Post-haircut, I'm writing this literary effort sitting outside of the Botanist pub on Boar Lane, Leeds. It's nippy out; however, keen to avoid legitimate observations like "Well go sit inside and sit where it's warm you pillock!", I'm reticent to complain about today's late winter chill To be honest, being well wrapped up against the … Continue reading Chilling in the Chill
Tag: fictional
Barbershop Strop
These days having a hair cut is a fairly straight forward experience. On arrival, I'll sit in the barbershop waiting area until it's my turn to don a gown to protect against discarded hair. Once in the chair I'll relay the style of cut I desire, receive the aforementioned cut, pay and leave the premises. … Continue reading Barbershop Strop
Birtley Breather
With my wife Karen currently spending time in County Durham caring for her recently widowed dad, I'll be home alone this week. A time I aim to spend constructively by waxing lyrical, scratching around and nattering over Emu's fate since Rod Hull's untimely demise. My wife's home town Birtley located just south of the Angel … Continue reading Birtley Breather
Q
During the half century I've resided on this dysfunctional planet I've been confronted by numerous intriguing life questions. Among them an irritational compulsion to unearth what the Q stood for in the name of my childhood optician JQ Summers. The affable Scotsman who practised his ophthalmic trade in a shop opposite the Cannon pub on … Continue reading Q
Breckenbeds Fields Forever?
Earlier today I published a narrative bequeathing it's discerning reader unreliable anecdotes from my junior high schooldays. These notions manifesting from the depths of my capricious mind; embellished by fictional addendums sourced from a neurological chamber with a door titled 'Random'. Breckenbeds Junior High on Saltwell Road in south Gateshead the subject of that ramble. … Continue reading Breckenbeds Fields Forever?
Breckers Aren’t Useless
Within the past few days I've shared a trilogy of narratives (Lunchtime Lounging At The Griddle, …. And The Teachers Get The Money! & Duck!!) regarding whimsical, partly fictional, recollections of the Gateshead senior high school I attended between 1977-79. This education establishment, which became victim to the wrecking ball a couple of decades ago, going by … Continue reading Breckers Aren’t Useless
…. And The Teachers Get The Money!
During an earlier vignette I penned about attending Heathfield Senior High School, I failed to relay any memories of the teachers who'd the unenviable pleasure of trying to motivate me during term time. This a deeply challenging segment of my life when my only hobbies were sporadically emitting pubescent grunts of discontentment, interspersed with frequent … Continue reading …. And The Teachers Get The Money!
