When we were young
We used strange words
Like scoffs for sweets
And girls were birds.
Croggy was a lift on bike
And cash was known as dosh
Knocked up was a wake up call
Food was nicknamed nosh
A bondy was a garden fire
A tarzy, a rope swing
If it took a while, you waited yonks
Mint was a good thing
Bad was good, when we were kids
A mucka was your mate
Mafted meant you were hot
And cool meant it was great
So looking back when you were young
What words did you use then
To describe the things you used the most
While sitting in your den.
Saturday, 16 August 2014
Tuesday, 12 August 2014
Funny Man
All he wanted was to be loved, to make people laugh, he could do that, at least someone was happy .
It didn't matter that inside he hurt, his head full of terrible thoughts, his days spent alone in his bed, wanting and waiting for it all to end.
In front of everyone, he laughed and joked with them, not a care in the world, just the crazy man they adored. Nobody knew his demons, the darkness that lay silently within him, slowly choking him to death.
Drugs came and went, alcohol too, even those were treated with his insane humour, "Gods way of telling you, you have too much money " was how he described his battle with cocaine.
Eventually the hurt became too much, life so unbearable that he couldn't hold on any longer, his demons finally had their victory.
Shock waves crossed the world, TV news flashed huge breaking news banners across the screen "Funny Man Dies " and rushed to find anyone who had ever seen him on stage or screen to be his "friend " and tell everyone how they knew he was struggling with his despair. Telling the camera, instead of being by his side as his friend.
In twenty four hours, he'll no longer be the funny man, but the forgotten man, resigned to the archives, his movies churned out on networks across the world as a "tribute" to his talent.
The demons may have won, but he won't be forgotten, not just the funny man, but a great one too.
RIP RW
It didn't matter that inside he hurt, his head full of terrible thoughts, his days spent alone in his bed, wanting and waiting for it all to end.
In front of everyone, he laughed and joked with them, not a care in the world, just the crazy man they adored. Nobody knew his demons, the darkness that lay silently within him, slowly choking him to death.
Drugs came and went, alcohol too, even those were treated with his insane humour, "Gods way of telling you, you have too much money " was how he described his battle with cocaine.
Eventually the hurt became too much, life so unbearable that he couldn't hold on any longer, his demons finally had their victory.
Shock waves crossed the world, TV news flashed huge breaking news banners across the screen "Funny Man Dies " and rushed to find anyone who had ever seen him on stage or screen to be his "friend " and tell everyone how they knew he was struggling with his despair. Telling the camera, instead of being by his side as his friend.
In twenty four hours, he'll no longer be the funny man, but the forgotten man, resigned to the archives, his movies churned out on networks across the world as a "tribute" to his talent.
The demons may have won, but he won't be forgotten, not just the funny man, but a great one too.
RIP RW
Thursday, 7 August 2014
Contract Terminated
Her body lay motionless on the wooden floor. A river of red oozed from below her, soaking into her clothes.
A single gun shot wound to the back of the head had caused her to crumple to the floor, her lifeless body laying haphazardly with legs bent at right angles at the knee and arms outstretched.
The killer laid a large sheet of plastic to wrap the body and a rug alongside, ready to roll her tightly within. A clichéd method, but still an effective one of disposing of someone without attracting too much attention.
He rolled her into the rug and dragged her to the rear of his nondescript saloon car, the dark brown colour blending seamlessly with the deep red brick of the house, as he popped the boot and placed her in.
He hated killing women, but his job demanded he asked no questions. A simple contract, paid in advance with details of victims movements and best place and time to carry out his crime.
He didn't ask why, but he knew this one had been a bit loose with her morals, sleeping with several men, while her husband worked, but unfortunately she'd been seen and husband informed. His jealousy leading to a few discrete phone calls and the demise of his wife.
As he drove off, gentle rain was replaced by a light flurry of snow. He wasn't looking forward to working in the snow, his already prepared plot would be starting to harden in the cold conditions making spade work that much harder.
