Fear and Arrogance

Fear Goes Hand in Hand With Sense.
Arrogance Goes Hand in Hand with Danger.


'Can we go this way?' She said to me. 'Yeah we'll be all right, you're hard.' I was like
'I am not hard, saying I'm hard is like saying I'm pretentious.'


I think about all the hard men I see when I'm coming in and out of the gym or even standing around in pubs for that matter. Their chest is sticking out, their shoulders are forwards, their arms are tense and their knuckles are showing. They're posturing basically. They give you a serious, nasty look as you walk past. They're the unapproachable type. Not someone I generally associate with.

I like to think of myself as a humble martial artist. I don't like street fights or drunken fighting in clubs. I hate being out on the town when there are aggressive or posturing people around which is usually any night at the weekend. I hate nothing more than to feel awkward or uncomfortable and that's at any point in my life.


I walked into the gym. I could feel the energy flowing through my body like an invisible glow. I started with pull ups then moved onto stretching and various other exercises. I glanced at the clock. I grabbed my bag and carried it up to the studio.

'Have you tried pistols?' I ask Rich. He's like
'Oh they're really hard aren't they. I've got this capoeira conditioning book and that's got them in it.'
'I love conditioning, I do loads, I'm not into all that weight lifting stuff, you see guys walking around lifting weights and I'm like,' I jog mimicking my swift, heavy footsteps. My teacher's giving me a sideways glance. I'm being big headed again aren't I.


'I like your Myspace page Tom,' he looked puzzled.
'Really? There's nothing on there'
'There's pictures of you pulling funny faces,' he looks away, shy.
'Yeah I was vain.' Cheer up Tom.
'I still am mate.'

In all fairness I am pretty big headed and vain at times. I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing except when it comes to martial arts. You can't be a big headed martial artist. It's just not the way to conduct yourself. You have to be humble and dedicated. When you're winning you must acknowledge it quietly. When you need to improve or you have a flaw you should admit it. That's just the way things are.


I wait for the forty seven and decide to do some parkour. I leap over the silver rails doing various twists and spins. A man with spiky hair and an illuminous orange and yellow jacket says
'Nah then meert.' His eyebrows lower in the middle and he leans his body weight forwards. I feel a twinge of anger run through me as my face becomes deadly serious. I mirror his body language and stand tall as he tells two kids to stop riding their bikes through the interchange.

He looks at me and changes the level of his aggression.
'Look mate can you not do that in here please, unless you slip.' I nod silently. There you go. That's the way to talk to me. I think about going into the old tirade of how I'm an experienced traceur and what I'm doing is perfectly safe. Frankly I don't think he has the intelligence level to apreciate it. My hands are shaking. I need to eat something. I'm starving.

I'm sitting patiently on the bus. There's this guy behind me banging on about how much he loves fighting.
'We've been fighting for an hour mate and still no-one's bleeding, shall we call it a day? Then we both looked at each other and went yeah, it were reight funny.' Not bleeding after an hour? You're obviously not hitting each other in the right places.

I relax and wait for my stop. I feel pride glowing inside of me. I'm not the type of guy who likes to fight. In fact if this guy for whatever reason started on me I can honestly say I'd back down and I'd have no hang ups about it whatsoever.

I've got nothing to prove to anyone. The guy in front of me saves me a job and presses the bell. Oh well, I say to myself, you can't help some people's stupidity. A lot of young people have this idealism of fighting being big and clever. They glorify it. I can't change the way they act, only the way I do.

Katrina And Me

‘I’m going, I’m going to walk home now,’ why’s she screaming? I lifted my head from my pillow as she paced the dark hallway.
‘Okay Katrina’ I said. Just as long as you stop screaming.
‘Oh so that’s it? You’re going to let me walk home? A woman, walking home alone at four in the morning?’ I just wanted her to go back to sleep or get out of my flat. She was being crazy again. As she screamed at me and cried her eyes out about going home I began to wonder why I’d gotten with this crazy woman in the first place.


