More to Me Than HIV Read more

More to Me Than HIV

First published in Gscene July 2020 For last years World AIDS Day I put together a public project of work joining other people living with an HIV+ diagnoses at Jubilee library.For last years World AIDS Day I put together a public project of work joining other people living with an HIV+ diagnoses at Jubilee library. For the project I spoke openly about my journey having being           Read more

More to Me Than HIV: GScene post Aug 2020

More to Me Than HIV is a project that aims to breakdown the stigma that has historically been attached to this virus.  When I saw my piece in last months Gscene to promote the More to Me Than HIV project, I was extremely proud, but a small part of me was filled with anxiety; but why should I feel this way? I have been on effective antiretroviral therapy since the Read more

More to Me Than HIV: first published in GScene July 2020

For last years World AIDS Day I put together a public project of work joining other people living with an HIV+ diagnoses at Jubilee library. For the project I spoke openly about my journey having being             diagnosed HIV+ 32 years previous. Back then there was no treatment and a lot of fear and misinformation concerning how HIV was transmitted. As such stigma was rife, Read more

Writing everyday in October: True Story

Writing everyday in October: True Story.


Some childhood memories are still very clear to me, particularly the time I lived in Blanche Street. I was seven, my stepbrother was six and our dad decided to give us an opportunity to murder. It was the 1970’s and everything seemed more brutal back then and very much so in the house we all lived in Blanche Street, two adults, three children, one baby in a two bedroom terraced house with no bathroom and an outside toilet.

On this occasion my stepmother had seen a mouse dash under the electric airer; a tin, oblong, upright contraption with removable wooden slats which also double as her weapon of choice to cane us with.

My dad seemed to take great relish in his plan. First he blocked off the door of the lean-to kitchen and the yard outside. He then got a large wooden mallet and said to my stepbrother and I, “When I move the airer, who ever sees the mouse first, grab the mallet and smash it.”

My stepmother with my half sister in her arms and sister stood behind the barricade in the middle room while my dad slowly moved the airer. To be honest, I don’t think I really knew what was going to happen next but when the terrified mouse shot out, I screamed, my stepbrother screamed, my stepmother, sister and half sister also screamed. I tried jumping over the barricade as my dad grabbed the mallet and smashed the mouse into oblivion . Some images never leave you, particularly childhood horrors like that and they still have the power to make me cry.

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Writing everyday in October: Nancy Spungen’s Haiku.

Haiku (俳句 high-koo) are short poems that use sensory language to capture a feeling or image. They are often inspired by an element of nature, a moment of beauty, or another poignant experience. Haiku poetry was originally developed by Japanese poets, and the form was adopted (and adapted) by virtually every modern language, including our own.


Miss Understood.

Nauseating Nancy

Brown leafs descend

Now we weep

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writing everyday in October. Anna Nicole Smith, Love After Death

From our Afterlife showbiz reporter: Kelly Ross.

Dressed in a figure hugging, pink satin dress, fabulous fake fur stole, diamond drenched chocker, perfected platinum blond hair and flawless makeup, Anna Nicole Smith made her debut into the afterlife with the usual style, panache and a touch of car-crash that had made her the most talked about woman (after Princess Diana) in the National Enquirer.
Standing at the top of the stairs, Ms.Smith raised her hands above her head, went to speak but instead slurred, “Do you Like my Body? It’s all down to Trimspa you hear?”

When the only response was a whispered, “Is she drunk?” Ms. Smith threw down her hands, pushed out her bottom lip and sulked. Thankfully a lone female voice shouted, “I love you Nicole”, which was just the thing Ms. Smith needed to get her back in her stride as she switched from grumpy brat, to the sultry, sexy, siren Ms. Anna Nicol Smith we are more attuned to.
Assured she had the audience’s complete attention, Ms. Smith thrusted her ample assets forward and swished down the stairs; gyrating her hips in a fashion that one could almost have assumed Ms. Smith was in fact spinning an invisible hula-hooping all the way down to the bottom step.
As was Ms. Smith’s want while alive, she was greeted by the maître d’ with a substantial serving of deep fried gizzard wings, large fries and a diet coke. Ms. Smith squealed with delight, chowed down with a ravenous appetite, which is not unheard of for those who have made the journey into the afterlife, burped loudly and said in her distinctive Southern drawl, “Well this sure is heaven, thank you all, I’s was famished.”
Next came the main part of the afterlife floor show that as always is the main draw for these shows. A ripple of an applause filled the auditorium as the wardrobe mistress pulled a cloths rail with a single dress, hidden under a very pretty, pink silk protection cover.

