Wednesday, 30 September 2015

The Ironing Board

For audio click here
A red warning today. 
From the moment she’d asked him if he fancied coming back to hers to the moment she closed her front door they’d been giggling like teenagers. Laughing at anything and everything, the combination of just the right amount of wine and the knowledge that they were going to explore each other’s bodies gave them a childish spring in their step and a giggle in their hearts. The night passed them by as they walked home; the shouts of the drunks and the wails of the sirens serenaded them, while the streetlights’ orange hue romantically illuminated their shared bag of chips. They were love’s young dream; not bad for a couple of 40 somethings.
They weren’t giggling anymore, as soon as she shut the front door their faces were locked together in a passionate if somewhat drunken embrace; tongues sloppily exploring mouths, hands clumsily exploring bodies. Each would claim later that it was the other who made the first lunge but in fact it had been a mutual engagement; a dead heat, no false starts.  They moved through the house connected together, a dance of passion, steps never before rehearsed or performed but pitch perfect. By the time they reached the bedroom, they were naked and ready. He broke off the kiss and looked around taking in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the bed, it was tiny, not much wider than an ironing board, how on earth could anyone sleep in that? More to the point how on earth could anyone have sex in it? They were 40 something not 20 something and had middle age spread to show for it.
‘That’s a bit small isn’t it?’ he said.
‘I was just thinking how big it was,’ she said pulling him towards her and down on to the narrow bed. They kissed for a moment then he shifted position and found himself on the floor. She giggled, and he clambered back on to the bed smiling. They kissed again, her soft hands felt good on his warm body, he could see her smile in her crow’s feet. He moved down her body and found himself on the floor again.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she said with a smile.
‘Me?’ he protested. ‘What’s wrong with this bed?’
They tried again, but again as soon as they changed position he ended up on the floor and she laughed.  But he wasn’t laughing, the latest fall had jarred his back. He lay next to the ironing board unable to move.
‘I can’t move,’ he croaked.
‘Stop messing about,’ she said hitting him with a pillow. He tried to dodge it but let out a blood-curdling scream as the movement sent pain shooting around his body.
20 minutes later two paramedics came bundling in, they looked around the room taking in their surroundings.

‘Bloody hell, that’s a bit small,’ one of them said. The patient hoped he was talking about the bed and not anything else.

Tuesday, 29 September 2015

Breaking Frame

Today there is a little experiment, a slightly different technique that I am not sure I've used before. 
For audio click here
Barry Island looked an absolute picture. Yes it was cold; that biting wind I knew so well from my youth howling and finding ways to tickle your skin. But the blue sky stretched far out to sea becoming hazy as it reached the island of Steep Holm 5 miles away. Seagulls swooped and glided on the wind and families walked along the prom prom prom enjoying being beside the seaside. The sun glistened off the water and the sand was a golden brown, a finer temptress, calling people down to run, walk or play on the beach. The trick with Barry Island is don’t look back, stand on the prom or on Nell’s point and look out to sea, not back at the run down fun fair and blaring amusement arcades. Maybe I am being a bit harsh but even the most passionate Barrians must admit the view out to sea is way better than the view of the fair. But hey I wasn’t here for sightseeing, or to write a damning review on trip advisor, no I was here for something completely different. I was here for murder. I wasn’t going to commit the murder, oh no I am a writer not a murderer, I’ll leave the murdering to my characters, they know what they are doing. Me, I was just there to tell the tale, to relay it to you because you were not there. Actually I am not even sure it is murder, the definition of murder is the crime of killing someone deliberately. Today it was not somebody that was to be killed but there would be a body.
So I’ve set my scene let me tell my story. The two horses waded through the shallow low tide waves. Their riders bobbed up and down enjoying the sun on their backs and the water at their feet. The soft trot turned into a faster gallop, water splashed from hooves. To Danny high up on the shelter roof they were silhouettes against the sun, but once they had galloped back to his end of the beach they would be clear targets. It didn’t matter which horse Danny shot all he had to do was make sure the animal died. Then his Uncle Bob could claim the insurance and everyone would be happy. The riders turned and brought their steeds back down the beach, this time on the sand. They were racing each other, one pulling ahead before the other over took on the home straight. Danny took a deep breath, the horses slowed, seagulls yelped, and Danny pulled the trigger.

