Category: Short Story

Comments Off on Little Pork Pie Man

Little Pork Pie Man

I see him again. In the supermarket. Little pork pie man. Always that two-tone hat. But it’s not The Selecter or The Specials leaching out the phones. I hear rawwwk. Whitesnake, I’m sure. First time I saw him was outside a pub at 2 in the afternoon. Part of a drunken circle that’s holding back […] Read More →
Comments Off on I dreamed of oatcakes

I dreamed of oatcakes

I don’t want to get up. I need to pee but it’s too cold. The issue is pressing but a decision is not yet a necessity. The question is how long have I been here? If I know I can estimate how long I have left to decide, when time becomes of the essence you […] Read More →
Comments Off on The Schedule

The Schedule

As the years have passed less planning is needed. Timing remains crucial, but almost automatic after so much practice. Things just fall into place. In early October the catalogues arrive and I begin to make my choices. In these digital days I may be the only person left alive who buys from catalogues. I’ve kept […] Read More →
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The Wrestler

The DVD and vinyl stalls. Salisbury market. Stall man asks me what I’m looking for and I tell him Can, Faust, any kind of Krautrock. He shrugs, turns to a tap on his shoulder. Any wrestling DVDs? This guy in waterproof trousers, a red and white striped shirt open to the waist, big glasses and […] Read More →
Comments Off on In the Terror House, Budapest

In the Terror House, Budapest

A grand, respectable town house on a bourgeois boulevard. Smart and grey painted. Where the Arrow Cross fascists and the Stalinists once did their body and soul-mangling. People hang around outside, groups of high school students messing around, a shouty group of Italian tourists. No-one hung around back then. Imagine another beautiful blue morning, 60 […] Read More →
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Guernica in the clouds

A large envelope in the post.   Unexpected. Like the start of a story. I open it, a letter from my aunt. She’s just finished reading the enclosed manuscript. Found in a box maybe, that’s what happens. An attic, dust through beams of skylight.   Did I put the box here and forget or did I never […] Read More →