Halloween

Yep, it’s the spookiest time of the year again. Where the little children knock on your door demanding sweets and the not so little children knock demanding money. Where I work the canteen people have been running a competition for scariest looking pumpkin. You have to present your pumpkin to them and the one they think gives them the shivers the most will win a free meal. Not bad I thought considering a meal there will cost you about £3.50. However it was my face that looked scary when I was browsing through the grocery store when I saw pumpkins for sale at £4. They weren’t even organic ones as well!

Enough of my shock on the cost of pumpkins, here’s some prose to check out if you wish.

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Charles was sitting on the toilet seat now, he pulled out a packet of cigarettes looked at the shiny gold box twinkle in the bottom left corner and then crushed it. He crumpled the box in the palm of his hand and threw it to the ground. He leaned back against the toilet to relax and help his memory carry on flowing.

He smacked the bank manager with the butt of his pistol repeatedly, whilst screaming various expletives at him. He remembered how Gregor had to lunge over from the front seat and stop him from carrying on. The driver, Davey pulled out on to a field where they pulled over briefly pulled the bank manager out and Charles smacked him one more time across the jaw so that as he hit the ground red coloured saliva came spluttering out of his mouth. He lay on the grass motionless. Charles and Gregor jumped back in the car and they carried off across the grass. Gregor looked at Charles is disgust.

“Hey, Charlie boy! Couldn’t be bothered to frisk him, no? Thought your self too good to check his pockets, eh? You think yourself the big man do ya, that you didn’t consider this man an intelligent one? Didn’t bother to consider it no? Or, did you forget Charlie? You forgot to frisk him didn’t you? We’ve spent three months planning this, all of us knew what we had to do, we memorised it, what route to take and where to meet up, how long we should be in the bank, where to deposit the cash, everything. And now it’s for nothing, absolutely nothing and all because you, yes you, forgot to check that liver spotted, white collar piece of shit. And now you’ve cost us £30,000 each. Our money is gone and it’s all because of your stupidity.”

Charles couldn’t even look at Gregor. He stared at the floor feeling the anger starting to rise up within him. It was his own anger, his own doing. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself. He noticed the mobile phone on the floor and picked it up before snapping it cleanly in two.

They ditched the car as they neared woodland and decided to split their separate ways and not contact each other for two weeks.

Charles, regretted bringing that memory up again, he could feel the shame shower all over him again. How could he of been so idiotic? And Gregor never let him forget, never. He despised Gregor for many years but no matter how much he wanted to rid himself of the lanky balding scum, Gregor would always manage to weave his way back into his life. However, Charlie never told Gregor he never wanted to have anything to do with him again. He avoided that. The reason being was that to do anything illegal he required his craftiness to execute any job. They both knew this and for that reason Charles never took charge of any job they planned. He craved to take the lead but every time he tried Gregor would just take over, mock him in some why to douse his confidence and then manipulate his why into being in charge.

“Fuck sakes Charlie. We’ll be late.” Said Marla banging on the door.

Phillip

Don't you think it's strange when your mind drifts off into an absent abyss only to return with a poignant message that stays in your mind for the rest of the day?

I was eating my Cheerios this morning reading the Grauniad newspaper when I came across an article about the England team’s rugby success. This led me to think about when I played rugby at middle school, where we couldn’t even afford the posts so we couldn’t ever convert tries or penalties. At the time I was a winger and was considered quite a good player. However I did face stiff competition from Philip. He was a really nice guy, and even though my memories of him are hazy I remember him being someone of integrity which was something most 12 year olds didn’t even know was a word let alone have it.

Phillip’s father was an English teacher at our school who would strike terror amongst us with his large glaring eyes and Neanderthal style beard. He was a teacher that told you if you were good but had no problem telling you if you were bad with school work and I liked that style of teaching. However, there were rumours going round at the time that he was having an affair with another teacher. Every body talked about it and the gossip was rife through class to class and year to year. We all were mesmerised with the idea that the two teachers were at it, either in the store cupboard, class room or even the headmaster’s desk. The rumours just got wilder and stupid but it was lapped up by us all. But none of us thought about Phillip.

He must have been aware of these rumours as they were soon becoming playground lore. Not once did he shout at anyone for spreading them. Not once did he break down in public over them. He didn’t even leave the school. This is something I find quite admirable, that a boy of 12 could deal with such an emotional issue so well. I don’t think many others could. I certainly couldn’t and even though I don’t know him anymore I respect him so much now.

I realised that I had my spoon dangling in the air when my mind decided to return to its head. I quickly finished up and set off to work thinking about what Phillip had to put up with and what on earth is he doing now.

I’ve managed to bash out some prose for you to dabble with if you wish.


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Charles Kennedy, stood looking at the mirror. He stared at his reflection, seeing his hair line growing perilously higher every time he saw himself. His blue eyes looked back at himself seeing his lips curling downwards. He hated himself. Not purely for the fact he had entered middle age and what he saw before him wouldn’t stir the loins of a nymphomaniac who had consumed a nets catch of oysters. He hated what was within, his angry temper, his devious mind that had been nurtured well over the years by performing a plethora of crimes ranging from stealing the hub caps of a Ford Cortina to armed robbery at various small shops and garages. He once tried to rob a bank. He was younger then, even greedier than he was today and a lot less experienced. They followed the bank manager for weeks finding out his journey home his, the route he took, how long it took and what alternative ones he used. Then one day when they were ready to rob the bank they followed him in a car and over took him and once they were on a one lane road stopped the car forcing the bank manager to stop his. Three of them put on balaclavas got out advanced on the car with shot guns pointing in his direction. They thought that was the hard part, capturing the bank manager. From there they could get the right details, force him to make the right calls and the money would be there’s. However, they didn’t consider the wiliness of this particular bank manager. Although to them he looked terrified and the urination stains on his trousers only made them think he will comply with anything. He let them easily pull him out of the car, threaten him of the consequences while shoving a gun in his mouth so far back that he started to gag. He nodded to their every demand eagerly. What they didn’t anticipate was that while they approached the car the bank manager dialled 999 on his mobile and popped it in his suit jacket pocket. They set off in their car towards the bank. The bank manager started to wail “I can’t believe you’re robbing the bank, my bank on Chester Street. Why not another, and why do you four have to bring guns with you. I just can’t believe it.”

“Shut it.” Said Charles.

“I just don’t want to die. Not like this, not here on a country road off Toddsbury.”