I looked away, I hate violence and hate the sight of blood. Instead I heard the commotion as I watched Danny collect his things and scurry away, down from the roof and down the steps to the car park. He moved quickly but quietly, no one noticed him. Once he’d disappeared from view, I turned my attention back to the beach where to my amazement I saw two horses running free and Uncle Bob lying prone on the sand surrounded by a growing number of sightseers. I hadn’t expected that to happen, I guessed the wind had gusted and Danny’s shot had not been so accurate but I was wrong. As Danny explained later, the insurance on Uncle Bob was worth more than that of the horse and for Aunty Marge, who’d won the bidding war, the horse’s life was worth more than that of Uncle Bob.

Monday, 28 September 2015

The Hotel Room

 For audio click here 
Col had never been in a hotel room like it, there was only one word for it, bloody amazing. It was like a pleasure park, so much to explore, so many things to do. He didn’t know where to start. He looked around in a state of shock. The bed was so huge four people could sleep comfortably in it together, the TV was massive, there were tea and coffee making facilities with packets of biscuits and in the bathroom a huge bath with Jacuzzi sprays built in. Col was in heaven. He’d been expected a shitty little place like the B&Bs he’d stayed in during rugby tours not a bloody palace.
He sprung into action. He turned the kettle on and then ripped open the wrapping on one of the packets of biscuits. He stuffed the shortbread in his mouth and dived onto the massive bed. He bounced once, twice, three times before sinking in to the cloud like mattress. He laughed at the splendour of it and bounced some more. It was like having his very own bouncy castle. The kettle clicked off, Col jumped up and put a tea bag in the mug before going to start his bath running. This was amazing. He had 1 hour until the wedding started and he was going to make the most of the facilities.
Then he saw it.
‘Bloody hell! he said, ‘bloody hell!’ He held his head trying to keep his brain from exploding, he could not remember being so excited in his life. Built into the wall in the bathroom, directly above the bathtaps, was a TV, a bloody TV in the bloody bathroom. This was not real, it surely couldn’t be, there must be a hidden camera.
Col made his tea and got in the bath, he turned everything on, Pointless was on the TV and the jets were sending bubbles to places that tickled. He splashed around like a kid in a bubble bath, while he shouted out wrong answers to the quiz show on TV. This was just fantastic but soon enough his tea was gone, Pointless had ended and it was time to get ready for the wedding, reluctantly he pulled the plug on the bath and stood up. What he saw shocked him. Somehow the whole bathroom was awash with water, water about an inch deep flooding the whole floor and seeping into the carpet of the main room. He’d been having so much fun he hadn’t notice the mess he was making. He threw one of the spare towels on the floor in the vain hope it would repair the damage, it didn’t. Oh well he thought, it wasn’t his house, not his floor, what harm could a little water do.
Col looked good in a suit, okay the shirt felt a bit tight around his neck but he scrubbed up well. He straightened his tie and headed downstairs, he had five minutes before the ceremony started.
Col sensed there was something wrong, the bride, his sister, shouldn’t have been in reception, and she shouldn’t have been crying. Had the groom got cold feet? Col would bloody rip him limb from limb if the low down dirty groom had done that to his sister. He’d known he’d do it, he could see it in the groom’s eyes that he had his doubts. Well Col wouldn’t let him get away with it. He’d frog march him to the alter and make sure he knew what would bloody happen if he didn’t bloody say said I do.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ Col boomed.
‘It’s ruined,’ his sister said.
‘Have a look,’ the nasty cow Bronwyn said. She might be chief bridesmaid but it didn’t mean Col had to like her.

Col opened the door to the function room, there stood the groom in his scruffy suit, standing on a squelching carpet. There was water everywhere, all over the seats, seeping into the cake, puddles around the buffet and watering down the champagne. Col looked up to see the soaking ceiling and knew that it wasn’t the groom that had destroyed the wedding, it was him.

