Category Archives: Stories

Thematics example: Sound/Physical Feel/Emotional Feelings

The plate fell and screamed itself to pieces on the hard kitchen floor.
Her soft heart couldn’t take it anymore so it sobbed through the night.
She hated the way she looked even though she was beautiful when happy.
But she was rarely happy, her face was silent like solid stone.

All she wanted was some loud attitude, a confidence to lift her smile.
The gentle whisper of self love to melt the icy critic within.
She wanted the love she gave to her chosen few, all she could hear was sirens.
So she screamed like the plate to build herself again with a firmer foundation.

Idiosyncratic Imagery (work in progress)

One final drink together under the placid moon
You died in my arms that night next to the still lake
Soon after the carefree clouds gathered below the heavens
Above strands of grass, willow trees and fallen flower petals

Farewell my friend, I will take the advice of many fine poets
And become a lonesome traveller on winter’s everlasting road
I’ll walk up the hills away from my ancestral hometown
Missing the bonds forged when I found you crying in the boudoir

Travelling across seas I feel a meloncholy motion rock me to sleep
This boat sailing north amid the dramatic snowfall
The wild geese flying above send me messages of home
Lost in a bubble in the night sky I awaken from this dream

So then, awake I find you, my friend, alive and well
My joy ploclaimed at length from atop the ancient fortress
Fate builds and abandons me as I reflect above the motionless lake
With you by my side, my love, near the city of spring

The Squirl (US Version)

I watched a squirrel try and cross the road before I got too close. It got all the way across the road but then it turned around and crossed back across the road as I approached. You were almost there my guy. You had this. You were so close.

The Long Awaited Visitor

It was summer when we first met and she asked me. “Where do you go for fun in this town?”

I shrugged and answered. “Home.”

She made me feel like a teenager. Excited; all new and powerful. An antidote to routine and familiar comforts. A sharer of her energy and overflowing spirit; she could see around corners. She was open and honest; endlessly forgiving. She was feeling everything, for everyone, all of the time.

But I couldn’t cope. My brain would explode if I attempted to play along. Long ago; burnt out and severely melted. I don’t want to go. Unless it’s staying here or alone out to the moors.

I left that night through the window. Yes, I could use the door, but it didn’t feel as exciting. As I got outside I smelled the petrichor and damp pollen. A freshness hard to find in my house. I knew instantly things could change. It was dark and all the people were asleep. I made my way through the woods just me and a torch, disturbing a twig with a clumsy step, hearing surprised pigeons take off, breaking the silence of the night.

Two hours of walking later I arrived. Surrounded by heather, by the chirruping of the ground nesting birds, by the rare concerned bolve of a stag, and by the burgeoning light from the spectacular sunrise. This location gave everything to me and I took nothing. A pure feeling of lack of people, lack of judgment, a lack of anger. Nothing in the best possible sense, here it meant the endless space between me and the stars, the emptiness between me and my surroundings. Full of potential. Maybe the universe could be my place. A place I could feel like myself. A place where I belonged. A place I felt closest to her. I shed a tear for her love and all of existence.

I had come home.

The Failure Of Language

What is it?

Fuck, I don’t know. I think he’s dead… He’s dead, Sally. He’s not breathing.

Sally could hear hyperventilation through her phone.

I’ve got to phone an… Fuck!

What happened!?

Arghhh… Urgh… Uh… *thud*

Peter? Peter! What’s going on?

Answer me! Are you ok? Fuck. What’s happening?

The Strength of Water

The cow stood alone, crunching on the cud, one field away from beach.
Dividing the field from the beach were wind carved dunes; obscuring the sea from view.

The sound was immense. Crash after crash.
The cow didn’t know what it was. It came again and again. Like the never ending tide of love between two lovers exploring what they could be.

The grass was long enough to rasp a quiet rustle in the breeze. The cattle’s table spread. Yet there was only the cow around. Night rolled in. Thunder struck.

As the rain fell the cow sought refuge in a rocky cave by the lake at the top of the field. Only to discover an inhabitant was already there. A weight was lifted from the cow’s heart at the site of a bull.

The bull was neither young or old, he was in his prime, not extraordinary, not plain, he was unremarkable. The bull stood next to the cow in silence for some time until the rain stopped.