Ms. Smith squealed with delight and announced she was so glad to be changing her outfit as she was already bored to tears with her present attire.
Next, Ms. Smith was taken behind a changing screen, blindfolded and asked to strip. Not wishing to miss an opportunity, Ms.Smith shouted, “Queue music!”.
The band instinctively began to play, “You Can Leave Your Hat On”.
Unbeknown to Ms. Smith, a back light shone onto the screen allowing the full effect of the striptease to be observed. Such was the performance, one had to wonder if Ms.Smith wasn’t a little aware of the playful prank being played on her.
As the band reached its crescendo, a pink silk camisole and matching knickers came flying over the screen, just as the auditorium was plunged into complete darkness.

A cough and shuffle of anticipation rippled through the darkness as the sound of the wardrobe mistress slipping the dress over Ms. Smith’s head was followed by Nicole letting out a huge belch,
“That should give this pretty dress some room”, giggled Nicole as the wardrobe mistress pulled and buttoned Ms. Smith into her new frock.
A cymbal simmered from the percussion section of the band, as a single light pierced through the darkness.The other percussion instruments gradually joined in while the spotlight expanded until a perfect silhouette of Ms. Smith was once again in full view. Then came the big reveal as the screen spectacularly fragmented into ninety white doves, causing the audience to gasp at just how stunning Ms. Smith looked.
Still blindfolded, Ms. Smith’s voice cracked slightly as she tried to reach out to her adoring fans and asked, “Do I look pret-ty?”
A collective “Ahhh” and clapping of hands, quickly brought back Ms. Smith’s smile.

Once the applause had died down, the Grim Reaper slowly made her dignified entrance, scythe in hand. Again there was a murmuring of anticipation from the audience, which in turn made Ms. Smith let out a giggle and a very faint fart.
Unable to hold back her excitement any longer, Ms. Smith pulled in a deep breath, which in turn put considerable strain on the upper part of her dress and cried out, “Is this when I get my sur-prise? Is this when I fin-ally get the thing I’ve always dreamed off, tell me now, is now the time I fin-ally  get what I tru-ly de-serve?!”
The Grim Reaper in turn, whispered sweetly, “Yes Nicole”.
Stamping her feet in quick succession, Ms. Smith enquired, “Does it begin with ‘M’?”
To which the Grim Reaper again whispered very softly, “Yes Nicole”.

Unable to control herself, Ms. Smith span round and round, shouting, “I’ve got it, i’ve got it, I beat E. Pierce Marshall, I’m rich, I’m rich at last I’m rich.”
The Grim Reaper waited for Ms. Smith to stop spinning and with a quick flick of her Scythe, snipped Ms. Smith’s blindfold in two. As it fell to the floor, Ms. Smith looked down and saw she was wearing a massive white, meringue inspired wedding dress.

Slightly dumbfounded and rather confused, Ms. Smith turned to the Grim Reaper and asked, “Am I ma-rry-ing the mon-ey?”
The Grim Reaper solemnly shook her skull, clicked her boney finger and thumb in the band’s direction, who again hit their stride at once as they played, Mendelssohn’s, Wedding March’.

Meanwhile, the distinctive sound of a wheelchair creaked out from within the darkness.

Nicole had a terrifying moment of clarity as she realised just what the ‘M’ stood for as the creaking wheelchair pulled itself out of the shadows, a musty Howard Marshall, dragged his dusty tongue across flaking lips, smiled a toothless grin and croaked, “I love you Nicole, I’ve been waiting for you baby and the really good thing honey, I’ve got viagra! And best of all sweetheart, sugar-pie, we have all of eternity to consummate our marriage over and over and over again.




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Writing everyday in October: Run!



Her horror snares me. I’m on my feet running, fast, but from what?

