A collection of short stories and journalistic commentaries depicting my simple life
and how I fit in with the modern day universe of our times


Once again, the intimate cafe was thriving with life as I fumbled my way through the entrance. One o’clock truly is the best time of the day for this sort of thing. The sweet aromas of freshly brewed teas and coffees, all mixed with the smell of a hundred or so fried breakfasts and the sounds of sizzling orders coming from the kitchens. It truly was poetry in motion.

On entering the old place, I shuffled past the countless wobbly wooden tables, knocking all the miss-placed shopping bags over as I pass through a sea of blue rinsed lady’s as they sat for afternoon tea. I do it on purpose of course, just for my own amusement.

I then approach my dear old friend Albert, an uncomplicated chap well into his seventies now, but he’s a wealth of knowledge from time’s gone by and carries an oversimplified view on life to say the least. He was sitting in the corner eavesdropping in on the two ladies on the table next to him.

He’s amazed that I have figured out his technique, but it’s pretty obvious really. He just leans in slightly, and his mouth gapes open when he’s concentrating, the silly old bugger.

“Hey, alright Albert,” I ask, easing ever so gently into my seat. The table is far too close to the wall for my liking.

“I am, but I’ve got arthritis in my toe,” he replies. “But Ethel on the next table there – her son’s been banged up for five years for armed robbery, so all is well.”

“Hmmm, I’m intrigued,” I said.

“Hmmm indeed…” whispered Albert, touching the side of his nose with his finger like he was a spy who had just given me top secret information.

Then, a young beautiful dark haired girl shuffles over to the table to take my order – a pot of Twinning’s finest, two cups and two jam scones with all the trimmings.

She was quite a pretty thing. Albert and I both watched her as she walked away. Maybe I stared for too long, but Albert was onto me like a shot.

“Always wearing tight black trousers, that one,” he observed. “It’s like the best peach on the shelf – all wrapped in gold! Go for it son.”

I giggle with him and give the dirty old sod a playful punch on the arm.

It’s the little moments like these that help you to temporarily forget all the wrongs in the world.

I wouldn’t swap them for anything.

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Its my own fault really, its all about what I see in the world, and how it all translates for me.

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