Friday, 25 September 2015

Like a blind man

For audio click here
Is there a slight red warning for this? 
Merv leant in towards Gemma and smiled.
You look delicious, he said.
She giggled but said nothing, just flicked her long curly, black hair from her face.
‘I want to slowly take that dress off you,’ Merv whispered. There were people everywhere, colleagues, customers, dignitaries but Merv didn’t care. In fact it made it more exciting, and by the looks of Gemma’s broad smile she didn’t care much either. The dress in question was a black figure hugging number that accentuated the positives.
‘And then what?’ she said with that delectable cheeky grin that Merv had just about fallen in love with.
Merv wasn’t expecting that, how far could he go? He’d surely crossed the line of decency already. She was a colleague after all; he was on thin ice.
‘Use your imagination,’ he said. He knew exactly what he’d do to her but could he tell her, here?
‘Tell me,’ she said reading his mind and biting her lip.
‘I’d make love to you like I was blind,’ Merv said. He didn’t have a clue where that had come from, not a clue. But it sounded good and it was exactly what he would do. He’d use his other senses, touch, taste, hearing, smell, to devour her delights.
But Gemma looked hurt, confused, disappointed.
‘Don’t you want to look at me?’ she said.
‘Of course I do, I’ve been staring at you all day.’ Merv said; that sounded wrong; just plain creepy. ‘I mean you are so beautiful, I can’t take my eyes off you.’ This was going from bad to worse. Merv decided to give it one more go, ‘I mean, I want to eat you, touch you, taste you.’ No, he just sounded coarse now like a badly written porno magazine. Her cheeky grin had turned into an angry scowl. He watched her perfectly formed legs walk away, the clip clop of her high heels like the nails being hammered into a coffin of their love.
Merv didn’t see Gemma for the rest of the event. She was obviously avoiding him, making sure she was where he wasn’t. Was she telling the others how crass he’d been, how clumsy with words he was? He blushed every time he thought about her, he honestly thought he was in with a chance but now he’d never get to kiss those perfect lips or stare into her clear blue eyes as their bodies met. He wished he could go home but the team were staying in the hotel tonight before a second event tomorrow. So he slunk off to his room to hide.
He’d been there 12 minutes when there was a knock on the door. He opened it to see Gemma stood there, an angry look on her face. He was pleased and scared to see her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Merv said.
‘Turn around,’ Gemma said.
He did as he was told.
He felt her slip something over his head and then the lights went out, she’d blindfolded him. He sensed her slip past him and then took his hand and led him back into the room. ‘Make love to me like you are blind,’ she said. He could hear the cheeky grin had returned.

Thursday, 24 September 2015

Bitter Sweet Symphony

Ash longed to be Richard Ashcroft. He’d near enough starved himself to get the gaunt, haunting look of his hero. He’d grown his hair so he had the shaggy unkempt look and bought a wonderful leather jacket that he wore over a jean jacket. Best of all he’d developed the jaunty walk, the bounce in the step that Ashcroft perfected in the 90’s. Finally he’d managed to persuade his mates to give him the nickname Ash.  Ash was only 19 years old, too young to remember when Bittersweet Symphony was originally a hit but that didn’t matter, ever since he’d heard the opening strings, he’d been hooked on the song, the band and in particular the Verve’s front man.
When he walked down the street Ash imagined he was Ashcroft in the video to the song. Ashcroft walks in a straight line down a London street with a deep freeze look on his face, not perturbed about space and time, rolling people out of his way, walking over cars, not worrying about the repercussions. Bold and brassy, he struts his stuff, singing his song and damning the consequences. Ash longed to be able to do the same, to have the confidence, the balls to just walk. The problem was that Ash was far too British and far too scared to go for it. In his mind’s eye he was a rebellious teen, an angry young man, a rebel without a cause, but in reality he was a scruffy, polite kid, with a long fringe and two coats. He knew full well that if he Ashcrofted down any street he’d have his lights punched out or someone would call the police or if he was a very unlucky man both.

One day he’d do it, but not this time. So with Bitter Sweet Symphony on a constant loop in his head, Ash loped down the street but instead of being full of verve,, he was full of nerves and swerves, apologising if he got in the way of anyone, and getting out of the way of little old ladies with shopping trollies.