Live Indefinitely - Part Two

Well this ended up a much longer project than I originally intended, I just can't seem to stop extending it and adding in details. Part three to come soon, that part might be the end but if I keep going at the rate I am at the moment it might just spill out into a shortish part four. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Live Indefinitely (Part two)

The flat swam hazily into view and the first thing Leon registered was a dull ache in his abdomen and his nose. He hadn’t been hit too hard and he was sure nothing was broken but it had been enough to both wind and floor him. He lay on his bed for a long time thinking dejectedly about the show he was supposed to be playing that night and how badly he didn’t want to do it. It was at this point when he made a snap decision, “I’m 29 for God’s sake” he thought to himself, “I could be doing so much more than this”. He slid off his bed and picked his phone out of the jeans pocket on the floor, went through his contacts, found ‘Jimmy’ and clicked call. The phone rang 8 times before it went through to voicemail and Leon was forced to listen to “I know how to fuckin’ do it man you’ve gotta wait til the beep beeps you daft twat, what? No it fuckin’ didn’t or I woulda heard it, just shut up a minute... Oh wait I think it did yeah, well I need to rerecord it now don’t I? How do I..? What no I said I need to rerecord it cos the beep’s alread-“ and then a beep. He took a deep breath and spoke quickly into the phone “Jimmy, it’s Leon. Forget this gig man, and I don’t mean just the one I mean them all for me. I’m done here, we suck. It’s time we all moved on man, if you’ve got any common sense left you’ll ditch this Supernova bollocks and go find a real job. Good luck man.” And he hung up. The silence seemed especially deep at that moment and he moved stiffly over to the kitchen to make some breakfast. As he pottered slowly around putting together a bacon sandwich the enormity of what he had done started to sink in. Playing with the band was most definitely not a hobby for him, he had been doing it exclusively for the money and without a job he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. But he thought to himself rationally that it surely couldn’t be too hard to find a job these days, and he sat himself down at his computer with an inexplicable feeling of optimism despite his pounding head and bruised stomach. He rolled up a cigarette and the smoke curled slowly above his head as he began his search.

“We can do I suppose, yes, but we want you to give up smoking son. If we’re going to be helping you out to this degree we would appreciate knowing you’re doing something responsible with the money. And get yourself signing on for goodness sake, I and your mother are glad you’ve decided to grow up you know, we’ll send you any promising leads we find for work. We’re transferring the money now, make it last.” Leon hung his phone up and sat miserably on his bed. He had not left his flat for three days now and it reeked of stale tobacco and unwashed pots and pans. He was glad to have his parents back on his side to some degree though, they had not been that warm with him for years, but they were helping him now and that meant a lot. He picked up his guitar which was already lying by his pillows and strummed listlessly to himself, he realised after a few seconds that he was playing the chords to ‘Wonderwall’ and tutted in disgust at himself. He picked up his smoking materials from by his feet and decided morosely to give the whole giving up thing a good go; to this end he rolled up a cigarette, put it on his pillow and crushed his filters and skins in his fist, he strolled over to the bin and threw the entire lot in there along with his tobacco. He lit his final cigarette and stood there with his eyes closed savouring every drag he took, it seemed only seconds before the smoke was irritating his eyes and the tobacco was all smoked. He threw the end in the bin and sat down to watch some evening television. The next morning he got up feeling irritable and sweaty, he would usually leave it another 20 minutes before he smoked anyway but just knowing it wasn’t coming was enough to make him feel awful. He rummaged through his draws and put on some vaguely “smart” clothes and left the building at 8:45. His first appointment at the jobseekers office seemed a strange affair to him because it was the first time in nearly a week he had had any human contact apart from phone-calls. He waited his turn and once called sat down across the table from a sharply dressed young Asian man who smiled at him and said “So you’re Leon Adams, lovely. So we just need to ask you what you’ve been doing to find work this week, and we’ll go over that in all subsequent appointments, you’ll have to attend a seminar from time to time but in the meantime we should be able to provide you with living expenses.” Leon nodded and said “That’s fine... Well I think my dad is setting me up with some work at the office of a friend of his... And I’ve been looking on gumtree and through various listings on forums and the like, I’m thinking about upgrading my connection though because things seem pretty slow, although it might be my router... Or the fact I’m using Chrome at the moment instead of Firefox. I’m still not convinced of its superiority as a browser to be honest, although things have been slow for a while actually so I might just reformat my whole hard drive.” Leon realised he was wittering due to his nerves and decided to shut up. The young Asian man nodded at him slowly, smiled again and said “I see Mr Adams... Well did you know that these days you can look for jobs on the internet? If you have a computer you can search for jobs and job opportunities on web sites”. Leon sat there for a second, nonplussed. “Web sites?” he queried, wondering if the man across the table was joking. “Yes Mr Adams, web sites. You go on web sites and they show you how to do all sorts of things that you look for on the internet. Do you have a computer?”

