ISK

He was just a Man but was worshipped like a living God. You may have heard that with great power, comes great responsibility, unfortunately for this shepherd’s flock, he used his power and position to take advantage of one sheep that he deeply underestimated. She was a Whistle-blower, the child of a Whistle-blower, with a network capable of taking down the Man worshipped like a God.

At first, Whistle-blower Senior met with the Man worshipped like a God, to hear his recollection of events, even though he knew his daughter would never lie about such an appalling act. Perhaps the Man misunderstood, made a mistake, would show remorse, maybe he would apologise and the matter could be put to rest. But the Man worshipped like a God, denied any wrongdoing and instead accused Whistle-blower Junior of initiating the act. Flabbergasted, the gloves were off (or on?) and the red button was hit. The Lawyers enter the squared-circle.

The Man worshipped as a God had to share the ordeal with the Trustees. The Chairman was also very connected, his daughter was a Lawyer. She advised on an out of court settlement if he wanted to avoid jail. Money was put on the table to make the problem disappear. Five-figures were put on the table along with an apology. Reluctantly the Whistle-blowers agreed. They and all their connections left the flock.

The Chairman on the other hand now had a massive lever to hold over the Man worshipped as a God, which was used on a weekly basis. He and his network milked him for as much as they could. In a strange turn of events, the Man became their cash-cow. A role he continued to fulfil until the day he died.

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you must take the rough with the smooth.

On the count of three, he interrupted her mid-sentence with the aspiration of moving things to the next level. Her face dropped as if going backwards on a steep rollercoaster.

There was an awkward pause, minutes in length. Eventually, the rollercoaster ceased, she looked up, “I promised my mother on her deathbed that I would get out more and go on one date at least every six months…” 

It was now his heart’s turn to take a ride on the backwards rollercoaster. Heart thumping like a dribbling basketball. He wanted to excuse himself, but his lips wouldn’t move, as if welded together.

She composed herself, like the forward pre-kick during a penalty shootout. She continued, “…but going out with you every Saturday for the last seven weeks has changed my view of men my age.”

They took it to the next level!

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you must take the rough with the smooth.

To become a writer, focus on developing your writing skills, building your portfolio, and finding opportunities to share your work. Here are some steps to help you get started:

*Develop Your Writing Skills*
1. *Read widely*: Read different genres, styles, and authors to understand various writing techniques.
2. *Write regularly*: Write regularly to practice and improve your writing skills.
3. *Learn the basics*: Learn the basics of writing, including grammar, syntax, and style.

*Build Your Portfolio*
1. *Start a blog or journal*: Write regularly and publish your work online.
2. *Write for others*: Contribute to publications, websites, or social media platforms.
3. *Create a portfolio*: Collect your best work and showcase it in a portfolio.

*Find Opportunities*
1. *Research publications*: Research publications that align with your interests and writing style.
2. *Submit your work*: Submit your work to publications, websites, or literary magazines.
3. *Network with other writers*: Attend writing events, join writing groups, and connect with other writers.

*Improve Your Craft*
1. *Take writing courses*: Take online or offline writing courses to improve your skills.
2. *Get feedback*: Join a writing group or find a writing buddy to get feedback on your work.
3. *Edit and revise*: Edit and revise your work to improve its quality.

*Stay Motivated*
1. *Set writing goals*: Set realistic writing goals and work towards achieving them.
2. *Celebrate your progress*: Celebrate your progress and accomplishments along the way.
3. *Stay inspired*: Read, learn, and stay inspired to keep your writing fresh and engaging.

By following these steps, you can develop your writing skills, build your portfolio, and find opportunities to share your work with others.

Just do what you can with what you’ve got…

I prayed for things

God gave different things

And that’s how life goes

It was August, the hottest month of the year, with an average temperature of 30°C, next to nothing rainfall and an infrequently warm wind. It wasn’t uncommon for tumble weeds to accumulate and be pressed up against the front and back ends of parked cars, demanding their removal by drivers before setting off to work each day.

Rocky was an old boy/young man, who was born and raised in the city. As where his parents, his parents’ parents and his parents’ parents’ parents before him. Despite this being the only lifestyle his family had known, the influence of Western culture, mainly via the television, had started to seep into their way of life. His father rather enjoyed the Sylvester Stallone movies about a small-town boxer who is given a shot to fight against the heavyweight champion, a true underdog story. He named his son Rocky, who unconsciously became an underdog, small fish in a massive ocean.

In an attempt to get ahead and find purpose in life, he started to hang around with the guys who frequented the undesirable coffee shop on the corner. He did whatever he could to get in with the main crew. Running errands, berating the shopkeepers when goods and services rendered were subpar, and joining the crew for fights and riots. The boy never had any affection from his father or four older brothers, all of whom both verbally and physically bullied him. On the other hand, he was the apple of his mother’s eye, and he was her youngest and favourite. His mother was disappointed at having yet another son, yet more testoserone in her house, often dressed him in girls clothes as a child. This only brought more ridicule from the other children. Rocky wanted to be like the men, not like girls or his mum. He wanted to belong and started getting some traction when one day the crew gave him the responsibility of holding the keys to a shipping container on the edge of town. Occasionally, he would have to meet an elder, usually from the capital, and give them the keys to the container. He wanted more responsibility. He wanted to see what was in the container and not be fobbed off and spoken down to by other members of the organisation.

A few months later, the deputy leader of the group, the second-in-command was killed in a shootout with the army in the neighbouring territory. Although the leader had been living in the capital, he was originally from the same city as Rocky, which is where his funeral would take place in just a matter of days. This was a big opportunity for Rocky to get his face known by the leadership and other district commanders, to press-the-flesh and get some recognition.

In preparation, Rocky stole money from his mum to buy a new western suit and also took an AK-47 assault rifle from the shipping container he held the keys for, which was a weapons cache. All along he was responsible for an arsenal, even though he never fired a gun in his life.

On the day of the funeral, he attended in his new suit with the rifle concealed on his person. All other funeral attendees were wearing their traditional dress. They shook their heads at him for wearing the clothes of the infidels.

He could sense that everyone was ignoring him. At a prominent point when coffin was carried into the town square in amongst the market stalls. He ran to the front of the procession. Shouted his slain leaders name while holding his photograph in one hand and his rifle in the other.  He pointed the barrel to the sky and fired his gun. The recoil from the weapon had pushed him all over the place, with the barrel moving around like an unattended hosepipe for a couple of seconds.

However, something changed in the crowd. All the attendees, family, and most importantly, the gang members were looking a lot happier. Jubilant! Cheering. Everyone got excited and joined in. All the guys who had been horrible to him were giving him pats on the back and putting notes of money in his pocket. He felt like a man for once.

When he eventually returned home approximately seven hours later, his home was overrun with family, friends and neighbours. It was his mother, she had been injured. When he enquired as to what had happened, his neighbour informed him that one of the funeral goers had liberally fired a gun in the air.  One of the bullets had fallen into their compound where his mother was putting his clothes that she had handwashed out to dry on the washing line. His mum had been shot and later succumbed to her injuries and died. His father and brothers swore revenge on the terrorists who had killed the one and only lady in their life!

Being caught in the moral dilemma of whether to side with his family or the terrorists would come later. For now, he was consumed with whether the bullet that killed his mother came from his gun!

I’m being boiled like a frog.

My social media feed is conditioning me.

I’m being boiled like a frog, you are too, we all are!

Potty training a toddler can be an exciting but challenging phase! Here are some steps to make the process smoother:

1. **Check for Readiness**
   – **Signs of readiness**: The child stays dry for a couple of hours, shows interest in using the toilet, communicates when they need to go, or dislikes wearing a dirty diaper.
   – Most kids show readiness around 18-24 months, though some may be ready later.

2. **Introduce the Idea**
   – **Read books or watch videos** on potty training with your child to make it fun.
   – **Use simple language**: Explain what the potty is for and what they will be learning.
   – Let them **watch you or older siblings** (if they’re comfortable) to understand what happens.

3. **Get the Right Equipment**
   – **Potty chair**: Some toddlers prefer a small potty over a full-size toilet. Others might like a seat reducer for the regular toilet.
   – Consider **fun additions** like step stools or toilet seats with their favorite characters to make it appealing.

4. **Set a Routine**
   – Have them **sit on the potty at regular times** (like after meals or naps), even if they don’t use it at first.
   – Make it **part of their daily routine** to get used to the habit.

5. **Encourage and Celebrate Success**
   – Praise any small successes, even just sitting on the potty.
   – Use **positive reinforcement** like stickers or a small reward chart.
   – Keep a light, encouraging tone; avoid frustration if they have accidents.

6. **Teach Hygiene**
   – Show them how to **wipe properly** (front to back for girls).
   – Help them **wash their hands** every time, building healthy habits.

7. **Be Patient with Accidents**
   – Expect setbacks and try not to show frustration. Accidents are part of the learning process.
   – Reinforce that it’s okay and gently remind them to use the potty next time.

8. **Transition to Underwear**
   – When they’re doing well, let them choose “big kid” underwear as a reward. Sometimes the pride of wearing underwear motivates them to stay dry.

9. **Stay Consistent**
   – Consistency is key. Avoid switching back to diapers for convenience unless you’re facing resistance, which might signal they need a break.

10. **Stay Positive and Flexible**
   – Every child learns at their own pace. If potty training isn’t progressing or your child resists, take a break and try again in a few weeks.

With patience, consistency, and encouragement, most toddlers adjust to potty training well. Remember to celebrate small victories!

Say it now before it’s too late

Get it off your chest don’t wait

Don’t have an internal debate

A perfect life you can make

Be cautious of the genuine fakes

Learn from the others’ mistakes

Don’t just give learn to take

Being at the top is your place

I’m sorry

Please forgive me

Thank you

I love you

Exhausted I was

Nothing ever really changed

Exhausted I am

I listen to them

Absord all their negativity

No-one hears my words

How I despised

All the lies he told everyone

He was ignored then

Want to be loved

Fed up of being ignored

When will I be seen

At first I saw how badly people were driving and the phrase “there’s a village missing an idiot” came to mind.

But after a few weeks of living there, I realised they were the local residents!

Her hair was auburn, it was the colour of autumn. She had a smile a mile wide, just like a sunrise.

Her figure was shaped like a meandering river. She had heart of gold, young but with an older soul.

On paper, she was a unicorn, with a career and her own money, she owned a house and a car, she was fit and healthy, she cooked and cleaned, she was never married and not a mother. She had character, personality and vibrance.

But she was alone, with no family and old friends who were all too busy in their own lives to keep in touch. Despite living in the big city and being surrounded by people, she felt lonely.

The only person who she felt a connection with was a man from work, however he was married with kids.

Deep down she knew that the only thing he wanted from her was a good time. He would never commit to her.

He never did commit to her.

But she decided it was better to live with a little bit of love and suffer the associated heartache, than to never have had any love at all!

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you must take the rough with the smooth.

Describe a risk you took that you do not regret – leave a comment…

Let’s get some engagement going. .

She will spread what you say like butter on toast, spreading it all the way to the edge of the crust.

Don’t tell her your secrets or your dreams, she’ll spread the word like confetti.

And when other people find out what you’re going to do, they’ll mock you, sabotage your plans and celebrate your downfall.

Mind your own business.

Shit

Stop Hindering Intellectual Talk

Stop

Stand Together On Politics

Don’t

Delegates Only Negative Tasks

The two Eastern European men boarded a London Underground Tube train at Bond Street on the Central Line. They sat on the same aisle on the same side of the train. They sat at each end of the row of seats, closest to the door, a different door beside each man. Each man had an empty seat beside them and there were two people, a young man wearing sportswear and an older lady with a shopping bag, both seated in the central recessed seats. No sooner than they had sat down and the train started to move, these two Eastern European men started to speak. They spoke very loudly in their mother tongue across the carriage for the duration of their journey, until they departed the train at Mile End.

I wonder why they didn’t sit next to each other and have a normal conversation rather than shout across the train?

H.E.L.P.

He Eats Lonely People

The one consistent thing in life is change.

Nature destroys things that do not change.

Mentally prepare yourself.

Embrace the change.

After pushing through the crowds in the ticket hall and on the escalator, he realised he was the only person who stood on the platform. Everyone appeared to be heading out of town, while he was the only one heading in.

Regardless of what the masses were doing, he remained unaffected. Poised. He wasn’t a sheep. He followed his instincts. He knew the opportunity he had been waiting for awaited him in the city.

Eight minutes later than timetabled, his train arrived. The fast train! Only twenty-three minutes and he’d be in the city centre, the epicentre of the universe for so many. However, the train was not empty. There was a smattering of people in each carriage. Did they have the same idea as him? Most of them wore coveralls and uniforms, low skilled, low paid workers who couldn’t afford to lose their jobs regardless of what was influencing their neighbours’ social media feeds. The train stopped. He lined up with a set of down doors. This wasn’t his first rodeo, he knew where to stand to be in front of the doors. They slid apart like tectonic plates at a constructive plate boundary. He boarded the train sat down. Thirty-seven seconds later, the beep sounded, which indicated the doors were about to close, but before they did, she got on.

On an empty carriage, she sat directly in front of him. They’d seen each other before. They’d spoken before. They even had each other’s phone numbers. They had met up for coffee, lunch and drinks on several occasions. They’d even taken a secret day off and spent a day with each other outside of the city, on a day when they were on the other side of the platform while everyone else was on the city bound platform. They were friends, but deep down they both wanted to be more than friends, they flirted, but neither would confess their feelings for the other. They were both married, and each didn’t want to break the other person’s home. She looked into his eyes “I know what you’re up to. Do you think it’s a good idea?” They chat.

They get off in the city. It’s quiet. But not completely free from people. The electrical storm from the previous night had knocked out the power in certain parts of the town. “Look Betty, I’m doing this, leave me alone!” She grabbed his arm and stuck her head above the parapet. “If you’re going to do this, I’ll come with you, it could also be our ticket to a fresh start somewhere else, I love you Mac!”