An almighty torrent came from the back of the cave. Both the cow and the bull were swept up in the water. The lake had burst its banks. They clung to each other for dear life, carried along towards the dunes and the beach, they were dropped, wet to the bone, to the sands of the beach.

The cow mooed at the sight of the waves, seeing what caused crashing sound for the first time was a revelation. It felt like her brain was alive with discovery. The bull stood and gently put his head next to the cow’s as they watched the sun come up over the roaring sea.

Water fills every empty gap. It is the universal solvent. It always seeks the lowest places to lift us up. Natures bounty bringing the cattle together.

A Plaice In Mind

There is often a case of caution with plaice. Leave this fish be in the ocean. A hazardous race of engines at pace is done by the boat as precaution.

But a potion is drunk by the sailors who stunk of fish kept in ice like lotion. It comprised of rum and felt like fun but sleep became their eventual notion.

Furious rage woke from drunken haze as the night turned to day and all the fish swept over. No luck, no clover, the drunken seaman went over as the seas demanded attention.

The trawler was ruined. The seagulls were stewing their plaice with salt water and kelp. The fishermen died without help and the shorter straw was drawn by the fish and the men who passed with a yelp.

The sea calmed it’s waves and said goodbye to the days where boats would claim it’s bounty. The wind had dropped. All the corks had been popped by nature who never would die.

So goes the story of catching plaice and men snoring drunkenly into the night. Their vessel had failed because they drank too much ale. Natures debt was dealt without commotion.

And so this tale is sung as warning old and young to people at this charity. Don’t be greedy, reward the needy, and the world will find it’s own parity.

This Morning ITV1

Next to a holly tree
The silver fox sat on the forest floor
Hungrily thinking about visiting the chicken farm nearby
For there worked the raven haired girl

The woods were on a hillside
So the fox skulked down to the low field where the farm belonged
Roosting crows flew from the canopy branches as he rustled past below
He made his way to the field verge

It was winter and all the girls were glowing in the biting cold
By the damp wooden shelter he saw the Little Soph with the midnight hair
Soph of the field would smuggle eggs for her silver furred friend
Just as he came to collect his treat there was a colossal bang!

Down by the small piers at the side of the river
There was a pompous buffoon shooting at the birds in the sky
He wanted their shiny things hidden away in their nests
Neither he nor they had the generosity of Little Soph

At the sound of the calamity Soph and the fox made their way down
The blustering fool by the piers was so involved in himself he didn’t hear them
The silver fox barked and growled and so shook was the man
That his feet fell before him into the air above the slippy water’s edge

Splash! He had blundered in a massive way
Wet and cold from head to toe in icy mire
Soph laughed and fed the silver fox some eggs
So the fox went back to the holly tree where he spent the morning content and well fed

Cliché? Touché

Life. Never to be the same again.

The last day of the week didn’t get off to a good start.

My alarm went off. I showed you my painting I thought it was red and you told me it was green.

You took me for a walk to your hills where I planted my flag. The wind was lacking but I could still feel a bite on my face. A tear. Your footsteps in the snow will be gone tomorrow.

Back home you sat by the crackling fire and sang the saddest song. I cried; became afraid of my actions and words or lack thereof.

Would it even matter if I disappeared into thin air? A faint trace of your smell left on my hands from the night before. You have gone now.

Emptiness. A new hole. The pain is back. Does it never cease? In my dreams I walked to your hills but they looked like different hills and my flag was gone. There sky was clear but there was no moon. The ground was wet. My face was dry. Something forgotten returned from the mist like a wisp in a woods. An old ghost drifting through the trees; weaving a path through the thickets. It was my worst enemy. A mirror. A chasm. Just darkness. My safe place.

The Memory Shack

There is a cosy wooden shack centrally housed within the dark grey garden by the torchlit woods in the left side of my brain.

She stands in there most days, warm and content, painting her mind. The canvases are ever changing maps of who she is.

Standing close to apply strokes of colour, she is a light that is always on, in an otherwise flickering domain. I smile at her as she lifts a painting and puts it to one side. It is a blue and red streak dancing on a grey background.

I look at the painting and then at her. Carried in her glowing eyes is a flame sparking comfort; affirming my affection.