Crowds scurry, infectious fear.

A chorus of terror urges us, to run, run faster.

Hysteria rules, out of their homes they pour: stampeding, screaming, caterwauling.

The horror! Faces underfoot, no time to stop, just keep running.

But running, running from what?

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Writing everyday in October: Snap!

Writing every day in October: Snap.

When I found the roll of film in the drawer, I honestly thought it would be so out of date that there wouldn’t be any images on it, but something told me to take it down to the chemist and get it developed anyway. The woman behind the counter said it would be ready to collect within a fortnight. I had almost forgotten what it was like to wait for something, particularly in this day and age where everything we could want right now is just a click away. To have to wait was in a really silly way exciting, particularly as I couldn’t remember putting the film in the drawer in the first place.
On saying that, this most important thing got quickly forgotten. After a week I had put all thoughts of the film to the back of my mind as I got on with the everyday, mundane things in my life, going to work, coming home, cooking a meal for Lilly, catching up with emails, losing myself in the online news and then bed.
It was at the end of the month when I was getting my daughter, Lilly ready for her dance class that I came across the photo collection slip. Again, part of me was going to screw the slip up and dismiss the idea that there was anything salvageable on the roll, but then Lilly asked what it was in my hand so I explained about how we used to take films to chemists or photo shops to be developed and that there may be some waiting at our chemist.
Lilly got so excited about the prospect of finding a surprise that I got caught up in the excitement that only a child can conjure.So I promised Lilly that I would wait until after her class and that she could be with me when I collected the photos; but I also warned her that she may be disappointed to find all the photos to be blank.
Lilly, ever the optimums, an emotion that is in abundance in the young, but gets dismisses all to quickly as the years pass, said, Daddy, give it a go, you may be really, really surprised.
Although I was warmed by her enthusiasm, I was already bracing myself for her to be upset; after all, life, you know real life, has a knack of serving you up a joker when in the films its always the ace.
While Lilly was at her dance class I caught up on some work on my computer, while sitting in my car. I knew if I could get the right figures together and the spreadsheets to balance then I might be able to give her my undivided attention on Sunday.
As usual, the time went so much quicker then I had wanted it to and I still hadn’t got my work completed. All thoughts of quality time with tLilly got popped into the ‘to do later folder’ in my mind as I closed my lap top and went to pick up Lilly.
Now normally Lilly would come running out telling me all about what dance steps she had learnt, but this time she was so full of excitement about picking up the photos from the chemist. Unlike Lilly, my heart was preparing itself for disappointment. Already I was seeing myself apologising to Lilly as I showed her photo after photo of nothing but blank pictures.
In a blink we were at the chemist with Lilly almost bursting with joy as she handed over the photo slip. As a month had past, it took the chemist some time to find our pack. If i could have persuaded Lilly to leave and do something else I would have done but when Lilly has her heart set on something then she is totally committed in seeing her through; which reminded me again just how much she takes after her mother, Bella.
As soon as the assistant came back with our pack of photos I could tell it wasn’t good news. She did offer to show us, but I said to Lilly it would be better to look at them back home on the sofa, together.
When we got back home we sat down and Lilly opened the envelope and just as I had feared her face dropped as she looked at blank photo after blank photo. I was about to suggest ice-cream for tea, when Lilly turned the last photo and there she saw herself, six months old, being cradled by Bella, her mum, my wife.
In that moment, everything that was precious, every thing that was important was in that single photo that had survived when all the other’s had faded into nothing. Although there where other photo’s of Bella, this was the only one of Bella holding Lilly; work schedules and deadlines where quickly put in the ‘to do folder’ as I sat with Lilly and together we remembered her beautiful mother.