Luckily for Leon his first trip to the dole office turned out to be his last, as his father had indeed come through on his offer and secured him a job working in his friend’s office. The office Leon would be working out of supplied biros they had bought at wholesale prices to businesses. He noted dully on the morning of his first shift that he was wearing a suit again and that he should probably go and purchase another one if this was his new calling. He drove his small car the short distance to his new office and once there entered the building and strolled towards the lift. The ground floor was anonymously bland with no defining features and Leon couldn’t help but thinking some of this blandness had rubbed off on the people walking around him, most of who looked like the male or female that the big man might have started with before creating variants and offshoots of to come up with a variety of people with which to populate the human race. Realising he had five minutes to spare he walked into the cafeteria and picked up a bowl of soup and a piece of bread from the hot food section and carried them carefully to the till. He looked at the man working on the till in surprise, “Dom!” he exclaimed, “Leon? How’re you?” his old friend asked. “Been better man but... but also I’ve been worse” he replied, he was feeling elated just seeing a friendly face although he hadn’t seen Dom for just over 10 years, since he’d left college. “Ok well that’s £1.79 then please”. Leon was slightly taken aback by Dom’s lack of interest in catching up in any way but he shrugged it off mentally and shoved his hands into his back pocket and pulled out some change. He counted the many coins out in a slightly apologetic tone for all the 1p, 2p and 5ps and reached £1.78. “Ah shit, sorry man I’ve not got the penny. I’ll give it to you at lunchtime yeah? You can stick it in the till then”. “Sorry Leon, you can’t not pay for it” he replied in a stony sort of way. There was an awkward silence “C’mon man I’ve got a bit more in my glove compartment... D’you want me to get it now?” Dom shook his head and said “No sorry because then where would you leave your food? You can’t just leave it on the table here with the till, that’s not policy. And also there’s a queue. You’ll have to put something back”. Leon stood there for a moment in disbelief at his old friend acting like such a jobsworth. “Fine” he said slowly and picked the piece of bread up. “No not that, that’s unhygienic now it’ll have to be thrown away if you don’t eat it, but the soup’s in a bowl. Why don’t you put that back?” Leon was fuming as he walked out the cafeteria eating his dry piece of bread, he walked into the lift in a defeated sort of anger and took it to his floor.

It did not take him long to discover than nearly all the employees of “Biro supply-o” acted in similarly pedantic ways when it came to rules, flinching at the idea of using integrity or common sense to bypass never enforced regulations and it was only days before Leon felt thoroughly miserable again, despite the fact that he knew was lucky to have landed a job at all. He had never before in his lifetime experienced anything that was consistently both stressful and boring. His time in the Champagne Supernovas was usually boring during their actual sets and stressful later on while having to deal with the fallout of a bad review (especially earlier before they were all used to it) or an unruly and unsatisfied crowd after they had come off stage. However working in the office was a hellish combination of both at the same time and it was this that caused him to buy the necessary materials and after just over a week of frustration he was sitting at his computer desk with a lit rollup. He figured if he could go for 10 days without smoking at all he could wean himself off them in a month or two. He sat at his desk for a few minutes before deciding to pick up his guitar and have an idle fiddle with it, it wasn’t long before he found himself playing a riff he had written himself several months ago, he stood up and rummaged under his bed before pulling out a notebook. He took the notebook and the guitar back to the desk and flipped through until he found a page covered with lyrics and various ideas he used to scrawl down whenever he felt inspired. Looking through all the lyrics he had (the complexity of which pleasantly surprised him) and remembering a few riffs he had imagined he realised he had at least two complete songs. He sat there for a few seconds before playing them starting to feel excited, he didn’t have a band and for the moment he didn’t want one but if he could perfect these two songs he had written in pieces last year it meant he could do it again. He typed them up and used a piece of software to record his vocals and then again to record the guitar section and after only 15 minutes he was left with what he considered to be a couple of demo takes, he then took one of the songs and played it live in his chair into his microphone and although the sound quality was fairly poor he delighted in how comprehensive it sounded as a song. He had never done this before, he had only entertained the idea of stepping from behind his drum-kit to sing and play lead guitar in vague daydreams. He did not sleep for several hours, he sat there thinking about work and everything he associated it with and as he did so words began flowing from first his pen until eventually he felt confident enough to type them up and after fiddling around with different sounds he found a riff he was happy with. He entitled his song ‘Pens’ and quickly set up a Myspace page for his recordings, despite the website being dead for social networking it was still a great place to discover and be discovered music-wise. After his songs had all been posted Leon realised the time was just after four in the morning and he only had a few hours of sleep left, nevertheless he went to bed in a state of feverish enthusiasm.

