You had to look somewhere, after all. She let her gaze fall on his hands. His fingers curled around the charcoal, long and tapered; sensitive hands. Of course he’d be sensitive. What artist wasn’t? No wedding ring. His forearms were surprisingly muscular. A clock somewhere was ticking. Her legs were starting to numb. She couldn’t see much of his face… Read it
I’d moved into Lavender Cottage on the 15th of April 2013. Falling in love with its chocolate box looks, charmed by the inscription over the door ‘Built by Tom ~ Thatcher of this Parish in 1791’. In a moment of weakness, I invite my few remaining relatives still alive to celebrate the festive season in my picturesque idyll. My brother… Read it
It was that time of the morning. The commuters were making their way to work, shoppers were hitting the early morning January sales and I was just trying to make it home as fast as possible. My head was pounding and my cheeks flushed with the embarrassing recollection of last night. I had never even been to Lambeth before and… Read it
I cheered on Chris Hoy; fell in love with Laura Trott; yearned again to be freewheeling on two wheels. But cash was tight. What to do? I popped into Mr Sharif’s corner shop on my way to work. What was this? Haldeman’s Chocolate were giving away ten golden bikes. Just check inside the wrapper for lucky tokens. I counted out… Read it
I alighted at Paddington station and bought a cookie from the stand. White chocolate and raspberry, crunchy and crumbly and casting delightful smells from its snug paper bag. Before I could walk and enjoy my treat I spied a teddy bear sitting alone and forgotten against a pillar and decided I would do my good deed and take him to… Read it
You find the crescent shaped brooch on the adjacent chair where she was sitting. You take it to one of the baristas but he’s too busy to want to know. The back of the brooch is marked Samantha, Mornington Crescent. You decide to find Samantha and return it. Today’s good turn. In the street you ask directions. “Mornington Crescent? Sorry… Read it
Once upon a time in Fibula Castle lived Princess Crystal. On Thursday morning in the east tower she asked her long-suffering maid Susanna “Is he here yet?” Susanna looked out of the narrow slit window for the eighth time that morning. “No, Your Highness.” Princess Crystal flopped onto the pile of satin cushions and re-read the message on her iPhone… Read it
I sat between two aliens on the Bakerloo Line the other day. At first I thought they were men dressed in shiny silver foil with clothes hangers as antennae, but on closer inspection, their scaly skin was not well applied face paint but a true algae pigment, and their webbed fingers were not artificially attached, but biologically correct. They boarded… Read it