She told me the story like she thought I couldn't tell it was me in the third person.
‘You see I really like this guy, I’m just afraid to tell him, I don’t know if he likes me.’ That should have sprung a little switch in my head. Why skate around the issue? I played along with her. Smoking my cigarette I chose my words very carefully.
‘I think he does like you, you know.’
‘Really?’ Her voice was exasperated and light.
‘Really, I think you should ask him out.'


It turned out she didn’t need to ask me out. As she danced I watched her. I looked at her and the rest of the club blemished out into soft focus. She was dancing alone.
‘She wants you to dance with her’ Carly screamed in my ear. If we were stood in a public place like The Moor it would be crazy for someone to speak that loud and that close to you. You’d likely get sectioned or beaten up. As the music played loudly we had no choice. I screamed back, my nose touching Carly’s ear lobe.
‘I think I will.’ Carly pushed me forwards. I nearly tripped over my feet. I approached Katrina.

She glanced over her shoulder and I grabbed her waist. She wiggled her hips and rubbed herself against me. We were bumping and grinding. As the alcohol made me feel bodiless, like I was a spirit floating around the club on will power alone I thought about how I was the envy of every man in the club. All I could see, all that mattered was Katrina and me in close bodily contact.


I moved into a flat in Newfield Green. Katrina and I slept on the old mattress on the hard, cold floor tiles. She was calm one minute and fiery the next. To be honest I didn't realise how big her issues were at first. Lust and infatuation drove me till I was blind to her rantings. She had four kids but what did I care? I was having a stint, a flock of MILFs to add to my sexual repertoire.


‘Look, if you want to go home just go home for fuck’s sake’ I shouted at her. She looked like she wanted to hit me, her shoulders forwards and her gaze locked on my eye balls. She spoke like a person reading out a shopping list in deep emotional pain.
‘Fine, I’m going then. I’ll go and walk home, through Norfolk Park, past the housing estate and towards town, oh that’s great isn’t it, letting your girlfriend, a person who you’re supposed to care about walk home on her own.’ You crazy bitch. You psycho, melodramatic crazy bitch.

‘Look, what do you want me to do Katrina? Do you want me to beg you to stay because I will if you’ll just let me get some fuckin' sleep.’ She screamed at the top of her lungs about how much I didn’t care and how much she hated me. I glanced at my bed. I wanted to sleep off the night's lager intake and rise a new man. Katrina had other ideas.


The last time I saw Katrina I was watching the news. She’d tried to kill her boyfriend and was going down for manslaughter. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I couldn’t stop thinking about how glad I was to have dumped her when I did. She was truly crazy.

The thought of sex and little else drove me to run blindfolded. How could I not tell straight away? Was I that thick? I couldn’t eat my chips and beans. I slid the plate across the white marble kitchen work surface.

Crap Telly

I'm always telling people how crap I think the shows on telly are. My favourite subscriptions on Youtube include the NationalGeographic channel and the NewScientist channel. There are two dramas I follow closely on Youtube.

The first drama is called We Need Girlfriends. It's very original and well written. I've been following this for a while. It's about three guys and their dating lives. We get to see the triumphs they share and the problems they face. There is some really good acting talent on this show.



The second drama is called Quarterlife. I discovered this four days ago and I was instantly impressed and engrossed in the story. It's about a woman who blogs about her life and the people in it. It's when her friends discover the blog that things really get interesting.

We Run Together

Toss that ragged hat from your head.
Inside our space we play by our own rules.
What exists in-between the time when we meet and the time when we part stays there.

Forget your inhibitions.
I don't care for your troubles.
We'll surf that wave from intense to light hearted.

Our banter is self contained.
I don't take offence, neither do you.
We bounce off each other like dodgem cars.

Let's keep this toboggan sliding, perpetually spiralling into an exciting conclusion we are yet to see the sight of.

The White Peugeot - The Blond

I look at her perfect legs. They're silky smooth and appear as if painted. Her arms, her breasts, all perfect in harmony.

She's the driver of the White Peugeot. I can't fancy her. My eyes don't leave her body. She flexes her finger at me. I do as she commands and walk to her. She leads me into a block of flats.