Another Ruth Kitchen original.
Much thanks and love!

The next 3 weeks or so were not the explosion of productivity and creativity that Leon had hoped for, he still went to work every day to work for a guy who made him wish he were working for David Brent, he was still struggling to smoke less than five cigarettes a day and he was still aware of the fact that he had not gotten laid for over a year now, but putting these things aside he started to almost enjoy himself. He would sit at his cubicle by day phoning people about missing orders or writing up long tedious emails and think about his plans to restart his music career in a completely different direction, exactly 22 days after the night he had rewritten his first two songs and written a third he had six in total. He was happy with the songs themselves and through posting on a few blogs he had already attracted over 200 views on his Myspace page which now featured all six of his rough songs. He had decided that no good showman who had never been on stage before with his own material and would be playing to mostly oblivious people should go in without a cover and to that end he had fashioned what he believed was a decent take on The Arctic Monkeys’ ‘The Bakery’ in the hopes somebody might recognise and enjoy that even if they disliked what he had written himself. He had his first gig coming up at one of the local pubs and a few of his friends he had met through playing the circuits previously had told him they would turn up, as well as a couple of strangers who didn’t live too far away and had enjoyed the songs online. He felt privileged to have an audience already; even if they were likely to be less than ten in total number and he was also grateful to the pub for having him back as it happened to be one that had banned the tribute band from the premises. After his shift was over he walked quicker than he had ever walked in front of any of his colleagues into the lift and into the car-park at which point he sped home. He picked up his guitar, stood in front of the mirror nervously still in his suit and over 30 minutes played what he considered to be flawless renditions of all six of his songs and the cover. He arrived at the pub for 8 o’clock and before he knew what was going on there was a small crowd of people making their way towards him and shaking his hand, most of them he recognised but a group of two guys and a girl told him they had just discovered him online and had come to hear his music, the girl looked like she was in her mid twenties and something in the way she looked at Leon made his stomach lurch. The group found a large table and Leon took his guitar through to the back and found the event manager, Barry. Barry was a round, fat man who Leon tried very hard to like but found difficult due to his constant usage of misogynistic and racist comments about everything around him, Leon suspected he was slightly senile, despite not even being 50. “I bet the Jews did this” he fumed at a technician who was telling him about a faulty light, “Ah Leon” he boomed warmly and put his arm around him “Glad to have you back now you’ve ditched that Jimmy prick, I see you sitting over there with that tidy bit of fanny. I tell you what son, I would smash her back doors in without a second thought, and have her make me breakfast too”. He smiled at Leon in a way which said “I have made a funny joke, please share in it”. At which Leon grimaced reluctantly “I’m sure she’d be honoured to let you, Barry... Now when am I on and where do you want me to put my guitar?” Barry outlined to him that he would be on at 10 and he would have to sound-check on the fly as he was setting up. Leon was starting to remember why he had never been bothered that the band had been barred from coming there. He put his electric acoustic guitar down in a corner as he had been instructed and sat back with his friends – new and old. He sipped a pint slowly all the way through the other musicians and spent some time talking to everybody at his table, explaining at large what was wrong with his job and relishing that every time he made a joke the pretty girl who had come purely on the merit of his music (whose name turned out to be Laila) giggled and smiled at him.

