Thursday, 25 April 2013
subtitle - Confessions of Capitalist.
I used to work in the marketing department of a large lock making firm. Many years ago our biggest sellers were padlocks, everyone was scared of theft and so we managed to convince them that a good meaty padlock was a good deterrent. But then sales started to slump, people were finding other ways to protect their property, door locks were safer, bike riders were preferring the D locks, while suitcase began to have built in locks. There was still a market for the good old-fashioned padlock but it was shrinking at such a rate that it was becoming unprofitable to make them.
That’s when I had the idea and if I say so myself it was genius.
My Polish friend told me about a bridge of love in Wroclaw, a bridge where it was traditional for men to propose and women to say yes. It gave me the idea; what better way I thought that to mark such a wonderful moment than to leave a little private momento.
So I went to Poland, armed with an suitcase full of locks, found a willing volunteer and instructed them to add a new locks to the iron railings of the bridge over the next few weeks. Some big, some small, some plain, some engraved the bridge told a story of fictional love. It didn’t take long for my volunteer to report back that more were appearing of their own volition. It was then that I contacted the travel books, Lonely Planet, Rough Guides etc and the BBC. Before long stories were all over the internet and similar love bridges were appearing across Europe.
It was then I had my second brain wave; the letter of complaint.
I’d read about the John Lennon Wall in Communist Prague, as soon as the authorities painted over the picture of Lennon it would magically reappear. Would the same happen with my locks? My volunteers sent several letters to the local authorities where the lock bridges had appeared complaining of the eyesores in beauty spots. The councils responded quickly, removing the locks. But my suspicions were confirmed; as soon as the locks were removed they magically reappeared.
Again we contacted the press, they loved the story; the locks had become not only a symbol of love, but a symbol of subversion.
Now, wherever you go, any big city or town, you see love locks attached to bridges, railing, almost anything it is possible to attach a lock to. You might think oh how romantic but I hear cash tills ringing.
Posted by Gareth at 16:23
Wednesday, 24 April 2013
This is the 3rd Part of the 'Just a Gigolo' story.
Part 1 here
Part 2 here
Warning: This story does allude to scenes of an 'adult' nature.
Helen lay in bed alone, naked, satisfied. She heard the front door close gently and smiled a little, wicked grin to herself. She couldn’t believe she had just paid for sex, it was naughty, sleazy, dirty, but she’d loved it! It was exactly what she wanted, no strings, no emotional attachments, just a business transaction. Small beads of perspiration glistened on her forehead as she lay there contentedly, her body still slightly quivering. He’d touched her so gently, so tenderly and had patiently explored her body looking for and finding for the magic spots. She closed her eyes and shivered as she remembered the way he’d used his fingers on her neck like a concert pianist expertly caressing his keys. Her whole body had been his concerto and he’d mastered it with skill. Starting slowly and gently before building up to a crashing crescendo sending seismic waves throughout her body.
It had been good, very good, but if she was honest there was something missing, yes concert pianist was a good analogy, confined by the notes of another, a skill learned and delivered not instinctively played. She knew it was a bit churlish to complain, the performance had been professional and near faultless but there had been no soul, no passion. Next time she’d look for a jazz musician, someone that will be willing to go with the flow, improvise - take a few risks.
Dinner with Christie and Zoe was fun, they were all ears; desperate to know what it was like, how she’d felt. She enjoyed the attention, hammed it up a little, glossed over the awkward start and the clinicalness of it. Instead she loitered on the fine detail, the things that have made her smile since.
‘So will you see him again?’ Christie asked.
‘No, no, he did the job, I have no need for him.’ Her tone was cool, flippant even.
‘But surely there was some kind of emotional involvement?’ Zoe took over the interrogation.
‘You know, I’ve been thinking about this. There wasn’t and I think the reason why was that there was none of the small talk after, no spooning, no cuddles, no promises. Almost as soon as it was over I kicked him out of the house.’
‘Really?’ Zoe she couldn’t believe it,
‘Yep, you don’t linger in a shop after you’ve bought the goods do you?’ Helen smiled.
As they left her phone alerted Helen to the fact that she had missed calls, there’d been no signal in the pizza place and now it was frantically trying to catch up. She dug around in her bag for her phone and looked at the screen; three missed calls, all from Bryn. That was one other thing she hadn’t told the girls, Bryn had been calling and texting her, asking for a date. She slipped the phone back into her bag. It wasn’t her who had got trapped in a web of emotional involvement, it was him.