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Writing Every day in October. Filthy Weather, Part 2

Writing everyday in October.
Filthy Weather, Part 2


The next day despite it being even hotter then the day before, Barry lay feverishly in bed, with the blankets pulled up around him. Genie walked in to the bedroom with a glass of water which only made Barry wretch. He then calmed himself enough to say that he literally could not stomach anything.
To make matters worse, Barry was a hopeless patient; by midday Gina had enough of Barry’s moaning, made all the worse as she was unable to do anything to alleviate his symptoms beyond damping his brow with a damp cloth and wiping a way the gunk that kept building up in the corners of his eyes.
When Barry started to dry heave again, Gina apologised as she rushed out of the bedroom saying she needed to get some air. Gina was pleased to find none of the other neighbours were out on the patch of grass at the back of the flats. As Gina settled into the deckchair she notice the neighbours on the ground floor had the windows shut and curtains pulled tight which suited her just fine. The last thing she wanted was small talk with the strange mother and son combo who lived there.

Sitting back, Gina felt her body relax. High above from one of the flat windows, Gina heard a radio DJ, giving the usual cheesy chat.
“Well, I hope whatever you’re doing you’re making the most of the weather as we have reports that rain is soon on its way, next up is a tune for all you lad-ies. Here are those, Weather Girls and It’s Raining Men.”
Genie had her eyes closed as she sang along to the music, it was then she suddenly became aware of the unaccustomed sound of seagulls. Just as she looked up she saw the sky turn grey as hundreds of seagulls flew high up over the roofs. As the birds passed it looked like they were pulling behind them a glimmering golden carpet. It was in fact an unusual cloud formation; it looked to Genie as if it was chasing the birds out of the sky. As the massive cloud eclipsed the blue heaven, sun rays pierced the cloud causing it to sparkle.

“What is it?”

Genie turned to one of her other neighbours and her two children who had popped out on hearing the increasing row the seagulls were making overhead.
Gina stood open mouthed, unable to give any answer that would have made sense as the sight in the sky was beyond any comprehension she could think off. It was then Genie heard Barry’s dry cough rattling out of the window from above. Normally her instincts would have been to go to his aid, but she found herself transfixed by the gold sheet that was now covering most of the sky above.

“It’s beautiful” shouted the little girl standing next to her mother. Genie could only stand and nod in agreement; the intolerable hot weather had all been worth it.
Genie suddenly became aware that all the neighbours, except Barry had come outside, standing in their small back yards as they marvelled at nature’s gift to them. The birds had all but been chased away and the skies had turned truly heavenly.
Not a sound could be heard as people got out of their cars and marvelled at the magnificent sky that continued to sparkle a deeper hue of gold.
From down the street someone started to clap, which was followed by someone else then an another and then another until it seemed that everyone standing in their backyards where applauding the magical gift in the sky.
What happened took everybody by complete surprise, it was as if the sound of the had reached high up and touched the gold cloud which in turn broke up and showered everyone below with its gold. At first everyone threw their arms and faces up, welcoming the refreshing downpour, relived to be soaked after the amazing heat wave. However, the pleasure soon turned to horror, the rain slid down the skin leaving an oily film; but worse, so much worse was its unexpected reaction. Within seconds of making contact with its worshippers, what was gold upon the touch quickly dissolved into a brown acid burning sludge. Where only moments ago a sense of joy had filled the street was replaced with the sounds of agonising screams.
Genie ran into the bathroom, stripped off her clothes and jumped in the shower frantically scrubbing herself. At first the relief of having the clean water rush over her gave Genie much relief but she suddenly became aware that the waters consistence had changed and the same gold/brown globs of liquid where now chugging out of the shower head. Distraught, Genie jumped out of the shower, ran into the kitchen and emptied what water was left in the kettle and water jug in the fridge over her. Hearing the commotion, Barry had pulled himself out of bed and started at Genie as she grabbed at the tae-towels, pulling the mess from her skin. Although exhausted himself, Barry grabbed another tea-towel and helped Genie get clean while the filthy weather continued to hammer against the side of the flat.


After a fitful night sleep, Barry turned to the alarm clock, the time said seven a.m. and yet it was still dark outside as the rain continued to pour down.
“Genie, you awake?” Croaked Barry. Genie groaned an unconvincing “yes” before turning her back and pulling the covers with her. Barry got out of bed and cupped his hands against the windowpane but could not see beyond the greasy sheen on the other side. Although Barry had swallowed the sea water, he had managed to get rid of most of it over the last twenty-four hours and felt a little better, but Genie had been really effected by the downpour, although she had managed to get the slime of her skin pretty quickly, Barry knew she was still feeling the phycological effects that were much harder to wash off.
Without thinking, Barry said, “Genie do you want a drink of wate…?”