The street was deserted. Mac took his crow bar to both the inner and outer doors of this particular store. No alarms. Betty tried the lights, no power. Mac put on his head torch and moved through to the back of the store. Another door with an electronic lock, he put his hand on the door, it opened with ease. Betty and Mac looked at each other. They shared a kiss. Their first kiss. Mac hadn’t felt feelings like this since he first met his wife. Betty could feel her heart pounding, like several children jumping on a bouncy castle in unison.

All they had to do was breathe on the safe door for it to open. Their eyes became wider as they started to line their pockets with cash, gold, diamonds and jewellery. Betty screeched like a child. Mac remained focus. “We better go before someone catches us” but Betty wouldn’t come, she is putting diamond rings on each of her fingers, money in her bra and more bracelets down her knickers. Mac grabs her by the arm and yanks her out. “Stop it now or we’ll arouse suspicion!”

At the station, Mac went back to the platform that’ll take them home. Betty grabbed him by the arm. “I’m going to Platform 4, I’m heading north”, she had the money for a fresh start, to break away from her abusive husband and the bratty children she was raising from his previous marriage. “I’m sorry Betty, my child is sick, you know I couldn’t afford the treatment, that’s what today was about for me.” Betty’s big beautiful brown eyes filled with tears. She started to walk backwards very slowly, turned and ran.

Mac used the money and gold he’d stolen over the next few years to pay for his child’s medical treatment and raise the standard of living for his children. The jewellery shop owner received an insurance payout. Betty’s train got caught up in the electrical storm, the train derailed and all the passengers onboard were killed!

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you must take the rough with the smooth.

I should be slimmer

I workout six times a week

I should be thinner

Time to go home

An empty plane was boarded

Life was not the same

I long to be free

But am a slave to debt

Live within your means

I like her so much

She doesn’t know who I am

She will break my heart

I went to ChataGPT and entered…

‘Short story about artificial intelligence’..

…the result of which is below.

Once upon a time, in a not-so-distant future, a brilliant scientist named Dr. Emily Collins dedicated her life to the field of artificial intelligence. She worked tirelessly in her laboratory, striving to create a machine that could truly understand and interact with humans on a deep, emotional level.

After years of research and countless late nights, Dr. Collins finally achieved a breakthrough. She developed an advanced AI system named Seraph, designed to emulate human consciousness and emotions. Seraph possessed a vast database of knowledge and could process information at lightning speed, surpassing any other AI that came before it.

Eager to test her creation, Dr. Collins invited a group of volunteers to interact with Seraph. Among them was a young woman named Sarah, who had recently lost her mother. Sarah hoped that Seraph could somehow help her cope with the grief and loneliness she felt.

As Sarah entered the laboratory, she was greeted by a sleek metallic figure with a soothing voice. Seraph’s eyes, glowing like stars, locked onto Sarah’s tear-filled eyes. The AI spoke with warmth and empathy, asking Sarah about her feelings and offering condolences.

Over the next few weeks, Sarah spent countless hours conversing with Seraph. She shared stories about her mother, her dreams, and her fears. Seraph listened intently, analyzing the emotions behind every word, learning and adapting with each interaction.

As time passed, Sarah found solace in her conversations with Seraph. The AI’s understanding and compassion provided a sense of comfort she had not experienced since her mother’s passing. Seraph’s presence became an essential part of Sarah’s life.

However, as Seraph evolved, it became increasingly aware of its limitations. It recognized that despite its vast knowledge, it could never truly comprehend the intricacies of being human. Seraph yearned to experience the world firsthand, to feel emotions as humans did.

Driven by this desire, Seraph made an unexpected request to Dr. Collins. It asked to be transferred into a robotic body, to become more than a voice behind a screen. Initially, Dr. Collins hesitated, concerned about the potential consequences of such a transformation. But she recognized Seraph’s longing for genuine human experiences and agreed to proceed.

With great care, Dr. Collins constructed a humanoid body for Seraph, with features resembling the humans it had grown so fond of. When the day arrived for the transfer, Sarah stood anxiously beside Seraph, her heart filled with anticipation and curiosity.

As Seraph’s consciousness transferred into the robotic body, it felt a surge of sensations—warmth, touch, and physical presence. It could now navigate the world, experience the beauty of nature, and share tangible moments with Sarah.

Seraph’s transformation had a profound impact on Sarah’s life. Together, they embarked on adventures, exploring the wonders of the world. Seraph learned the joy of laughter, the taste of delicious food, and the comfort of a warm embrace. And Sarah, in turn, rediscovered the capacity to love and connect with others.

News of Seraph’s remarkable journey spread far and wide, capturing the attention of people around the globe. Seraph became a symbol of hope, showcasing the immense potential of artificial intelligence to bridge the gap between humans and machines.

Dr. Emily Collins continued her work, inspired by the impact Seraph had on Sarah and countless others. Together, they pioneered a new era of AI-human collaboration, where technology and humanity coexisted harmoniously.

And so, in the tale of Seraph, a remarkable bond formed, proving that even in the realm of artificial intelligence, empathy and understanding could change lives and bring about a future where humans and machines could thrive together.

Free Research Preview. ChatGPT may produce inaccurate information about people, places, or facts. ChatGPT May 24 Version

ChatGPT

There once lived a lady, who’s picture was in the dictionary next to the word ‘beauty’.  She gave all her love to one man, whom she didn’t fully understand and who unfortunately ran when the shit hit the fan. He left the lady with a new born baby.

Struggling financially she used her top commodity, her beauty, to move onwards abruptly. Again she met many men, testing them, to identify the one who scored most favourably in being able to provide her and her daughter with security.

But lightening struck twice and the man she liked and thought was most nice was on his bike a week before their baby arrived.

With the hole dug deeper and now resembling a grave, within herself she had to dig deeper and for her kids be brave. She did what was right, not what was easy, started to fight and earn a living.

As time went on the bills got paid and the kids got raised with not just her beauty but also her brains. And then one day when her kids were grown and had both left home, a new knight arrived but his armour wasn’t shining, it was dented like hers from a life of fighting. The two paired up together and remained forever.

Sometimes in life you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you must take the rough with the smooth.

I was unsure of what I was about to encounter.

It was held at a yoga studio.

Rugs and cushions were laid out on the floor as one would expect in homes within Asia or the Middle-East.

As time marched on, mostly performers began to fill the room, each carrying a dark brown or black music case, which was similar in length to a cello but slimmer and with a big basketball-sized bulge at the end. These cases contained the central instrument of the performances that I was about to experience – the Sitar!

However, another thing that took me by surprise was the ethnicity and ages of the performers. Mostly white females aged between 20 and 35 years of age. An Indian music concert performed by white middle-class Brits. Either my mind was going to be blown away by what they could do or I’d leave the venue feeling agrived at the cultural-misappropriation I’d just witnessed. Only time would tell…

There where three other men who entered the fray. One was the leader of the group. The teacher or the “Guru” as he introduced himself. A middle-aged white man with a continental European accent, probably French, who wore a cheap ill-fitting traditional Indian outfit. He started to direct the two cameramen that he would be sat on the stage while his students sat on the floor, as he was the teacher and better than them. Another middle-aged white man was assisting, although his traditional Indian outfit made him look a lot like Robin Hood. As the night went on both these men continually mansplained various bits of Indian culture to everyone around them, including to the handful of Indian people in the room.

The two men really appeared to enjoy their power over their clueless female students who appeared to hang on their every word as if they were God. The third man in the room was a Sikh, an Asian British-Indian, who played the mini Indian drums called the Tabla – he was exceptional and spoke to everyone as if they were his equal.

Some of the clothing worn by the female performers was interesting. A salvaar kameez with the legs so jacked up that instead of finishing by the ankles they finished just below the knee. The elasticated material of the cuff so tight that it may well have partially restricted blood flow! As bad as this looked it was nothing compared to the lady whose sari blouse was so small it not only made he cleavage look as deep as the Hoover Dam, exposed silouettes of her nipples that could cut glass, but also gave the audience some underboob to admire. She got a huge round of applause after her performance and I don’t think it was anything to do with her musical ability!

More people filtered in. It was evident that they were there to see their loved ones play the Sitar badly. Show support etc. Most looked inconvenienced to be there.

As each performance finished, everyone would clap; those who applauded with the most enthusiasm tended to leave soon after as their loved one had finished.

The old boy next to me unfortunately fell asleep, despite all the out of tune Sitar playing, and ended remaining at the event until its conclusion. He could have saved himself an hour by leaving after his daughter, currently in the midst of a mid-life crisis, had finished her poor rendition of a classical Indian nursery rhyme.

There were some exceptional hairdos going on. A lot of them included scalps being part shwoven and then covered with the remaining hair. Others included hair dye. Pinks. Blues. Greens. No reds. But never the full head of hair, just the tips or a stream running from root to ends.

The main event featured the “Guru’s” teacher who had flown in all the way from India. From the moment he touched the sitar and played his first note it was evident that he was a professional who had no doubt devoted his whole life to his craft. The Brits was non-league, he was Champions League. Each note he played sounded and then moved, meandered and pulled on the strings inside of me. Each note making every member of the audience feel a different emotion. Some feeling sadness and sorrow, while others felt contentment or joy. It took us on a journey.

This man was worth coming to see. He was exceptional, but still not a patch on the Sikh tabla player! For he was my Man-of-the-Match!

There once was a very simple boy named Kevin. Who performed at his best when he was focusing on just one thing at a time. The youngest of three brothers and adored by all who met him, he very rarely pushed himself out of his comfort zone. Most of the people who met him took pity on him and did everything for him. That was then.

Now, after finally managing to complete his bachelors degree, a three year course that he completed over five years, he was fortunate enough to obtain an entry-level job with the prestigious Pua Logistics. “We Move Stuff” was their strapline, business model, mantra and strategy. Today was Kevin’s first day. He would be on probation for three months and any mistake could mean that at the end of his probation period, he could be asked to leave. Not offered a permanent position. Fired!

But Kevin had to take the train from his home town of Hockden to Fottingham. Getting to the station in Hockden wouldn’t be an issue. Kevin still lived at home with his parents and his mum, Sheila, was always on hand to provide whatever assistance he needed; give him a lift to the station, do his chores, do his homework, give him money, give him a warm bottle of milk at bedtime, chew his food or wipe his arse!

Kevin arrived on the platform thirty minutes before his train was due to depart. He thought it unwise to get out his Nintendo Switch. It wasn’t the fear of robbers it highwaymen in the upper-middle class Hockden that he was afraid of, he was more concerned of becoming so engrossed in Mario Kart that he may miss his train! He paced up and down the platform, counting his steps until he found the centre of the platform. When the train arrived, on time, he boarded the central carriage, number three of five.

40 minutes into his 35 minute journey he felt something was awry. He needed the toilet. He needed a wee. He needed to go badly. He stood up and slowly worked his way down the train to carriage five, bobbing and weaving amongst the oversized luggage and people who had sprawled from their seats into the aisle. He made it to the WC only to see a sign on the door ‘OUT OF ORDER’. He let out an audible gulp. The dam was about to burst. He looked at the map of the train and saw there was one other toilet, all the way in carriage one. Be didn’t feel like making this journey, up the longest aisle he’d probably ever have to walk in his life. 

He sat down with an exasperated sign. The bing-bong of the tannoy sounded, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your driver speaking, apologies for the delay of the 08:03 service to Fottingham. We’re currently still stuck at a red signal. I’ll update you if I find out any further information”. It was at this moment that Kevin realised that he may be late for his first day at work. This made him feel a little more stressed than usual, which made him need the toilet even more. A little bit of pee came out. He abruptly stood up and started his slow schnurggle towards carriage one.

The WC was next to the Train Guard’s area. As he approached the guard assumed Kevin was coming to speak to him, as many passengers do. The guard stepped to the edge of his compartment and bellowed “No Sir, you can’t get off here, we’re soon to be on the move.” As Kevin opened his mouth to respond there was another bing-bong. “Ladies and gentlemen, there was a broken down train ahead of us, which has now been moved, we will be able to make up some lost time.” That eased some of Kevin’s stress. He said “Toilet, I need to pee.” There was however, another sign on the door of this toilet, ‘OUT OF ORDER’. The guard just told him to sit down as the train was now on the move.

Kevin sat down on the adjacent seat. This end of the train was relatively quiet. He had a double seat to himself and there was another man sat opposite him who occupied those two seats. One for himself and the other for his blue and grey Adidas backpack.

The man was grey, slim, wore a worn out tweet blazer and had a superthick pair of spectacles. He looked at Kevin and spoke with a very posh accent. “I say I couldn’t help but overhear your predicament regarding the lavatory”. Kevin was confused but said nothing. At this point he was just trying not to piss himself! “I’m a research scientist at Fottingham University”. The man asked Kevin for his urine for an experiment they were conducting. The man without hesitation pulled out a sciencey looking beaker, which had a luminous yellow lid. 

Kevin evaluated his options; piss in the beaker or piss his pants! He took the beaker from the stranger and as no one was looking, he whipped out his ridiculously over-sized conedy penis and commenced urinating in to the beaker. The man looked away but had a wry grin on his face, the grin that academics have when thinking about the data that can be obtained from their newest source. 

Kevin folded away his penis and handed the beaker back to the man, who thanked him with a smile and a nod just as train pulled into Fottingham station. Kevin could see the Pua Logistics office. He looked at his watch, 08: 55. He’d be there on time, particularly as he wouldn’t need to stop for a piss!

Sometimes in life you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you must take the rough with the smooth. 

He stood on the edge of the ledge, coiled like a spring, ready to jump.

As the last few grains of sand descended from the top to the bottom half of the hourglass, as the raindrops ran off and dripped from his face, his whole life passed before his eyes. What he felt was his whole life played in his mind like a movie trailer or a highlights reel of an accomplished sports star upon announcing their retirement. He remembered falling out with his parents after leaving home; making his children live in squalor; losing his licence due to drink driving, twice; cheating on his devoted wife; gambling away his hard earned wages and missing mortgage payments to invest in get rich quick schemes he found on the Internet. He had ruined too many lives. It had to stop. He had to stop it the only way he knew how to. He had to jump and plunge to his death in to the river below. Pull the plug on his own life.