She sometimes leaves to sow seeds in the garden. This time she takes out the compost bucket too. A ritual of emptying painful memories into the universe’s empty space for renewal.

Distracted and alone I look through the window, the first clouds of the morning replace the starless sky, a dawn breaks bringing a new light to the room.

I wander outside as illusions tell me there are things to be done. It is dark and she is not there. I cannot see into the black depths so I head back towards the shack’s door.

Back inside I see her by the window painting the sky. Adding trees and light to the canvas. These are her abstract memories and feelings. She paints a purple orb afloat on a wobbly grey ocean.

A bird through the window calls me. So once more I step outside. In a boat lashed with wind and rain, I see the bird flying around the opposite side of the shack, I raise the sail and follow it around. My eyes track the wooden panels and shapes around the outside of the shack. The wood, not yet aged, is just one or two years old. I am trying to look inside but there are no windows, just backs of canvases, still wet with paint and reality.

Adrift I grasp at the darkness. It is cold and unyielding with it’s ever changing silence ringing in my ears. The bird appears and for a split second I can feel her warmth once again.

Lightning strikes and I am lost. I awaken somewhere new and unreal. I touch my blanket as a hungry cat jumps up to greet me looking for his morning meal. I check my phone and find a photo of a painting. A purple orb afloat on a wobbly grey ocean with trees in the distance and a cloud filled sunrise in the sky.

Old sayings and songs

In days of old

In days of old, when men were bold,

And paper wasn’t invented.

They wiped their arses on bits of grasses,

And went away contented.

* * *

The Birdcatchers Song

I am a fellow bright and gay

A merry fellow night and day

My name is held in great renown

throughout the land, in every town.

Where lark and linnet tunes their note

my whistle joins the warblers note

{ cant remember the next line }

For I’m the jolly birdcatcher.

* * *

The Trout

I stood beside a brooklet

That sparkled on its way

And saw beneath the wavelets

A tiny trout at play

As swiftly as an arrow it darted to and fro

The gayest of the fishes among the reeds below

An angler there was standing with his rod and line in hand

Intent upon the fishes, that sportive fearless band

‘Tis vain said my good neighbour to fish the brooklet clear

The fish will surely see you upon the bank so near

But skillful was the angler and artful too

The crystal brooklets depths defiling – he hid the fish from view

And then his skill renewing

The fishes unheeding took the bait

And I was left lamenting the tiny troutlets fate

* * *

The ballad of Lizzie Sloan

Across the loan

Went Lizze Sloan

A dueling set had she

A rifle on her shoulder, a pistol on her knee.

Now Lizzie’s eyesight wasn’t too good

Her glasses they were dim

And when she charged the bull

It shit upon her chin.

* * *

The Soldier’s Song

Arsehole, arsehole, a soldier I will be,
To piss, to piss, two pistols at my knee,
Fuck you, fuck you, for curiosity,
I’ll fight for the cunt, I’ll fight for the cunt, I’ll fight for the cunt-er-y.

* * *

I’m a dick a dick addicted to you

Another spirit

She wants someone close, to hold, to love, to have.
Though she lives like a ghost, no one knows her name.
Wants a normal life but life won’t bend for her.
Feeling like a mess because her dreams aren’t coming true.

She looked in a book for words to help her out.
The book said:

“Ȝeue þi cunte to cunnig and craue affetir wedding.”

She knew what she must do, just felt lost and incapable.
So she stopped to love herself, to grow, to learn, to gain.

So did she ever change? Well, nobody did know.
She’s still wandering the town, through rain, through hail, through snow.

Pilchard Paul

Pilchard Paul washes his wellies in the rushing river.
The skies sadden as the wintery wind keeps coming.
The sodden soil is certainly saturated this stormy stroll.
The loud lion roars raucously as the gloomy grey clouds close in.
A clap and a crack as frightening fracturous light lands on the loam.
Lion licks his colossal coat, wringing wet from the ridiculous rain.
Suclulent scent sniffed by the Lion’s lust for fantastic food.
Pilchard Paul runs and rushes toward the car on the corner.
Crafty clever cogs Lion lives not far the pride in from the periphery.
Low lionesses spring sporadically seemingly out of nowhere now.
RIP Pilchard Paul. Fishermen. Father of 2 bonny boys. Tim and Todd.