Genie’s hand shot up before Barry had a chance to finish saying anything more which in turn made Barry feel just as bad.
As he made his way down the stairs, Barry became aware of a strong smell, as he reached the bottom of the stairs he gingerly opened the door onto the communal hallway then quickly slammed his hand over mouth and gasped. During the night the rain had seeped into the entrance hall, covering the floor with an oily brown shimmer that stank of nothing on this earth, but within the slime was movement. Barry didn’t want to look too closely, but the creatures looked a like large silverfish thrashing around across what had once been the hall carpet.
Barry ran back into the flat, unable to control his tears, to Barry it really felt like it was the end of the world. As he stood outside the bedroom, he managed to compose himself enough to walk back into the bedroom and was surprised to see Genie sitting up in bed. Genie looked terrible, but Barry pulled on his best smile and said, feeling a bit better love, you look a bit better”.
Of course, Genie and barry both knew the lie that hung between them, but to admit the truth was to much to bare and so Genie nodded and said that she did feel a little bit better.

Barry, continued to lie and said, once it stops raining we can all get the neighbours together and give the whole place a clear up.
Again, Genie nodded knowing full well that that was not going to happen. in the last five years of living here the only neighbours they had any contact with was that vile neighbour Ronny on the top floor and a brief conversation with that woman and her kids yesterday in the backyard before the sky had fallen in.
Genie managed to pull herself out of bed and went over to the window and cupped her hands against the pane. In truth, Genie could not see anything, but the cool glass against her head gave her some relief. As she stared into the nothing a bolt of lightning lit up the outside world, making Genie scream.
Turning to Barry, Genie looked ghostly white. Barry tried to askj her if she was okay and ran over to the window to see what had spooked Genie so much, it couldn’t have been just the lightning but when he cupped his hands over the window all he could see was the same brown/gold sludge pulling itself down the window.

Barry continued to stare at the window without turning said, what is it babe? What did you see?”
Barry then turned to see that Genie was no longer in the bedroom. Thinking that she must have gone to the bathroom or kitchen, Barry returned to the window, hoping the lightning would strike again. After a couple of minutes of looking at the same nothingness, Barry went to the bathroom to see if Genie was okay but she wasn’t in the bathroom or the kitchen of the lounge.
It was then that Barry saw the front door was ajar. Barry threw the door open and saw the receding footprints of Genie bare feet disappearing in the hall way sludge.

Glenn Stevens’s photo.

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writing everyday in October: Filthy Weather

Filthy Weather

“The ongoing stand off between the waste collection service and the recently elected government has now spread up from the South Coast and as far as Nottingham. The dispute started when the Brighton council increased working hours and cut holiday pay. The situation has been exacerbated by the increasingly hot weather. Many of the local beauty spots have seen a dramatic increase in fly tipping. A local woman said that she no longer allows her children to play in the local parks after her daughter came home holding a used syringe. Councillor Richard T Summers said talks where on going with the union and he hoped this issue will be…”

The television suddenly went dead, Barry turned round to see Genie in her nurses outfit. “Oi, I was watching that!”
Gina rolled her eyes as she dumped her bag on the chair and said, “Oh, hello love hard day at work? Well, yeah it was actually.
Sensing Gina had once again been run ragged, Barry jumped out of his chair and gave Genie a hug, “Sorry hun, you want a cuppa?”
Gina flopped herself down on the sofa, “We got any of that wine left?”
Barry looked out of the window, the mid morning sun was already unbearably hot, then back at Gina, but before he could say anything, Gina spoke up, “Yes I know its mid morning Barry, but after the night shift I’ve had a cup of tea just won’t cut it.”
Knowing better, Barry scurried off into the kitchen and poured out the last of the white wine. As he returned to the lounge he saw Genie sitting in her chair with her eyes shut.
“Busy night then hun?” said Barry as he passed Genie the glass”. With one eye half open Genie took the glass and nodded, “More people coming down with that stomach bug. Why didn’t I choose to be a pole dancer, or a bank clerk, at least then I could just pretend to care”.
Barry flung himself onto the sofa, which nearly caused the wine to go flying, Gina was about to shout, when Barry threw his arm around her gave her a big kiss and said, “You wouldn’t be any good in those jobs, it’s in your nature to look out for others, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Gina wanted to protest, to say she had great legs for a pole dancer but she knew that Barry was right. She had wanted to be a nurse for as long as she could remember. Growing up she was forever bandaging up her toys and on occasions her baby brother.
Gina drained her glass as the sun shifted and poured into the room.
Holding his hand up to his face, Barry squinted, “You’re off tomorrow aren’t you? If its like this we could go on the beach. Find a nice quite spot, away from the crowds”.
When Gina didn’t jump at the chance, Barry added, “I’ll make us a picnic, what do you say?”
Gina snuggled up to Barry and nodded before falling asleep.