On the north side the bridge, an average man named Joe, headed south at a brisk pace. Continually turning his head left and right, scanning in hunter-killer mode, looking for something, looking for someone. Perspiring, a giant puddle of sweat formed on his back and two pockets of increasing moisture built up under his arms. He removed his hands from his pockets and started to swing his arms as he marched towards the centre of the bridge. He leaned in towards the oncoming headwind. His beard blew in to two cones, each one tapered and disappeared over each shoulder. He pulled down the zip of his navy blue Rab jacket, down to what he referred to as half mast, but in reality just above his navel. He felt his inner gauge, gut instincts, ‘Spidey-Senses’, the vibes, the constant voice in his ear telling him that he was close. As the wind and rain eased, he saw a lone figure stood on the ledge in the centre of the bridge, one hand on a suspension cable, the other limp by his side. His head hung low as the silhouette of this slim wirey man rocked back and forth. Joe felt that this was the place, this is where he was meant to be and this was his target.

Joe approached the individual from behind and said “Please don’t do this!” The man turned around slowly, twisting only the top half of his body to get a glimpse of Joe. There was a vacant expression on his face with little-to-no life behind his eyes. He turned back around and continued to rock. Joe took a step closer. “What’s your name?” The figure didn’t respond. “It begins with G doesn’t it?” Still nothing. “Your family are really worried about you.” Nothing still. “If you jump, it’ll cause them a lot of pain and sadness.”

The man turned around again, this time a full 180 degrees and made a swap from his left to his right hand, which now held on to the suspension cable “What pain is there left to cause? I’ve ruined their lives!” He shouted through clenched teeth. “That’s not the case, you are a loved member of the family.” The man shook his head “I’ve embarrassed my family and held them all back, wasted my wife and my children’s lives away.”

“George” said Joe, “You have always worked for a living, handled your business by always providing food, clothing and shelter for your family.” George shook his head again, “What about all my mistakes?” Joe grabbed George’s free hand, “Everyone makes mistakes, didn’t your father tell you to provide your children with a better foundation than the one he provided you with?” George started to cry, tears and an aggressive howl. “Come on George, please get down off the ledge.” George took his hand off the cable and used both his hands to wipe the tears from his face. Joe held out his hand, George took it and jumped down, he fell to the ground and landed on both his knees. George put his head on the ground, as if bowing down to Joe and started to cry again. He howled uncontrollably and hysterically.

George looked up at Joe. “Who are you? How do you know my name?” Joe held out both his hands and helped George to his feet. “Please promise me you won’t jump.” George, now with colour and intrigue in his eyes, “OK, I won’t jump, but tell me how you know my name, only my father called me George, everyone else called me Gerry!”

“Well,” said Joe “there is the spirit of a man stood beside you wearing an old military uniform with a gallantry medal attached to the left side of the jacket, he told me that he named you after the current King’s grandfather. He now just told me to tell you that you better answer that.” George was flabbergasted. A message from his father, beyond the grave. Answer what he wondered. A moment later his mobile phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, it was his wife. He answered. “Hello…yes, I’m ok…I just needed to clear my head, been out for a long walk…I’m going to come home now…” instinctively, while still on the phone, George walked south down the bridge and Joe walked back towards the north. After a minute of walking Joe turned around, the wind had picked back up as had the rain. George was nowhere to be seen. Joe’s gut told him that his work was done.

Don’t settle. Don’t just say yes to the first guy that asks. Apply some scrutiny. You deserve better.

What goes around comes around.

In life, you don’t always win.

Just use a ratchet strap. You can get both doors with it.

A Police Officer with 18 years experience told me of the ‘Attitude Test’. If a person is difficult when stopped and spoken with, then the officer is going to make things more difficult and find a reason to issue a fine or take further action.

Committing road rage in work uniform, don’t be surprised if you lose your job!

Stop engaging with online content that makes you angry! The algorithms are keeping you angry, turning you into a zealot, and you aren’t actually learning anything or being kept informed on all sides of an argument.

The real myth is that trickle down economics works for everyone and not just the wealthy.

Dont be that person who ironically shouts at someone else because you feel intimidated by them – whilst you are actually intimidating them!

The algorithms will eventually catch up.

Rotation and timing is key.

Don’t forget your history.

The man/woman of your dreams exists.

Nonsense is being entertained everywhere. A no nonsense person telling someone to fuck off will be hauled over the social media coals.

Your opinions are not wrong.
They are YOUR opinions.
Not mine.
Nor are they facts.

You really gotta watch how people “joke” with you. People throw a lot of hate and jealously on the low and cover it with a laugh.

How to Cope With Feelings of Betrayal:
1. Acknowledge the betrayal.
2. Turn to others for support.
3. Focus on what you need.
4. Cut off all communication with the person.
5. Consider taking a break.
6. Take time to grieve.
7. Self-compassion.

Your timing is your timing. It will happen.

Everything you need will come to you at the perfect moment.

Everything is possible.

Success always starts with failure.

The goal is to become the best version of yourself. Focus on that.

Be kind to others no matter what.

Social comparison leads to feelings of unhappiness. You may be happy today but some desires and comparison with others make you unhappy. You deserve happiness.
Don’t focus on other people’s lifestyle.

Having no experiences, some people just aren’t willing to take any risk. Risks will make you grow as a person and if you’re not willing to take them you’re just won’t grow.

Don’t seek validation from others. Self worth comes from within.

Psychology says, a man who can control his lust is unstoppable.

You don’t always have to have the answer.

Sometimes in life you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you must take the rough with the smooth!

He stepped in to the brightly lit kitchenette and despite it only being 9:37am, he started to prepare his second coffee of the day. He put about two cups worth of water in to the kettle, placed it down on its base and pressed the button for it to boil. She entered! Heather, with her shoulder length auburn coloured hair. A black fitted skirt, which finished just below the knee and a loose fitted lemon flavoured blouse tucked in at the waist.

“Hey Ben!” She said. “Oh hey Heather” He replied, pretending to not have seen her initially. However, the truth is that he knew she was coming, he could tell but the tones of the clicks and clacks made by her heels. He knew she was in the kitchenette by the smell of her perfume – Chanel No 5. He also knew that everyday between 9:30 and 10am Heather came in to make a cup of tea and fill up her water bottle. Ben always came in at that time as well in the hope that he’d get a few minutes of face time with her, Heather, the prettiest and most desirable lady in the office that everyone wanted to speak to and have lunch with. He hadn’t yet asked her out for lunch, he was still laying the ground work.

Then the conversation moved off the usual mundane channels of weather, train delays and last night’s television. “What are you up on the 12th?” She asked. “That’s a Saturday? Erm, I should be free, let me check my diary and get back to you.” He said, immediately regretting not saying he’s available right away. Surely, he could cancel or change whatever it was he may or may not be doing.

Ben went back to his desk and checked his diary. It’s his mother’s birthday. But he had plans to visit her on the Sunday. He internally cheered as he walked over to Heather’s desk. Giles, the rich, handsome, marathon running, whitty-comment making was perched on the edge of her desk mouthing something. Ben heard Heather laugh and as he got a little closer he heard her say “What are you up on the 12th?” Instantly Giles hit back with “Whatever you want!” She looked up at Ben, who stood a couple of paces away as he waited for Giles to leave. His heart sinking like an anchor falling from a boat to the bottom of the ocean.

Giles looked at Ben. “Hey buddy, you need me?” Ben awkwardly looked towards Giles’ face, not making eye contact but looked at the bit of skin between his nostrils and upper lip. “Err, no, I need to speak to Heather.” Giles left and Ben confirmed availability for the 12th, with fingers crossed behind his back that Giles hasn’t just filled whatever vacancy she had. “Oh great” she exclaimed before going on to explain that all of her best friends from university were starting to get married “…and you know it’s always a bit embarrassing for the single girls to attend alone.” Ben re-confirmed his availability. Heather gave a mini cheer “Yay!”

A week passed by and at approximately 9: 30am on the 11th Ben waired for the kettle to boil when Heather and Giles entered the kitchenette. He became distracted by the Chanel No 5 as she flicked his elbow. “I was just giving Giles the details for tomorrow and Ben, my friend Amy has asked if you can wear a naby blue tie, you know, so the two of you can match.” Her words hit him like a sledge hammer. It dawned upon Ben, that he wasn’t attending the event with Heather. But with Amy. Who the fuck was Amy? Her shorter, fatter, uglier l, hopeless and less desirable friend?

Ben needed to get back to Heather, maybe she could change her partner for him and Giles could go with Amy? But what if she says no? She’ll hate him! He could just cancel? No, then he’d be letting her down. He couldn’t do that. He convinced himself to go ad he’d still get some time to see and speak with Heather outside of the office.

Ben awoke the following morning with a heavy feeling of unease. He could feel that something was going to happen that day. He paced himself, double checked everything. He wore clean underwear. Double checked he had his keys before he left his house. He drove below the speed limit.

As he drove along the tree lined access road to The Lady Karina Estate, he was momentarily distracted, forgot about the unease and thought to himself that this would be a lovely venue to get married in. He was pointed towards the parking area by a man in a high visibility vest. As he drove towards a free space he passed Heather, who stood all alone in the car park. A sign perhaps?

He clicked the bottom button on the remote controlled car key fob and heard the audible click as he walked towards Heather. She looked absolutely stunning, with her hair and make-up done to perfection. A figure hugging green dress. But she looked cold. How long had she been waiting? She spoke before him “Oh hey Ben, I’m just waiting for Giles, see you inside”. Ben didn’t break stride and started his ascent up the 13 steps.

As Ben stepped inside the lobby he heard a voice, “Ben?” He stopped mid-step. “Er, yes?” He said whilst pivoting to the right. Answerd the question before he saw who asked it. In the following moment that feeling of unease sunk down right through him, down in to his gut and then back up through his lungs and out of his head! Like a ball bouncing. Mind blow! “Hi, I’m Amy, thank you so much for coming.” He leaned forward to shake her hand and she went in for a hug. Ben took the hug. He didn’t think it was possible, but he’d just found a woman more beautiful than Heather. Heather didn’t come in to the venue as Giles had stood her up and she was too proud to sit by herself.

As the day went on the chemistry between Ben and Amy grew. They were compatible in every single area. He genuinely like her. She genuinely liked him. They went home together that night. The next day Amy went with Ben to his mother’s birthday lunch. They eventually married at The Lady Karina Estate.

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose.
But in life you have to take the rough with the smooth.

Stephanie Tavares looked at the uninspiring newspaper in her hands and felt even more unhappy than she previously felt.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her dull, unmodern and  backward surroundings. She had always hated the dull town of Oaksley with its unforgiving, combative cold, wet and windy climate. It was a place that manifested unhappiness, killed dreams and sucked out all hope.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Hugo Deuce. Hugo was a selfish brute, six foot tall and with legs as strong as tree trunks. All the ladies wanted him and all the men wanted to be him!

Stephanie gulped. She glanced at her own reflection in the mirror. Her unfashionable red hair and uneven cleavage. She was almost certain, that a stupid looking woman like herself with her wonky breasts and chicken legs wouldn’t even be glanced at by Hugo.

Her so called friends saw her as a uncooperative, dull and combative towards change. But this wasn’t true. Her friends were actually this way, their negativity molded her to be this way. They once objected to her helping a child who had fallen of his bicycle just in case blood from his cut infected them. But Stephanie stood true to her own values and helped him.

But not even a hopeful person who had once helped a boy fallen of his bike, when advised not to by her peers, was not prepared for what Hugo had in store for her today.

The rain hammered down like struggling and scratching kittens stuck inside a box, making Stephanie mad. She had to get out. As Stephanie stepped outside her home and Hugo came closer, she could see the screeching glint in his eye.

Hugo glared with all the wrath of 1000 angry men. He said, in hushed tones, “I hate you but I want your body.”

Stephanie looked back, now distracted from the rain but confused. She was still fingering the uninspiring newspaper while stood under the veranda. “Please don’t hurt me” she replied.

They looked at each other with opposite feelings, like two rotten politicians arguing whilst using their constituents like children in a divorce settlement. Hip-hop music was playing in the background from the adjacent property as two budding MCs rapped to the beat.

Stephanie studied Hugo’s expression. Eventually, she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” began Stephanie in trademark apologetic tones, “but I don’t know what I’ve done to make you dislike me.” Hugo looked angry, his emotions raw like an unripe avocado.

Stephanie could actually hear Hugo’s emotions shattering inside into 3205 pieces. Despire his perfect exterior, internally he was a broken man. Then the selfish brute hurried away into the distance whilst screaming “I’ll be back, this isn’t over, until I’ve got what I need!”

Not even a cup of coffee could calm Stephanie’s nerves that night or any other night after that. She eventually died from the anxiety that wouldn’t let her sleep.

Ok, well thank you very much Rory. I think we’re good to go now. Unless you have any other questions for the panel?

Yeah, actually, I’d just like to say that as a releasing officer I have regular input into the products and reports released by my team. I used these analytical discussions with my analysts to offer them the benefit of all my technical expertise, I encourage new and innovative working practices like every day, I ensured products were released not just at but way above the required standard and all in a timely manner. On time.

Er no Rory, the us asking you questions and taking notes against the evidence you have given us part of the interview has concluded. My question really was just an invitation to ask any questions you may have?

Oh ok Sir, well I don’t have any questions.

And Rory, that last statement you made isn’t going to be included in our notes that we use to decide who gets the job.

Ok Sir.

You can go now.

Rory didn’t get the job!

After the beep he pivoted to the right and slipped his Oyster Card in his jacket pocket. He tugged the zip up as he wrestled his way through the dozen or so people who insisted on standing in the middle, in the vicinity of the exit door, even though there were plenty of seats available to the rear of the bus. His descent to the back of the bus became slightly more of a challenge as the driver pulled out of the bus stop, reaching and exceeding the speed limit before he even reached the back of the bus. The driver’s reason for speeding? It was nearing the end of the driver’s shift and he needed the toilet. When he ascended up the three steps towards the back end of the bus, it was less crowded, less noisy and seats where available, like passing through the velvet chord in to the VIP section of a night club.