Sorry yes. That’s ok. I just walked in a tree because I was looking away. Sorry. Errrr. Where was I? Oh yes I’ve got to walk around the tree. Errr yes. Ok. Oh no sorry I got a text, one moment. Oh sorry tree again, I was looking at my phone. Oh the bus is here. Oh sorry driver I don’t have change will a note be ok. Oh wait.. errr. A £20 is my lowest. Sorry. Oh blimey it’s a busy bus isn’t it. I’ll have to stand up. Maybe I should just squeeeeeeeze past some of these people. Sorry. Oh I’m not getting off for a while and these people might be getting off sooner. I’ll squeeeze past another oh sorry. Errr ever so sorry are you getting off now? Sorry I’ll move out of the way so you can get out. Ah. At least there’s a free chair to sit on. Oh sorry my knee just touched your knee I’ll try and close my legs so I take up less room and sit on the outside of the seat. Sorry. Oh sorry you want to get past. I’ll swing my legs back around. Oh sorry you’re getting up, is it your stop? I better let you out. Ah at least I’ve got a window seat. Oh you’re sitting down next to me sorry I’ll tuck my legs in. Sorry, your bag is touching my legs. Ah it is my stop, can you press the bell for me please? Sorry. Ah excuse me you’re still standing, can I squeeeze past? Uh. Sorry. Right. Sorry driver, I mean thank you. Sorry.

The Psychosis Bird

The psychosis bird swooped, lifting me up in her wings, she took me up high away from everything I knew.

Drop me off at the submarine port please, love. I’ve got to get to my wedding, I’ve got to look good while everything is falling into position.

I think I’ve forgotten everything. Everything I’ve ever known. Nothing is in it’s place and I can’t feel pain at the moment.

Nothing is everything and everything is nonsense. I’m floating in the air but I think they are taking me to the circus to put me in a cell.

The clowns are here every night terrorising me dreams. It feels so real. I’m taking it out on the guy next door what have I come to?

The filmstar across the way looks like a junkie. My god she’s gorgeous though. I could stare in her eyes and get lifted up all over again.

Am I still in the sky or am underground with the whole of existence settling back down on top of me?

This pond will take a while to clear.

When I was 6

Between the ages of three and six years old I had a reason not to give up, an ambition for life, a purpose. A future.

I wanted more than anything, to be, when I grew up, an apple tree. I wanted to live in the corner of a beautiful garden getting visits from the birds and the bees. I wanted the wind to blow my branches to provide hugs and to drop my delicious apples to feed those who were hungry. I liked the idea of being stationary. I had moved from a large bed in my own room to the attic. It was the first night after we got the latest in roof windows installed, which were the fashion at the time.

I had had a pleasant day talking to the old plasterer. I only remember he was old so he was about 16 – 90+. He had an old hat. Possibly a flat cap, a popular accessory among the pensioners of the area. He had done a good job with a smooth finish, so much so i would stroke the wall around the window just to appriciate the smoothness.

It was later that day it happened… Night came as I lay in my bed. It used to be bunk beds but my Dad had sawed them in two to become two single beds. Mine was the bottom bunk. Anyway, I couldn’t sleep that night. I had been awake for hours. Lying there, just looking through the roof window, the light pollution of the city bled darkness into the sky. The stars were out…

My earliest favourite reading books were about counting to ten and basic science for children. They were mostly published by Penguin or Puffin. One of the books said stars were giant burning balls of gas just like the sun. I must have been read this book recently because it was then it dawned on me.

Never before had I contemplated what I was. What life was. What I was doing here. I was the sort of child whose main sad thought up until that moment was ‘other people can’t have been around before me… I would’ve remembered them.’ And that was only sad because people would laugh and dismiss this truth. It was soon to come when a moment in time happened, where I would become disappointed. Too scared. Too afraid of what was. I felt reality’s full force. All its fierce flames and its endless meaning.