The next morning Barry was up bright and early, putting together a picnic, by ten o clock Genie and Barry were driving along the seafront.
As they whizzed past the main tourist’s beach and passed the Marina, Gina piped up and said, “Barry! We are not having a picnic at that end of the beach, that’s where they pump out all the sewage.
As he pulled the car into park, Barry said, “Look, it’s nice and quite and at least this end it’s not all pebbles; besides, the sewerage is pumped out miles into the sea, it’s the law.”
Not happy, Gina let out a long sigh as they grabbed their beach gear and made their way down the long stairwell. Once settled on the rare bit of sand Brighton had to offer, Gina had to admit that it was a lovely spot, a great sun trap and best of all their were no tourists!
By midday there was not a single cloud in the sky as the sun beat down at its fiercest.
Genie fanned herself with her book and was about to say that if they had gone to the other end of the beach, they could have popped into a bar and had a nice cool drink, when Barry suddenly jumped up, “Come on let’s have a dip, cool off.”
Genie looked over her sunglasses at the sea and shook her head, “The water’s not clean Barry, let’s jump in the car and find a bar, get a nice long cool drink.” Barry wiggled in his trunks and winked, but Gina was having none of it, “No I don’t fancy it, Barry no matter how much you think a wiggle and a grin will help, but if you want to, you go ahead.”
“Chicken” said Barry as he ran to the waters edge, waded in up to his trunks and dive din head first. No sooner had he disappeared under the water then he was up again. Genie couldn’t help but laugh as Barry staggered back up the beach; arms reaching out like a horror film zombie.
He tried to speak but his words were not forthcoming. Eventually he managed to say “Orange, orange” while stabbing his finger towards the cooler bag.
Genie passed him the carton, which Barry gratefully gulped down. Once he got settled back on this towel Barry turned to Genie, “You can’t see it, but there’s something nasty in the water, yuk, I can still taste it.”
“That will be the sh..”
Barry held up his hand, “Don’t even say it.”
Even though he had drank all the liquids from the cool bag, Barry was unable to get rid of the taste from the back of his throat. He then tried his best to lay still but each time he laid flat he started coughing and his eyes were streaming. Gina looked at Barry and said, “Come on, let’s get you home”.
That night Genie spent most of the night lying awake in the darkened bedroom listening to Barry in the bathroom throwing up. It had got to that horrible stage where there was nothing left but stomach lining to bring up; Gina pulled her pillow around her ears as she was convinced Barry’s stomach was actually going to make a very unwelcome appearance.

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Writing everyday in October. The Wedding (part 1)

Writing everyday in October.
The Wedding (Part 1)


The bride was as boring as fuck, I mean honestly, I saw some paint drying that was being bored by her. The thing was though, when I was talking to her, she walked off when I was in mid flow, as if to say I was the fucking boring one!