Charles sitting next to him grabbed him by the chin and pulled his face close to his.

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll shoot your testicles off. Got it.”

It appeared to silence the bank manager who only nodded solemnly, Charles let him go and he turned his head forward, his body rigid.

Within five minutes the police siren sounds could be heard near by. All of them looked at each other for some sort of explanation as to why they were now being chased by the police.

Charles looked at Gregor.

“Don’t look at me for an answer. Did you frisk him? Did you check his pockets?”

Immediately Charles realised his bumbling error. How could he forget to check his pockets, even ask if he was carrying anything. Feeling embarrassed and angry with himself he lunged at the bank manager smacking him on the face with his right fist while his left hand grabbed his jacket. The mobile popped out from the pocket and landed on Charles’s lap. The 999 number illuminated in blue on the screen.

Exhaustion

I haven’t really done myself any favours recently. As the seasonal cold bug starts to infect the office it is only a matter of time before you are next on its list. So on Sunday I woke up with a bit of a sore throat and the sniffles. This didn’t stop me from deciding to go for a 3 mile run which upon my return only intensified my ever growing cold. On Monday I woke up still feeling under the weather when I remembered I promised one of my work colleagues I'd play him at squash so I packed my kit begrudgingly and set off to work.

The squash game was rather intense with me prevailing 2-1 in games but not without playing so hard that when I looked at the wall I thought I saw stars. The next morning my cold was still lurking within me waiting to strike me down when I realised that I had a touch-rugby game. Once again I packed my kit thinking maybe I should take a rest. We lost the game 3-1 and I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to keep my eyes open as I looked at the computer. As I am writing this my body is completely stiff and I feel run down and it is all my fault so I’m not going to do anything else until next Tuesday when I have another touch-rugby game.

Being unable to move due to sore muscles has enabled me to write some more prose. Check it out at your leisure.

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“Yannish?”

“Yannish?”

Yannish’s opened his left eye wearily to see a dark silhouette of a man leaning over him. He could feel his head swaying from within.

“Give me that can.” Said the voice of the silhouette.

He could hear a slight struggle going on above him but finding himself unable to move he lay there. Suddenly he heard a squeal and then a can being opened and all of a sudden gushes of cold beer landing in his mouth, his eyes and up his nostrils. His immediate reaction was to lean forward so that no more beer would its way into anymore vulnerable orifices. Coughing up beer that managed to tickle his throat on his way down he squinted his eyes to see Peter standing in front of him.

“There, I knew that would rouse you. Harsh, I know, but I needed to know whether you were severely injured. Trust me, it was debated whether to waste such favoured liquid on waking you up but then Conrad pointed out that a dead body would only attract unwanted attention. And so if that was the case we’d of had to move you somewhere. With gloves of course.”

Yannish, saw Conrad and George walk into his focus. His head was rattling and the swaying in the head was still there but the sudden jolt of action had stimulated his mind again and he was beginning to gain his senses.

“Where did you find me?”

“Here stupid.” Retorted George.

“Yes, we found you laying here. In fact we believed you to be dead, it was only until I checked your pulse that I realised that you had just been knocked unconscious. So are you going to tell us what happened?” Said Conrad as he started to walk around Yannish.
What happened…what happened? Were the words rolling through Yannish’s mind. As they continued to flash past pictures of the night’s events popped into his head.

“I was running after someone. I wanted to see where they were going. I knew that if they got to the wood I wouldn’t be able to keep up with them anymore. But he turned round and I got scared so ducked. I got scared because he had a gun. Why did he have a gun?”

“I don’t know, but why were you chasing someone that had a gun?” Asked Peter, in an inquisitive tone.

“Shit. The garage. It was robbed.”

“Pardon?” said Peter.

The adrenaline flowed through his body once again as if it were a prize for remembering what had happened. Yannish started to stand up, his legs shaking but he was able to get up.

“The man, I was chasing, he robbed the garage. I’ve got to get back and see how Clarence is doing.”

The moment he thought he had died was now clear in his head. He wanted to see Clarence, see she was alright and also because he didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t like seeing that moment in his head, replaying in slow motion.

“You can’t go back there you’ve barely enough strength to walk back.” Said Conrad looking at him with some concern.

“I need to go.” And as he said that Yannish pushed himself to start walking. Very slowly he managed a few steps before his knees buckled and finds himself crumpled on the floor.

Admitting defeat, he lies back on the ground and begins to touch the source of pain. The bruise is bubbling nicely on his forehead and when touched sends an excruciating jolt of anguish through him.

“Did you guys, hear a gun shot? There was a shot from the garage. He didn’t want to kill us, he wanted to terrify us. Make sure we were broken humans, our spirits snapped or at least stretched to breaking point. The fucker.”

“Look what you need is to go to the hospital.” We can help you get you there.

“No, I want to go back to the garage, I want to see Clarence.” He wanted to see the garage, to see exactly what state it was in when he left. He wanted to go to the office and see the remaining bits of the safe and the table which he crashed on.

“Please, help me get back to the garage.”

“There will be police there. You know how we all feel about the law.”

“Look just help me up to the top of the heath and I’ll make me own way down there. You don’t need to worry about the police. It’s the fucking police who are likely to find this stranger, who could easily still be out there watching us all. It’s them who have the skills to catch him, catch him before he tries anything like this again.”

There was a silence.

“Ok, George help him up.”

Yannish felt weary now, it was only a ten minute walk but it seemed so very long. George was a ruthless carrier and flung him from side to side. Peter and Conrad walked behind him, he could see in both their eyes that they wanted to talk to him but respected the fact he wanted to return to the garage. Yannish himself thought it strange he craved so much to go back, he’d rather go there first than seek medical help or go home. He knew that the feeling of terror was still within him, he’d never felt so scared for his life, his life was snatched from him by this masked stranger and it was up to the clown to decide if he was to die tonight.

“That’s far enough George.” Said Yannish.

George put him back down and walked back over to Conrad and Peter.

“I’ll come back to see you three. I don’t know when as you can see I’m a bit of a state both in appearance and in mind. But we’ll chat. Thank you George for carrying my down.”

“Ok Yannish.” Said Conrad.

Yannish turned round and started to hobble his way down the heath, past the bushes until he could see blue flashing emanating from below. He followed the light, letting gravity pull him further down until he was at standing at the garage forecourt. He looked at the garage, the lights were back on and the place seemed alive full of policemen. Seeing the building like this settled him down inside again.