I no longer could accept my future would be being an apple tree. I felt my branches had fallen off and my apples were rotten on the ground. All my hopes and dreams faded into darkness in that second. Into the space between the supposedly giant balls of burning gas, my mind was lost. I was a dead tree’s stump in a great wasteland where nothing was alive. I was null and void. I was minute. Smaller than the smallest speck of dirt on the new glass of the roof window. Against these giant balls of burning gas the size of dots against the deep, ongoing, pure black of space. I was insignificant…

And so, it had happened… So, I reacted, I ran down the attic stairs, across the landing past the door of room, I did a hair-pin turn like a frantic rally car on a tight muddy track, down the stairs again I ran, I reached the bottom and without losing any momentum I took a quick right into the brightness of the front room. My mum was there, stood hands on her skirt, warming her arse by the fire. I had slowed down by now and was pacing slowly towards her, under the headache inducing light. It was then I bent my neck back, looking up at her face, a formidable five foot and half an inch off the ground. She looked back down at me. Her pale face, no make up, pointing down at me, crushing her chin in two. She looked as she had seen a ghost… “Mum! Its all too big! I can’t cope!” I said. “What is?” She replied, her voice quivering. “Everything. Everything is.”

In the town of Briar Bush

In the town of Briar Bush there were two districts, ‘what is’ and ‘what isn’t’. There was no death in Briar Bush nor was there any life. Before Briar Bush was built, there was the great source. The great source was never mentioned in Briar Bush for it had no effect on the ongoing existence of the town. Officially inhabitants of Briar Bush were all women. Of course Briar Bush had it’s secrets, rumours of a man were true in parts of ‘what isn’t’. This spelt disaster for town, this man was to be downfall for Briar Bush….


Georgia was on the train. She had been sitting thinking about a conversation she’d had years ago, with a young man named Sajid. Rather than reliving the conversation she actually had, she was thinking about what she should’ve said.

The train stopped at a small village. A street with a few shops and the lush gardens of what was a vicarage were in view. There were some young children, each with a handful of worms, placing them in a small pile on the ground.

A house in the village with candles in the window and ivy growing over it then exploded. This made Georgia remember she had been dancing a long forgotten dance, in a green dress she had bought from the charity shop.

In the train there was a cold chill, blowing slightly through the window. Georgia was thinking about a couple that were getting married, in a large spherical building. They each said their vows quietly and picked up frogs off the floor.

Her thoughts suddenly came alive, Sajid was there in front of her holding a long golden ribbon. ‘I’ve got this for your hair,’ he said. She quickly wondered if they would get married, then soon dismissed that thought.

Getting restless with her mind, she asked a man sitting opposite if he had the time. He looked at his watch, and said ‘no.’ So she looked out the window. Several rabbits were eating lettuce in a field. Then as the train moved along, a few women with axes were felling a tree.

‘Trees have been falling all along this line recently,’ murmured the man sitting opposite. ‘The trees perceive gold dust caverns, *cough* *cough* where no one can breathe. Only through windows of silver frames do the rabbits eat lettuce!’

Moving to another seat Georgia knocked over a cup of coffee, it melted the table it was on. She got to another seat and pondered ponds. Ponds as deep as the oceans, teeming with life. A fish jumped from the pond and landed on her table.

‘Hello,’ said the child opposite. ‘I noticed you have a fish on your table, is it yours?’ he asked. His voice was raspy, also sounding like he had just seen a ghost. He was shaking vigorously like he was frightened.

‘No, it somehow jumped out of my thoughts.’ replied Georgia thinking that she rather should have said “yes”. Georgia now had a headache and did not want to hear the quivering child speak again.

‘What’s that mean… how?’ queried the child. The child was old, he had seen many winters and lived a long time. How he managed to be a child, only a man who lived in a far away, in a hut, beneath the mountains knew.

In a pleasant voice the fish spoke. ‘The seas are rising. So I rose with them, converting my gills into lungs along the way. I am Georgia’s, yes, however far I can flop about.’ The fish then played a tune on the trumpet sitting next the child.

Rice red obstacle is an object of mighty intrigue. It has legendary status among all peoples and animals. It belonged to a wealthy landowner called Hafunda. It was growing, never ceasing, always surprising. ‘What ever next?’ he mumbled.

A flip-flop tree house flew across a far yonder lake creating habitats for lost animals when it landed in the middle. ‘Oh. That’s what was next!’ screamed Hafunda while he had his leg amputated.

