Off He Goes

Off He Goes

Off he goes to better days,

The twilight of her youth,

“You’ll be there soon” he calmly says.

Adventure and wisdom through the haze,

Can these days be eclipsed?

Off he goes to better days.

To work that greater money pays,

But now let’s get lashed up,

“You’ll be there soon” he calmly says.

I fall into his weathered gaze,

“I miss my quaint hometown”

Off he goes to better days.

His manner’s different as are his ways,

A new man stands before me,

“You’ll be there soon” he calmly says.

Now I regret my choices made,

At least I do right now,

Off he goes to better days,

“You’ll be there soon” he calmly says.

- Nothing's changed but the surrounding bullshit.

Live Indefinitely - Part One

And now it’s time for our next story. This one I’m going to split into a few parts because it’s rather long and I don’t wanna put off any potential readers with a massive wall of text... And also doing it in a few bits lets me have a bit of a guilt free break from actually writing while I just sorta storyboard it and make sure it all makes sense. Obviously that part takes longer if the story itself is longer. I’m not sure yet exactly how many parts it will consist of, I originally only meant to split it in half but I ended up writing far more than I originally anticipated and I do generally feel like around 3000 words is your limit to expect people to read on a blog in one sitting. Finally the only people who proof read this in any way is myself and you people so if you see any obvious errors please let me know. I do my best to clean this stuff up before I put it here but inevitably a few mistakes always get through. Anyways, the introduction is out the way now I hope you enjoy reading. Thanks for continued support.

Live Indefinitely (Part one)

The lights in the dingy pub went down, that was the assumption of most people there in any case. Perhaps they had all simply broken at exactly the same time coincidentally just as the band came on stage; that was a strong possibility. The lead singer of the band looked round at his audience with a sneer and the drummer tapped his symbols four times before the lead guitarist started the riff and the small crowd of people standing in the pub started moving to ‘Cigarettes and Alcohol’. The band on stage however was not called Oasis and the year was not 1994. The band on stage was called ‘The Champagne Supernovas’ and the year was 2011. Leon Adams sat behind the other three at his drum-kit bashing out the same old rhythm he bashed out every night with considerable distaste. He was now 29 years old and had been playing in the band for five years now, it was probably the longest assignment he had ever committed to and his dislike for Oasis coupled with the fact that his “just passing through” job had become his full time occupation had led to a jaded and unhappy period of his life emerging. He often thought that playing in an Oasis tribute band was the worst job that anybody could have ever because although he didn’t mind the later material, nobody else ever seemed to want to hear it. So night after night they would bash out the obvious songs, the greatest hits and the chart busters. Back when he first joined he could occasionally persuade the others to knock out a rendition of ‘Sunday Morning Call’, ‘My Big Mouth’ or ‘The Meaning Of Soul’ but this experimental edge was dropped once audiences everywhere frowned and muttered things like “I didn’t know they played their own stuff too”. So night after night it was back to ‘Wonderwall’, ‘Rock & Roll Star’, and ‘Champagne Supernova’. What started out monotonous was quickly becoming a living nightmare. On top of Leon’s personal boredom of the same old setlists every night he also disliked the fans, the young lads who knocked back 4 pints of Carling in 20 minutes before raucously singing along and calling everybody within sight a cunt, staggering out at the end of the night and invariably starting fights. He also disliked the venues they played, shitty little bars and pubs without any proper technical support and if the people there weren’t drinking lots and getting involved in inappropriate ways they would be ignoring the band completely, he hated the band name as well.
He often thought that Jimmy Paulson (their lead singer for almost every song) could not have come up with a less imaginative name for an Oasis tribute band. However the thing that bugged Leon the most was the reviews the band received. Every time they played a show that was under review the feedback would come back to them with 3 stars maximum, if it happened to be a 1 or a 2 star review well then they were used to it. The criticism would mention the band’s lack of diversity in their setlist which was annoying enough but the fact of the matter was that the band were appalling. The renditions were just drab because Jimmy was the only one there who really cared and he couldn’t sing. Jimmy was 32 with no qualifications, he could not carry a tune and knew just about the bare minimum guitar to stumble through the rhythm section of well rehearsed songs. He lived with his parents and when he wasn’t whining the lyrics to ‘Roll With It’ to 40 uninterested over 60s he sold dope out of their house while they were at work. Michael was a new lead guitarist and had been there for less than a year, he had already confided in Leon that he was leaving the band soon so he was already mentally written off and Dan was the bassist. Dan was what Leon considered a ‘sad case’. He had been in the band since its inception with Jimmy and his promising bass guitar skills were being wasted through apathy and being drowned out by Jimmy’s horrible vocals. All in all, The Champagne Supernovas were a pathetic bunch, and Leon wanted out. The band finished their uninspired set with ‘Live Forever’, and walked off the stage and straight back into the main floor of the pub. None of the punters gave them a second look nor said anything to them. Jimmy did not 
notice this; he had been plastered since before the sound-check.