Graphics and Rain

The designer at my work has made a cool graphic of me which resembles the design of a Blur album cover and also what they use on the Friday Night Project. I really like this style of design, simplistic yet effective in resemblance. I’m going to attempt to use it as my Blogger profile photo but at the moment there are a few technical glitches.

In other news, it’s absolutely tipping it down with rain today and I got soaked. I knew it was folly to try and walk to the shops without getting ‘too’ wet but I was hungry and needed something for my lunch so I started to make the perilous journey. Within seconds my brown trousers were drenched, so much so, that they acquired a glossy tint from all the rain the material had soaked in. I did have on a rain jacket to protect my top half but the rain seemed to find a way through the gaps and trickle down my neck making me shiver constantly. I bought some lunch but upon my return I was not happy, squelching as I entered the building.

I want some sun.


I have done some more creative writing for you to take a look at your leisure.

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It was a sunny Wednesday day, around 10:30 in the morning. Yannish makes his journey to get the morning newspaper. He always enjoyed doing this, no matter what kind of weather it was or what he’d got up to the previous night he would trudge out as soon as he got out of bed. If he wasn’t staying at his flat and was somewhere else he’d make his way to the local news agents regardless to buy the paper and find a park or a bench in a quiet area and immerse himself. He enjoyed the fresh air as he read the headlines. Last night still beamed in his mind as he closed his flat door, making sure he did it quietly so not to wake up Tommy. He pulled up his jogging pants until they rested in a comfortable position and then set off. Yesterday evening was spent with Karen. He’d met up with her around 6 in the evening and went out for a few drinks at the Shepard’s Arms. He remembered the amount of times he kept losing himself in her eyes that he had to keep shaking his head to concentrate on the conversation they were having.

“Do you have any idea of what you want to be?” She said gazing at him while he tried hard to carefully listen to the words and not drift off again.

“What I’ll be? Like a Job?”

“Yes, well to begin with.”

“I don’t know. I don’t really know what I’ll be.”

Karen starts to laugh, her hair falling forward as she leans forward.

“Surely you know what you want to be. I want to be a journalist, I want to investigate, and so everything I do is striving for that. You can see that I’m aiming that way with my job at the paper. But you, I can’t see you going for anything, is there anything that inspires you? You’re a clever person, really clever but yet it seems you’re not focussing in on anything, well it’s not obvious anyway. ”

Yannish smiles, reaches his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out his rolling tobacco and papers. He lays them carefully on the table licks the tip of his index fingers and pulls out a sheet of paper. He raises his eyes up to her.

“I hear what you’re saying. But the truth is I don’t know what I want to be. Clever I may be considered but I know I’ll never be something like an accountant. I haven’t really thought about it and I don’t think tonight is when I know what I’ll be. It’s obvious you want to be a journalist, and I really admire your drive to get there. You’re sticking your neck out for everything and anything you can get involved in with the journalism world. But for some reason, I don’t have this passion and energy for one particular thing. I know I don’t want to work in a garage for the next 25 years and in fact I refuse to contemplate that thought. But right now I just want to, I just want to finish rolling this cigarette without my head falling off with the weight of all these heavy decisions I’m going to have to make.

She laughs again and pushes him which scuppers his attempt to roll his cigarette as it slides off the edge of the table on to his foot. He now starts laughing and takes a big swig of his beer to quell the rising giggles. He rests the empty glass back down. She looks at him and they are both smiling.

“Come on lets go for a walk. This place seems to be getting rowdier by the minute.”

“Alright, let me finish up. But you should think about it you know.”

“Think about what?”

“About what you want to be” She tells him before taking the last sips of her drink.

They get up and make their way out of the pub. The evening was very tranquil with a cool air circulating round. Yannish thought about putting on his jacket but instead wrapped it round his waist.
“I know where I don’t want to work. I don’t want to work in the car factory where everyone seems to be going these days. I don’t want to work in law, I don’t want to work in retail, and I don’t fancy being someone that cold calls people.”

“Well you’ve eliminated about four things and there’s about a billion more. You’ve got to pick one.”

He leans over and kisses her before she can speak again.

Yannish remembers that part of last night well. It stands out form all the other things. What will he be? He looks at Randolph’s Mart and straight away decides he never wants to own a small convenience store. The constant battle with vandals would surely send him to an early grave or into a cynical paranoid fool at worst. He enters and nods at Mr Randolph who is perched on his tall thin stool behind his cash register. Mr Randolph nods back sinking his neck into his large girth. Yannish picks up the paper and a chocolate bar and rests them on the counter and digs into his pockets to pull out all the change he has.

“£2.40 please.” Comes the gruff voice of Mr Randolph.

Yannish carefully picks out the right coins to total that amount pays him by slapping them all into the palm of his hand and leaves. On his way back he thinks about what Karen said to him last night, about knowing what he wanted to be. He didn’t have a clue and he didn’t really care at the moment but he was touched by her. He was touched that she cared about him. She wasn’t pushing him to make a decision for her benefit she wanted him to make one for his own. He realises that she cares for him.

“She cares for me. How can she care for me if she stole from me? How can she do this?”

Torrified?

Since my blog entry (here) about Labour’s stranglehold on the public a lot has changed. The Tories must have read my blog realised a crisis meeting was needed in order to launch a vicious all out assault on the current government.

Oh how they have done so. I was surprised how making financial gain from the dead is so popular but George Osbourne envisaged that this would. He has wooed the middle class folk by announcing that inheritance tax would not affect families with combined assets of under a million. At first I couldn’t really see why this was so significant but after a few conversations it became apparent that £300,000 tax free is just too low. The assests accumulated would have been taxed in the first instance but to tax it at the end as well is almost insulting. And £300,000 isn’t linked to inflation so as that rises along with the price of houses then this sort of money isn’t a lot. Labour really missed the trick here, they really did. At first they claimed that it was impossible for them to do this. But when the Conservatives explained they would raise money by raising tax on non-domicile workers, a few days later Labour countered. They countered by virtually offering the same proposal but their delivery was atrocious. Gordon Brown wrote the proposal but forced Alistair Darling to announce it in the House of Commons where everyone could see the smug face on the Prime Minister beaming as it was announced. Smug though he might of felt but everyone else thought he was a copy cat, copying the bill in a last act of desperation to get those voters back onside. Although this was a blow, it was the election that wasn’t which has made the public sceptical of Brown’s leadership abilities. When it was announced he would not call an election even though he had his aides contact various periodicals to find out what the country was feeling, the Conservatives knew they were onto something. They pushed forward by their leader who gave a 20 minute speech with no notes challenging the government to announce a general election realised they had wounded the Labour bison and it was bleeding with embarrassment. It was at that moment they realised what weapon it was to slice the Labour leader’s integrity and party lead. Everyone knows Gordon Brown is an extremely intelligent man and this was a strength of his until he undermined himself by not declaring an election. People felt that he thinks he can just do what he likes because he’s an intelligent man. The Tories have picked up on this and are attacking it by making the Prime Minister seem like an authoritative beast at the head of the food chain who answers to no one. Alistair Darling is the chancellor but yet it was Brown who wrote the counter proposal and forced Darling to announce it like in the House of Commons while he sat back looking like the puppet master.