Wait. I live here. I live in this block. She leads me to her flat. She reminds me of a woman I used to seduce. She is the same woman, only blond. Didn't I kill her in the car just now? Is this before then?

Her naked body snakes and slides on the bed as I let my body fall gently onto hers. It's like I float down from the ceiling. She's panting, breathing her warm breath onto my ear like an echoing whisper. Her nails form lines through my fluffy 'just out of the bath' hair. She's got me under her spell. I can't resist.


I jerk upright like I'm training for the world's fastest sit up. I slap my palm onto my new mattress.
'Oh for fuck's sake' I say out loud. I thought that was real. I do have some fucked up dreams.

Writing From The Soul

The more I write the more I understand.

The more I understand the better I communicate.

The better I communicate the more concise I can be.

The more concise I can be the more adventurous I become with my subject matter.

The more adventurous I become with my subject matter the more I show.

The more I show the more I expose.

The more I expose the more satisfied I feel in the realisation my soul has a listener.

I'll Lay It Down Simply

I'm a stubborn guy. When someone criticises my life I usually get them out of it. I'm the type of guy you're either going to love or hate. You're either going to see me and like me or hold some sort of angry reservation against me. You're either relaxing and you feel comfortable or you're giving me sideways glances and you can't relax around me.

If you're the type of person who always looks for something to take offence to or take too seriously we won't get along. I'm really sorry, maybe in another life. Attraction is something that draws me to the opposite sex but without an interesting personality you might as well be a Ferrari with no engine.

I need to fill my life with interesting people who aren't afraid to hold a strong opinion. If you're that kind of person who judges people by how they appear at first glance, you guessed it, we can't get on.

So what's spurred this turrets syndrome type of honesty? I guess I'm addressing issues I always want to discuss, things that are always on my mind. I finally feel I have the energy to spill my soul. If I tell you everything about me and you hate me then wow, I'm saving us both time and energy. If you're intelligent enough to take people for their good and bad points then let's sit down and have a chat.

In reality I'm a very amiable person. I can talk about controversial topics and make jokes about taboo subjects. That's just me being the person I am and have always been. I used to be quiet. I'm confident now. I've always had strong opinions but only now do I hold the courage to speak about them. It's only now I feel I have the well being to express myself totally and freely without fear of what people will think of me.

You see that is life to me. Self expression, freedom of speech, it's all valuable. Forget talking to someone because they're cool or because they're a hard man. I'm on the lookout for those interesting people in life. You look down on people? I can't really talk to you. I need more Ben Nuttalls, more Shane Rounces, more Leanne Bryants and more Sifu Peter Allsops. I need people that have interesting and contrasting sides to their personality. That’s just the way it has to be.

The White Peugeot - The Old Lady

I walk with the old woman as the busy traffic passes by on the tarmacked road. The old woman pulls a hanky from the sleeve of her burgundy cardigan. It blows into the road. I'm looking at the flowers to my left, their yellow petals hanging on for dear life in the winter wind.

I glance to my right and she's in the road. I feel terror rip through me as the White Peugeot ploughs into her then stops and reverses over her twisted body and head.

I run to her body, her eyes staring through me, not blinking. The car speeds up, off the road onto a green field. I find the energy from deep within my gut and charge after the car.

I run, my wet trainers banging against the sodden grass as speckles of rain tear at my face. I scream like I'm a soldier going into a battle, holding my fists high like weapons of terror.

The car doughnuts and spins until it faces me, it's engine roaring like a lion in waiting. My screams last past my point of breath till they seem never ending.

The car's wheels spin, kicking sludgy earth behind it like a bull ready to charge. I pick up speed and the car grips the ground and lunges at me.

I jump with both feet flying forwards till I'm horizontal in the air. I'm still screaming when my feet rip through the shattering glass of the windscreen and smash into the blond woman sitting behind the wheel.

The car's engine cuts out as the blond woman's head lulls limp on her shoulder like a discarded rag doll. I stand up and breathe, my lungs tight in my palpitating chest.

Then I hear the uproar, the gang of twelve or so thirty something guys. They're running towards me at the command of a man in a red T-Shirt.
'Get 'im.'