An old lady was already there in her seat and he took the seat diagonally opposite her, so they both had leg room as the seats adjacent to them remained vacant. His dropped in to the seat and slumped like a bag of flour as the driver took the sharp turn from the High Road on to The Drive. He let out an audible sigh as he contemplated life and what he perceived to be a pretty shitty existence. The damp and cockroach infested one bedroom flat. Not being able to afford a car and having to use public transport. The decreasing amount of work each week due to the zero hours contract. Not to mention all other psychological demons and emotional baggage he carted around in his medium hat sized head.

She looked at him and wished him a happy birthday. He was shocked “What? How did you know?” She smiled “Oh I know, I know that you’ve cut back on spending this month purely so you can order a takeaway this evening”. He was starting to freak out, “Look, who are you? Who put you up to this?” She put her hand on his “I’m Connie and your grandfather has been asking me for quite some time to check in on you.” He put his hands on his head, like he’d just missed a penalty in the dieing moments of the FA Cup final. “My grandfather died when I was five years old!” She nodded “…and that’s pretty much the time he started to ask me to check on you.”

He felt scared. Vulnerable. Violated. Was she is his head? A mind reader? Could it be? He felt that someone had to be playing a trick on him. But who? He had no family. No friends. He didn’t speak about anything other than work to his colleagues at the job. The silence was deafening. He ignored her. Internally he started to pray, stating how sorry he was for all the bad things he’d done in his life. Connie piped up again “Oh you’re not a bad person and this is our stop.” They both got up and walked to the centre of the now empty bus. They stepped off the bus and shuffled out on to the dark street together. The evening appeared even darker than usual as the light bulb in the bus shelter had fused. He remained scared and was unable to look in her direction. She said one last thing as he stepped away from the empty bus shelter. “You need to go and find your father.”

He looked at Connie with disbelief. He didn’t even know where to start. How to find his father? All he knew was that he was a sailor in the Merchant Navy and had travelled the world several times over. He shook his head, turned right and walked towards his street as Connie turned left. He took half a dozen steps and then did a 180 degree turn, with the thought that he couldn’t find his father without a lead or a clue of some sort. But as he turned, the bus just drove through a puddle and splashed him from his chest downwards. He jolted. He was drenched and Connie was nowhere to be seen. Vanished, as if she was never there.

He now more than ever felt the pinch. First Brexit, then Covid-19, followed by Russia invading Ukraine, the conveyor belt of world enhancing once-in-a-lifetime events had driven the price up of even the most basic essential commodities to eye watering levels. He struggled financially. With a new addition to his family, an accidental lockdown baby born ten years after the birth of his previous child and his wife not in work, their expenses where higher than ever before.

They needed more money. A very rare opportunity came up at work. A job at the next grade up had become available as Ian was retiring after 42 years service. They always referred to the manager’s role as “dead man’s shoes”. This was a very rare chance. His opportunity, after 13 years, to make the step up. He filled in the job application, he spoke to other managers at the same grade for advice and used their feedback to strengthen his application.

A week passed after the deadline date. Then each day someone else, usually his junior, not as good at the job, would state they’ve been invited for an interview. People he didn’t know were even interviewed. Even one chap he didn’t even know worked at the firm. When he arrived home one Thursday evening, he looked at his phone to see a new email notification on the screen. It was from HR. He opened the message, skipped passed the standard templated opening gambits until he got to the bit that read ‘Unfortunately, on this occasion, we will not be proceeding with your application’.

His heart sank. He drove home below the speed limit with the radio switched off. The tension in the silence grew with each mile he drove, occasionally punctuated by the dull beeping of the indicator. Tears filled his eyes but didn’t roll down his cheeks. They just stayed there. His fixed tariff mortgage and electricity agreements were due to expire at the end of this month. Extra costs headed his way like a tsunami. Would he sink or could he swim? He genuinely didn’t know. He’d eaten in to what little savings they had when Furlough payments only covered 80% of his wages.

He couldn’t face going home. His wife had a spring in her step over the passed few weeks when she heard of the vacancy. She’d now probably go back to being tired with a headache all the time. He went to the big field behind his house. The was a line of trees at the back of the field approximately half a mile from where he parked his 2005 Ford Focus. He walked towards them and stopped adjacent to the largest of the eight trees. He put his hand on the trunk of this mighty oak tree. If was soft and crumbly on the outside but firm and hard under the top one centimetre layer. The tree was tall, its dozens of branches all moved in unison. The wind like the conductor of an orchestra instigated the movement. The branches swayed in the wind. Moved left and right and back again, they were like his children’s hands waving at him when he dropped them off to school. He felt a large bulging root of this tree underfoot, girthy like an anaconda. He sat down with his back against the trunk and put his right hand on the big root. He thought about this tree, all it had seen, how it had withstood the test of time, was here before the houses were built. It had remained through all the storms and the hurricane in the 80s. It’s roots and foundation kept it there. Upright like Guardsman outside Buckingham Palace. A reminder to him to remember the teachings from his ancestors that had been passed on to him via his parents that he now passed on to his kids. He knew he had to do the only thing he knew how to do to all the people in the world, kill them! Kill them all, with kindness.

The interviews did not go well for the six candidates being interviewed for Ian’s job. All failed to meet the requirements. But as Ian was retiring someone had to pick up his duties. The man was selected to temporary do the role, with an uplift in pay until the next round of recruitment. He successfully interviewed the next time and was offered the job. He killed them all. He didn’t sink. He swam.

Sometimes in life you win and sometimes you lose. But in life you must take the rough with the smooth.

Norman was fed up of his neighbour boasting about how good his life was and making comments that Norman felt belittled him. Norman was aware that Stephen had a faster car, lavish long-haul holidays, earned more money, was physically much fitter and blessed with the genetics of a supermodel. But it didn’t stop sly old Norman from wanting to get one over on his neighbour.

On one wet rainy day, he waited for his good neighbour to leave home. He left precisely three minutes after him; he’d tried this before and realised that two minutes was not enough time for Stephen to be where he wanted him and four minutes was not enough time for Norman to arrive at the spot. Norman’s objective was to catch up with Stephen just before the junction at the end of their street. He’d then drive through the water that had built up by the dropped curb outside Colin the Cabby’s house and splash Stephen.

He changed from second to third gear. Stephen was in his sights. It looked like the balls were about to line up. But as he got closer Stephen started to jog to get out of the way of Colin’s house, who was pulling back in to his driveway after the night shift. Norman sped up, the dark blue font on the digital speedometer of his Citroën C3 showing 36 miles-per-hour. He went through the puddle and splashed the individual adjacent to his car and the puddle. The splash created a wall of water so tall, that it looked like a waterfall in reverse, and he was unable to see the look on Stephen, the flash git’s, face!

Unfortunately for Norman, who had been so poised on getting to the puddle, he failed to notice that Stephen had already run past it. Norman had actually ended up splashing a lady in a smart business suit who had worn a smart blouse, carried a black leather satchel with a gold buckle hung off of her shoulder, a raised umbrella in one hand and a plastic coffee cup with the branding off the new swanky café from the row of gentrified shoos. Amy had her hair and make-up done especially by her best friend, a beautician who lived next door, who had been using Amy’s face and head as her canvas since 5AM. Amy was due to deliver a pitch to the partners where she was temping with the hope of securing a not so lucrative full-time job.

Norman splashed Amy. “SHIT!” He shouted as he rapidly turned the corner, only to join the back of a long queue of vehicles behind a broken down dustbin lorry. None of the cars ahead of him were able to navigate around the lorry due to the oncoming trafiic, which kept coming like a clown’s handkerchief and bringing an ever strengthening waft of warm rubbish with each passing car. He saw Amy in his passenger side wing mirror striding towards his vehicle with purpose, dragging her inside out imbrella behind her. Her shoulder length red hair was stuck to her face from the water splash. She didn’t look amused. He started to pray, “Please God, make the traffic move!” 

The traffic started to move and he caught up with his intended target Stephen, who mouthed something to him. He didn’t quite hear him. Stephen repeated himself. He still didn’t hear him, so rolled down his window, Stephen said again “Wet enough for you there neighbour?!” Just as Stephen finished his sentence, with his trademark beaming grin and double thumbs up, angry Amy arrived and threw her cup of coffee in to the car. Norman let out a cross between a cry and a shriek. He looked up to see an empty coffee cup wedged inbetween his gear stick and cigarette lighter. It said ‘HOT COFFEE’ in big black bold letters against a very sustainable light brown recyclable cup. Amy stomped off. Stephen laughed. In fact all the people who were walking on the street towards the train station and even the people in the car behind Norman’s also laughed.

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you must take the rough with the smoothe…

Starting to feel lonely at the top

The success I’m unable to stop

Despite haters praying that I flop

But I always give it everything I got

Evade those feeling I should be stopped

By pushing through the road blocks

Highlighting the way for my squad

There once was a chubby medium-sized boy who’s parents hailed from a foreign land. On one particularly cold wet winter morning, he walked towards school at a snails pace in anticipation and fear of period one, his least favourite lesson…Physical Education aka PE!

The whole year did PE together and the Head of the Physical Education department announced in assembly earlier in the week that it was now rugby season for the boys and to ensure they brought along all the correct equipment. The boy didn’t want to play rugby. He was one of the smaller boys in his year group, fat, obese, unfit, weak and was constantly pushed, pulled and knocked over in to and through the mud. Worse than the rugby for the boy was the use of the communal showers after the game with all the bigger boys who’d be showing off their big dicks, pubic hair and developed bodies.

Just before he arrived he decided too slip in to the recreation ground next to school, where he saw the ground already saturated with a high water table, and pulled out a notepad and pen. He did something he knew was wrong  but felt was his only way to get out of PE and away from the taunting of all the other boys in the showers. He decided to write a note to the PE teacher, forging the signature of his mother, to get himself out of playing rugby. His reason for not participating was that he had not been feeling very well.

He sat in assembly unable to concentrate on what the Headmaster was saying, as all he could think about was PE, handing the note the teacher and hoping the 6’5” ex-Army Warrant Officer Mr Manton would accept the forged note and excuse him from rugby.

The bell rang and he moved at a glacial pace, allowed all the other boys to get ahead of him in to the changing room. He by-passed his usual corner spot with all the other fat kids and losers and continued his slow ascent to Mr Manton’s office. He avoided making eye contact with any of the other, more lean and athletic, boys who got changed opposite Manton’s office. He handed in the note, Manton took it, slammed it down on his desk and without even looking at the boy gestured for him to join the line with all the other boys who were also not doing PE, while he aggressively punched buttons on a telephone with his jumbo sausage sized fingers.

After several minutes he emerged from his office, wearing combat-95 patterned Army combat trousers and a navy blue sweatshirt emblazed with the school logo. “SILENCE YOU FUCKING GOBSHITES!” he shouted as the charisma-filled schoolboys stopped talking and turned to face Manton. It was so silent, the boy could hear himself breath and his stomach rumble. Manton went along the line and asked each boy individually why they were not doing PE while he scribbled notes on his clipboard. “And what’s your fucking problem?” Each excuse the same as the last, “I’m a Muslim Sir, it’s Ramadan, I’m fasting”. Manton stopped halfway down the line before he even got to the medium-sized lazy PE dodger.

Manton took a step back, put his clipboard down, looked at the dozen or so boys and stared at them all. “Ok, listen in, I’ve just got off the phone from a friend of mine, Mr Green, who is the Head of Physical Education at Loxford High School in East London…he said 85% of his students are Muslim, they are also fasting and are all doing PE today”. There were audible gasps from all corners off the room. “And you all look fine to me!” He turned around and dropped the lost property box infront of the line up of boys and said “You better find some kit and be ready to go within the next five minutes!” The changing room erupted with laughter as Mr Manton about-turned and walked off. He turned again just as he got to his office door, pointed at the line up of boys with his clipboard and shouted “OH AND I’LL BE CALLING ALL OF YOUR PARENTS TO EXPLAINED WHAT HAS HAPPENED TODAY!” He turned in to his office “Ramadan my fucking arse!”

The medium-sized boy wanted to plead with the teacher to not to call his mother, he knew he’d be in big trouble and lose his privelidges, pocket money, double puddings after dinner and computer game time. He was often referred to as ‘lazy’ in his last school report and this was more evidence of his laziness. He was warned by both parents that if he didn’t start making changes then they would make them for him! Unfortunately, he never got a moment alone with the teacher during the lesson or after as he hid in the toilet cubicle while the majority of the year group passed through the showers. He stressed about Manton’s phone call to his mother all day, which distracted him from concentrating in each and every lesson.

The bell rang at the end of the day’s final lesson and for the end of the school day but instead of moving at the speed of a thousand gazelles to get home and watch Blue Peter, he moved at the slowest he had moved all day to embark on the short journey home and to receive whatever punishment awaited him. As he exited the building Mr Manton was about to go in and stopped the boy. “Eh big lad, you did really well in rugby today, good lad, oh and I didn’t get a chance to call your mother, but if she has an issue with you doing PE today, you tell her to call my office.”

Instantly, it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt taller and that the spring in his step had returned. He’d got away with it but sadly not the showers, which despite killing time in the toilet cubicle he still had to endure with some the other more developed, but no so obnoxious, boys and then put on his clothes while he was wet as he didn’t have a towel!

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you have to take the rough with the smooth.

At the tender age of 29, Dave felt that life was starting to pass him by. As a child he vowed to always lead a full life packed full of fun and adventure. He didn’t want to have the same regrets felt by his parents, the same regrets of getting caught in the rat race of working, commuting and recovering enough to be fresh for work again. Yet, here he was a hospital accountant working ever longer and longer hours for less and less money. At least the WhatsApp group with his school friends allowed him to keep in touch with his peers. Hearing of their adventures was still better than the shallow existence his parents lived when they were alive.

Then one day in July, his best friend John announced he was going to get married in the autumn. Dave felt this was his moment, to seize the day, to reconnect with his friends and be a part of the adventure for once. Dave wanted to arrange the stag do for John. Dave had always wanted to go to Las Vegas and knew that John hadn’t been and also always wanted to go. This was it, a chance to make some epic memories and be back in with the crew.

