky is too light to lay; the flakes melt on impact with the ground. The grey paving slabs of the footpath and black asphalt road surface glisten with reflected light from the yellow street lamps. If the gritters aren’t out tonight the roads will be treacherous by morning.
A white van turns into the street, its headlights illuminating posters in the windows of the corner shop. Quality Street are five quid a tub for this week only, and Mr Kipling’s deep-filled mince pies are only ninety-nine pee for a pack of six. There are wines on special offer too, and there’s a lottery draw this weekend guaranteed to make four lucky winners millionaires.
The van passes the corner shop and pulls over to the kerb outside of number eighty-six. The driver sits for a moment watching the snow dancing in his headlights. He smiles, his lips, red from the cold, almost concealed behind his curly white moustache and beard. He turns off the headlights and cuts the engine then opens the door and steps out onto the road. Continue reading “Twenty-First Century Santa…”
We just do one of these. Have good ‘uns all of you, and we’ll do our best to have a good ‘un too…