I run away and I reach the shops with three fast sprinters closing in on me.
'Stop that guy' one man shouts to a person on the shops who's obviously his mate.

The guy takes a rugby stance and I scream. This time the scream vibrates deep from within my soul. I raise my right fist and pick up pace.

The guy stands up slowly and normally and his face takes on the look of a man defeated. I run past and put all my energies into my approach to the brick wall. My trainer impacts and shakes the sodden red bricks. I'm flying upwards.

I grab the top brick and clamber up. Looking back I see the men stopping one by one as they get near, their hands on their knees panting.

Some Old Writing Efforts

This is something I dug up while searching a site I used to frequent.

There's some writing from 2002 and 2003 that I posted on the internet.

It had mixed responses from highly popular to all out shock and horror.

The website is called Last Words and it's a workshop for aspiring writers.

You can copy and paste this link into your browse if you wish.

http://lastwords.com/servlet/LastWords/action/Biography/id/10428/

Woody

I heard he took too many drugs and fucked up. They took him away in an ambulance. Woody was always fucked up though, wasn't he? He was always quiet. People were saying he was crazy, he just sat up all night talking to the moon. The night before they piled him into the back of that ambulance he was raving about the sky falling down. He was a fucking head case.

People were saying that his mates caused him to crack up and go nuts. Other people were saying it was all that weed he smoked. Maybe it was the magic mushrooms or maybe it was the amphetamines. Maybe it was the three litres of cider he drank every night.

He stopped socialising. He lurked out of his Mum's house to pick up a ten bag of skunk then crawl back under that rock that was his life. He said his Dad was sending him subliminal messages through the radio. He was convinced he was Eminem's twin brother. What a crazy bastard.

Many people have laughed about it. What a deadbeat. He was a pretty funny guy actually. It's almost like he had legendary status with the young people who surrounded him. They all knew Woody and each person had their own story to tell about him.


I heard he drinks in The Old Harrow every night, heard he's not taking drugs any more and he's on medication. Is it true that he can't smoke weed again because if he does it'll mess his mind up? He looks pale and despondent sipping his John Smiths. He hardly speaks, just nods and looks at the wall thoughtfully for hours on end.


I knew Woody well. He was a troubled teenager with little or no direction in life. The blame couldn't fall on his friends because he was free to make his own choices. He had options. He had everything a boy could want including good school grades. He threw everything he had away to take drugs and pursue the life of a bad boy. It was his choice.

Not many people can speak the truth about Woody except for me. I knew Woody the best. I knew what he was thinking and what motivated him. I spent countless hours listening to his thoughts. He was a messed up kid. He was quiet and he did choose the life he led. He could have carried on getting decent grades in school. He could have sat at home playing his computer games and listening to his rock music.

The truth was he wanted to change. He never knew that chasing excitement would lead him into insanity and back. He wasn't aware that excessive drug usage would drive him to have a breakdown. How could he have known? I knew Woody well. I know the real story. There's only me that truly knows the full story about that kid. I'm the only one who truly knows because I used to be him.

Western Park Temple

I walked into the gym and asked Christine how she was. She looks angry.
'Are you okay? You look a bit fed up.' She told me she was okay, that she'd just finished a class.
'Ah I've been thinking about coming to some of your classes.'
'Come to the spinning class, it's really hard'
'Spinning, what's spinning?'
'It's like on the exercise bikes, or better still come to Stuarts class tomorrow'
'Is that hard is it?'
'Put it this way, you'll die.' I laughed out loud and told her I was looking forwards to it. She said
'Yeah, you'll love that.'

I dropped my rucksack on the wooden bench. I kicked my new shoes off and unzipped my bag.
'Shit' I cursed. I got changed into my other pair of jeans and a second jumper. I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the changing room. I grabbed the pen and scribbled out the time next to my name.
'That was quick' Christine commented.
'It'd help if I had a gym kit' I told her before walking out.

I walked onto the roof of The Millennium Galleries and started jogging on the spot. From now on I'll train in jeans and casual looking clothes. Forget all this sweatpants and vest nonsense. I'm going for that Yann Hinatra look.