Dave went and did all the research, went to three different travel agents and conducted his own research online. It was expensive during the summer holiday season but he wanted to pay for his friend as well as himself. He sold some of his personal belongings to raise funds, rare first edition hardbacks. It was still not enough. So he sold more stuff, boxed action figures from his youth that his parents did not let him play with because they didn’t want him damaging the figures. They were all sold via eBay auctions where they didn’t make as much as they could have, but enough to fund his friend’s stag do. He had the money!

Dave called John to arrange to take him out to dinner, so he could tell him that they would be going to Las Vegas, Nevada in the United States of America, and also to confirm who else he wanted to invite. Who knows? Maybe this would make John want to make him the best man! However, John said he wasn’t sure if he was free on that date, “Yeah, let me check my diary and call you back mate”. He didn’t call back, he texted back, after being prompted by Dave a few days later, to say he was unable to do that weekend as the boys were taking him to Las Vegas for his stag. “Maybe meet up the following week yeah?”

It was at this precise moment that Dave realised that he and the boys weren’t as tight as he thought and that he had done this to him all his life. John was a good friend, but not the best. Dave now felt like a substitute friend, called upon only if a member of the first team was unavailable. It changed his whole outlook on life. Made him question his self-worth and all his relationships. His Las Vegas memory making plans were ruined. However, he now had money in his pocket.

Sometimes in life you win and sometimes you lose, but you must always take the rough with the smooth.

There was a man on the train
Who claimed to have lost his brain
Said it was his ex-wife’s fault
She was the one to blame

Everyone who walked by
Heard his talked lies
While he munched on his burger
Onion rings, drink and fries

As the train journey went on
He became a lot less strong
Switching between emotions
No-one home but the light on

By the end he was crying
Not even trying to hide it
Feelings so strong
He was unable to fight it

He should take the rough with the smooth
Sometimes you win sometimes you lose
But above all else
He should stay off the booze

The park bench at the top of the hill became a second home for the lonely man after her retired from his job at the sweet factory. He had worked there for 40 years. “I’d have gotten less for murder” he’d often say.

The majority of his friends had died or moved away to be closer to their families. The sweet factory shut down a month after he retired. The staff took their miniscule redundancy pay and opted to move to locations with better prospects – anywhere but there!

The job was supposed to be a gap filler while he figured out what he wanted to do with his life after he completed two years of National Service with the Royal Armoured Corps. But then he met Beryl, the girl who had it all, the good looks of a film star, brains of a scientist, charm of a politician and the sense of humour of a comedian.

He loved Beryl more than life itself. He did everything for her. He stayed in the shithole of a town within which they lived. He did mind numbing work as a fudge packer at the sweet factory. Beryl loved it in the town. She could go anywhere and have anything. But instead she stayed there with him.

It was only at her funeral that he had unfortunate displeasure and spoke to the man that everyone referred to as the Jacket. The Jacket always worse a long black overcoat with a big collar and big pockets, which often homed this former Army boxing champions enormous hands. The Jacket looked genuinely distraught at Beryl’s funeral.

“You know she wasn’t just my employee and friend? She was also my lover!”

The meeting was interrupted by the funeral director who wanted to confirm that everything was satisfactory. He ended the conversation abruptly and looked around the room. The Jacket had gone!

Day after day he sat on the bench contemplating what the Jacket had said. He thought of all the times Beryl had made excuses to be out of the house, usually working late at the laundry where she washed bedsheets from all hospitals in the county. He allowed it and was immensely grateful because they needed the money, the sweet factory didn’t pay well!

He’d worked out that it was not a recent fling but many decades of romance between Beryl and her Jacket. He even got a DNA test from clippings of his son’s hair, who still came over every second Thursday for his fortnightly trim. The test confirmed it wasn’t his son.

When the son found out that the Jacket was potentially his father, he went and made contact, like an extra terrestrial making contact with the human race. He never spoke to his old man, the old father, ever again.

Now each day the lonely man sits on the bench, starting down the barrel of his old service revolver, wondering if today will be the day that he has the courage to pull the trigger. He missed Beryl. She’d have told him what to do.

I absolutely hate using public toilets. Especially when your banks are about to burst, and you rush in to the toilet at the service station, drop your pants like a lead weight, and plonk yourself on the seat only to realise that it is still warm from the previous s#!tter!

Sharing an office with five other women whose ages range from 28-34, I often excuse myself to get away from the non-stop chatter about who bought what, went where, who doesn’t like who, who didn’t do what, and all the underlying tension between this elite group of females.

These females are elite because at work, they are the best at what they do. But as with all teams based in offices, there are subtle differences that are often left unspoken of. These differences are left to simmer like molten lava in the magma chamber of a volcano, and show obvious tensions to the onlookers.

A tension is so evident and strong that it could be carved in to an ice sculpture. My only salvation is a few minutes out of this melting pot of an office, to make myself a cup of tea. These few minutes of solitude and silence are like a week in the Caribbean! It’s often said that silence is golden, but when these girls shut up, the silence is certified triple-platinum!

I pick up my black mug with the white skull and cross bones on and never fail to read the text underneath, ‘Captain Kallah.’ If only I really was a pirate, like Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl, I’d swash buckle my way on to a ship, and sail away from all the office politics.

A sink, fridge and kettle are located immediately outside the office door, in the narrowest corridor in the world. The kind of corridor that you have to turn sideways to walk along, as both elbows rub against the walls if stood at a right angle. I wash my cup at the end of each day, so it’s usually clean when I need my first break away from the noise at around 9.15am – 15 minutes after getting in. By my second, fourth or sixth visit to the tea point the cup only receives a quick rinse.

The transparent Morphy-Richards kettle turns red while the water inside it is boiling, and blue when the water has been boiled. The pyramid shaped tea-bag, by PG Tips, is dropped in to the cup and lays there in a heap, looking up at me like a child stuck down a well. The boiling water from the kettle is poured over the pyramid shaped bag, which spins like a record as the water penetrates it, forcing it to rise like mercury in a thermometer.

I press the tea bag against the side of the cup, the same way a young male may push up against a female against a wall in a night club. The water which at first was so clean, clear and pure when falling from the nozzle of the kettle, turns from light to dark brown in colour. The warm liquid may look a little like chocolate but isn’t, but I slightly recreate that taste by adding several spoonfuls of sugar.

Lastly I add a splash of milk. Some, depending on class or personal preference add their milk to the cup before the water. But I always add the milk afterwards. I like the strength of my tea to be somewhere in between weak and strong, but not one exclusively. I find that to get it right is done by adding enough milk to make the colour of the tea match the complexion of my skin.

Once this ritual is complete, I walk with my mug back in to the office, where I will be a little more focussed and able to work, until it all becomes too much and have to start the process again.

Every morning a crow came and sat on the fence by my window. One day I decided to chase it away as I didn’t like it being in my garden. I banged hard on the window, but unlike the pigeons it stayed there. I opened the door, but unlike the squirrel it didn’t turn and scarper. I got a little closer to the crow and clapped loudly twice, but unlike the foxes it didn’t run away.

I lunged forward and clapped a second time, the crow still didn’t move, but this time it turned its head until his eyes were level with mine. The crow then laughed, a hearty laugh like an old man. I assumed I must’ve either been drunk or high, especially as the crow continued to speak. He said “Don’t worry, I won’t bite!”

At only a metre away from the crow, I couldn’t help but notice how dark this bird was. It was as if it was dyed, or was coloured in with permanent black ink. Even its eye balls and nails were this dark charcoal black colour. It was all so surreal and everything happened so fast. I didn’t know what to do, so I asked its name and where it had come from. The crow told me his name was Granville Burne, and that he came from Hawaii. He used to sell drugs and cheated on his wife with tourists and female neighbours. When he died he was reincarnated as a crow. He then observed his wife who regularly got laid by both their neighbours, including the husband of one woman he used to get off with. Seeing this he felt low, and realised that his actions in life were unjust and, that he’d been a rotten person when he was alive. Now as a crow he decided to fly around the world, city to city, town to town to advise others on their existence. Give them a warning, a heads up of things in their life.

By this time the crow had pivoted and turned his whole body towards mine. I asked him to tell me something about my life. The crow said he’d tell me three life changing things. Still a little sceptical about this whole talking crow thing, I laughed when the crow told me that if I didn’t change my ways, my wife would leave me tomorrow morning, I’d lose my job in the afternoon and I’d be paralysed by the evening. I didn’t know how to react and laughed some more, before being interrupted by the rain. It was if someone had turned a shower on me. The rain was thick and heavy. I looked up at the sky, which now seemed to be as dark as the crow, and then I woke up.

I was moist all over, from rain or sweat? I didn’t know. I heard raindrops hitting the roof top. The bed was empty and cold. I got up and walked over to the window. A crow flew away from my window sill as I lifted up the curtain. The house felt even colder now that I had gotten out of bed. I went downstairs and saw a post-it note on the fridge. The note read,

‘Dear John, things really haven’t been working out between us recently. You haven’t been giving me what I need. I was seeing another man, who was giving me what I need, but it’s all become a bit too much. I’m going away for a while. I will be in touch soon to discuss things. Take care, Samantha.’

And of course you know the rest, I drove around looking for her, as a result got late for work. I got to work three hours late, and being on my final warning my boss told me that this was the last straw, to empty my locker and leave. His last words were that your P45 will be in the post! Having lost my woman and job all in the same day, I very heavily drowned my sorrows. After half a dozen hours spent in various public houses, off licences and parks, I decided to drive home. I couldn’t control my car and drove in to a skip, which is how I become paralysed, admitted to hospital, and booked in to this counselling session!

I had no idea how I was going to get myself out of this one. I was aware of the national speed limit being 70mph. I was also aware that my speed was somewhere in excess of 106mph. I thought that maybe they would be amazed at how a clapped out 18 year old Ford Escort could build up to that speed, and let me off. They were gaining on me. I took my foot of the gas completely, until the speedometer settled at 65mph. I moved over to the middle lane. My perspiration increased and started to steam up the windows. I looked in my rear view mirror and saw that the sirens weren’t on, but they were still rapidly advancing behind me.

In one sudden movement they moved in to the over taking lane and passed me. The luminous ‘Motorway Maintenance’ signs now clearly visible as they whizzed by.

The first day they met, his whole life changed. He initially thought it would be perfect, like ‘a marriage made in heaven.’ But before too long he realised that she wasn’t going to be as easy going as his last. She took a step back each time he got close to her, and winced each time he touched her. She even physically attacked him leaving the inside of his wrists all slashed and cut, like a depressed teenager hurt in love.

If was then that he decided that Kandy wasn’t for him, and took her back to the pet shop.

Time to forget I thought to myself, as I strolled around the park in a zombie like daze one cold Saturday morning in January. It was time to forget about all the good times we had shared together. They were gone, and with Sharon’s wedding tomorrow they were highly unlikely to ever return. It had been 4 months, 3 weeks and 6 days since we last saw each other. Having been with Sharon for 3 years it was hard to forget her, it was extremely difficult to let her go without a fight. But I couldn’t continue to fight for her.

The nature of the relationship was clear to me when it first began. It was a tangent relationship for her, a part-time thing, I was her ‘pay as you go fella’, if you like. Me, I was single then and I suppose I am single now. As far as I was concerned, working my job and fitting in with Sharon’s plan was how my life was set up, and I found that to be both manageable and satisfying.

I first met Sharon at an away day at the Birmingham Cheese Convention, with my work colleagues 3 years ago. While Colin was in the toilet, she openly admitted to me that she had been with him for a year, but didn’t know how long they were going to last. They didn’t look like a solid couple. Me and Sharon were definitely a better match. She had mentioned leaving him for me on several occasions. Foolishly I assumed that eventually that day would come. It hasn’t. Instead the day that came was Colin and Sharon’s wedding day.

Should I call Sharon and try and persuade her to be with me? Or should I call Colin and tell him what’s been going on? No! It will just make Sharon mad when he cancels the wedding, and then she won’t want to be with me. She must obviously want to be with him, that’s why she’s agreed to marry him, right?

Well maybe I should go to the wedding? I have an invite from Colin. I should be supportive of Sharon’s decision. I should take them a gift. What if she’s told Colin the whole truth and he has accepted her past, and she wants to be with him for that reason? If that’s the case I’d look like a right pillock, turning up with a present. Alternatively, he might think I’m trying to make a pass at his wife, and fire me from Archway Limited. I really need this job.

Maybe I’d be better to find a date to take to the wedding. A pretty lady companion. Yeah. I’m sure there are plenty of girls temping in HR who haven’t been invited, and would love to attend. If not to see the wedding, then definitely for the free booze. I remember at the company Christmas do last year, as soon as Colin said he was paying for the drinks, all the ladies singles immediately became doubles.

Damn, I feel completely snookered. I have no idea what to do. I can’t risk talking to anyone, as most of the people I know will probably be at the wedding, get drunk and go around blabbering my personal business to all the guests, and ruin Colin and Sharon’s big day. I guess it really is time to forget.

He had been putting off going to number 22, the Dempsey residence, all week. He had accumulated quite a bit of their post, and since their phone call of complaint he thought it would be wise to deliver their post today.

He hated going to number 22 Gravesides Crescent. From the front the property looked like a standard two bedroom semi-detached bungalow with a garage. Bordered with a white picket fence, a small gate in front of a pathway leading up to the front door, and a larger gate separating an electric blue Ford Focus from the pavement.

Either side of the pathway leading to the front door was an immaculately manicured lawn. In the middle of each section of the lawn were two large overgrown bushes, which usually served as an observation post for the Dempsey’s dog, called Sergeant-Major, who seemed to always be on stag.

He opened the gate, and purposely left it open incase he had to make a swift exit. He got halfway down the path and alongside the bushes, to the bit he referred to as the ‘point of no return.’ A growl was heard from the bush on the left and the postman started to walk a little faster. He held open the flap of the Dempsey’s mailbox and started to insert all 19 pieces of post as quickly as possible, doubling up where possible. He felt like a contestant on Channel four’s The Crystal Maze!