Wait a minute, I’m getting ahead of myself now, let me start from the beginning, way before this disaster was at the brewing stage. My best mate, Jeff and me go way back. We met on our first day nursery school; I was shitting myself, both literally and metaphorically. After the teacher had got me cleaned up, she shoved me in the corner with Jeff who was playing with a load of toy cars. I Don’t really remember our first meet, but Jeff says he does; Jeff says that at soon as I sat next to him he knew we were going to be best mates, weird I know, but it was true. We did everything together, from school to scouts, collage, university and drugs.
Jeff’s new wife, she don’t do drugs and even now is totally convinced that Jeff is a clean living lad. He did tell her that he used to dabble in a bit of hash and once took an E, but that was all in the past. Is it fuck in the past! His stag night went on for five days. I don’t quite know how we ended up in Amsterdam snorting coke of some prostitutes arse; I mean we started the weekend in one of those weekend retreats in Norfolk. It was his brides idea, she said they had a spa there and that

we could go running in the morning and then have a sauna and stuff in the afternoon.
Thank fuck her dad ended up not joining us…or maybe it would have been better if he had then we could have put a stop to this sham marriage. I mean, it’s not like he had to marry her, she not up the duff or anything like that, she just has this really weird hold over him.
The first time I met her, she took an instant dislike to me which was fine by me as the feeling was mutual. Although Jeff was unaware of our pure dislike of each other, I think he was a little relived that I wasn’t flirting with her like I had in the passed. I could kick myself for sleeping with his last girlfriend, Mandy as she was shit hot, a great laugh and could keep up with our drinking and snorting right from Friday afternoon until she had to get the train to work on Monday morning.
But this one, she was…I was going to say frosty, but she wasn’t even that interesting!

So where was I? Oh yeah, snorting coke of a prostitutes arse, two rolled up notes, each taking a snort of each cheek, fucking ace. I don’t need to go into the details about what we did next, you’re all grown up enough to fill in those details; all you need to know is that we lost two days and had to spend a fortune on getting replacement tickets back. I tell yah, if Many was there we would have got a fucking upgrade. Now don’t go calling me a sexist, I’ve seen her do it, pushing her tits up and talking all breathy, like Marilyn bloody Monroe; works every time. Such a shame Jeff ditched her.
Jeff didn’t look to good on that plane ride home, I kept telling him he would be fine and all he needed was a cheeky snort I’d lined up for him in the toilet. When he got back there was a double J.D’s, two cubes of ice, just as he likes it, waiting for him. AS he sat down he shook his head, but I just gave him a wink, downed my drink. I nodded at Jeff, telling him to get the drink down him but he said he wasn’t feeling so great, so I grabbed it from his tray and necked it for hi. I swear it was from that moment on he started to lose his own sense of self. Even when she was miles away that woman was draining his very essence and I had to put a stop to it.

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Writing everyday in October Part 3, Ronny’s comeuppance!

Writing everyday in October: Hate, Part 3, Ronny’s comeuppance:


Ronny squatted over the bucket and roared as the fermenting concoction brewed and spewed from both ends: one in the bucket the other in the sink. Ronny’s groans quickly turned to screams as his insides tensed tighter and tighter in their desperate bid to rid themselves of the poisonous prawns Ronny had so greedy gulped all in pointless pursuit of getting revenge on a neighbour he had never met.

Ronny had not anticipated his plan to backfire (quite literally dear reader) with the force of a huge ‘wet shot avalanche’. On and on went the evacuation with such force that Ronny thought he was going to be turned inside out. After what felt like a life time, Ronny’s guts took a breather, allowing Ronny to catch his breath and thank his lucky stars that the worse was over, but unbeknown to Ronny, that first explosion was the first of many more to come. Ronny gingerly lifted himself off the bucket but this just allowed the gas inside him to shift and expand as once again his whole insides contracted and forced what they could through every single orifice. At one point Ronny thought his eyes were going to pop out, such was velocity of his body trying to survivor its poisoners assault.

After an hour of constant extraction, Ronny was left crawling around the floor, covered in array of bodily fluids with every inch of his body racked in pain, and still his innards continued to contract.

Meanwhile, unbeknown to Ronny, after helping transport the soul of Ronny’s last victim, Death had decided to stop in the flat below, knowing that Ronny was next on his list. Unfortunately for Ronny, his attempts at trying to piss his new neighbour off had not gone unnoticed.