Leon awoke in his small flat the next morning with a considerable hangover. He prised his sticky eyes open and swallowed a few times wondering if the taste in his mouth was that very specific taste before one throws up, or if it was just cider. He sat up on his double bed and licked his dry, cracked lips for a few seconds and took a few deep breaths. He picked his phone up from the side of the bed to look at the time and he was greeted with “1 new message” which he proceeded to open and read “Will pick you up at 9:15. Be ready. Mum. Xx”. The first thing he noted about the text was that his mother had signed it, he had told her time and again “It tells me who’s sent it mum, you don’t need to write who it’s from”. The second thing he noticed was that she had said she would be picking him up at 9:15, and the time was 9:01 now. He would have jumped straight out of bed if he had possessed the resolve but he knew in his state he would just fall straight over so he compromised by shuffling faster than he usually would along the corridor and into the bathroom. He had completely forgotten that today was the day his sister, Laura was getting married. Married to some bell-end that Leon didn’t think much of, but then again it was probably just that this fella was a cop. Leon didn’t trust policemen despite the fact that he was now a completely law abiding citizen, he still harboured a distinct resentment for officers of the law from his youth where he’d spent a night locked in a jail cell for one small joint, been patronised, pushed around and generally treated like shit by the boys in blue. But he knew his sister loved Ken (there’s another reason he disliked him, who’s called Ken anymore? Especially a 35 year old man) and despite the age gap of ten years, that meant a lot to him. Even if his skin did crawl every time he heard Ken call her his “songbird”. He still felt genuine compassion for Laura. In his experience a lot of older brothers who were slightly more rebellious had a strong dislike in their childhood for any younger sibling; especially if that younger sibling happened to be more of an academic or a generally less naughty or manageable child... But Leon had never really felt these jealous feelings, not for very long at a time anyway. He knew that he was not an academic; he knew he was always the one who was first being kept in at playtimes, then being given detentions and then spending nights in prison cells for actual reasons. Laura did not behave like him and he could not begrudge her that, he admired her dignity and her intellect and only through strong love of her could he admire her so very much without feeling jealousy. He was also of course, fiercely protective over her. It was for all of these reasons that Leon tried to get along with Ken and had consented to put on a suit and come to their wedding, smile throughout it and congratulate his sister, meet Ken’s friends and family and listen to their bad jokes and phrases which were almost as terrible as his own family's. “I’m not losing a daughter but gaining a son” they would probably say while he made himself smile and chuckle along.

For a sluggish pace he was going at light-speed, his mother was an entire 90 seconds late which would have been a serious cause for worry and alarm if he had not been so grateful for the overtime, by the time she was beeping her car outside his flat he had just managed to be showered, get dressed, force down a piece of toast and clean his teeth. He thought this show of dedication would be enough to appease his mother but her disapproving eye roamed him up and down as he sat in the back seat and she peered at him from the front seat. “For goodness sake don’t smoke that cigarette in here” she barked as he began to roll one on his lap “and comb your hair” she snapped as she passed him a hairbrush. “Hello mum... ‘Lo dad” he muttered to his father in the driver’s seat. His dad gave him a sort of backwards nod without turning around to look at him and the car started up down the road. Leon made a few swipes at his hair and then resumed his cigarette rolling. The journey was uncomfortable but mercifully not too long, Leon got out of the car in the church yard and lit his roll-up and stood morosely smoking it. His father gave him an appraising look as he stepped out the car after him, shook his head and said “For god’s sake Leon, you look like Pete fucking Doherty” and walked away muttering. As everybody sat down in the church pews Leon looked over at the groom’s side and noted that the majority of the congregation were beefy looking blokes, all clearly coppers off duty. “It’s a good thing I’m not Pete Doherty really” he thought to himself as he fidgeted. Ken stepped forward and then the guy in the robes said some things and eventually Laura appeared and walked down while everybody made a massive amount of fuss over how beautiful she looked. Although he was happy for her, he still found it difficult to make a particularly big deal out of a wedding, he had never liked them although he was not sure why, possibly just too much family together in one place. The speeches and the vows were brief and before Leon had really registered what was going on they were walking back out and everybody was standing up, the bit that came next he had more mixed feelings on. Of course a reception is a reception and nobody can be too miserable with a bar and a big lunch to enjoy but at the same time this was when people would be talking to him. He didn’t mind too much chatting to old relatives, aunts, uncles and grandparents were boring enough he supposed but they were easy, manageable. It was having the hefty ex rugby playing policemen that he was keen to avoid and with that in mind he got back into his mother’s car and sat back, nervously rolling another cigarette. Leon’s parents talked spiritedly about how proud they were of their beautiful daughter and how lovely the service was, while Leon himself was ignored for the duration of the drive.