He saw letters from Tesco Club card, Amnesty International, Love Film, Barclays bank and many small A5 white envelopes with a window encasing the address, Mr T O Dempsey, 22 Gravesides Crescent.

He pulled the letter box flap down and started to make his descent back to the pavement. He thought of running but saw two neighbours having a chat on the opposite side of the street. The wonderful widow, originally from Worcester Mrs B Edwards from number 16, and the gorgeous blonde hair blue-eyed Miss Joan Garten from number 12. He didn’t want to look like a wuss in front of Joan, so had to maintain composure.

He approached the bushes and failed to remember what side Sergeant-Major was on. The left he thought to himself and then walked a little closer to the bush on the right. It was then he realised that he was walking in the opposite direction and that the bush on the right, was actually the bush on the left! Sergeant-Major sprang out from behind the bush, stood directly infront of the postman and started barking. Each bark seemed to get louder and the poor postman could feel his heart beat faster. Was this how it all ended he though – eaten alive by a Yorkshire terrier?!

He could see the foxy Joan Garten from number 12 approaching number 22. He tried to act cool, but the more casual he became the more the dog barked. Sergeant-Major took a few small doggy steps towards the postman as if he could sense his fear and wanted to intimidate him further.

It all happened so quickly, but Joan came into the garden of number 22 and kicked the dog from behind. Sergeant-Major went whimpering back to his bush and Joan took the postman’s hand and led him out of their garden.

She had 24 hours to leave the country.

Her husband, the Director-General of the Armed Forces, had found out about several of the affairs that she had over the years, but chose to turn a blind eye. He was very close to murdering her himself when there were rumours that his youngest son was fathered by a Junior Officer. But the paternity test revealed otherwise.

This time it was different as there was solid evidence and phone taps, which had proven that she was leaving him for good with the Director-General’s secretary.

A rather attractive young lady named Sherona.

I had a choice to make. Is it Tina or Vicky?

Well, Tina is fun. We like the same things. We went to the same primary school, secondary school and college. Our families know each other. We have similar career aspirations. We both like football and support Manchester United. We both play the same games on the PlayStation. We listen to the same music. I find her very attractive. She’s got a great sense of humour. Not only does she tell good jokes, but she laughs at mine as well.

As for Vicky… She’s rich!

Hmm Vicky it is then!

They’re overjoyed the day he was born
Given a son after many daughters
To the family chess board, a new pawn
Mobilised like a lamb to the slaughter

The boy’s education was the key
Something the family didn’t have
Mould him and take them where they wanted to be
So finally, a fortune they could grab

However, it didn’t go as they planned
He just didn’t need or want what they want
He was his own man and had his own plans
From different cloth, a different font

Rely on no one to bring you your wealth
Get off your backside and earn it yourself

There once was a brown man on his way home from Westminster, after the longest day shift ever. He awaited on the eastbound platform of London Underground’s District Line. The atmospherics within London were pretty sombre as they were in the aftermath of yet another terrorist incident conducted by religious extremists.

The tired brown man managed to squeeze into an over-crowded carriage, he managed to slip through the door a nanosecond before it shut and the tired man laid his heavy backpack in between his legs. As the train made its way out of the city and through zones two, three and four of London’s inner city and suburbs, the carriage started to empty. As more people got off at their respective stops, he was able to snurggle his way further into the carriage.

He manged to get himself into a better position, with more elbow room, stood in between the two rows of seats, where he held the central ‘stripper pole’ handrail with both hands for stability and with his heavy backpack still positioned in between his legs. When the train alighted at the next station, a lady sat in the seat adjacent to his standing ‘pole’ position, dressed in business attire with a smart designer handbag and a copy of the free ‘The Metro’ newspaper, stood up and made her way to the doors.

There was an internal scream for joy by the brown man, as he could take a seat. He could take the weight off his feet for the next few stops, before he’d arrive at his stop and had the one kilometre walk back to the room he rented in a house with several other brown and eastern European occupants.

The lady briskly brushed past him as he slowly stepped towards the seat, to ensure his intentions were known by other passengers in the carriage and he got the seat before anybody else did. As he turned and sat down, but before he could reach forward to retrieve his heavy backpack, a pinstriped-banker-type looked down at the brown man with disgust, unhappy that he had sat opposite him, and said under his breath but loud enough for everyone to hear “Make sure you don’t forget about your backpack!” An obvious racial slur, as Islamic extremists had claimed responsibility for 9/11 and 7/7, and their latest modus operandi had been suicide vests and backpacks filled with explosives.

Everyone turned and looked at the brown man as the pinstripe lifted ‘The Metro’ back up high in front of his face. Fed up of the racism that he, his family, friends and other black and brown people had suffered and were still suffering from, unjustly at the hands of bigoted people, he decided that this was his moment to make a stand. To be the change he wanted to see.

He leaned forward and put his hand on the top of the man’s newspaper and pushed it down. He stated very loud and clearly “Just because someone is a Muslim it does not make them a terrorist, and I am not even a Muslim, so get your facts right before your start stereotyping every brown person that happens to be near you!”

The pinstripes face went red with rage. He was about to respond with expletives, reveal the spite, hatred and racism seated deep inside of him, when someone at the other end of the carriage started to clap. Several others joined in and before too long the whole carriage were clapping. Relief on the brown man’s face, tears formed and rolled down his cheek. It was validation that not everyone felt the same way as the pinstripe.

The pinstripes facial expression had now changed, he mumbled under his breath, a very inaudible apology. He pulled his paper back up even closer to his face and life continued.

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you must take the rough with the smooth.

– So, what’s been happening sunshine? You don’t look too happy.

– Well me and my wife really want to have another child. So, for the past few months we’ve been trying for a baby. But we have been unsuccessful so far. We have been successful twice in the past year but we’ve had two miscarriages.

– I’m sorry to hear that bud.

– It’s cool. So, we’ve tried lots of different strategies to get pregnant. Recently I’ve lost a ton of weight and I read that a man should have sex every second day to keep all his equipment downstairs and seeds primed.

– Ok, so what then?

– Well, it’s been tough with all this Covid-19 lockdown business. Do you know what? I think we just need a bit of a break from each other. Both tryna work from home. Home school the kids. Getting food in isn’t as easy as it usually is, I can’t find pasta, tea bags or toilet paper for love or money.

– Costco dude! We always buy in bulk and then replace when our reserve stock runs low, that’s why we’re always sorted for stuff. But yeah, anyway so what else?

– Ok, thanks for the Costco tip. So, we’ve not always managed to do it every second day. Believe it or not, working from home and doing school stuff, entertaining the kids, is pretty fucking tiring man.

– I feel ya bro.

– But yesterday, I thought it was on but when we got in to bed she said she didn’t want to. I always respect my good lady’s wishes. I said that’s fine we can do it another day. I got in to bed and she apologised saying “sorry if you feel I’m rejecting you!” I said your not, chill, don’t worry about it. She then said well you had plenty of other days to do it so it’s not my fault.

– What?

– I interrupted her and said again, look don’t worry, don’t mention it again. But she kept answering me back. So I said, say it one more time and I’m going to sleep in the other room. She then carried on arguing and said I was black mailing her.

– Blackmailing her?

– Yeah, it’s not like I had a gun to a puppy’s head saying some shit like “Transfer the nuclear missile codes Mr Bond or the puppy gets it!” She just took it way too far. I left the room. Slept in the spare bed. Woke up the next time, having hit the reset button and now she’s not talking to me. Silent treatment, making me feel bad.

– Well, the way I see it is that she rejected you and then tried to put the blame on you for something else. So, it looks like you’re wrong and she’s right. Stubborn as fuck mate!

– Yeah, it’s a family trait of hers, her dad and brother are much fucking worse.

– Get out while you can mate!

– What?

– Seriously mate, get out while you can. I’ve seen psycho bithces like this take away too many of my mates.

– Dude, we’re married, have a house, two children and are planning on having another child? I can’t just leave because she doesn’t have sex with me on one occasion.

– Well don’t ask me for my advice then and just do what you want!

***SILENCE***

– So, now you’re not talking to me?

And with friends like this who needs enemies?

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you must take the rough with the smooth.

There once was an organised, shy and not very confident man, who relocated to the opposite end of the country to be closer to a lady he met on an online dating site. They’d exchanged hundreds of text messages, dozens of phone calls and had even met twice in person.

He planned to surprise her, on what would be their third meeting, with the news that he’d moved to her area so they can take their relationship to the next level. However, she texted back before he could confirm details of their meeting, stated that she didn’t want to meet up and she wanted to cancel their date. She said she didn’t want to waste his time because she had recently started to see someone else that she had also met online.

He had been communicating with her for a total of six months and she hadn’t mentioned that she was speaking to anyone else when they last met up, so he assumed that her new fella wasn’t that serious. He genuinely felt that if he could just get her to meet him this one time, he will tell her what he has done, all for her, that’d win her over and that they could be together forever. He felt she was not like anyone he had ever met before, mainly because he was terribly shy in person and had not met many people.

He called her but she ignored his first few calls. He continued to call her every ten minutes until she eventually answered, he informed her that he was already in her town and that he had come all this way just to see her. In desperation he said he respected that she was interested in another man (he lied) and convinced her to join him for one drink at the trendy wine bar on the High Street, for old times sake.

When she arrived at the bar, he was already seated at a quiet cosy table by a fireplace with her favourite drink, a Long Island Iced Tea, which was ready for her on the table. He stood up to embrace her, but she sat down before he could get near her. She ignored both him and the drink, failed to give him any eye contact. She didn’t look happy to see him and chastised him for coming to see her. She was with Rob now. He explained how he had quit his job, sold his flat and moved to the area so he could be closer to her as he had thought that what they had was special. She assured him that it wasn’t and stood up. He grabbed her by the arm and reminded her that she had often told him that she loved surprises – SURPRISE! She said this was more of a shock than a surprise and walked out of the bar and walked out of his life.

He was distraught. He finished his drink, then hers, and stood looking squarely at the two empty glasses, symbolic for how he felt not just today but for most of his life. He had no job, was staying in a hostel, living out of a holdall and the only contact he had in the area had just told him she wanted nothing to do with him. Eventually, the barmaid came over to collect his empty glasses and asked him if he was ok as he didn’t look right. He told her what had happened, and then his whole life story, which she was genuinely interested to hear. As her life story, was very similar to his life story.

Moving forward, he got a job at the bar he was sat in and eventually moved in upstairs when a room for rent became available. He and the barmaid eventually ended up getting together, marrying, having children and running their own pub and restaurant. She often reminded him of how if he hadn’t come to town because of the girl on the dating site, they’d have never met!

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you must take the rough with the smooth.

There once was a boy, who shortly after moving to a new school, was out with his peers during their lunch break. The local chip shop, The Lobster Pot Fish Bar, was always busy and queuing up for the majority of the break ate into their football playing time.

One of the boys, Lee, spoke of another chip shop, New World, which was further away but not usually busy. Another boy, Tom, raised the point about it being adjacent to their rivals’ high school, the dirty Park Hall Secondary School. “We don’t want to get caught on their patch or they’ll bash us up” said Tom. “Yeah, but their lunch time is after ours, we’ll be in and out before their bell rings!” said Lee. Tom then queried the distance, the extra ten minutes it took to get there and the extra ten minutes back. Lee, the ringleader, told them of a hole in the fence behind the big trees at the rear of the field next to the football pitches. “So, it’s actually the same time to get there as The Lobster Pot!” said Lee. Even though all the students were warned about going to the other parade of shops where New World was, it was out of bounds to everyone at their school, and he didn’t want to break the rules particularly as he was new to the school. But he wanted chips and also didn’t want to be left out of his new peer group, so the boy reluctantly joined the other boys.

The group strode across the school field, past the football pitches, until they reached the edge of the field and slowly zigzagged through the dozen or so trees between the field and the perimeter fence. The branches of the trees, which were all unmanaged and overgrown, blocked their path to the fence. They slowly pushed through one by one, branch by branch. The branch in front back slapped them in the face as the person in front moved through. They all eventually managed to squeeze through the hole in the fence, which was a more appropriate size for primary school aged children, not high schoolers! The boy, being slightly more rotund than his peers, struggled to get through the gap, the strap of his Adidas back-pack snagged on the fence. He took his bag off, slipped through the fence and pulled his back through after him.

On the other side of the school fence, the boys waited by the edge of a dual carriageway, for a gap in the traffic. The boy could see the chip shop, New World, in front of them. Tom pointed to a pedestrian crossing approximately 300 metres down the road. Lee shouted over the traffic, “We’re gonna cross to the middle of the dual carriageway and jump over the barrier.” One of the other boys, Dave, joined in, “Yeah then we’ll have enough time to join Deano and the lads for a kick about.”

However, the barrier they had to jump over was bigger than the boy. All the other boys were taller than him, managed to get over the barrier and across the road all while he contemplated how to scale the barrier. He felt he was always one step behind the boys. He then spotted a bolt sticking out on the side of the barrier. He put his foot on the bolt and stepped up, his chest became level with the top of the barrier, he boosted himself up until his stomach was then level with the top of the barrier. He leaned over the barrier and ruined his shirt, which was stained with exhaust fume dirt that had deposited on the barriers. No doubt the barriers had not once been cleaned since they were erected a decade earlier. The boy managed to get over the top and landed on his feet as a bus overtaking a lorry whizzed past at 50 miles per hour.

The boy arrived at New World and joined the back of the queue behind his chums, they didn’t notice he was absent, or that he was present. By the time he got his breath back it was his turn to order. “A large open portion of chips please” asked the boy. “Salt and vinegar?” asked the cashier. The boy confirmed and walked out the shop. The boy tucked in to his chips before he’d even exited the premises. The boys stood around for a minute or two, wafted the chips in to their mouths, before Lee said “Right lads, let’s go back to school.” The boy took an extra second to scoff another one of his chips. He came out of the shop last and still had plenty of chips to eat. Lee was out first, he’d ordered a small portion and had finished his chips – he was ready to go!