Hafunda sat in his cottage with his rice red obstacle, as there was a knock at the door. He answered it. ‘Erm… hello,’ sounded Georgia all hush-hush. ‘I’ve just been on the train, can I see it… can I see rice red obstacle?’

‘Of course,’ hummed Hafunda. ‘Please enter my humble abode.’ Georgia walked in *clomp* *clomp*. She looked around her, and to her surprise she was in a field of mint. The letters, O, f, c, o, u, r, s, and e, floated out of Hafunda’s mouth.

The letter’s fell to the ground and made a path towards the rice red obstacle. Hafunda knelt down and started eating the cake-like path, garnishing it with mint he offered some to Georgia. She frowned… then she smiled… then she refused.

Sajid appeared in front of them. He was covered in soil from the planet below him. He stared at her for 12 minutes 34 seconds, she stared back, and tilted her head to show the ribbon he had got her.

‘I’ve got a sickening carpet at home, would you like to see it?’ finally uttered Sajid. ‘The wallpaper isn’t very nice either.’ His faced suddenly morphed into lion’s head. It roared out loud and afterwards softly spoke. ‘Why am I in a field of mint?’

Whooshing by, a small white ball was flying through the air, Hafunda caught it, and it was in two halves so he separated it. Inside were three tiny people, two of which were picking up even tinier frogs. ‘That’s my thought,’ thought Georgia.

It was in this field they encountered The Saurus, the word-helping dinosaur. ‘Hello Sajid-lion, how are you keeping, conserving, preserving, redeeming, sustaining?’ The Sarus looked at Sajid-lion and raised one eyebrow.

‘Quite happy eating this leg,’ said Sajid-lion eating Hafunda’s amputated leg. ‘Though, there is cake for all. Maybe that’s what I should be eating.’ Sajid, suddenly scared by what he was doing, flew off on a smelly vehicle made of mint.

Georgia ran through the field, faster and faster towards the rice red obstacle. However far she ran she could not catch up with it. Not that it was moving at all. It was merely unreachable. Georgia slowed down and stopped.

She turned back to Hafunda and The Saurus and asked to leave the field. She turned around and walked back out through the door, and into the road outside. There was Sajid who accompanied her down the spiral road that leads to nowhere.

A long time ago, Ejersy and Szerig journeyed along the Elkside. The Elkside was an organ of an ancient creature that most people who knew of it, feared. This creature was there in the beginning, no, long before that.

Then there was a nuclear explosion. It blew away houses, trees, mountains and the elderly. All the people that existed were no more. A few worms survived but they were soon to die of worm cancer. Before that however, they would create wormholes!

It was three years since the disaster, the Elkside looked different now. ‘Bingo!’ Said Georgia. She looked around. It was a barren landscape with nothing in sight apart from Sajid. The air smelt like cats.

‘Where are we?’ Questioned Sajid. Unluckily for him and Georgia, the isotope the bomb used had a half-life of 4.2 billion years. If they didn’t get out of here quick they would start mutating and die.

Fortunately Georgia had undergone an accident at a particle accelerator and had several heavy ions sent into her body at near the speed of light and thus had learnt to control quarks and gluons with her mind to create a stable Unupentium force field.

Together they walked on soon to encounter an evil being that had mutated from a common earthworm. Georgia threw a piece of rubble at the worm. It hit the worm causing it to fall backwards through a wormhole it created.

The skies darkened and an eerie chill surrounded them. ‘I am so scared. I feel as frail as a leaf quivering away on a tree. I never thought a snowflake like me would have been able to go on such an adventure.’ Mumbled Georgia.

Hand in hand they wandered about, not a noise in sight however then there was a loud crack, which transported them to Abergwaun, Cymru. ‘Rwyn gallu clywed cryndod yn dy lais. Gosh! I didn’t know I spoke Cymraeg.’ Said Sajid.

An elongated circular shadow passed over. Suddenly there was a break in the clouds the shadow turned into the shape of a large bear, possibly a panda. This was left unnoticed as Georgia and Sajid went to Y Pantri for some gingerbread men.

They stayed the night at Hamilton backpackers. This was an enchanting cottage in a dark street in the town. Hafunda, crutches and all, was waiting for them here. ‘Come, fly away on my giant ladybirds.’ Muttered he.