At half past nine the band on stage took a bow and exited, at which point Leon stood up, and everybody at his table clapped him on the arm if they could reach or wished him good luck. He made his way back stage and a few minutes later found himself standing awkwardly on stage checking the sound levels in front of the entire audience. He struggled with his feelings of feeling slightly foolish and got the levels to a point that suited him, sat backstage for a few minutes rushing through it all in his head. Barry walked past him at 3 minutes to ten, told him to get ready and went on stage and introduced him as “A good friend of mine (Leon cringed) who’s not played here since he was bottled off three years ago in that dreadful Blur band”. Leon heard a spattering of vague and unsure applause and walked back through the sheet of curtain onto the small stage, passing Barry and standing in front of the entire pub. He quickly scanned the room and estimated the total audience to be around 60, he thanked people for watching, took a deep breath and began. The show went better than he could ever have predicted and he noticed that some of the younger crowd sang happily along to his cover. By the time he had finished his last song a good portion of the pub were standing up in interest, he walked back into the curtain and thanked everybody and to his surprise he heard chants of “one more tune, one more tune”. He dithered just behind the curtain wondering what exactly he should do before Barry gave him an encouraging nod and told him “You’re the last act on, it’s only 10:45, you’ve got time for one more”. Leon nervously walked back on to more applause than he had ever experienced in his life, not that that was saying much really but it was still an achievement he felt. “Well.... this is unrehearsed so don’t expect it to be perfect, but as you asked so nicely” and for the first time in his life he found himself enjoying playing an Oasis cover. He sang the opening line of Wonderwall but quickly realised it wasn’t necessary at all as the pub at large took over for him. By the time the song was over almost everybody in the venue was clapping and whistling him; he walked backstage and then immediately reappeared on the main part of the pub and sat back down. The reception appeared to be unanimously good and suddenly strangers were buying him pints, it also transpired that  one of the lads who had come to see him perform but didn’t actually know him had filmed the entire thing and assured him “I’ll make sure people see this soon man”. People shook his hand for the next half an hour or so until the pub closed, he found himself once again stood outside a pub thinking about getting himself home although he found this time there was no vicious mob. He felt a touch on his arm and turned round to see Laila standing there “Are you getting a taxi?” She asked “Yeah” he said uncertainly... “Aren’t you going home with the others?” “Nah” she grinned, "I already told them I’ll see them later. They don’t own me y’know, they’re just a couple of friends.” Leon smiled vaguely at her through his beer induced haze, leaned in and the pair kissed on the pavement. Feeling excitedly like things might be slowly turning around for him; he hailed a taxi which was driving slowly past the pub, opened the door for Laila and got in himself. 

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.

Stuff for Life Writing:

As part of my Life Writing course I have been asked to write the following:

1: A rant about something.
2: The song I would like played at my funeral.
3: A small, interesting fact about the subject of my biography - (Eddie Vedder)
4: A review. This will be posted in a second blog tomorrow and will be for 'Different Gear, Still Speeding', the first album from 'Beady Eye', Liam Gallagher's post Oasis band.

Here begins my rant:

In the last few years something rather baffling has come out of Canada. A young boy named Justin Bieber[1] decided to upload a few videos onto Youtube, was quickly discovered by Usher and since then has had two massively successful albums, a long string of sold out tour dates and most recently a film.... [2] Now this is indeed an irritating turn of events, the knowledge that some squeaky clean pretty boy could get more women in an afternoon than I could in a year certainly irks me slightly... However that mild annoyance is as far as it goes. I am jealous and his music is not to my taste. So what the fuck is up with the millions of people all over the internet pouring abuse upon him and declaring that he should be shot? In recent years these retarded 'rockers' have been seen to plaster Youtube and Facebook with statements such as "Give us back Kurt and Dimebag, and you can have Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber". The massive immaturity of these people makes me lose faith in the next generation of both musicians and music fans. These bellends are not even limited to adolescents, young adults too make ridiculously uninformed statements like "Rock is dead".
What people fail to realise is that the rock bands they now idolise were alternative artists at the time they were biggest. Yes, 'Nevermind' [3] went to number 1 on the US, Canadian and Swedish billboards, but it didn't stay there long and neither was it (chart-wise) a particularly dominating force. It inevitably quickly gave way to more disposable pop music. Yes the band headlined the Reading festival in 1992 but THAT was an alternative affair at the time as well.
All of the big "rock" bands - Rage Against The Machine, Pantera, Led Zeppelin and Metallica were all alternative bands in their heyday, if these morons had a go at listening to new music they would see that the rock / metal / punk / hip-hop scenes are all alive and well. 
To sum up: Justin Bieber is just a kid with a certain type of good look and a marketable singing voice, nothing more. There are more worthwhile things to expend your energy on hating. If you don't fucking like him, don't fucking listen to him.