Death had tried blocking out the disruption during the hourly news reports, but was constantly distracted by Ronny stomping around in his boots. This, Death had tolerated up to a point, as he knew there would sure to be another death and destruction story within the hour of the previous one. But when Derrick’s dirty tricks had caused Death to lose all concentration during Only Connect’s, missing vowels round, well, Death was not happy. But it was when Ronny had gone all out with his bombardment of noise the next day when Death, guessed wrongly who the murderer was in Miss Marple’s, A Murder is Announced: that for Death was the last straw.

With just Death living below Ronny’s flat and no one above him No one heard Ronny’s please for help as over the next twelve months Ronny slowly began to decompose, feeling every single pin prick of pain, every nibble from the maggots, every drip of blood congealing diamond sharp in his veins.
Ronny begged for death to come, but the one thing you never want to do is piss Death off.
You see, Death was pleased to make Ronny wait as she took a break, slipped on some earphones and worked her way through box set after box set of crime, comedy and horror dramas that she had been wanting to catch up for a very long time.

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Writing Everyday in October. Hate: Part 2

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Writing Everyday in October: Hate Part 2.
Writing everyday in October, Hate.
Part two.
The very next day Ronny was surprised to hear someone shuffling around the flat below him. With his ear pressed against a glass which in turn was pressed against his threadbare carpet, Ronny tried his best to make out who it could be. After a while Ronny guessed it must have been the last tenants mum. He made this assumption as the television was on day and night with the favourites programs being reruns of Miss Marple and Columbo, games show’s, Pointless, Only Connect and fifteen to One. In-between these programs the person was an avid fan of the news channels, with a particular interest in news programs about war and any other other destructive topic.
At first Ronny thought that his new neighbour sounded like a kindred spirit, but he quickly put such niceties to one side as he reminded himself just how much he had enjoyed destroying the previous tenants life. With his mind made up, Ronny began his insult of hate by phoning up a whole host of companies, from funeral directors, to double glaze sales men and asked them to visit him; each occasion he gave the address of the person living below.
Ronny then waited for the appointed time he had made his arrangements, watched each tradesperson go through the front door and then got on his hands and knees, with the glass once again press against the floor. Much to Ronny’s annoyance, the new tenant welcomed each of the visitors in, chatted with them for a while, sometimes making them a cup of tea and each occasion the person left without any fuss.
Ronny tried his next trick which was to turn his television and radio up to the highest level while stopping about in his boots but this became more of an annoyance to himself then to the tenant below. Ronny decided that they must be deaf and so gave up on that idea.
After some thinking, Ronny started on his next idea. First he got a bucket, squatted over it and forced the insides of stomach. As his diet mainly consisted tinned food and beer, the smell was rank, making even Ronny gag. He looked in the bucket and quickly realised what he needed to do was to make himself go more, much more.
For the first time in weeks, Ronny left his flat, crept down the stair well and made his way outside. His first stop was the local Pharmacy where he bought six packs of Lax-u-go: super strength. The assistant had told him that one capsule should help any problems, but Ronny just grunted, paid for his goods and left. His next stop was the local fishmongers where he bought some king size prawns and was delighted to hear that needed to be eaten that day. His last stop of point was the ironmongers where he bought a funnel and a length of pipe.
Once he was back at his flat, Ronny placed the prawns on the windowsill; next he went into his kitchen and opened up an array of tinned luncheon meats, tinned potatoes, tapioca, and mushy peas. Ronny then plonked everything in a big bowl and settled himself in front of the telly. At times Ronny had to stop himself from throwing up as he forced the food into his mouth, taking great gulps of beer to wash the fuel for his next prank down.
With just about every scarp of tinned spam and tapioca consumed, Ronny felt he could not move but manged to stumble over to the windowsil and grabbed the plate of prawns. Logic told him he should at least cook them, but Ronny’s plan to traumtise the old woman below had consumed him to the point of no return and so he chomped down on the raw prawns, eating the shell, head and tails. Finally he felt he had reached his limit and fell back into his chair, and stored at the blaring television.
At three in the morning, Ronny was woken up by incredible stomach cramps. Although the pain was crippling, Ronny managed to force a smile as he thought how horrified his neighbour would be when they saw the gift he had made himself was poured through their letter box.
But first Ronny needed to get his gut into action. Each step made him wince as his insides gave a sharp poke, but Ronny knew it was all going to be worth it.
To be continued…

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