So what is Labour to do? Well it seems they are in trouble, Brown’s biggest strength has been turned into a weakness and he hasn’t got the interpersonal sauvé to challenge Cameron in a quick thinking debate, something his predecessor was more than capable of. In fact the Blarite’s seem to be rallying around thinking of a way to undermine Brown (according to various Sunday papers) which would be a catastrophe if they succeeded as it will highlight the party has split.

I say, Labour stand firm and Mr Brown rely on your experience and slow things down. Don’t ever involve yourself in a media stunt like visiting army troops in Basra again. It’s not your style and people can see it. Otherwise the Conservatives will fatally wound the Bison and gorge on it’s carcass as the blue army takes over number 10.

Right, enough political pandemonium here’s some more writing I did this evening. I don’t know if I’ll write anymore this week as it’s a busy one.

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As soon as the stranger dashed out Yannish realised what had happened. He stood up and leaned forward to Clarence giving her his mobile phone.

“Call the police and anyone else you think we should. I’m going after him, not to get him but to follow him.”

He had to force the phone on to the palm of her hand and then wrap her fingers around it. The shock of it all was starting to set in but before she could digest what Yannish had told her he had set off. He ran through the shop floor outside and decided to lock the door, he didn’t want anyone else coming in now even if it was a customer with good intentions. He wanted to switch off the lights on the garage forecourt but he didn’t know how. Thinking where the stranger had set off he remembered that he had dusty shoes on so therefore he would have come through the bush trail. Did he watch Yannish go by on his way to work? It had to be that route as the rest of the way was open road covered by CCTV cameras for at least half a mile.

He trudged up through the bushes until he reached the flat and the trail widened slightly. Jogging at a fast paced his mind was focused on catching a glimpse of this stranger. Branches were catching his face and arms as he thrust past them, droplets of blood started to seep out of various wounds and falling to the ground almost creating a trail of his own for someone else to follow him. He increased his momentum up a heath when he heard a rustling coming not too far away, it was faint but in the still of the surroundings he could only hear his breath otherwise. It was coming from the east just above the top of the heath. He started to run up the heath as fast as his legs could manage knowing if he could get to the top he could look around and down at most the area and find out what the rustling was. He slipped as he was nearing the top but didn’t fall to the ground he managed to catch hold of a branch to break his fall and swing with the momentum for a moment. He looked back down and saw that if he was to fall back downwards he wouldn’t really hurt himself but he would lose at least five minutes getting back to this position. He pushed his legs against the ground and used the branch to swing forward letting go so that he carried on with momentum to reach the top.

He could see in the distance the stranger running along, he wasn’t too far away in the open space and Yannish considered shouting out to him, but what could he shout at him. “Oi, stop.” Sounded stupid and even dangerous as it was likely the stranger would turn and fire at him. The stranger was scuttling across the grass with the white plastic bag around his arms and his left hand holding his clown mask. Yannish started to run down the heath, he pushed himself at first but then let the momentum take him, his legs going jelly as he moved his feet quickly to avoid any holes or dips. They were back on level ground but the stranger was heading into the wood, Yannish started to pick up his running but bending his body slightly in an attempt to blend in. He pushed himself to get close to him, letting flashbacks enter his head of what had happened less than half an hour ago replay over again. He encouraged the scene where he thought he’d been shot the feeling of coldness he felt as he was flung over the table and thought he’d been fatally wounded. He used this as fuel to increase his speed when his legs became tired and was catching on the stranger. The stranger was moving at a fast pace but at a steady one with no extra urgency in his movement but he was soon about to enter the wood. Yannish who was 30 feet away knew that once inside the wood he’d have no chance of finding him unless he got close enough to see which direction he would turn. He pushed even harder and started to breath heavily now, so heavy that it was becoming loud especially as there was no wind tonight. He tried hard to control it by sucking in the air in small amounts instead of one big pull but after a few attempts his body need to take in a large breath making a wheezing noise.

The stranger still running turns his head back just as Yannish flings himself to the ground. Yannish closes his eyes for a moment allowing him to compose before opening them. He was expecting to see a gun being pointed at him but instead he looks up to see the night sky sprinkled with stars. He curses him self for not keeping his eyes open so he could see the strangers face. Gradually getting himself back up he can no longer see the stranger in sight, thinking he must of ran into the wood by now he starts to run again until he reaches the edge of the wood and starts to become more cautious not to step on something that would make a noise. He begins to jog slowly at first but then increases his pace deciding that the best route will be to go straight ahead instead of diverting left or right. He moves glancing from side to side for any movement, any shadow that he can pursue. He wants to find out where this stranger is going, what he’ll do with this money he ruthlessly stole. And if the opportunity comes he’ll get it back. A branch cracks and Yannish immediately looks down to see what he’s trod on but sees no branch just the dry ground scattered with a few leaves, he raises his head back up.

A large thud can be heard as Yannish’s head is smashed against something. The dull blow knocks him off his feet. He lies there with his eyes wide open for a moment until the black curtains are drawn over them and the pain start to be felt.

Application Advice

“You need to cover everything it says in the advertisement but don’t make it too obvious.”

“You need to offer them something different so that you’ll stand out from the rest but don’t be too different.”

These are just a caption of the befuddling advice I received when I saw a job I was slightly tempted in applying for. At a first glance the idea entered my head but left after a few seconds. I went to get a coffee and sat back down at my desk and the idea popped back in that I should apply for this job. “Hmm…” I said out loud as I started to envisage myself in my new role, strolling down the street in a three piece suit and a bowler hat with an umbrella hanging off my wrist. Before I took this fantasy further I thought I’d ask some respected people for some advice on applying for the job. I turned to the person on my right.