1: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Justin_Bieber
2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=COJCN3Mhr14
3: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nevermind


For our first assignments we have been asked to write a biography on somebody in popular culture, and in a narrative point of view, facts and stories may be slightly embellished in order to increase interest or drama etc. For a factoid about my subject - Eddie Vedder I have decided upon mentioning that in 1993 he was arrested and charged with "Drunkenness and disturbing the peace" along with a White Sox pitcher - "Jack McDowell" after the two got involved in a "scuffle" with bar patrons in New Orleans, Louisiana. An interesting fact to me, due to Vedder's general humanitarian and anti-violence attitude to life.

As far as the song to be played at my funeral goes I have found it too much of a difficult affair to pick one, and would like to think that these songs would be played 1: After everybody had sat down. 2: After a few people had discussed how fucking awesome I am and 3: As everybody left the... the wherever. (Not a church, believe me.)

1: Oasis - Live Forever http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_2mWhfOhGU
2: The Libertines - Music When The Lights Go Out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3JuL8BtIN8
3: Pearl Jam - Alive http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4BkR8HWSyaA

A Queer Meeting

This entire story was dreamed up in 5 minutes one day, the story was written inside an hour. Of course it was the editing that took the real time!

A Queer Meeting

Mark Saunders was perhaps the world’s most famous actor. His last three family favourites had rocketed straight to number one at the box office, and mediocre reviews aside his occasional arthouse film had kept his credibility intact, and this was not to mention his recent solo album staying at the number one spot for twelve weeks. At the mere age of 25, his life appeared to be almost straight out of a fairly tale. “The Silliest Santa” was on the final day of filming and when the word “cut!” rang out the entire technical team exploded with applause. Mark grinned widely and stepped down from the set. “It’s been an absolute pleasure my friends” he smiled round at them. His face can best be described as “Roman”. Sharp features, but not unpleasantly so, his appeal as comedy figure for the young, sex appeal for the women and admirable role model for the men was almost universal. “I know you’ll agree with me when I say that tonight, I’ll be getting a very good night’s sleep” he pronounced. The director shook his hand warmly and the crew began to pack away.

Mark opened to the door to his Los Angeles mansion to find his girlfriend, Angela sitting on their lavish sofa in the living room, holding their two month old daughter, Megan. He smiled as he took in the beauty of his two girls. He strolled over to them past his ornate grandfather clock and stopped behind their leather sofa. “Hey hunny” he said affectionately as he leaned over and kissed Angela. She smiled widely at him as he sat down and took Megan off her. “Guess who’s just been on the tv! It was a trailer for your Christmas film, and I’m sure Meg realised it was you when you spoke on it.” The couple leaned back against the sofa and Mark sighed deeply. “That’s it all over for another few months, I’m done! We’ve got the party tomorrow, you’re still ok to come to it right?” Angela cuddled up to him and said “I sure am, my mom is looking after Meg for the evening so it’s all clear.” They smiled at each other and Angela bit her lip and touched Mark’s chest. “Fuck me, Mark.” It was almost imploring. “We’ve got thirty minutes until food’s ready and I’ve been waiting all day and...” she tailed off. Mark picked up Megan and took her into her downstairs bedroom, set up the baby monitor and walked back into the living room. “Fuck me, Mark” she begged again with her eyes round. He pulled off her skirt with ease and pulled down her knickers with similar skill.

“I felt like you were somewhere else” she muttered, ten minutes later. “I’m sorry hunny, I’m just really tired, really really tired. You clearly had a good time” he grinned. “Well maybe, but I don’t think you did” she said back, unsmiling. “I can’t enjoy it if you’re not enjoying it.” “I promise I’ll enjoy it more next time, but I’m just so tired right now. It’s nothing to do with you, I promise.” Her face softened slightly and she cuddled up to him again. “Still 17 minutes until dinner’s ready, let’s not move until then.”