When people see me doing parkour they'll see a guy in smartly ironed jeans and a fetching jumper. I don't care what any other traceurs think about this. I want to look good when I'm out training.

I stretched my whole body and started with a few simple movements. One move turned into ten moves and ten moves turned into three hours of parkour movements. I made my way to the Hallamshire Hospital, doing parkour on every spot I came across on the way.

At the English department I stared up at the darkening sky as spitting rain blew into my face. Time to call it a day Danny. I walked into Western Park and stood under the shelter of the museum. There I stood, feeling like I was in my own little world, my own Shaolin Temple. I did chi gung and kung fu forms for about an hour.

Ben rang me while I was on the fifty one telling me he was on the Hallam. He wanted to know where I was. I told him I was on my way. I stepped off the bus and walked towards the Hallam. The biting cold made me speed up my pace. I saw little Danny and Ben Nuttall (Dot Com) next to the main wall at The Hallam University. We did our secret handshake.

After Danny and Ben made a premature exit to the night's training I walked to my bus stop. I started singing and noticed people staring at me as they walked past. It's funny how training outside can lift your mood.

Independent Changes

When I first got my own flat I was elated. Great, I thought, I can stay out till whatever time I like. I can eat whatever I like. I don't have to tidy up. It'll be like the lord of the flies or the circus in Pinocchio. Let the anarchy and chaos commence.

It started off like a dream. I was nineteen. My girlfriend and I slept on a mattress on the hard brown floor tiles of my new bedroom. I'm a man now. No-one tells me what to do. I choose how I want to live my life.

As reminder letters dropped onto the welcome mat I realised I'd have to buy a television license, pay weekly rent and shell out a certain amount of money for council tax. I needed to buy food, I needed to wash my own clothes and, if I didn't want to live in a rubbish tip for the remainder of my independent life, I'd have to clean up.


I stared at the pint. This is half Stella Artois, half Blackthorn Cider. I gulped down half a pint in one attempt and exhaled in satisfaction. I looked around me. I love the Banker's Draft. It's full of interesting characters.

I stood up and squinted through the blur of people in front of me.
'You're a dick, you're an idiot, you're a prick-' I went on like this till I felt the steely grip of a six foot doorman's hands. A second doorman grabbed me and together they bent my wrists, leading me towards the bar. 'I can walk' I told them. They took me through a door next to the bar, down a flight of stairs and out into the street. There they let me go and told me to go home.


I woke up on the bus.
'Last stop mate' the driver called out. I staggered off and thanked the bus driver. Where am I? I've done it again. I'm always falling asleep on the bus. I walked in a zigzag fashion all the way home, smoking fags at two minute intervals. Am I an alcoholic? I think I'm an alcoholic. I'm a dirty drunk but if that's the way I want to live my life that's the way I'm going to life my life. If I wanted to stop drinking I would. I really like drinking.


Something needs to change. My hangover rages at me like an angry mob. All I can think of is what I said last night. Who did I offend? What will people think of me? If I keep living on the edge I'm going to fall off and hit the ground so hard the earth will shake. I'm going to get battered or worse.

I'm always drunk. I'm always pissed off my face. People see me as a social parasite, eating from their resources. I see it on their faces when I ask to borrow money. I notice it in their eyes when I'm shit faced and they're sober. They have no respect for me whatsoever. I don't blame them. I don't respect myself.

I opened the yellow pages.
'Martial arts, martial arts, martial arts' I reiterated, 'ah.' I picked up the phone and dialled the number. A woman's voice said
'Hello, extreme martial arts and fitness centre, can I help you?' I wiped my clammy palms on my blue jeans and stared at last night’s kebab packet.
'Yes, erm.' I cleared my throat. 'I'd like to try karate please.'


'What's happening Danny? Are you comin' tut bankers?'
'No thanks Mick, I'm going T-total'
'What? You? T-total? That'll bit day.' I told him I was being honest and he just laughed at me. I put the phone down and stared at my PC screen. What can I do? If I'm going to take this new life thing seriously I'll need to do something to pass my time.