“Make sure you give an example for everything that you write about.”

“Ok.”

“But don’t start your example with the word ‘example’, it’ll make you sound desperate.”

Trying to avoid the word example whilst actually explaining one is going to be a lot trickier than it seems. A bit bemused I speak to another person with years of experience in the working world.

“You need to demonstrate to them in a covering letter why you are able to do the job advertised.”

“A covering letter, yes, that’s a good idea.”

“Make sure your ending paragraph is one about your demands about the place, what you expect from the company and from your line manager.”

“What?”

Again, I was really confused by the advice. I can’t write out a list of demands to prospective employers because they’ll stay just that, prospective. I didn’t really know what to do now, I’d asked two people who were intelligent and with over 30 years of working experience but yet their advice seemed almost like a riddle to me, where I actually found myself thinking deeply about each work spoken in case I’d missed the profound meaning within what had been said. I gave up and decided to go to the shop to buy something for my lunch.

Outside the shop was someone I hadn’t seen in ages. I worked with him once temping in an office in the centre. After the pleasantries and him telling me he’s still temping after 3 years I thought I’d ask him for some advice on applying for the job I had seen.

“Fucking doing mate, just write what you want and what you feel comfortable with and if they don’t employ you then it’s because they’re not looking for someone like you. Simple as.”

And it is. He spoke a lot of sense so much so that I wanted to apply for the job so I arranged to meet him for a few beers soon, bought a baguette and scuttled back to the office to download the application form.

I sat down, shook the mouse to bring the computer alive went to download the application form when I saw at the bottom the deadline was yesterday.

Here's some more scrbblings I did to keep me sane from all that pants advice I received.

****************************************

A gun shot fires. The CCTV camera hangs in pieces from its stand in the top right hand corner of the shop by the papers. Clarence runs out from the back from hearing the noise and sees the man in the clown mask pointing his gun at Yannish. He notices her and beckons her over with his pistol. She hesitantly slowly walks forward, regretting not phoning someone as soon as she heard the shot. Standing next to him, he notices her trembling and breathing fast and heavily.

“I want the money.” Says the man.

Yannish tries to work out if he recognises the voice but it’s a voice that’s being put on. It’s a deep gravel sounding voice.

“It’s, it’s, it’s in the till.” Weeps Clarence.

The man turns the gun exclusively at her. He steps forward so that that the tip is only a foot away from her face. She looks down at the floor, unable to look up. He moves in closer and rubs the pistol along her cheek down towards her chin and slowly uses it to push her chin back up. Silently crying she raises her head to look straight into the pistol’s barrel. Seeing the long dark tunnel in front of her and knowing what’s at the end of it can end her life.

“I don’t want what’s in the till. Show me the safe.” Growls the stranger.

“I’ll show you.” Says Yannish, knowing full well Clarence is struggling to cope.

“No. You’ll both show me. Turn around.”

They both slowly turn around and walk out back, the gun still only a few feet away from Clarence. They reach the office door where the safe is located and Clarence slowly patches in the door lock code, trying hard not to press the wrong button. Yannish could see she is struggling and thinks the robber can see this as well and is deliberately picking on her. He knows that through terror her spirit has been beaten and she’ll do exactly what he wants. He doesn’t know who this person is, he was too careful not to get his face seen, but he hates him. He wants to inflict some of the torment he was inflicting on them on him. Scared though he is Yannish can feel the anger inside him festering and growing by each moment.

“Hurry up.” Says the stranger.

Clarence’s hand is shaking but manages to patch in the right code. The door unlocks. The stranger nudges the gun behind Clarence’s back pushing her into the room, she falls forward stopping her self from tumbling over by catching on some cabinets. The stranger turns to Yannish and uses the gun to point him into the room where he huddles close to Clarence. They both start to shake.

“Open it.”

“We can’t. We only get the code from head office in the mornings and none of use did the morning shift.” Says Yannish, in a slightly defiant tone.

Even though he can’t see the expression behind the mask, he knows the stranger is scowling Perhaps cursing under his breath but all he sees are the big white teeth of the red nosed tipped clown.

“Is this true?”

Clarence starts to whimper loudly, her shaking starts to increase but she doesn’t respond.

“Is this true?” Repeats the stranger.

Clarence can’t bring herself to speak hear head rolls around while her eyes puff up. The stranger moves forward and again raises his gun to her, resting the end on the tip of her nose and rubbing is around and around so she can feel the coldness of the metal. She opens her mouth slowly, her tongue falling to the front of her teeth as she tries to speak.

“It’s a lie. I have the code.” Shouts Yannish quickly, seeing her in utter distress.

The stranger swiftly turns his head and stares at Yannish. Yannish sees his eyes through the small holes in the mask looking at him, never blinking, just staring at him. He then swivels his body away from Clarence and leans towards Yannish. Clarence just stands still, looking at the floor. The stranger grabs Yannish by his shirt, ripping his buttons off and tearing the corner of his breast pocket as he draws him closer. For a moment, Yannish thinks about challenging the stranger by grabbing his right arm holding the gun and pushing him back. But the bravado evaporates as the stranger throws him backwards making him jar his back on the corner of the desk. As he starts to gain his stance again he notices the stranger walking backwards out of the room just into the door way raising his gun at them both.

“I know the code.” Yannish cries. His eyes glistening against the light as the prospect of death starts to dawn on him. Yannish turns to Clarence for some sort of response or plea to help them. But all he sees is her standing still her head flopped down almost accepting whatever is coming.

“I know the code! Please, I know the code!”

The stranger starts circling his gun around them both, starting of slowly first but then increasing.

A shot is fired. The sound bounces all around the small room unable to escape. Clarence starts crying loudly, she grabs hold of Yannish who is flung across the desk. She pulls him up, his eyes looking at her in shock. He reaches out and starts to touch her face. The stranger walks back into the room, kicks away the remaining pieces of the safe door and crouches down to it. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pair of gloves, he puts them on and then retrieves a white plastic bag from the other pocket. He dips his hand into the safe and pulls out a handful of money. Lunges in scoops out the remaining notes and shoves them into the white plastic bag. He turns upwards and sees Yannish dazed by the gun shot touching his body checking for injury. The stranger gets up, facing the two employees all the time. He wraps the white plastic bag full of money around his wrist and then runs out.

