I am a llama, currently sat on a hillside, soaking up the warmth from what's left of the setting winter sun. It's not unpleasurable. In the neighbouring field a few ragged old sheep graze their days away, oblivious to their impending fate. It must be one of the benefits of being a sheep: you're permanently … Continue reading A Christmas Waiting Story: the Llama’s tale.
I've been running the touch line for nearly 25 years now, sometimes romantically casting myself as the Witchita Linesman in the Glenn Campbell tradition: always searching, never finding, always hankering after a golden past when football was simpler, purer and more respectful. Refereeing the beautiful game has to me always been an honest and honorable … Continue reading A Waiting Story: Man Bites Ref, Ref Bites Back.
We were staring at the TV on Saturday, preparing for an afternoon of shouting at it, urging the forwards to step up, the backs to regroup and the referee to get a life. We were each in the process of making a £5 wager on the first scorer and the final score. Predicting the right … Continue reading A waiting story: how not to win the Lottery.
The bleeding started with a microscopic razor cut on my chin. A tiny spot which started a trickle down onto my shirt and into the basin. It wasn't gushing or pulsating or in any way projectile - just steady. Tissues didn't stop it; steady pressure didn't stop it; a cold compress didn't stop it. After … Continue reading My Zombie Story: living with acute bodily leakage.
I. I was. I. I was working. I was was I working working. I. I was working was I. I was. Was I? I was working working as a waiter As a as a as a waiter in a in a I was waiting as a worker in a cocktail bar in a Bar cocktail … Continue reading A Waiting Story: Glass, Oakey and Me
I'd suspected that Michael Bublé was a robot for a long time. There's no human being on the planet who could move his hips with such consummate ease; who could smile with such consummate sleaze and who could breeze through a contemporary smooch song with so little effort. Not that I had any strong feelings … Continue reading A Waiting Story: Michael Bublé and me
No, Phil you didn't meet me in a cocktail bar working as a waitress. We bumped into each other in Sefton Park one Sunday lunchtime after I'd been waking the dog from its slumbers by trying to encourage it to jump into the lake and retrieve a large log I had lobbed in minutes earlier. … Continue reading A Waiting Story: Phil Oakey and me.
Started off like the rest of them, with the best of intentions. A few of us would meet around our place, we'd crack open a few bottles, eye up a few lines, hunt out the vinyl, call a few mates and fritter away our hours reminiscing where we were when we first heard Satellite of … Continue reading A Waiting Story: the post Lou Reed party.
I stepped out of the front door, turned the key so the cats couldn't escape and stepped out on to the pavement down the road when I noticed him. The white socks gave it away first of all. They skipped steadily ahead of me, leading the way for the shiny patent leather shoes which weren't … Continue reading My Zombie Story: Michael Jackson and me.