Author: Prim
Page: 7
‘It Is… Pt.53 ‘cf’ … away with the bush beating, it’s been an arse of a week; a billion bills, vis a vis speeding ticket, driving in the bus lane ticket, new road tax, dropping my fags in a puddle on a day I don’t even smoke, dropping toast butter side down on a hairy […]
‘into… – Tales from the Hip pg/pt 5’ ‘cf’ … ordinarily yes for sure, a sequence of events could unwrap a good ol’ fashion intro by setting scenes and giving a wistful character the nod, but hey, cold beans aint hot. Jax, in the meantime, grrr, from Durban’s Bread, alive alive oh, crying cockles and […]
‘into… – Tales from the Hip pg/pt 4’ ‘cf’ … Wake, walk, work, walk doth thread the mid-week cycle of a bloke and his dog. And as the wood’s last clumps of snow huddle together in the shade like year-round patches on the dark side of a mountain, so does he while awaiting the spice […]
‘into…the Hills – Tales from the Hip pg/pt 3’ ‘cf’ … In real time on a cold -3° Monday morning the crisp blue sky fired up by an explosive orange zest shone so fresh you could taste its zeal. It held a Mediterranean heat too, if you stood directly in line and imagined. The next […]
‘into… Tales from the Hip pg/pt 2’ ‘cf’ … Despte wearing his most favourite socks to date, the obligatory Christmas edition from Daughter 1 with the gimmicky Simpsons, beer and doughnuts series, by far the best yet by means of softness, warmth and easy on the all-important shin fit. Despite this contented wallow in sock […]
‘into… Tales from the Hip’ ‘cf’ … On a rainy day in a small village in the north of England he sat staring at a screen wondering what to write. Only moments earlier he’d had it all figured out. Tales of grandeur induced flashbacks scurried by an impassive conscious while walking the dog. Ugh! Memories […]
‘the great escape’ ‘cf’ … feet softly prowl, hard to decipher how many, could be two or four, they’re faint lending a camel’s gait only shorter in step and missing the density. Why a camel would be walking the back alleys of Brinny he couldn’t think, but it was that time of year. The smell […]
‘waiting for Godot and 3 come at once’ ‘cf’ … waiting, for what. he growled to himself. Waiting for Godot, Armageddon, the No.39 bus. Waiting for something drastic to happen, bombastic to happen, anything to happen. Waiting does no good. There’s a bull out there with your hands on it. Oh, pulling out all the […]
‘Friday’ ‘cf’ … He knew what it was, just never cared for it. Least, he thought he knew. Now driving through the endless, and on the most, pointless pages of digital tat, he searched those bargains. Everyone will disagree on music, taste and fashion’s qualms he mused dispassionately, wondering how Nigerian outfit Grotto and the […]
‘On the red road to nowhere’ ‘cf’ … Half asleep… in frog pyjamas springs to mind, and if that isn’t a convenient as any sidetrack to kick off with then Bozo Bill doesn’t come from Peckham Hill. Tom Robbin’s classic on the other hand is available quick sharp on noodle search engine spelt G-o-o-g-l-e offering […]