At the hotel Leon glowed with happiness for the first time all day when he discovered his small card had been placed on the main table and made a mental note to thank Laura for this inclusion. A waiter came around and everybody within site took a glass of buck’s fizz and almost everybody there seemed to take it completely in their stride. Nobody was yet sitting down and everybody was just generally loitering around talking to each other and Leon’s pride bubble was already diminishing with mild anxiousness that he looked silly; standing there talking to nobody. He had only just decided to make a conscious effort to try and relax and that things could definitely get worse, when things suddenly did. A large muscular man who was that strange mix of trollishly ugly but yet probably attractive due to his seeming oafishness strolled over to him and did not so much offer his large hand to Leon as push it straight into his. “Leon yeah? My name’s Dennis. Ken’s mentioned you to me” he stated at Leon. There was an uncomfortable silence that was filled by an awkward chuckle, and “You play in an Oasis tribute act right?  Good band, good band.” He boomed in an approving way but which somehow carried a note of snideness. “Yeah, good band.... Wonderwall, that’s a good one. That er, Supernova one, yeah I like that. Oh and that ‘anger’ one too. Yeah, good songs.” Leon didn’t really know what to say but forced out “So you’re a policeman?” “Yes.” Leon sipped his drink and nodded his head trying to look interested and think of something to say. “Catch many bad guys?” he asked in a voice he tried to make sound casually interested “A few” “I got arrested once” he piped up without thinking. He wasn’t sure why he had said it but it just seemed to have popped into his head at which point his brain had recognised it was vaguely related and decided to throw it out there. The silence hung thickly between them as Leon tried to stop himself going red and say something clever “I didn’t really do much wrong, well I mean I did ‘cos I was smoking drugs so they were right to arrest me, they were a bit heavy-handed though, but I spose they’ve got to be, you’ve got to be I mean, not that you arrested me I mean, this was a long time ago and you’re not that old...” Dennis watched him with a frown “So... do you have any qualifications or anything son?” Glad of the subject change, Leon replied rather quickly “Not really just a few A-levels, all low grades though. Probably due to the drugs eh?” he laughed confidently but when Dennis’s face remained stony he stopped laughing and his fist which had been halfway on the way to giving Dennis an awkward punch on the shoulder lingered in the air in a terrible no-man’s land of social awkwardness. “I was just joking... About the drugs... Not about being arrested, that did happen... about them ruining my exams. I never used to smoke that much, I mean I still don’t”... The silence that followed was the loudest yet and after a few seconds Dennis just frowned even deeper and muttered “maybe it’s time you grew up son.” Clapped him half-heartedly on the shoulder and walked off.

