I Took A Canoe To The Pub

It was black all around and there were stars above and beneath us. It was like we were floating through space. I felt we could spin like a corkscrew and not notice, up was the same as down, down was the same as up...
I was in the countryside, visiting friends. There was a canal at the bottom of their garden and we had taken a canoe to go to the pub.
Coming back it was dark and quiet and the water was so still it was like glass. It was like a mirror reflecting the stars. We stopped joking, stopped talking, stopped breathing. We looked all around us: the canoe was simply surrounded by stars. It was as if we had somehow left the Earth and were now drifting through the galaxy.
We sat motionless, silent, lost in awe, lost in space...
Of course, the midges were out in force and we weren't that far from Woking but you get the picture.

Ask The Love Doctor

"I'm a romantic, you know," she said, "I want there to be real romance. I want to be adored."
I looked at her. We were old friends, we were catching up.
"It's awful," she continued, "I have boxes I need to tick. I know it's wrong... but is it so wrong?"
I took another mouthful of my starter.
She shook her head. "I know I can't have it all, I know I need to compromise. And he does make me happy. He does..."
I wanted to say something important, to give some opinion or some insight or just say that it would work out. I wanted to impart some of the knowledge and experience that I have gained about romance over my adult years.
"How are the fish cakes?" I asked.

I Use My Oyster Card For Guilt Trips

The bus stopped and I looked out of the window and saw this guy. He had a smug smile and was checking himself out in his reflection in a shop window. He checked his hair. Touched it here and there.
What a cock, I thought, what a vain cock. What a cocktastic cock of cocks.
But he had dwarfism. He was a dwarf. So I felt bad.
Shame on me for thinking that, I thought, I'm the cock. I can't criticise a dwarf. I mean his hair is the least of his troubles, I should be admiring his fortitude living in a society that venerates chimerical physical perfection.
But then I thought, Wait a minute, a cock is a cock, regardless of his condition. Or his race or religion or whatever. No excuse. No guilt trips.
He's a cock. He's a big cock even.
Then a girl turned up. They kissed. He just wanted to be smart for her.
I was such a cock.

Dipping A Toe In The Rivers Of Blood

'I can't believe you ask that,' he said, standing up. He was getting angry.
'Well, you're not answering the question,' I said.
He pointed at me, looking around the pub for support. 'How can you ask that? Just look at you...'
I wasn't sure what that meant but it sounded like it might get personal. And personal usually led to physical.
He was sitting at the next table. We had started talking. We talked about the news. Then he started talking about how They would overwhelm us, about how We were an island, about how Our culture was in danger...
'I just want to know what you think it means to be English,' I repeated.
'Well, what does it mean to be French?' he said in a loud voice.
I looked at him, confused. Images of Sophie Marceau swirled in my mind. Damn his rapier sharp polemic. 'What...? What has that to do with anything?'
'I can't believe you are asking that,' he said. 'Look at you...' He shook his head, gathered his things and stormed off. People watched him go.
I sat there, had another beer, got drunk. As an Englishman, I thought it was the least I could do.

On Love

Drip, drip, drip.
Sebastian watched the tap drip, the way the precious water trickled away lost. He thought it was like a metaphor for something big, something larger than himself. He listened to the gentle yet relentless rhythm of the droplets falling, gazing at them plunge like suicides on to the plate of dried pasta sauce.
Maybe it’s like love, he thought, putting on some Marigolds, maybe love is like a dripping tap.
He squirted some Fairy around the sink but didn’t turn on the tap just yet, not wanting to spoil the moment. This momentary momentous moment.
Drip, drip, drip.
He stood there in silent vigil, drinking in the instant, sensing it to his core. The floor chilled his feet through the holes in his socks. He would remember this night, the way it terrified and elated him.
Love is like a dripping tap, Sebastian meditated, although I’m not sure in what possible way.
He picked up a bowl dirty with dry Corn Flakes and started to scrub.

I Blame Blame Culture