Beautiful chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the bar was free and the hall was full of cocktail waiters. The party was full of other A-listers of the time, directors, actors and musicians. Mark, being the star of the film was the one with the most attention however and as he sipped champagne he found himself repeating himself over and over again. “Yes, thank you it was a lot of fun to do.” “No I don’t think I’ll be releasing another single from it any time soon.” “Thank you so much.” “Yes I’ve got quite enough to drink thanks.” “Yes, thank you it was a lot of fun to do.” “Yes there’s a script for the second one but as to whether we’ll film it I’m really not sure.” “Yes I played the guitar on it, well yes the rhythm guitar part.” They had arrived at half eight, and Mark was bored to tears by ten. He knew this was all still fairly new to Angela and tried to seem as though he was enjoying himself for her benefit. Something, he reflected he appeared to be doing a lot lately. A beautiful young woman accosted him around half midnight. “Los Angeles Times reporter, Alisha Davies, honour to meet you Mr. Saunders. I know this is pretty much your party so I won’t take up too much time, could I just ask a couple of questions for the paper?” Mark gave her a gratifying smile. “Sure you can.” The Alisha looked over her notes and then smiled apologetically. “I think I can actually sum up my few questions in one actually... What in your life, is making you the most happy right now?” Mark considered a moment and then answered, “There’s a lot going on at the moment, but I have to say that without a shadow of a doubt, going home from my fantastic job to see my girlfriend and my daughter at home waiting for me has to be it. Angela is my rock, and Megan is probably the thing that I live most for at the moment.” Alisha scribbled down his quote onto a notepad, thanked him profusely and shook his hand. “I’ll be at the premiere in a fortnight, Mr Saunders, I might see you there.” They both smiled, and Alisha walked away.

Mark and Angela stayed until one in the morning at which point the party began to die down and the guests began to leave. Mark picked his timing well and they managed to slip out fairly unnoticed, stepping straight into his car and being driven home. Unlike their recent activity on the sofa, Angela had not picked up that Mark hadn’t enjoyed himself too much, and after more champagne than she had ever drank in one night she collapsed straight into bed and was out like a light. Mark sat on the edge of the bed and made his mind up. He went through his contacts to somebody he had met in a chatroom once. He selected “Bill Anderson” and pressed call. “Twenty minutes, same place as usual?” Mark asked. “Yep.” Bill replied. Sneaking out the house and sliding into the front seat of his car, Mark took several deep breaths. He was sure he was over the limit, although probably not by much. He took it slow and had quickly driven out of the idyllic Los Angeles hills and into the murkier districts. He pulled up in an empty car park to see Bill already there. His was the only car there, crude words were daubed over the walls and a discarded fire-arm lay in the gutter, covered in glass from the shattered street light above it. Mark hopped straight into Bill’s car. “How are you?” Asked Bill. “Better for seeing you”. Mark replied. “Such a charmer Mark, just like straight from the screen” Bill grinned at him. Mark stared longingly into Bill’s face. “Fuck me, Bill”. We’ve got six hour until it’s light and I’ve been waiting all day. I want to taste you, I want you inside me and I want you to fuck me all night long, right here. Bill smiled, and moved over into the front seat with Mark. “I love you so much” Mark murmured, and Bill look straight back into his face and told him, “I love you too.”

Expectations for The Silliest Santa were so high that the editors had been paid double and the premiere had been pulled forward by an entire week. Mark stepped out of his limo onto the red carpet with Angela on his arm. The lights flashed and his award winning smile dazzled every female there. The rest of the cast and crew were received almost as rapturously. The viewing was wildly successful. Every big shot and their kids roared delightedly with laughter at the film, and after the 93 minute film had ended the applause was deafening. Once again however, Mark had not enjoyed himself at this event. He knew he had the interviews to come next and while the odd question he could tolerate and even enjoy at times, lengthy discussions with multiple journalists always grated on him. As he stepped outside to greet the public and the paparazzi he spotted her in the small crowd of journalists. “Do you feel this film was a success having just watched it in it’s entirely Mr Saunders?” “What was your personal favourite scene, Mr. Saunders?” Mark answered the questions hurriedly as he could see her, Alisha was starting to give up and walk away. He shouted her name, and everybody went very quiet, shouting for a particular reporter was not something often done. Alisha went very red, but smiled widely at being remembered and walked to the front of the journalists. “Would you like something for the LA times, Ms. Davies?” There was now a considerable amount of onlookers and Angela had taken a step away from him and was casting him a concerned look. “I’m afraid my questions have been asked already, Mr Saunders, but thank you f-“ “Do you remember last week, you asked me what was making me the happiest in my life at the moment, Ms. Davies?” She nodded, wondering what he was getting at. His heart pounded and he could feel his neck throbbing, a crease of concern crept over Alisha’s face. He took a deep breath and looked straight at her. “Well” he started, “I’d like to change my answer.”