As he accelerated to beat the weather, the flurry began to turn into a heavy flow of thick, white clouds of frozen sludge. His wipers were working furiously, but couldn't control the constant attack of nature.
It only took a second of inattention, but suddenly as he reached forward to wipe away a fogged windscreen, the back of the car found a wet patch and was spinning away, a tiny ball on a roulette wheel, waiting for somewhere to land. He didn't stop quickly, the wheels leaving the ground after hitting the roadside verge, and the vehicle flipped upwards and sideways, to the left of the motorway which was lined with thick trunked oak trees.
He didn't have time to see his life pass before his eyes, as the car hit a tree with such ferocity that he was thrown violently into the dashboard, the blow killing him instantly. The car was torn apart, the boot flying open, sending a tightly wrapped rug hurtling into the area behind the trees and into a group of thicket bushes, which opened its thorny mouth, swallowed it whole and closed it lips tightly, hiding her from view.
When Police found the car, they called in the undertaker, who removed its driver and tow truck mechanics lifted the car carefully onto a recovery vehicle, before sweeping away the broken plastic from smashed headlights, and heading on to their next task.
A single gun shot wound to the back of the head had caused her to crumple to the floor, her lifeless body laying haphazardly with legs bent at right angles at the knee and arms outstretched.
The killer laid a large sheet of plastic to wrap the body and a rug alongside, ready to roll her tightly within. A clichéd method, but still an effective one of disposing of someone without attracting too much attention.
He rolled her into the rug and dragged her to the rear of his nondescript saloon car, the dark brown colour blending seamlessly with the deep red brick of the house, as he popped the boot and placed her in.
He hated killing women, but his job demanded he asked no questions. A simple contract, paid in advance with details of victims movements and best place and time to carry out his crime.
He didn't ask why, but he knew this one had been a bit loose with her morals, sleeping with several men, while her husband worked, but unfortunately she'd been seen and husband informed. His jealousy leading to a few discrete phone calls and the demise of his wife.
As he drove off, gentle rain was replaced by a light flurry of snow. He wasn't looking forward to working in the snow, his already prepared plot would be starting to harden in the cold conditions making spade work that much harder.
As he accelerated to beat the weather, the flurry began to turn into a heavy flow of thick, white clouds of frozen sludge. His wipers were working furiously, but couldn't control the constant attack of nature.
It only took a second of inattention, but suddenly as he reached forward to wipe away a fogged windscreen, the back of the car found a wet patch and was spinning away, a tiny ball on a roulette wheel, waiting for somewhere to land. He didn't stop quickly, the wheels leaving the ground after hitting the roadside verge, and the vehicle flipped upwards and sideways, to the left of the motorway which was lined with thick trunked oak trees.
He didn't have time to see his life pass before his eyes, as the car hit a tree with such ferocity that he was thrown violently into the dashboard, the blow killing him instantly. The car was torn apart, the boot flying open, sending a tightly wrapped rug hurtling into the area behind the trees and into a group of thicket bushes, which opened its thorny mouth, swallowed it whole and closed it lips tightly, hiding her from view.
When Police found the car, they called in the undertaker, who removed its driver and tow truck mechanics lifted the car carefully onto a recovery vehicle, before sweeping away the broken plastic from smashed headlights, and heading on to their next task.
Tormented
His fingers clung desperately to the cliff edge, his feet precariously dug into a tiny foothold, high above the raging waves and jagged rocks.
All his thoughts turned to the night before, why had he said those things, they could never be taken back. She wouldn't understand, how could she, he never understood his thoughts these days either.
He paused, just for a moment, then released his grip, it didn't matter anymore. They'd won.
All his thoughts turned to the night before, why had he said those things, they could never be taken back. She wouldn't understand, how could she, he never understood his thoughts these days either.
He paused, just for a moment, then released his grip, it didn't matter anymore. They'd won.
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