Despite being very happy with life in the Wakefield apartment whose occupancy I’ve just undertaken, my brio levels are somewhat impaired by tenancy edicts barring me from looking after canine buddies Deano and Zella. Consequently the furry duo, who’ve lived with me for a couple months at my late mother’s home, have returned to reside…
Tag: narrative
Symptoms
“I felt like I’d been dragged five miles along cobbled stones by a shire horse named Gloria, who, upon arriving at Wakefield cathedral’s vast wooden doors, sat on my chest as it shared a Costa latte and a natter with her equine buddy Maisy.” This inaugural paragraph of this narrative my response to a friend…
Traditions
I spent the predominant period of my weekend a few miles away in West Yorkshire’s Gawthorpe village; located on Ossett’s outskirts. Despite the care home where my mother passed in October of last year sitting within its boundaries, through a close friendship with one of its residents (Sarah), it’s a borough of which I’ve become…
The S**t Shop
Individuals who know me will vouch, when it comes to what makes me laugh, I’m sporadically liable to regress back into childhood behaviour. Episodes where I’m prone to belly laugh over the most randomly innocuous or absurd whimsical events. An example of this during my fledgling years played out as a ten year old. An…
The Maypole Village
I write this piece ensconced within a home in the village of Gawthorpe. This area, famed for it’s imposing white water tower, sits on the outskirts of Ossett. The West Yorkshire market town which gave us the band Black Lace, who in turn gave us the novelty ‘classic’ tune Agadoo. The much maligned refrain which,…
Cerebrum Confidences
In recent times notions relating to my late father have been amongst the numerous visitors to my mercurial mind. My cerebrum in receipt of thoughts relating to the old fella who four years ago passed away, depriving my brood of his inherent warmth, kindness, wisdom and love of family. Amongst memories appertaining to the patriarch…
Skimming the Surface
Akin to many individuals, it’s fair to say my fledgling years were awash with scores of useful life lessons. Procurement of knowledge such as, after failing to impress peers with the admittedly tepid trick, learning my double-jointed ring finger was unlikely to jettison me onto a meaningful and fulfilling career path. Another snippet of wisdom…
Anger & Marmite
I initiate this revue litteraire perched amongst lunchtime patrons of a shopping centre coffee shop. Adjacent to me in this south Leeds cafe sits a woman who’s audibly raucous diatribe about a friend (to other friends) is ranted with almost Hitleresque vigour….. Quite clearly, she won’t be as evil as Hitler but after witnessing this…
She Was Beautiful
Seconds after our mother’s final breath the song Cavatina’s opening lyrics “She was beautiful. Beautiful to my eyes….” played out on my sister Helen’s Chill Music playlist. Although not planned, this coincidence providing a fitting commentary to not only how our newly deceased mother comported herself throughout her life, but also how Maggie conducted her…