Several nights later Leon was sat again behind a drum-kit, tapping his symbols and listlessly drumming the beat to ‘Cigarettes and Alcohol’ As the song came to an end there was a definite sound of booing coming from the audience, which surprised him because he was not used to hearing anything near what might be construed as “passion” from the people they played for. As they began their second song he heard Jimmy burble “fuck off lad” into the microphone and once the song had ended, there it was again, but louder. In the end the band were cut short after only 5 songs, something that had never happened to them before. Michael and Dan sighed dispiritedly and Dan asked morosely “Where did it all go wrong?” The pair of them shouldered their guitars and walked out the door, only minutes later Jimmy was thrown out for conducting pushing matches with some of the hecklers. Leon didn’t feel like leaving however, he was fairly sure that the drunk punters hadn’t clocked him as the drummer from the band and he was safe to stay there for a little longer with a beer. He took a chair near the back of the room and watched as the final act of the night came on, it was a singer songwriter with nothing more than an acoustic guitar. He sat down on the seat to some fairly muted applause and smiling impishly he quipped into the now quiet pub “Rock ‘n Roll stars my arse, why is Oasis soup so popular?” he shouted in an encouraging way and predictably several people shouted back “Because you getta roll with it!!” and the entire body of people inside the building seemed to be shaking with laughter. Leon just sat there sipping his pint of Timothy Taylor and wondering if he should join in with the laughter. Much to his annoyance the guitarist was actually pretty good and went down very well, his set only lasted 30 minutes however and by the time it was over the last orders bell had gone and people were filing out the pub. By the end of the show there was only a few people left so when Leon stepped out into the cold night air thinking about flagging down a taxi there was only him and a few others there. “Were you with those bellends butchering classic brit-pop?” the ugliest of the small group asked Leon aggressively. He was short but stocky, bald and was wearing a tight leather coat. The two had quickly become nose to nose and he didn’t really know how to answer. “No, no I wasn’t”. He lied, but from behind the thug in his face came a woman’s voice of “fucking liar yes you was you was hitting the drums” his stomach dropped. “Well” asked the thuggish man, “was you hitting the drums?” Leon shrugged “We call it ‘playing’. Not hitting”. The group all made a loud “oo”ing noise which he might have found funny if the situation hadn’t been quite so serious “Think you’re funny dickhead? How’s this for hitting? D’you Know What I Mean?” and the small fellow smashed Leon hard in the ribs, pulled back his fist and struck him twice in the face. “Roll with that” he spat. “Prick”. And the group walked away laughing.

End of Part One.

The General Fantastic-ness of Rose.

A special person asked me a couple of months back if I would write a story for them if I was given nothing more than the title, I agreed (which should explain why the title is undeniably embarrassingly silly) and this is what I came up with. I hope you find it to be amusingly surreal. I don't intend to leave it half as long before the next update. If you spot any errors then let me know as I have had nobody proof read this yet and there will invariably be some. Thanks for ongoing support.

The general fantastic-ness of Rose

Rosemary awoke to almost absolute darkness. There was no light yet shining through her curtains but the sound of birds twittering gave away the fact that dawn was only minutes around the corner. She looked at her bedside clock and squinting, made out ‘6:21’. She relaxed back into her pillow for what she decided would be another nine minutes. “Half past six is quite late enough thank you” she thought to herself. At 6:27 she began to flex her toes and stretch her legs under the covers as it took her rather longer than it had a few years ago and needed some warming up before any weight could be put on them.  She creaked slowly out of bed and hobbled into the shower for exactly ten minutes, being careful not to slip on the wet floor of the bath or the bathroom. After she was done she wended her way slowly downstairs for breakfast. There was nothing in her small kitchen to suggest that it was in any way a special day for her, but despite a complete absence of any conventional celebratory items it was in fact, Rosie’s 90^th birthday. She made herself a cup of tea and opened the door to her garden allowing the cool air to drift in and the rising sun to begin flooding into the kitchen and lighting it up giving both Rosie herself and the entire room an ethereal quality.

After having a read of the newspaper, finishing her tea and some marmalade on toast Rosie picked up her bag, put her coat on and walked out into the morning. It was one of the first days of summer and a glorious Friday morning. She walked steadily along the road to her local village for and into her grocers where she bid Thomas, who worked there on Fridays good morning and she started bagging up fruit and vegetables. “Rose, do I remember correctly that it’s your birthday today?” he asked her as we weighed out her purchases. “You knew anyway you sly old dog, Thomas.” Thomas blushed and passed her a birthday card and she took it from him giggling like a schoolgirl. The card was signed with five kisses. They made small talk for several minutes about Rosie’s birthday plans and Thomas’s university degree and his learning to drive. “Just before I go actually Tom, could I use your bathroom please?” Although the bathroom wasn’t really for customers, Thomas was not about to tell a 90 year old lady she could not use the bathroom, so he pointed her in the direction of the toilet and gave her the key. She thanked him and unlocked the bathroom door, letting herself in. She made sure to lock the door behind her, put her bag on the sink and rifled around inside it. She pulled out a small bag of cocaine. She divided up three lines on the windowsill, in years past she would have done it on the toilet seat but these days found bending down to be far more hassle than it was worth. She then pulled out another small bag full of white capsules, although she was on occasional medication for very slight arthritis she also enjoyed taking a different kind of pills. She placed an E next to her three lines and taking a five pound note out of her coat pocket she rolled it up with surprising dexterity and in one breath snorted two of the lines. She removed the note from her nose, took a deep breath and swallowed the pill. She then bent over the sink taps and ran some water into her mouth, swallowing steadily. She took another few deep breaths, steadied herself and easily finished up the last line.