Private Eye

I have recently subscribed to Private Eye magazine in order to indulge in more witty prose and quirky coverage to the events shaping the world. I enjoy reading news, particularly politics, and can be seen constantly scouring the pages of the periodicals in the library (and petrol stations) or skimming down the columns of news websites. However, to balance out the intake of harrowing international events, social injustices and imminent environmental catastrophe I needed something that would bring a smile to my face or even make me laugh. So I decided on buying into Hislop’s baby and await its delivery.

In other news, I still haven’t been paid for my transcribing work I did a last month. I’m pretty peeved about this and have sent an angry email demanding payment. They haven’t said they are refusing to pay me, in fact they haven’t said anything at all. It’s all gone quiet but every time I think about the job the tears of boredom literally start pouring from my eyes.

Here is some more prose I wrote the other night.

*****************************

Clarence started to walk towards the door when she turned round looking at the forlorn person in front of her.

“I saw you talking to that girl.”

He really didn’t know how to answer, it wasn’t a question but obliged him to give her an answer. The seriousness of her tone indicated that any attempt to give a one word response would not throw her off the scent. But did he want to spend about half an hour explaining to her what had happened between them. He would like to hear another opinion and she being someone he doesn’t see every day could give an objective view on who was to blame. It was the word blame that made him jerk his body, like a dawning in a new ideology of thinking, he wasn’t there yet but he knew that looking to see who was to blame was the wrong way to solve this problem and get to the root of his true feelings.

“We used to be together.” he says.

The five word sentence wasn’t something Clarence was expecting, she was waiting for him to finish the sentence and then to unravel his story to her, explaining every bit. But instead he just stands silently until he jerks his body all of a sudden. She feels sorry for him.

“Ah don’t worry about it I’m alright.”

Sensing he doesn’t want to talk about it she walks over to him picks up her magazine and turns round to walk out back.

“Thanks Clarence, I’m just not ready to talk about it yet. But I’m grateful you are asking about me.” He says to her as she’s standing by the stock room door way.

The door slides open again. Yannish turns around sensing something about the person entering isn’t right. The man has entered the building but is literally two steps inside from the doors, his back towards the counter. It looks like he’s looking at the magazines on the top shelf but by the speed of movement from his head darting around as if pretending to do so, Yannish thinks it’s unlikely. He’s also very close to them, virtually standing on the newspapers at the bottom, almost hugging that side of the shop. Yannish, slightly cautious about the prospective customer returns behind the counter and tries to catch a glimpse of the man’s face. The man is wearing a dark navy baseball cap titled downwards to illuminate a shadow to hide his face, his brown hair protrudes from the gaps in the cap but signify nothing other than being short. He‘s wearing a beige coat that’s crinkled and seems a little worn, like it’s a favoured piece of clothing. He’s wearing dark trousers with black shoes which seem a little dusty. But it’s the face that Yannish wants to see the most but it eludes him. He considers walking over to the man and ask him a redundant question like, how may I help you? But decides not too, even though this man carries with him an element of menace, it may only be because of the clothes he’s wearing.
Clarence sees the man enter but thinks nothing of him other than someone looking to buy pornography but is too ashamed to do it directly so instead hovers over by the magazines until the moment quickly grasp it seems right. She’s heads out back to take her break.

Almost instantly as Clarence walks out back the man moves in four swift steps from the periodicals. He heads down towards the left hand corner of the area by the freezers, he dips down almost out of sight. Yannish tries to get sight of him, stretching his neck trying to see past the cereal boxes but can’t seem to find a way. He wiggles his head to get a better angle but is still obscured. Relaxing he feels a little foolish knowing this is exactly the stance and mannerisms of a stereotypical nosy neighbour. But he still wants to know where the man is. He debates weather to leave the counter and leave the till exposed or stay where he is and call out to him. But calling out to him would only let the man know that he’s being watched. No, he wants to catch this guy stealing in the act. Quietly getting up from his chair he carefully starts to walk over to the left hand corner of the shop. Getting to the last row he looks down it and sees the man hunched in a ball like way but still on his feet. He’s rummaging ferociously in the inside of his jacket, the outlines of his hands protruding through the material like as if an animal was loose in their trying to escape.

“Are you alright?” Says Yannish.

The man didn’t even acknowledge his existence, he just kept swaying from side to side with his hand dug into his jacket. His head still turned away looking towards the floor.

“Can I help you?”

The swaying continues profusely. Yannish starts to approach the man who finally manages to pull out what’s inside his jacket. Thinking it is a weapon, Yannish cowers back slowly but soon realises what it is.

The man in one motion pulls out a clown mask with red curly hair hanging on off the sides. He slaps it on his face and uses his free hand to wrench the elastic band round the back of his head. Yannish looks at him not sure what to think, he looks at the white coloured mask with a red tip nose and can’t help but find it comical. The man now standing straight in front of him looking at him puts his hand back into his jacket pocket and swiftly pulls out a gun. Even before seeing what type of gun it is Yannish’s eyes widen and the comical feeling evaporates as he knows exactly what’s going on and what’s going to happen.

Is Billie Piper Fit?

She’s currently starring in the ITV drama The Secret Diary Of A Call Girl and because of this programme every medium is ranting on about her. I turned in the radio, “Did you see Billie Piper’s new drama?” I click on a website and a banner appears “Billie Piper in Confessions of a call girl on ITV”. I turn the page on the paper and there she is scantily clad, looking seductive. But is she really fit or just good Photoshop skills?

Firstly, without a shadow of a doubt most males would definitely get with her after a few beers but some of them also say she has cheeks like a chipmunk. Not really very seductive. Also, she didn’t really exude sexiness in Doctor Who running around zapping Daleks. And to be honest she isn’t as alluring as some of the ladies from Hollyoaks. But what makes her fit, I think, is that she is particularly genuine. The times I’ve heard her speak whilst being interviewed I can’t help but feel she is a really nice girl and someone you could go to the pub to have a drink with. She doesn’t come across diva like and I don’t really see her pouting too much. She just seems fun. So when you look at the pictures of her in suspenders and a tiny bra, yeah, you think she’s hot but that feeling is enhanced more by the person she is, which is where she differentiates from other actresses. Perhaps this was one of the reasons why she was cast for this role, because she is a likeable, amiable female who can look sexy. She is in no way in the same catagories as Monica Bellucci in both acting a beauty, no way near, but she has something.

