Thursday, 28 April 2011

Ninety Three

We think Grandad has dementia.

He still destroys us at scrabble.

Ninety Two

This was Markie, in his younger, leaner days. Before he found a nice lady who fed him cream and tuna. 

Ninety One

The councilmen gathered in secret and discussed, in hushed tones, the raven clad individual who had taken to flying through the city at night on his infernal machines.

What should they do? How should they fix this?

"Well," said one, "He should definitely be paying some sort of vehicle tax." 

Monday, 25 April 2011

Ninety: For Emily

Never offer him a coffee. Brian doesn't even like coffee.

In fact, Brian has never liked coffee. Not since he was eight, when he mistook a steaming cup on the side for cocoa and was so horrified by the bitter black liquid it contained that he spent the majority of rest of the day with his tongue hanging out, drooling everywhere because it tasted so bad.

But sometimes you can see him in the queues at cafés with a mischievous look on his face, taking a heartbreakingly long time perusing the options before announcing to the beleaguered barista,

"I think I'll just have a tea, please."

This 100 + 0 was derived from a real life anecdote by a real life person

Sunday, 24 April 2011

Eighty Nine

One time, I caught God peeking through the clouds with a pair of binoculars. I approached him cautiously.

"What are you doing?" I said, and as I did so noticed he was peering at people in church, dedicating their entire morning to him.

He looked sheepish and tucked the binoculars behind his back.

"I try not to look too often," he said, "It makes my head swell! Can't resist every now and then though."

"You know," I said, "Most people just google themselves."

Saturday, 23 April 2011

Eighty Eight

Arthur and Muffins were disturbed by the noises the bell flowers were making. They'd only asked if they wanted some tea. 

Friday, 22 April 2011

Eighty Seven

I used to be sad all the time. Not that kind of valid sad due to exterior events, but the sort where you are earth shatteringly, mind movingly sad. The kind of sad that would disillusion the most optimistic balloon sculptor who tried to cheer you up. The kind of sad where the gulf between your house and the rest of the world is a dark, constantly shifting canyon (like the tectonic plates are wired up to your emotions). The kind of sad that makes puppies cower in fear of it (in fact, this happened to me a few times).

But it isn't insurmountable. It's just important to remember that you should never think you are anything less than remarkable.

Eighty Six

Eighty Five

Tuesday, 19 April 2011

Sunday, 17 April 2011

Eighty Three

It is better to be outside consumed by hayfever than inside consumed by restlessness.

Eighty Two

Terrifying though the Bush Dai-Dai was, Ösfur was more scared of its bemusing taunts than anything.

Saturday, 16 April 2011

Thursday, 14 April 2011


The sounds of the city lulled Renard to sleep. In his dreams, he was bolder, faster and better than any other creature.

Seventy Nine

What was it, thought Mack as he stared up at the weary, imposing portrait on the wall, that his father used to say? He stared at it for a few moments more, hoping to soak up the wisdom that his father seemed to exude and then remembered that his father never said a word. He communicated in grunts and disapproving glances.

"Good enough wisdom for me," said Mack.

Saturday, 9 April 2011

Seventy Six

When the world discovered God, he had a few questions to ask them.

"How did you find me?" Asked God, like a child in a game of hide and seek, "Why did you believe I actually existed?"

"Well," said the earthly representatives, "The evidence was overwhelming. Some of the naturally occurring stuff on earth is too perfect not to have any kind of designer."

They opened their bags and threw out an assortment of objects including bananas and loofahs. God teased the loofah between nondescriptly gendered fingers and made a contemplative sort of noise, kind of like a, 'hummmmmm'.

"What do you use these for, then?" asked God.

"As a sort of sponge, of course. That's what you made it for, isn't it?" replied the earthly representatives.

"That's bloody good that is," said God, genuinely astounded, "I actually thought you should use hedgehogs, but this is much better."

Thursday, 7 April 2011

Seventy Five

You never saw a guitarist like Martyn.

In fact, you never saw Martyn, largely because he was invisible for most of his life.

Seventy Four

Tuesday, 5 April 2011

Seventy Three: The Great Gatsbungedup

"They say he is an Oggsford man..."

"Good God man, have you no decency! Blow your nose for God's sakes."

"... Maybe it was Camebidge..."

"Look, there's snot everywhere. Take my hanky. I beseech you."

Monday, 4 April 2011

Sunday, 3 April 2011

Seventy One

Me sugar free sweetie pie,
Me diabetic darling;
I'll have aspartame in the afternoon,
And Splenda in me Twinings
Give me low cal sweeteners
And arr-tee-fish-hul enhancers,

Though according to the internet,
They won't half give you cancer.

Saturday, 2 April 2011


You have never felt fear quite like weeing in the great outdoors and hearing the calls of an approaching dog walker. It sets your heart racing to hear those, "Come here!"s and indiscriminate, "yups" and, "ops." And suddenly, you're pulling faces and waving your hands frantically willing yourself to WEE FASTER.

The dog walker itself is not the problem. The dog walker will not see you, because presumably you had enough sense to widdle in a concealed spot away from the general public (unless you're into that). The problem is the dog, that will indiscriminately sniff you out and stare for an age while its owner is encroaching and calling, "Charlie! Charlie, what are you doing?" And all the while your bladder keeps finding more liquid to squeeze out.

You have never felt fear quite like it.

Unless you are or ever were a teenage boy and then I imagine you've experienced a fear exceedingly similar.