I clicked on the Microsoft word icon and pulled my chair forwards. I stared at the blank page and let my hands hover over the keys. I typed till my hands ached and I had to shake the pain away. I wrote till the glowing white screen made my blinking eyes sore. Twenty thousand words later I was done. I had a short story.

Instead of going to the pub and drinking I'd stay in and write. I'd explore the darkest regions of my psyche and try to figure out what I was really like inside. Mick kept mocking me, telling me I'd never stay T-total.

After a few weeks even Mick had to admit I was changing. The work out from my two, hour long weekly karate classes made me feel clean inside and out. I'd never experienced anything like this. I had a love for something genuinely positive.

I finished my class red faced and sweating but it felt good. I felt like I really did have the capacity to change for the better, like it really was in my grasp to mould my life into something other than a drunken experience. Once I'd had a taste for doing martial arts nothing could stop me.

I stopped drinking and smoking. People saw a change in the way I presented myself. I couldn't forget the way I'd acted and I didn't expect other people to either. I just wanted to show people I'd changed. I wanted to tell them that the drunk they'd known wasn't really me. I'm me, the man standing here thinking clearly.

Jenny Grey

I scrolled through the pages of rectangles with pictures of pretty girl's on them. I clicked my index finger onto my small white mouse and scrolled down the page.
‘Hotlegs27, Easybuiscuit18, JennyGrey, Autumnrose34.’ I leant towards the screen. I clicked on Jenny Grey and brought her profile up.

‘Single, twenty years old, likes swimming and mountain biking, ah, pictures.’ Her picture appeared on the screen and I sat back and took a sip of my coffee. The thing I love about meeting faces dot com is the variety of women who have online profiles. It's like online shopping for dates.

Forget all those bullshit dating sites. Meeting faces dot com is a free recourse for any budding womaniser. If you play the numbers game you’re bound to get laid. I clicked on the 'send a message' button. ‘Okay blue eyes, let’s see if blonds really do have more fun.’

I paused for thought so I decided to use my favourite line. I’ve got one message left to send and that’s my quota of fifty messages a day fulfilled. I typed the message out. ‘Hi, you’re beautiful, you are amazing, hit me back if you want to chat.’ She’ll see that and reply. I’m sure of it.

If she doesn’t reply it isn't the end of the world. I’m always finding new prospects. I shut down the PC and climbed into bed. I let my head rest on the pillow and pulled the covers over me. I’ll check my replies in the morning.


I sat back and outstretched my arms on the black leather settee. She walked in and approached the bar. I’m like the tiger seizing it’s prey. This is my time. I stood up and grabbed my leather jacket. As I walked towards her she smiled. I checked out her body. She’s big but not fat. She must be six feet tall. She’s fit. I’d give her a seven.

‘Should I call you Jenny Grey or just Jenny?’ She laughed,
‘Actually you can call me Lilly as that’s my real name,’ I raised my brow.
‘So you’re not called Jenny Grey? What made you chose that for your alias?’ She was grinning and staring right into my eyes.
‘Jennifer is my middle name, and I suppose I really like the colour grey.’
‘Really?’ Why would anyone like the colour grey?
‘Yeah really, I think it’s intense and underrated.'
‘That’s fair enough’ I told her. I ordered two cokes.

I relaxed and in the process so did she. She touched my knee and smiled.
‘I’ve never done this before you know, I never even reply to messages from guys on meeting faces, let alone meet up with them, it’s only ‘cause you sent me the same message twice that I replied.’ I tried my best not to look puzzled. I sent her the same message twice? How many other women have I sent multiple messages to?

I winked in the middle of a rock climbing story. I noticed a glint in her eye. I knew I wanted to take things further but I was nervous. What if she says no? Actually forget that Glyn. It doesn’t matter. She’s not my sole hope of sex. Just go for it. I swallowed a mouthful of diet coke and looked into her eyes.
‘Do you want to come back to mine to watch a movie?’ I looked away, unable to meet her gaze.
‘Sure’ she said and I smiled in relief. I suggested heading there after our cokes. She agreed and we both smiled.