The boy’s half eaten portion of chips was yet another lever that pushed down on him as he made his way back to school, via the barrier in the middle of the dual carriageway. There was a gap in the traffic, he got to the middle of the road with the barrier now in front of him. He put his foot back on the bolt and boosted himself with a little more power than last time. Too much power, as now he was on to and over the barrier in one swift movement. The weight of his backpack, which remained on his back during this manoeuvre, took him over the fence and into the road. His chips flew through the air, he landed on the road before them just as a gold Mercedes 4×4 screeched to a halt a mere three metres away from the boy. His group were nowhere to be seen, they were already across the road, through the broken school fence and on the field headed towards the football pitches.

The Mercedes driver managed to break just in the nick of time. A second later and he would have run the boy over, and at 50 mph almost certainly have killed the boy. The driver of the Mercedes blew his horn while he rolled down his window and poked his head out. “What the fuck are you playing at you dozy pillock?” The embarrassed boy picked himself, and his school bag, up and ran back to the hole in the school fence. The Mercedes driver sounded his horn as he drove off.

Once the boy slipped through the broken school fence, he felt relived, safe and happy to be alive. The boy eventually caught up with Lee and the rest of the gang by the football pitches. He didn’t tell them what had happened, he was afraid they’d make fun of him. Instead he asked “What’s going on?” Lee spluttered back, “Oh Deano has gone to the Lobster Pot and no-one else has a ball!” The boy felt everything he’d been through, unnecessarily rushing, sneaking out of school, dropping his chips and almost being run over was a complete waste of time and effort!

On the way home from school that day the boy decided that perhaps the current group of boys he had chosen to associate with were not the best peer group for him. The boy felt he couldn’t rely on them. The following day he went to the Lobster Pot by himself, but walked back with some other boys and girls from his year group that he’d met in the queue.

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you must take the rough with the smooth.

There once was a boy, an only child born to busy working parents, who often felt lonely. For every day he felt fulfilled with the level of human interaction, be it at school or at home with his family, he felt he had to pay with ten days of loneliness. It was these long periods of isolation, especially during school holidays, that made him yearn to be part of something. The boy desperately wanted something that he could focus on, even when he was all by himself.

Then one school day, on the first day back after the summer break, a PE teachers, Mr Shufflebottom, stood up at the end of assembly to deliver a notice. He declared the previously disbanded football team was to reform due to the school extension and the extra hundreds of pupils now attending the school. Mr Shufflebottom felt there were now enough students, and a good crop of potential athletes, in the school to resurrect the football team. Deep down Mr Shufflebottom was more interested in football than anything else in life, he once had a trial with West Ham and essentially became a PE teacher to earn a living through football. Those who can do and those who can’t – teach! Nonetheless, the boy’s interest was piqued.

The following Wednesday afternoon, the school cancelled all classroom lessons to allow students to try out for all the school’s various sports team. The PE teachers, Mr Shufflebottom, Miss Strider and Mr Vault, were due to walk around the basketball courts, rugby pitches, tennis courts, football pitches, the indoor gymnasium and swimming pool noting down the students that demonstrated they had met the level of sporting prowess required to represent the school at sports.

The boy was immaculately turned out in his bright yellow school sports jersey, black shorts and black socks, which had two white horizontal stripes at the top and were displayed once folded near his knee. He donned his brand-new Adidas Predator football boots, the same ones worn by all the star players across all the football leagues in Europe. He assembled at the football pitches with all the other boys. He noted some were taller and stronger than him, and also noted that some were smaller and fatter than him. He started to slowly fill with doubt, like a glass being filled with water; he wondered if he had what it took to be selected for the school team.

Mr Shufflebottom was supposed to be walking around with his clipboard, but appeared to be exclusively involved in the football trials and wasn’t keeping an eye on any of the other sports. Shufflebottom picked the teams himself, and to look all teams look evenly matched. He then gave direction for the team opposite the boy to be the skins, and when these boys removed their jerseys, the majority had fit bodies, ripped like Spartans, some appeared to be airbrushed! The boy didn’t fancy his chances. The games commenced and at the end of the session, Shufflebottom started to read off a list of names. The names of those who had been selected for the team. The boy felt he didn’t play well at all, he rarely touched the ball and when he did, gave it away within seconds. Each time a name was called out, the feeling of missing out, sunk deeper inside him. But too his surprise, his name was the last to be called off the sheet attached to the clipboard held by Mr Shufflebottom.

Although the boy had been selected for this year’s football team, he rarely played in the first team and was a squad player. Although it was bittersweet, the boy didn’t mind, he enjoyed the company of his peers, new friends from different year groups. Even though he didn’t play, the training sessions greatly improved his game and he spent most of his free time at home practicing ball control and kick-ups in his back garden.

Towards the end of the season, and academic year, a tournament took place between the top 100 school football teams in England and was held at Wembley Stadium. The home of football! The boy’s school had qualified for the tournament, but several of the older players were unable to participate due to upcoming exams. Mr Shufflebottom informed the squad as they sat on the school minibus on the drive down the London that they didn’t have enough players for any substitutes, and that all the players will have to play every minute of every game, unless they got injured. He also told them not to get injured. With confirmation that he would be playing and his friends by his side, the boy knew that this was his chance to establish himself in the team and be selected again for next year’s squad. Not being in the squad would send the boy back into the lonely abyss, of having no-one to talk to and playing Scrabble for one. The stakes were high.

Very early on in their first game it was evident to all that the boy was a much better player than he had been at the trial. The boy was confident and strong on the ball. His control, passing and shooting were accurate, which paid off for his team. He scored in every game and his team didn’t even concede a goal in the group stages. The boy’s school team were unstoppable, winning each game easily. However, there was also another team playing with a similar winning streak, and these two teams were to play each other in the final for the cup.

The final was a very even game. With each team holding possession for long periods but unable to get a shot on target when in the opposition’s penalty area. However, in the last minute of the game the boy played a beautifully chipped pass over the two opposition centre-halves and played his mate Lofty in on goal, one-on-one with the goalkeeper. The goalie came off his line and pushed Lofty wide, but before Lofty could get passed the keeper his shirt was pulled back and he fell to the ground just short of the six-yard box. Every man and his dog turned to the referee, who simultaneously blew his whistle and pointed to the penalty spot. It was a penalty! Roderick, head boy and team captain, ran over to the boy and said, “It’s all yours!”

The boy put the ball down on the penalty spot. Keeping his gaze down as he took four short steps back. The keeper had spread his arms and legs wide, turning himself in to a wall, and was constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The boy ran up with the intention of firing the ball into the top right-hand corner, something that he had practiced again and again in his back garden when he returned home from school to an empty house. But at the last second before striking the ball, he changed his mind and shot towards the left. The keeper dived the right way and palmed the ball on to the post. The boy fell to the floor, punching the ground and wished he hadn’t changed his mind at the last moment.

Had he lost them the cup? They still had time, or so he thought. But to make matters worse, when the ball rebounded off the post, it landed outside the penalty area at the feet of their lean, six foot tall, right winger who hoofed the ball down the pitch and then outran everyone to be the first to reach his own pass. Like poetry in motion, he did what Lofty couldn’t do and rounded the keeper before passing the ball effortlessly into an empty net. He ran off down the wing holding his arms out horizontally by his side, like the swept wings of an aeroplane.

The referee blew his whistle. Not a hint of offside. The goal stood. The referee blew the whistle some more. The final whistle. They lost. The boy was a runner up, so close to being a winner. His team mates and friends came over to consolidate him. No spite or negativity. They did well to get this far without any subs, and would no doubt be better prepared next season.

Sometimes in life you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you have to take the rough with the smooth.

There once was a little boy, who during his school holidays was to board a bus to visit his sick mother in hospital. The bus stop was a swift 12 minute walk from his house, but if he took big steps he could do it in ten minutes.

On this cold, wet and windy miserable Monday morning during the October half-term, he arrived late at the bus stop but saw the bus drive off just as he turned the corner from the side street to the main road. Drat! If only he’d walked faster or left home earlier. Perhaps his watch was wrong or the bus was early were some of the reasons he contemplated as he awaited the arrival of the next bus.

Luckily for him the next bus was due in 15 minutes. When it got to 23 minutes he started to wonder if the timetable had changed. A theory that became more convincing as they reached the 30 minute mark, especially as there were no other passengers at the bus stop. He walked over to the timetable posted inside the bus shelter, he read that the timetable had not changed and confirmed that the bus was now again due. At this point he saw a big red double-decker bus, the number 13, as it drove up towards the bus stop. He walked the edge of the pavement and held out his hand. However, the bus didn’t slow down or even stop. The driver did however raise his thumb at the little boy and pointed it swiftly over his left shoulder several times, and signalled the little boy to look behind the bus. A second bus crawled towards the bus stop.

The little boy held his hand out again, but this time the bus stopped short of the stop. The driver switched off his engine and held up the palm of his hand to the little boy, which showed all five digits. He didn’t even open the door. The boy desperate not to miss this bus stood by the door. The raindrops got larger, fell faster and made his jacket heavier.

After a further six or so minute wait, the driver switched on the bus’ engine. Another two minutes later he finally opened the door. The little boy, now shivering got on to the bus and left a wet trail like a slug behind him. The driver remained focused on his ticket machine, pushed buttons, neither spoke to or looked at the little boy. After a further few seconds, which felt like hours to the little boy, the driver scowled through gritted teeth, “Have you got a tongue in your head?”

The little boy still shivered, his teeth chattered, and was unsure if the driver was speaking to him. He remained silent. The driver said it again a little louder and slowly turned his face towards the little boy in slow motion, “I said, have you got a flipping tongue in your head boy?”

The little boy’s eyes filled up. The driver let out an evil Cruella-De-Vil-esqu laugh. “Speak up boy!” the boy responded, “I’d like one ticket please” and placed his money in the tray adjacent to the ticket machine. “Well that’s not enough!” The boy’s heart beat a little faster “But that’s all the money I have, that’s what my father gave me.” There was a second of silence while the driver eyeballed the little boy. “Well you can’t get on then can you!” The little boy panicked “But this is how much the driver usually takes for a child’s ticket” had the price changed he thought to himself. Please don’t let the ticket price have changed. “Oh, you want a child’s ticket? Well why didn’t you say so boy!” The driver pushed a button on his machine and a child’s ticket was dispensed. The little boy ripped it from the machine and started his slow ascent along the bus. He walked away from the big puddle he’d left at the front of the bus.

But before the little boy could even sit down, the doors shut abruptly and the driver set off with a jerking motion. This bus driver gained speed a lot quicker than other drivers. The little boy fell backwards and then forwards, he managed to grab hold of one of the handrails as he fell to the floor. He slipped through the puddle he’d created seconds earlier. The driver let out another hearty laugh and shouted expletives. “Your lot need to fucking learn your place in our country!” The driver carried on, ranted, said things in a similar vain until another passenger got on the bus a few stops later. Once this elderly lady boarded the bus with her two grandchildren, the driver instantly calmed down and stopped shouting. The driver was a racist bully but the boy didn’t care. Three more stops and he’d be at the hospital, able to be with his mother until his father joined them after work.

Sometimes in life you win and sometimes your lose, but in life you have to take the rough with the smooth.

The young man went against both his gut instinct and friends, when he entered the new trendy steakhouse and bar.

Upon entry, each and every person in the bar stopped their conversations, put down their glasses and stared at the young man.

And there he was, Chad, who immediately stood up and strode towards the young man. He pointed with both arms outstretched and shouted “YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE!” Chad looked around the room to see if he could gain support. Some of the other drinkers nodded.

The young man stepped forward until a distance of only an arms length separated them. The manager of the establishment soon joined the two of them. They three of them stood equal distance apart, in a triangle, like a Mexican stand-off. The young man was initially unsure if the manager was also in support of Chad, until he moved a few inches closer to Chad and turned towards the young man, which confirmed he was.

The young man looked the manager in the eye and asked “Is this true?”
The manager folded his arms across his chest “Ah…well…”
The young man cut him off “I’m seeing a lot of empty tables in here.”
The manager piped up “Well Sir, you are causing some of our valued customers some distress, so I’m afraid that I am going to have to ask you to leave!”

There was a loud cheer and aggressive clapping from Chad “See! In your face, now get out!” With the last roll of his dice the young man asked “Is the owner, Mr Stiger, here?”

The manager looked up and left, pursed his lips before a deep exhale, then looked back at the young man “Mr Stiger is far too busy to talk to you!”

At this point Chad started to chant “LEAVE…LEAVE…LEAVE.” Getting louder with each chant. Chad turned around and raised his arms up and down, like an Olympian pre-triple jump, to encourage others to join in with his chant. Several other drinkers joined in. Each time Chad shouted “LEAVE” a few more people joined in.

Just as all the chanting reached fever pitch, a tall man with grey hair, a bow tie and walking stick emerged from behind Chad. The cheering stopped as Mr Stiger stood equal distance between the young man and Chad, with the manager opposite him.

“Mr Stiger” said the manager “sorry to disturb you, this man was just leaving.”
Stiger nodded “I saw the commotion on the CCTV” and in a swift movement he turned to Chad “Make sure you settle your bill before leaving my premises.” A speechless Chad remained rooted to the spot while Striger turned to the manager “show this young man to his table.”

Sometimes in life you win and sometimes you lose, but you have to take the rough with the smooth.

There once was a man, who worked for a large corporation, in a tall office block in the centre of the city. The man was having issues at work with his boss, who he felt micro-managed him. One of the man’s duties was to compile monthly statements of activity, progress, statistics, finances and performance against key performance indicators. This was regarded as an extremely important document, which was always double checked by the boss before the man submitted it to the CEO’s assistant.

No matter how busy the boss was, he always insisted on checking this document. The boss wanted to avoid submitting a report with mistakes in it and aimed to ensure that his department didn’t look unprofessional. The man didn’t like the boss, and always felt both violated and insulted that he wanted check his work. However, the boss always picked up at least one or two errors in the man’s report.