The ladybirds took Georgia, Sajid and Hafunda to Cantref-y-Gwaelod a land of sixteen cities. All the cities were deserted now the land had been reclaimed and raised up from the sea.

‘Why have you taken us here?’ Asked Sajid. As two great waves crashed onto the beach, washing up food and drinking water. A dragon flew down from the upper reaches of the sky and danced an ancient dance.

After the entertainment from the dragon, and the food and drink from the waves, they walked up to the city above. Buildings of many shapes were there. It was as though they entered a silvery twilight that knew no greatness or downfall.

A great towering inferno increased in space and time started getting faster, slowing down and getting faster again. The dragon, which was a dragon of the sea, put out the fire. Slowly bubbles started to fall from the sky in different colours.

Increasingly other factors joined the equation, obviously erroneous events such as a harvest mouse jokingly referred to in this case by Hafunda as “pen carth bochdew” built a house of bricks. Bricks from where? Who can say.

‘Hello.’ Said Who. Who was a ghostly face that kept his domain in the sky. ‘Twas I, Who, that made the bricks for the harvest mouse.’ Who then disappeared from the sky.

The next day, gravity decided to have a day off. They floated around like peas in an empty pan with no gravity. Hafunda shouted to Sajid. ‘Why not!’ Sajid thought he and the place he loved might fall into a black hole and be lost forever.

Georgia gave Sajid a reassuring hug, then set about breakdancing on the floor. The ground gave way from under her. It had turned to quicksand. Georgia escaped easily enough. Sajid broke into song. ‘We’re living in a world of quicksand…’

They woke early, the rising sun waved a friendly hello. The clouds were all different bright colours and interesting shapes. There, in the sky was a cleaner falling at a rapid pace. Breathless, the three people fled from the vacuum.

‘By Jove it’s a wall!’ Cried Hafunda in a childish voice. Indeed there was a wall there. It was an old crumbly wall. Then and there it fell down. It revealed a tiny forest of bonsai trees.

Sajid, Georgia and Hafunda journeyed through the forest, which was inhabited by friendly creatures, which guarded the fish of the surrounding oceans. The day was hot, rainbow sweat poured down the traveller’s faces.

By now it was night, the fireflies glowed in the distance. There was a mosaic of a fish on the floor, lit only by moonlight, which was quite bright in these parts. Cosmic rays blew a gap in the mosaic and created a burning ring of fire.

Out of the fire rose some techno music, expressed as something you could see. The bass was pulsating away distorting the trees around it, the moog was a cool blue haze that seemed to be dancing with the fire.

Then out of blue came a mighty monster. It was the kind that smoked a pipe and played a hurdy gurdy. The three danced to the techno folk hybrid until Sajid broke his ankle. The pain was so great that he felt perfectly at one with the universe.

Sajid looked down at his ankle, he noticed it was not broken but ants had bit him several times. The bites spelled out a message. It read “Hello there, Universe.” He ignored this because he had a more important matter at hand. Ghost fish transistor.

In his hand was ghost fish transistor, a device that could open a tunnel from Cantref-y-Gwaelod back to Wales. Before he could use the device a yellow fellow appeared. Sajid then got a cold shiver down his spine like he had never felt before.

Georgia looked deeply into the yellow fellow’s eyes, while the yellow fellow himself proceeded to get eaten by the hurdy gurdy playing monster. A loud scream went up as Hafunda realised his shoelaces were undone.

A turkey with a jug of rhubarb juice appeared; it made some noises before producing an eel from its beak. This was an electric eel that triggered ghost fish transistor and opened the tunnel back to Wales.

Small lights glowed at the end of the tunnel; this was a blue light that spiralled out of the entrance. Hafunda vanished. ‘Step aboard the light train.’ a voice announced. The light train was a train made of light.

The two companions ventured forth onto the light train and started playing cards. The planet then started to reverse its rotation so the sun started to set in the east from where it rose.

Two bees flew in through a window of the light train. Hafunda reappeared and said. ‘Hey, Lucky, I’ve got this fully functioning miniature beehive.’ Lucky was one of the bee’s names.