Bidding Thomas farewell she walked out into the morning, slowly but confidently. A kind of shuffling stroll. She looked at her watch and read the time to be eight o’clock. She didn’t have far to walk to get to her social club and nevertheless her slot did not open until 12, so she made her way to the local village pub, ‘The Hanged Bandit’. She sat herself on a high chair and smiled widely at the young man working behind the bar, “good morning Mark” she chirped brightly. Mark stopped what he was doing and immediately began stuttering with nerves. He wished her a happy birthday and she ordered her usual, he put down in front of her free of charge the following: a small whiskey, a shot of vodka, a warm pint of Hobgoblin and a cold pint of Carlsberg. Mark moved off to serve another customer and Rose leaned back contentedly into her chair as she knocked back the vodka in one, put it back down and then began sipping her lager. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the rushing sensation in her head. “I’m definitely getting on.” She thought to herself. “I’d be on my second pub this time five years ago.” After she had been there for an hour or so she remembered the poker club would be playing their first hand at exactly 9:45 and with this in mind she ordered another pint and wandered out of the main pub into the dusty sideroom. There were already three other people in there, ‘Az’ was a 20-something Asian man who had only recently finished a two year stretch in prison, ‘Jay’ was a 40-something skinhead who’d kept the looks but dropped the attitude and ‘Nikki’ was a 15 year old girl who had only last week had been awarded her first ASBO. As Rose walked in they all smiled warmly at her. “Good morning Rosie, happy birthday” Jay said, “Congrats” Az said and “yeah, big number enit”, Nikki put in. “Thank you all very much, I’m buzzing my fucking tits off by the way”, Rose told them all as she smiled blithely. “Gettin’ on good with that coke then? Well I’m glad, means you might not rob us all blind this time then” Az chuckled. The four of them put their drinks under their chairs and eagerly leaned in. “25p and 50p blinds standard yeah?” asked Nikki and Jay nodded as they all opened their wallets and purses. “Twenty pounds buy-in, just like you said... as standard”.

90 minutes later the four of them left the room, it would be obvious to anybody passing the results of the game, the dejected three slumped out in front of Rosie who was still shuffling out. “Well at least it took you longer than 20 minutes this time” Jay muttered, dejectedly pushing his now empty wallet into his back pocket. “I can’t help how fantastic I am”, Rosie grinned at him with a hint of apology in her voice and face. “But I really must be off, the social club is expecting me very soon”. They all shook hands and wished Rose a happy birthday one final time when Rose came out the pub to find her ride waiting for her, the driver was dressed in a black suit and wore dark sunglasses “Hello Rose”, he exclaimed as he hopped out the waiting car to help her into the back seat. She greeted him back and slid herself slowly into the back of the car as the driver hopped back in the front and took off. “Got a good mix of stuff for this week then?” he asked her. “Plenty, I took all the stuff there a few days ago and yes, I would definitely say it’s a good mix of stuff”. 20 minutes later the car rolled up to an old youth club. The poster on the door read: “27^th September grime, garage, house & dubstep DJs in the house all day and night long, entry £8”. Rose slid slowly out of her back seat with the help of the driver and the pair made their way to the main door inside, the curtains were all drawn and there was a thudding sounds coming from within. The door creaked open and a lively looking promoter bounced out to greet them “Thanks Morris” he grinned, “You’re looking beautiful today Rosie, happy birthday! I’ve set all your records out just under the booth darling, you’re on in five minutes.” “Perfect” she smiled blithely back. Although it was only mid-day the large hall was packed with young men and women body-popping and bouncing to sweaty, grimy music. The air was pulsating with sexual energy and once Rose had entered the building all the dancers and ravers who had spotted her immediately began making their way over to her, however the promoter had assigned her two hefty bouncers who pushed their beefy hands out at the adoring fans who’s words of reverence were lost in transit from their mouths to her ears due to the earsplitting volume of the venue. As the threesome made their way slowly up to the DJ booth they began to attract more and more fans who had noticed Rose’s entrance to the club, but the majority of them backed off quickly lest they suffer the huge pressing palms of the bouncers in their chests. Just as they reached the decks the DJ who had been playing before took his equipment off and handed her the headphones. “Good luck Rose, and happy birthday gorgeous”. The bouncer lifted her record collection onto a nearby chair to help her, her age did not permit such casual stooping as was needed to pick them up quickly anymore. The promoter took the microphone and announced to the room of dancers “And now I know this is what you’ve all been waiting for, please give a warm welcome to your afternoon DJ for the hour, DJ Rosemary” he strung out the last “ey” sounds for several seconds and the roar of approval was almost deafening. She hobbled up to the decks, slid her first few shiny vinyl records out of their pristine cases, spun them between her fingers and closed her eyes.