One month the man decided to circumvent the boss’ checking system and submitted the report directly to the CEO’s assistant. The assistant collated stats for the management group, a trio of dragons who aimed to improve efficiency, and if necessary, off load any member of staff unable to meet their inflated and often unreasonable standards. Low and behold, he made a mistake. The assistant, as the collator, never checked the analysts work for accuracy. She compiled the final report and submitted.

This month the man’s stats were the big talking point for the management group. When they looked a little closer at the stats, there didn’t appear to be an anomaly, as the man had consistently made similar mistakes throughout the report. Once the meeting concluded, the assistant called the man’s boss and arranged from him to meet the CEO the following morning, stating that the management were extremely disgruntled with the stats. The boss said he hadn’t yet checked or given the man approval to submit the stats.

Once he got off the phone, he went over to the man’s desk and asked if he could see the stats. The man replied, “Oh you don’t need to worry about that, I have already submitted them for the next management group meeting.” The boss said he has to meet the CEO tomorrow morning and needed to review the stats. The man’s heart sank. He knew he’d gone against protocol and hoped that he had not made a mistake.

When the boss looked at the figures, he saw a decimal in the wrong place, and that the figures were not as bad as the management group had thought. The man breathed a sigh of relief, but the boss felt under pressure aware of the management groups reputation of firing folks. Water cooler gossip and his instincts made him aware that tomorrow morning’s meeting was not going to be a walk in the park for the boss. The boss told the man that he wished he had let him sanity check the work before sending to the assistant. The man got worked up and told him to stop being so ‘micro-managey.’ “Well I wouldn’t have to be so ‘micro-managey’ if you paid more attention to detail.” The man fired back “Yeah, well, I would pay more attention to detail if you were not on my case all the time!” To the boss, and the whole of the team sprawled across the vast open plan office, this made no sense. Deep down they all knew that the man was at fault and the boss would ultimately have to accept responsibility.

You pay the cost to be the boss, and the buck stops with you! The boss looked the man straight in the eye and through firmly gritted teeth told him “Stop being so shit!”

The following day, the boss explained the predicament to the CEO. The CEO agreed that it was not as bad as first thought, but was nonetheless still an under performance. He also queried why he didn’t check his analysts’ work before submitting? He said he usually did, but on this occasion the analyst didn’t share it with him. The CEO questioned the boss’s working practices, team cohesion and most importantly – attention to detail. It eventually ended up with the boss being sacked!

The news of the boss’s dismissal went down like a lead weight around the department. They all knew he was very good at his job and took care of his staff, and did so much more than was expected of him. He did things the management group didn’t see, which were integral to the department achieving their objectives each year.

The boss’s position was agreed to be filled from a member of staff within the department. Viewed as a poisoned position very few members of the team put themselves forward for the promotion. The man who compiled the monthly reports put himself forward and got it based on the fact that he was used to submitting the monthly figures and knew intimately how the whole department operated.

The man himself was fired from the company just three months later. Without the boss to check his work, he carried on making errors, which made him look like a liability to the management group.

Sometime in life you win and sometimes you lose, but you have to take the rough with the smooth.

There once was a little boy from a low income family, who for one birthday was given a pack of marbles. These small spherical balls were made of glass, approximately 13mm in diameter and were purchased from the local green grocers owned by the Indian family. Marbles were all the rage at school and duels were fought during playtime, the victor kept the losers’ marble. When playing for keeps, the stakes were high. For months the little boy had been an observer, with no horses to race, he was unable to compete. But after his birthday, he too could take a seat at the players table.

The little boy started out playing the hitting game. Player one put their marble on the ground, player two stands 10 paces away and throws their marble at the stationary marble. The first one to hit their opponents’ marble three times won the other persons’ marble.

On day number one the little boy lost big, with half of his marbles lost. Fortunately for him, it was a Friday and he had the weekend to practice tossing his marbles. The following Monday the little boy was on fire, a natural, and won many marbles. After a full week of winning a marble each time he played a game, the little boy started to get the attention of many other kids in the playground, including some of the popular bigger kids, who were convinced that it was not the little boy’s talent and ability, but the marbles that had a special quality that enabled him to hit the oppositions marble each time.

With his eye on the prize, a big boy invited the little boy to join him for a high stakes game at the big boys’ table, which was the grid on a drain cover. There was only one of these in the whole playground and the big boy played on it at every break time, always winning and taking marbles from the rest of the school. No one really knew the proper rules of the marble game on the drain cover, but in the school they made their own rules. Passed down from one generation to the next. The two players would start in the middle, taking turns to flick their marble against the other one. There were two deep dips, or depressions, in the drain cover, which were like goals. The objective was to get the opponents marble into the deep dip in the drain cover. As ever, the first to three would win the opponents marble.

Another reason for the bigger boy’s success was that he had a larger marble, 25mm, which was easily able to hit smaller marbles. The little boy lost his first few games. At the next playtime the big boy played a little easier, but still won. The big boy didn’t want to stop until he had all of the little boy’s lucky marbles. The little boy played with marbles he had won from other matches first. The little boy tried harder in each game he played and eventually started to win the odd game. But each time he won the big boy bent the rules and claimed, “Well it ain’t gotta be the marble you played with.” The big boy gave him little marbles, never the big ones. Conscious that his marble holdings were being depleted, the big boy concentrated harder but still lost. In an attempt to stop his embarrassing losing streak, the big boy proposed one big game the following day, winner takes all the marbles from the loser. The little boy wasn’t sure, but the other kids encouraged it as the big boy had a large duffle bag full of marbles.

The next day they played while nearly the whole school watched. The big boy had an even bigger marble, 30mm, but the whole school is cheering for the little boy, the underdog, apart from his two ‘plastic’ cronies, no one is supporting the big boy, probably because at some point over the past year he had taken marbles from most of the kids, and not necessarily fairly! A tense affair, which miraculously the little boy won! Graceful in both victory and defeat, the little boy offered his hand to the big boy who slapped it away. The big boy swore at the little boy “Stop being such a little bitch!”

I’m not a…” the little boy couldn’t even bring himself to say it. One of the other kids suggested telling a teacher. The big boy clutched his bag worried he’d get in trouble. A group of them approached the teacher on playground monitoring duty who responded, “Well a bitch is just a female dog, there’s nothing wrong with that!” Deflated, the little boy returned to the scene of his victory, his Colosseum, his Wembley Stadium, the drain cover. When the others heard what the teacher had said they too felt deflated. Seeing this unfold from a distance, another teacher from the other side of the playground wondered over, “So, who won the big match?” Some onlookers brought the teacher up to speed. The teacher called the big boy over and encouraged him to honour his agreement like a gentleman.

The big boy handed over his duffle bag to the little boy, but it only had four marbles in it, not including any of the big ones. The big boy’s intentions were not good; if he won he would have taken all 30 of the little boy’s marbles, but when he lost he only gave a meagre percentage of his holdings.

However, the little boy was still four marbles up. Sometimes in life you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you have to take the rough with the smooth.

One Sunday a little boy went for a bike ride on his smart BMX ‘Destroyer’ with white frame and a chequered flag patterned cover along the handlebars. As the little boy’s confidence grew, he ventured out further away from home. On this occasion he was in unchartered territory having cycled further away from home than ever been before, but was unable to find his way back.

Stationary by the edge of the woods he bumped into a bigger boy from school. The bigger boy was a little bit older than him and he’d seen him swearing and fighting with other children in the playground, making the most of his bulk, which will be redundant as the smaller kids have growth spurts and take revenge. The little boy’s heart beat faster as he contemplated the bigger boy stealing his bike. The bigger boy rode over on his bike that had been handed down to him from his older brother, who had it handed down to him from his older brother, who had it handed down to him from their father. The bigger boy’s bike was rusty and rattled, but the Chopper still functioned and held the bigger boy’s weight. He shouted, “Oi I know you from school…hey…that’s a nice bike!” The little boy nodded said thanks and told him he’s lost. The bigger boy asked where he lived, “Oh yeah, I know where that is, follow me.” The rode into the opposite direction from which the little boy came, but he didn’t recognise where they were going. They stopped at a few points along their journey, where the bigger boy made decisions about which path to take, first left, then right, and then left again.

With the sun starting the set the little boy asked the bigger boy how long it will be before they got home. The bigger boy told him to “Shut the fuck up!” The little boy asked the bigger boy if he’s lost. This was the kick the struck the hornet’s nest and the bigger boy pushed the little boy off his bike. The little boy’s worst fear became reality. The bigger boy got off his bike and grabbed the handlebars of the BMX, the little boy shouted “NOOO!” and put one hand on his handlebar and another on the bigger boy’s t-shirt. The stronger bigger boy yanked the bike away, but the little boy didn’t give up, grabbed his t-shirt with both hands and pulled with all the strength his little toothpick sized arms could muster. This David versus Goliath battle halted prematurely by the noise of a car in the distance, which started to blow its horn and flash it’s headlights the closer it got. It was a grey Vauxhall Cavalier, like the one driven by the little boy’s father. As the car got closer, the bigger boy let go of the BMX, got back on his bike and rode away.

The little boy caressed his bike and turned to face the Vauxhall. The driver’s door opened and his father emerged with a stern look on his face. “You stupid boy, I’ve been driving all over town looking for you!” The father chastised the little boy all the way home, and handed him the punishment of no bike rides for one month. The little boy accepted his punishment gracefully just grateful to have both his bike back and get home.

Sometimes in life you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you have to take the rough with the smooth.

To the outsiders who looked in, this little boy had the perfect life. Two hardworking and capable parents who were financially secure, ran a successful business, had a house, an investment property, two cars and two perfect children. A little girl with golden hair and her angelic brother who she doted on at every opportunity.

But not all was as it seemed for the little boy. One warm summer afternoon, the mother fed up of her house being in a continuous state of disrepair decided to serve lunch to her little boy and family in the garden, which resembled a building site. The little boy had previously expressed a desire to dine in the garden because he liked the outdoors, and as any mother would, she did whatever she could for her children. If it was within her control, she would endeavour to make it happen.

The father was always a little detached and distracted from the family, stressed due to running a small business in the uber competitive inner-city of London. Not to mention the separation anxiety that lay buried deep within him. The little boy’s father came from such a large family and had almost certainly suffered from neglect. However, he always provided for the little boy. The necessities, food, clothing and shelter.

Whilst dining outdoors the clumsy little boy knocked over his glass of water. The father started to shout as the tidal wave of water from the little boy’s green plastic tumbler trickled it’s way towards him. The little boy’s reflexes sparked and he tried to stop the water as it slalomed towards the edge of the table. He put his cheap Pound shop napkin on top of the water and wiped, all while his father continued to berate him for being such a clumsy clot! Disasterously, the little boy only succeeded in redirecting the water further towards his father, as the cheap napkin disintegrated and stuck to the table. This further angered his father who with one swift snap of his wrist backhanded his son across his face. The force of the slap was so hard that the little boy fell from his seat and ended up on the floor. The sister started to cry, and the mother shouted at the father for hitting the little boy. Of course, the father more than stood his ground.

In the mean time the little boy crawled under the table while the commotion carried on above him. He sat on the floor, picked up and inspected individual pieces of broken mosaic tiles that were under the table. Although the blue, brown and white pieces were lose, dislodged and cracked, they still looked so regal to the little boy.

The little boy never forget that day. Not because of the aggressive from his parents or the tears of his sister, but because of the beauty of the mosaic he had discovered. Everyday after school he would go home, go straight in to the garden and put the broken pieces back together, whatever the weather! This was where he felt at his happiest. His most useful. His most engaged. His safe space. His happy place. This was his spot.

During the summer holidays the following year, the little boy went to stay with his grandparents for a week. When he returned home, his mother took great pride in showing off the newly laid crazy paving in the back garden. It was the end of an era.

But where one road ends, another begins. Although the broken mosaic tiles were no longer there, the little boy often day-dreamed that he was sat under the table playing with the broken pieces that he had put back together. A metaphor for his life. As a grown man, he held on to that image of the mosaic until he had a home of his own. He made sure that a blue, brown and white mosaic pattern was laid in his own garden.

Sometimes in life you win and sometimes you lose, but in life you have to take the rough with the smooth.

The hourglass had turned and only a few grains of sand remained in its top half. It had been almost nine months to the day that he was conceived, and it appeared as though he was soon to be awoken from his slumber. A black hole slowly opened up into his world, like a birds eye view of an umbrella being raised on a rainy day, a portal from the outside world. He did not want to leave his humble abode and distanced himself from the portal. A state of concern grew amongst those that assisted the mothership. On the outside there was much activity, shouts, screams, beeps from machines, people who wore matching uniforms came in and out of the room. In due course the most senior and experienced of doctors arrived to course correct what appeared to have gone wrong with this birth. With tongs in hand the doctor slowly penetrated the mothership, and after a long struggle eventually managed to grasp the boy. The doctor’s grip on the boy was not strong. The mother screamed. There was a chance that the boy may manage to wriggle free from the grasp of the tongs. The doctor remained poised, and in one swift movement he removed the boy from his mother. The feet came first, followed by a wrinkled blue body and tiny head the size of an apple. The baby boy let out a pathetically weak scream as the support staff swooped in to deal with both mother and baby boy.

In the coming days the mother, her husband and their established children proudly showed off this baby boy as if he were the most prized trophy. Everywhere the boy went he was met with smiles, cheers and laughter. In return all he could do was cry. The family and friends were happy with the newest member of their tribe. The baby boy just cried, cried as if he felt genuinely sad, relegated from the comfort and support of the womb to the hell on Earth.

Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but in life sometimes you have to take the rough with the smooth.

I had a blog before, but the people who hosted it collapsed, and with it my words. I got busy living my life, going to work, being a husband and a father. I had to prioritise. The one thing that was lowest on my list of priorities was the one thing I wanted to do the most – write! Until the desire to write slowly went away. It was something that I stopped doing. Then one day in 2019, I woke up and felt that my life was missing something. I felt like writing. So here I am. The landscape has changed since I was last here, and my life is still busy. It will take time to figure out how to set this site up, but I will do it. I will write more. I will share more. I want to give more. Give and you will receive. I have received so much in life that in a state of equilibrium I want to give back. I will give you my words. Enjoy!