‘Buzz.’ Fuzzed Lucky as he and his pal flew into Hafunda’s beehive. The beehive lit up flashing different colours, sparks like fireworks came from the top of the little bee box. As though the bees were having a celebration inside.

Three cats came along, and ate all the bees, ‘That’s some good bees.’ They thought in unison. Suddenly haunting violins started playing in the background. Our heroes had reached their destination, Fishguard.

After stepping off the light train down by the harbour, they noticed it was raining. This endless rain, pittered and pattered down on their foreheads as they looked up a giant rainbow in the sky.

His voice hushed Hafunda spoke; ‘Glowing orange the apples fall down, all around people flock compass and map around, the world points the way to our prey, the chops and cuts of our film, heat, red flame, white flame, blue skies bright.’

Then the rain stopped, trees shook in the wind, Georgia’s teeth chattered in the crisp, cold daylight. ‘Back on land, over time, over lords, ladies and baroness’ a voice in my head goes round a round, messes, forever, messes.

The adventurers looked out to see, the sea was rough, and on it bobbing up and down on the waves was a little rubber duck. Sajid’s voice went low. ‘Today was my unlucky day, some bees got in the way when I was about to, talk.’

Under fluffy white clouds they lay, Georgia’s spirit floated far away and Hafunda spilt his tea. Following that slight delay, Hafunda then began to pay, before dancing and going to say. ‘Georgia your spirit’s getting away.’

So it was Time to chase. Space was in the lead but Time was gaining fast. There was an explosion in the galaxy. Georgia’s spirit drifted towards a giant red star that then exploded, throwing her spirit past Space and Time back towards Georgia.

Sajid looked at Georgia, he raised his eyebrows so high they fell off the top of his head. Hafunda spoke. ‘Shu-u-u-u-ucks, I-It’s the ice cream may’n.’ A crow flew down from the sky and scavenged Sajid’s eyebrows off the floor. It then flew off.

Just while the ice cream van pulled the sea’s plug out of the sea bed with a big rope, Sajid ran after the crow. He tripped and found a penny swirling in a pool of multicoloured liquid.

Looking at the penny, he noticed the face on it pulsating, throbbing in time to some nearby techno sounds. It started nodding in time to the beat. Then its profiled head turned towards Sajid, and spoke. ‘I think you’re cool <insert YOUR NAME here>.’


My name is Erglethon the third, I live in a small spacecraft off the coast of Habletonia. This is not a flying spacecraft. It is stationed in the sea. I live with octopus’ and small creatures such as fish. They swim between my toes and are never sick on me. Unless you count Trellip who got fin rot. There are several positive things happening around you at all times. The fish they swim to the beat of slow electronic music that is helping them relax. Fish need relaxation, from feeding and swimming about. Those things can really tire them out. The spaceship is a mass of metal and plastics. It’s pollution powers the imagination of the fish. The fish swim in all sorts of patterns for my amusement. They are different colours.

One day I was looking at one fish in particular. His name was Trellip. He has fin rot, but he copes. He swims around a bit and sometimes looks at the giant orange sea cloud called Jeff. Jeff was often mistaken for a hat but didn’t mind. In fact, he took it to be a complement! He liked hats, he did. There was a sea volcano nearby called the mighty Petekoa mountain. It kept Trellip company when things weren’t going his way. Which in all truth be known wasn’t very often. Trellip was an awfully happy fish.


Polly, Queen of Spacecats was frustrated because she had discovered a species: The Spacemonkey, an evil race determined to destroy everything including Spacecats! Their method of death, destruction, and demolition is to scream of the Pink Dragon’s Tentacles, a song written by Zebadee Vortex, the worst band in the universe!

Only one person could stop them. Neepsend, Polly’s first officer. The way to stop the Spacemonkeys is to get them to the Farfield Inn, the greatest pub in the world (…ever! Part 2) and get Nigel Townshend to do some dreadful stand up comedy. As long as the monkeys had a sad look on their face, Nigel would try to cheer them up by telling jokes, so the monkeys would have to kill themselves because of the comedy.

So Neepsend went out on his continuing mission to explore strange new worlds and civilisations, to boldly go where no cat had gone before! Not really!

Neepsend found Nige and made him do his stuff and the Spacemonkeys died. He came back but on the way back he discovered Spacezebra…

The End