Well I haven’t seen this new drama yet but I thought I’d write my thoughts on Ms Piper because she seems an interesting person having been through many experiences like being married to a multi-millionaire and being a pop star for a brief period of time. But what I ain't too keen is that she has already released an autobiography at her age, this does reek of cashing in on success.

Here is some writing I’ve rolled out for you to take a look at.

***************************************************

Sensing that someone is staring at him he turns round.

“Karen?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I come to buy some chewing gum.”

“Oh, oh right.”

“Why did you leave the pub when you saw me?”

“I had to go to work. I didn’t want to be late.”

“Bull shit Yannish, you left as soon as you caught sight of me.”

“I…I…I”

“Why did you leave?”

“I had to leave.”

“But why? Is it because I repulse, you can’t stand to look at me. I should be angry at you, I am angry with you. You make me sick, sick to the pit of my stomach. Give me a fucking answer.

“Yeah you repulse me.”

“You’re lying.”

“You make me sick and I can’t stand looking at you.”

“Your words saying something but your eyes say another.”

“Whatever.”

“Tell me the truth. Why can’t you stand being near me?”

“I told you. Now are you going to buy chewing gum?”

“You look at me in some sort of desperation.”

“No I don’t.”
“You do.”

“I look at you with pity.”

“With pity? You should pity me.”

“I don’t.”

“So where does this pity come form?”

“It’s pity for within myself. I…I… I just can’t bear to look at you Karen, not because of what you are but because of what happened between us two. It’s not your physicality, your personality it’s nothing solely about you, it’s about us, our history. When I look at you even for a few moments my head starts to throb with pain, not of our history but of the possibilities of the future, and that’s why I need to leave. I can’t see you with anyone else it’ll kill me, I’m being selfish, I know, but I’m also being realistic. It’s too soon to see you and not look at you without being reminded how happy you made me and how unhappy you have made me now.”

“You screwed it up.”

“I didn’t Karen, and you know that.”

“No I don’t. You could have forgiven me.”

“When I think about it, it makes me sick and that is the only thing that rivals the loving feelings I have for you. Both are strong and I’m overwhelmed with it. It consumes me when I think about it, so I don’t.”

“Never?”

“Not anymore.”

“So it is over then.”

“It’s been over for months Karen. You know that.”

“It’s not over, there’s no belief in your voice. That’s how I know.”

“Maybe. But I said the words didn’t I?”

“You don’t want to hear my story?”

“You’ve told me it before.”

“That was why I did it. I want you to understand the complex reasons behind it.”

“I don’t care Karen.”

“You do. I know you do, but I can’t wait for you forever, I can’t just come to this garage every time you are working checking to see if you’ll listen. I’m waiting now, waiting for your stubbornness to subside, your anger to melt a little so that the real you will hear me. I hope that when it happens, and it will, we’ll still both have the same intense feelings that we share now.”

“Why don’t you stop waiting?”

“Believe me I want to but I wake in the middle of the night thinking of you, of us. I am hurting too.”

“I don’t care anymore.”

“You do, I know you do. I really hope we will be able to fix this once you get past your anger and confusion. You can’t mature fast enough.”

“Are you going to buy this chewing gum?”

“No. I came to see if you were ready but you’re not. So bye.”

“Bye.”

“Get over this Yannish so we can reconnect.”

The sliding doors close again. There is an eerie stillness in the air apart from the sound of the lights buzzing. Everything seems still to him. He knew he would have to speak to her at some point but wasn’t expecting her to come to him. He was adamant that he wouldn’t let her speak to him straight away in case she got into his head but she did manage to speak to him and influence him. Did she? She didn’t really say anything overtly obvious like “take me back”. Or “It’s all your fault.” That’s what he was expecting. But wait, it wasn’t. That’s what he would expect from someone else, most others but not from some one exceptional, like her. What she told him rattles round his mind. Why can’t he cope with it? Was it like she said because he wasn’t mature enough, or because of stubbornness. No it wasn’t that, he’d thought it through carefully, night after night sitting on the couch resting his head against Tommy’s hoodie crying silently apart from when he had to inhale.

“You doing alright?” Says Clarence.

Yannish looks over at the scenery of row upon row of confectionary, periodicals, freezers full of convenient food and at the place where Karen had been standing.

“Yeah I’m doing fine. Just having trouble sorting out the mints with the extra strong mints.”

Laughter echoes across as Clarence snatches the remaining packets from Yannish and uses her weight to nudge him out of the way, he rocks over to the side and almost loses balance.
”Get back to filling up the alcohol and I’ll get back to reading about my article on arms smuggling in Kyrgyzstan.” Says Clarence yawing as she spoke.
“Alright, alright.” Yannish was grateful of the light hearted conversation but was glad it ended. He walks back over to bottles of beer and cider and picks up the stock sheet to see where he had got to before the influx of people came in. Trying hard not to think about the encounter he just had with Karen he smiles as he realises that if she was here then it was unlikely Keith would be in succeeding in his seduction quest with her.

The remaining bottles don’t take long and soon he’s done. He walks over to Clarence who was in the middle of a transaction with a small bald man with huge liver spots on his forehead. They look like small islands on a map and he can’t help but gawp at them, trying desperately to see if one resembles an actual country. The man notices he’s being watched and that it is his shiny liver spotted head that is the source of attention. He promptly snatches the receipt from Clarence, looks at her rich pink hair for a moment and turns around out of the garage. Both of them laugh.

“Right, I’m done with the replenishment you can go on your break now.”

“Good, I’m dying for a Pot Noodle.”

Laboured?

Last week Labour held their annual conference. Being in power for 10 years and successfully transferring leaders to lay the foundations for another legacy have left them in bullish mood. This new leader is known to us all as the intelligent, patient more left minded man than his predecessor. If an election was called soon, which is likely to happen, the Labour party should win handsomely. Even some of the Conservatives believe Labour will win. So is this a good thing?

Yes and no. The Conservatives are in disarray at the moment and are in no position to really challenge. They are split into two factions, the David Cameron’s New Conservatives and the traditionalist side lead by politicians such as David Davis and John Redwood. Cameron’s camp believe on creating a ‘hipper’ party that is more open-minded to young people, immigrants and education. It sounds refreshing apart from the manner in which it is delivered. The dollops of cringing sound bites, “Let sunshine win the day”. And his championing of “Hug a hoodie” reeks of insincerity. No body believes that an ex-Etonian wants to hug a hoodie and therefore the public think he is being patronising and his refreshing new views are nothing more than a smokescreen to get into power.