Posted by Gareth at 07:56
Tuesday, 23 April 2013
I'd watched the black van pull up next to the plane but it was only when the two solemnly dressed men climbed out that I realised it was a hearse. The rain drifted across the airfield but the men moved with grace and purpose around to the back of the vehicle and opened the back door. They then stood with heads respectfully bowed waiting for their signal. It wasn't long before they were joined by a third man who had none of the gracefulness of the two undertakers. He wore a bright orange jacket and had ear protectors and an ID card on a lanyard around his neck He moved swiftly, officiously, his body language stuffed with self importance and impotence. Through the departure lounge glass I could not hope to hear what he was saying but it was obvious that he was upset with the two men in black. In his hand he carried two hi vis jackets and he waved them around with purpose as he spoke finally holding them out towards the undertakers. There seemed to be some kind of impasse as the two men shook their heads slowly and the ground staffer got on his walkie-talkie talking with great urgency. He looked around and my eyes followed his to see a man in a grey suit striding towards the little coven on the Tarmac donning his own hi vis vest as he did so.
The suited man's body language was much more accomodating, apologetic even, but he spoke with no less forcefulness than his colleague. Eventually the two undertakers looked at each other, nodded and took the hi vis jackets from the man with the ear protectors round his neck and slipped them on over their dark suits. An unnecessarily triumphant smile spread across the ground staff man's face. I felt a bit sorry for him, i guessed he spent his whole life involved in mini battles in the health and safety war; enforcing rules that were full of good intention but needed a modicum of common sense. Despite looking faintly ridiculous in their luminous vests the men moved with dignity as they unloaded their unfortunate cargo from the plane and into their car. The final journey could continue now the rules had been obeyed.
Posted by Gareth at 08:23
Sunday, 21 April 2013
This story is part 2 of the Promised Land - read part one here
When at last the boss had finished and the meeting was over Kevin slipped back to his desk. He checked his emails and then began to pack up, his eyes searching the open plan for signs of Liz.
‘Coming to the pub Kev?’
‘Alright Steve, yes, why not, I’ll be down now.’ He’d made up his mind there and then that tonight he would go to the bar, he would have a drink, why was he hanging around hoping for something that was never going to happen? But he decided to go to the toilet before leaving just to give her one more chance. As he was coming out of the loo he was saw someone coming towards him, bloody hell it was her. Act natural he said to himself, be cool.
‘Hiya’ her dimples appeared as she smiled her greeting.
‘H h hello again,’ Kev could feel himself getting flustered, his face reddening. God he was usually such a flirt himself but this minx had turned him into a shy little boy.
‘Enjoy the meeting?’ again she smiled that wicked, wicked smile, she knew exactly what she was doing.
‘boring’ Liz finished the sentence for him. ‘So boring.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Kevin smiled trying to flirt but immediately blushed even more.
She started talking about something but he only half listening. He could feel them getting closer and closer, their hands kept touching, their legs just slightly brushing. She put her hand on his arm. She was doing this on purpose, just part of the game, nothing would come of it. But suddenly he realised what she was saying.
‘I really want to kiss you now.’
Kev looked at her to check he'd not misunderstood. He hadn't .
She grabbed him and pushed him into the toilet. She found a cubicle, locked the door and locked her mouth hungrily on his.
Posted by Gareth at 23:15
Friday, 19 April 2013
It's a song one so no cubes today, but can you guess the song before the last line?
|Random picture of a sunset as there are no cubes|
Lisa was at some do in Palmer's Green feeling sorry for herself. She couldn't help notice that she was the oldest in the room, the music was awful and to her 30 year old eyes it even looked like the kids danced in a new way; it was enough to drive a man to drink, or girl in her case, in fact woman. She looked around to see if she could see her so called best friend, it was Laura’s idea that they came to this bloody party and then as soon as they walked in the door she'd disappeared leaving Lisa to fend for herself in alien conditions. Laura must have found somebody new to play with, probably that young boy she'd been talking to in the pub, the one who told her about this bloody party in the first place. It was a semi-private birthday party, Lisa thought Laura had said it was a 21st but looking at the kids in the room she wondered if it was actually an 18th. The club was called The Kitchen and the music sounded like it was being played on pots and pans, god Lisa sounded like her mother. How did Laura always end up with some toy boy on her arm and Lisa went home alone. I'm no good at chatting up, she thought to herself, that's why I always get rebuffed.
She drained the last dregs out of her bottle of Bud and went to the bar. One more beer she told herself then I'll go home.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
She looked round and saw Rolf her work colleague grinning at her. She’d didn’t really know Rolf and didn’t really like him , but right now she'd never been so pleased to see anyone.
‘Bottle of Bud please.’ she wasn’t going to turn down the offer. ‘What are you doing here? Not really your scene is it?’
‘Hark who's talking,’ Rolf’s smile was kinda cute. ‘I couldn't believe it when I saw you. At least I have an excuse, it's my kid sister's birthday, parents kinda leant on me. What's yours?’
Lisa smiled, ‘my mate Laura is snogging the face off some twenty year old somewhere.’
‘Ah right. right, I see, so that's why I’ve found you in the Kitchen at a Party.’
Did you guess? Here is the song.
Did you guess? Here is the song.