Harris – the promoter of the club would later go on to put Rose’s birthday set in his top three sets of all time and in the hours afterwards she remained a legend in her own right. She sat in the backroom with some of the other local DJs and a couple of interviewers for the local ‘What’s on’ magazine and gave her interview on the ever changing music scene, top ten tips for any budding poker player and her ideas on how to deal with Muammar Gaddafi. It wasn’t long before Rosie had noticed that the man interviewing her was massively attractive and as a woman used to getting who and what she wanted in life she quickly turned on her murray minty, age spotted charms. Saying the right things and giggling in all the right places. As the two of them sat there chatting away long after the official interview had finished the hours crept by unnoticed. The man’s name was Patrick and by the time Rosie resurfaced from her dreamy haze of entrancement she noticed she was beginning to tire and that the time was 9:30. She gently touched his leg and muttered in his ear, as she did so he twitched responsibly and she gently kissed the inside of his ear, at this point the deal was sealed and he stood up quickly. He held out an arm and let her grab on as she slowly raised herself up to her full standing position and announced to the backroom that was full of DJs, staff members and various other special guests that he was calling it a night and heading for home, he would be walking Rose to her car he told them. The people in the room all came over enthusiastically to shake her hand and wish her for a final time – a happy birthday. As they came one by one she smiled at them, thanked them and told them she thought the best of her day was yet to come, and that she was shocked she had managed to have such an intensely enjoyable day without even watching Countdown. The pair of them left the room and headed out through the back entrance, they stood in the alleyway and Patrick began helping her slowly through the darkness before he stiffened and halted. “I’ve left my coat in the building, wait for me one minute sugartits ok?” She bit her lip girlishly and said “Well, just a minute, hurry up”. and gave him a sly wink. As he turned around and powerwalked back into the exit they had just left through Rosie took a few awkward steps out into the cold night air and came to rest on the nearest parked car, shivering slightly. Sometimes when something bad happens a person can feel it in the air, a kind of shift in the tone in the atmosphere around them and being the eagle eyed perceptive woman that she was, Rose instantly knew something was up as she stood in the car park. She looked around instinctively and before she knew it there was somebody in her face from behind. The young looking man was of an indeterminate ethnicity and his accent was far too generic to properly identify as he barked at her “Gimmie your bag, and a phone if you’ve got one that ain’t in there. Give me your shit or I’ll fucking kill you I swear”. Rose didn’t move, she simply frowned slightly at the young man in front of her and spoke in a shaken but determinedly strong voice – “I know every single person in the club just behind you, young man. I’m betting that you just came out of there, and if I know all of them and just one of them knows you then you’re in trouble aren’t you?” The man stood stock still and Rose couldn’t work out whether it was from shock of being talked back to by an OAP or from realisation of the logic behind her words. “Walk away now and find another way to get money, I’m not giving you anything and if you try to take it by force we’ll find out who you are and young feller ‘me lad... We will fucking merk you.” The lad stumbled back slightly out of the sheer ferocity of her voice, he babbled incoherently for a second or two before “Oi, cunt!” rang loudly from the alleyway, Patrick started striding over to the young man but before he was halfway there Rose had taken advantage of his momentary distraction and nutted him in the face. He hit the deck hard, blood spurting from his nose. Patrick and Rose watched him for a moment as he writhed on the floor and they slowly walked away, and got into Patrick’s car.

Rosemary awoke to a gentle light drifting in through her windows. As she shuffled around in her bed Patrick grumbled and his eyes flitted open. The pair of them looked at each other for a long moment before Rose asked him if he had enjoyed his night. “It was spectacular. You really are something special, it’s like you can do everything... There’s no way to sum up your general fantastic-ness, a way to describe it just escapes me!” She smiled at him placidly and he grinned back as the naked pair shifted towards the middle of the bed to cuddle. After a few minutes Patrick got slowly out of bed saying he needed the toilet, as he walked towards the door still in his early morning haze Rose called his name “Yes babe?” he enquired. “Make me a cup of tea will you?” she asked. He grinned at her as he left the room and Rose let out a sigh of relief, leant back into her pillows and closed her eyes again, allowing herself to drift into a gentle doze.

Enormous thanks to my illustrator - Ruth Kitchen.