On the flipside the traditionalist abhor this new wave of Conservatives because of its liberal approach to policies and citizens. Every one of them still hopes secretly that Margaret Thatcher will return and smite all those new breeds for daring to change the Conservative way. Her recent visit with Gordon Brown was a stark reminder that she still has influence over this party. However, the dark element of the traditionalist stance is that it is so far right that the racists leech onto them. Not combative, skin head racists but those that are ingrained in high statuses of society. Who will speak to ethic minorities, do business with them but will have no problem in implanting and lobbying racist policies. Not the most popular of factions with the general public fortunately but none the less they are extremely influential within their own party undermining their leader making him look amateurish and boyish compared to his red contemporary.

The Liberals are faring worse. When Charles Kennedy was leading them, there was a charismatic swagger to their approach of politics. This turned out to fuelled by alcohol consumption but people liked it. Now no one knows what’s going to happen. Everyone thinks Menzies Campbell will step down soon because he doesn’t “look like a leader” and someone else will take his place. So things seem good for Labour and the United Kingdom.

Not necessarily. Even the most stalwart Conservative can’t help but admire the intelligence of the current PM or how well the economy was handled under his tenure. He must be aware that the Conservatives cannot mount a significant challenge to dent his and must be feeling confident. But there is a worry that such a meagre challenge will lead him to believe he can do what he likes. There is no challenge from the Tories only the challenges he faces within himself. Could he start to feel omnipotent and make decisions that perhaps are not the best interest of the country? His predecessor thought he was when he vetoed NATO in bypassing sanctions and declaring war on Iraq. It is up to the Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats to mount a stronger challenge so that we get the best out of Gordon Brown and Labour because a landslide victory will only enthuse them into doing exactly what they want thinking they have the UK citizen’s approval.

Enough political reflection, here is some progressive prose that I bashed out.

*******************************

Forcibly shaking his head to wake himself from his thoughts he walks over to the bottles of cider and looks at the list, looking to see how many need to be replaced. The numbers are right there on the paper but he can’t see them, he looks down, bulges out his eyes but can’t see them, his mind won’t allow him to and when realising this he decides to sit on the stool to rest. Karen, drifts back into his mind but he suppresses her image deep down. After five minutes he looks at the list again and sees the he needs to replace 16 bottles so picks them out and places them into the basket and wheels out of the stock room back out onto the garage floor. Clarence is reading her magazine, her head bowed down in between her elbows when she notices Yannish.

“What’s up with you, you was full of beans earlier and now you look like, well like shit.” She said half glancing at her article half glancing at him.

“I’m all right, it’s just been a bit of crazy day.”

“Oh ok, anything you want to talk about?”

He feels his chest constricting every time someone asks if he wants to talk about it. It’s not about the talking, the talking is fine it’s the fact he’s supposed to speak right there as soon as the question has been spoken. It’s virtually obligatory. He doesn’t know how to do that sort of thing, he’s not a tap when turned gushes out emotion. He wants to talk but it won’t be straight after this sentence.

“It’s ok, I just want to get this stock replenished.” Comes his reply.

“Ok.” Says Clarence as she turns back to her magazine article discussing the Kyrgyzstan’s arms smuggling route.

The stock of beer cans are soon stacked up and next he goes for the cider bottles, these are slightly higher so he raises his feet and pushes back the last bottle right to the back to give more space. Looking down the small column he just made he sees a spider’s web created in between to bottles. He peers as it’s complexity and can’t help but wish he could achieve something of that grandeur on a human level. The spider scurries across the new opening that had just been created stops for a moment and then ventures in the darkness of between two bottles. Yannish still amazed and the weaving and interlocking of each strand.

A thud comes banging on one of the windows by a flat palm of a hand, boisterous babbling can be heard outside at first faintly but ever increasing. The thud was the warning sign that Friday night people are en route. The sliding doors move aside and in pour 6 people, swaying as they walk to the counter and chatting to each other, not aware that they are doing it very loud. One of them diverts to where the crisps are kept and picks up a packet of Pork Scratchings. He throws it at one the men in the queue.

“Hey, get me these.”

The Pork Scratchings lands smack on the unsuspecting face of the man in the queue.

“Queue up and get it your self you prick.”

The other men in the queue start laughing until another of them walks over to the chewing gum area and starts picking up packets looking at them and dropping them as he strives to find something. The packets fall off the stand on to floor.

“They haven’t got any cinnamon flavour.”

“Sorry my dear but we’ve never had any cinnamon flavour, we’ve had mint, in fact we’ve had mint for the last 15 years, perhaps you’ve mistaken cinnamon for mint. And actually mean mint” Says Clarence in a very dry tone with all intonations delivered aplomb.

Her response causes more laughter to erupt, as the guys hear nothing in retaliation from their friend but instead when looking over see a perplexed looking face desperately trying to find something witty to remark but unable to, either because of his lack of ingenuity or the fact he has drunk too much.

“Come to think of it I’ve never heard cinnamon flavour chewing gum in England.” Came a voice from the queue.

More laughter.

The young man who was still holding packet of mint flavoured chewing gum now looks glum as he slowly walks back to the queue to pay for the mint flavoured ones. The remaining people wait their turn to be served cigarettes and Rizla packets. Clarence, polite as always can’t help noticing the different pungent smells of each one of their breaths. One smells of rum, one of whisky, the majority beer but she felt one of them smelt of some sort of alcho-pop.

They all leave as they entered noisily chatting and stomping about, but in peace, apart from the chewing gum man who decides to throw a few packets of crisps on the floor as either an act of retaliation or of revenge. Which ever one it was it wasn’t very imaginative or poignant thinks Clarence.

Yannish lets out a sigh, he recognised the group from his college, he didn’t really know them personally but knew most of them by name. He wished now he did go out and made up an excuse not to go to work.

“Can you cover me I’m just popping to the loo.” Said Clarence as she slides down from the chair and makes her way out back.

He puts down the bottle of cider and starts to walk over to the two packets of crisps that had been thrown to the ground. He couldn’t help but laugh a little at the heinous crime that had happened to the cheese and onion flavoured packets. Nestled back with the rest he makes his way over to chewing gum and starts placing those back into some sort of order but making sure the mint and extra strong mint flavours are kept apart. The sliding doors opened again.