Oblong Scone

I cannot be blamed – there was nothing I could do. An unpredictable lightning bolt from the left field in the sky. One minute it’s something you couldn’t construct as a whimsical thought from the most fantastical of notions, the next - there it is, stark and crazy. And before you accuse me of gross exaggeration and over-drama, let me reveal to you what has just happened: I experienced listening to a cover version of Something Inside So Strong sung by Michael Ball! This event cannot be subjectively commented upon; the very parameters that mediate my entire life are at the moment spinning wheels in Michael Ball’s fucked-up fruit machine. There’s no categorizing possible in terms of good or bad, right or wrong; all I can do is try my best to avoid the lava – the dark red, bleeding lava. I would be more likely to fathom the origin and meaning of existence than even speculate on what drew Michael Ball to attempt to perform this song. The actual execution breaks so many rules of science th...

I was driving up a one way street – self-limiting myself to one way; my car hemmed in by parked cars on either side just like how it was in the Bible. About a hundred metres ahead a figure was walking towards me down the middle of the road. I was unbothered, I’ve seen people walking before and I was sure he would move onto the pavement when I got closer. This assumption was not worth the paper it was not worth writing such an assumption on; for my closing proximity brought no adjustment to the figure’s walking down the middle of the road.. In fact, the closer I get, the more confident his stride, the more aggressive his posture. I slowed down gradually still believing he would step aside when the realisation that I was in a car and he wasn’t, hit him like a car. The boney young figure, facial hair under various tidal systems, adjusted his NY cap and folded his arms in defiance as he came to a stop in front of me. Who was this sack of nicotine, standing there in rubbish trainers, starin...

The human brain is an amazing thing it really is.Boffins are still struggling to get to grips with its mechanics and the best they can do at the moment appears to be making a computer diagram of the squelchy thing glow in different locations depending on whether a test-subject is looking at a picture of Beyonce washing a car or Noel Edmonds playing Boggle. Where would the diagram be glowing if a brain probe was connected to the stocky, badly dressed, unshaven, middle-aged Mondeo driver I witnessed pulling over on the side of Zetland Road last night? Out of the car he springs aggressively, a bin-liner clasped into his no-nonsense hands. It would be wrong to say there was rage on his face, but there’s a definite determined aggressiveness. This man wants to dump the bin-liner - for some reason, and I don’t know what it is (he’s not verbalising his internal thoughts the crafty beggar). What ever it is, this man is in no mood to share his battered Ford with this bag any longer. But then he ...