The Train (Alt version)

So I showed The Train to my creative writing teacher and he felt it fell into the "AND IT WAS ALL A DREAM" cop-out ending, so here is the other, edited edition. It features a different description of the station and a slightly different dream sequence, although it is largely the same story.

The Train (alt)

Jonathon missed his train to Birmingham. There would be no getting to his meeting on time now, but adopting the ‘better late than never’ attitude, he still caught the train arriving exactly sixty minutes later. He was supposed to be staying in the city for staff training over the next three days anyway. Managing to get a ticket on discount, Jonathon stood around the Manchester station until the train arrived. The station was in a state of disrepair. It had the look of a project that had had lots of attention paid to it recently, but after being vandalised once or twice, the authorities had given up. Sitting on the steps was a hooded figure smoking a joint in plain sight, and on the other side near the entrance was a homeless woman huddle in the doorway, picking slowly at the paintwork. Jonathon boarded and in a listless manner dropped into the first available seat. An old woman straining to breathe due to her large suitcase immediately produced a seat reservation, he moved two rows in front, to identical seats she had just passed. As the train moved on, Jonathon fidgeted as he worried over walking into his meeting so late, and whether to go at all, although decided he would at least turn up for the three day course. He opened his rucksack and drank heavily from the bottle of whiskey inside. At the next stop a man wearing a black jacket and red jeans sat behind him, loudly chewing gum which suddenly became all Jonathon could focus on. The man’s face was elongated and pointy, a scraggly black beard wove its messy way over his face and chin. His eyes were glazed over and he smelled of rollup cigarettes. The rhythm of chew, pop, chew, pop became increasingly aggravating and in the seat in front a child began to cry. Jonathon reached for his whiskey.

Jonathon’s mobile phone rang loudly in his pocket; the vibrations along with the gentle shaking of the train became a brief guilty pleasure. Jonathon’s wife was not happy when he told her how late he would be for his meeting and by the time the phone call was over another long drink from the whiskey bottle was needed. As Jonathon pulled himself up he caught sight of the chewing gum man’s face, lax and contentedly moving his jaws up and down in a manner further annoying for Jonathon. His phone buzzed with a text message from his wife. “Jonathon, you had better pull yourself together” He was getting a headache. As he walked down the carriage to the trolley he wondered if there was even any point to going to the meeting at all. He walked past a man pointing his camera at the window attempting to take photos of the rural scenery. Jonathon could have told him he would get nothing but the reflection of his own face in the pictures.

Jonathon sat back down with a pint of beer which he drank within 60 seconds. The roaring of chewing gum popping growing in his ear, now accompanied by a mobile phone walkman turned up too loud. As he took another long drink of whiskey, Jonathon’s bladder pressure became a point of immediate attention. He considered a walk to the toilet but noticed chewing gum man was already heading that way. His patience was running out, and throwing his head back against the seat he began to imagine what might happen if he strolled over there anyway. In the depths of his mind the chewing gum man smirked widely at him, and Jonathon made his mind up on the spot. He punched the gawking youth hard in the mouth and he face-planted the train floor. Jonathon watched the trees flash by in a content sort of manner, revelling in his day dream. Chewing gum man tried to pull himself up but Jonathon had him around the throat. He delivered another hard punch to the face and saw one of his teeth loosen sickeningly, but did not relent. The toilet flushed loudly at the back of the coach, jolting Jonathon back to reality, he swayed over there uneasily and stopped for a second to look at chewing gum man. To his great annoyance the youth looked back at him and smiled good naturedly. He had also spit his chewing gum out presumably in the bathroom. Jonathon held himself up in the bathroom and took a long time to fully relieve himself. After he had slumped back into his seat he found that the coach was almost completely devoid of noise. Taking a look around, he realised that the young man had finally plugged headphones into his mobile phone. The train rattled on and finally feeling peaceful, Jonathon slumped back in his seat.

Jonathon’s eyes opened abruptly. He was being shaken awake by the conductor who told him concernedly that they were at the end of the line, and now in London. Jonathon got off the train and walked into the dark empty station feeling a numb sense of panic and confusion. He had never seen Euston so quiet. After several minutes of consideration he walked out of the station and into the city with a reckless sense of disregard and an idea of cheap whiskey in a cheap bar. Needless to say, Jonathon missed his train back to Birmingham.