She pushed the button on her keys and orange lights flickered on and off. I stared at the blue land rover.
‘Okay, I was going to suggest catching the bus but this is cool.’ She opened the door to the driver’s side and called out
‘Jump in Glyn.’ I sat back onto the cool leather and watched my breath leaving my mouth in the form of grey smoke.

I told her which roads to follow. She put her foot down. All I could think about was how her body would look naked. I licked my lips. She parked outside my maisonettes and asked me if 'her baby' would be all right.
‘It’ll be cool yeah, I only live up there so we can keep an eye on it.’ I slotted the silver key into my door and opened it. I told her to excuse the mess. She told me she didn’t care about my mess.

Mickey Mouse danced around in his blue hat, using magic to bring sweeping brushes to life on the television. I held her hand and glanced down at our thighs almost touching. She seemed calm and interested in the TV. I wanted to go for the first kiss. Will she reject me? I pondered the thought until it became counter productive.

I held her hand, stroking her thumb with mine ever so gently. I decided to perform a kiss readiness test.
‘Wow’ I said, almost disbelieving what I was saying. ‘This energy is so powerful between us.’ I waited a few moments, and then she said
‘Yeah I know.’ I leaned in for the kiss and she leaned closer to me. My lips touched and stroked hers. She had full lips like that of Angelina Jolie. They felt great rubbing against mine. She only used a bit on tongue, a clear indication of class as I’d learned to perceive it.

‘Would you like to go to my room?’ The words left my mouth and I felt like my head might implode for a moment.
‘Sure, but I’m not sleeping with you. I’m not a slag you know.’ I nodded. I respected her morals but still felt a little disappointed. We lay down and started kissing.


Her text popped up on Microsoft Instant Messenger. I read her message out loud
‘I want to know where I stand.’ I hate how women always ask this question. It’s so cryptic. I typed a message back asking her what she meant. She explained she didn’t want to be messed around. She asked me if I wanted something more than just friends, said she wasn’t willing to share me with other women. I closed the other two conversations I was having with female prospects. I sat back, biting my fingers and pondering the conundrum.

I let my fingers tap onto the cold black plastic keys. I said that I appreciated her as a woman and that I really liked her. I was being honest. I really did like her. I told her that I'd have to call things off. I always cut relationships off after a month. That way they're less hurt. They don't get time to become attached. I’m not ready for a relationship. I’d just mess things up and what then? It’d be back to the planning sheet.

I stared at my PC screen, Jenna Jameson winking at me from my desktop. A little green window popped up in the bottom right hand corner of my screen. I clicked the tab. It was Lilly telling me that it was a really enlightening experience getting to know me. She wished me all the best in life.

I closed Microsoft Instant Messenger and sat back in my brown leather swivel chair. I breathed heavily and thought back at the times we’d shared. There were the dates spent in her flat and the time spent in mine. We'd go out for a drink or a game of bowling. We had our first sexual experience on my bed. We’d been out for a meal, we laughed and kissed and talked about our lives. As I took her jeans off with my teeth it had seemed like such a perfect moment.

The memories gripped me. I breathed deeply. Each time I inhaled I gasped. My vision clouded, a lump formed in my throat and the salt in my tears made my eyes sore. I leant forwards and a tear drop fell from the tip of my nose to the black keyboard. I ran my fingers through my hair, blinking at the screen.

You’ve got to be a player Glyn. You’ve got to love them, leave them and get the fuck on with things. That’s what I do. That’s what Glyn Pinscum’s all about. I looked at my red eyes in my bathroom mirror. I splashed cold water onto my face.


We sat down on my settee, making light eye contact. At least my flat's tidy for once. Lilly seemed very calm, almost sad. Her bottom lip dropped and her body language was closed. As I spoke my voice wanted to hide.

‘I’m really glad we can be mature enough to stay friends,'
'Well I really like you Glyn.'
'I’ve been thinking. Lilly, I'm the type of guy who flits from woman to woman, I've been a player, meeting you has made me realise that i don't want to play anymore, I want you Lilly, I love you.’ The words vibrated in my voice box. I breathed steadily and subdued the urge to cry.

She took a few moments, looking down at her hands. She slapped her palms down on her thighs gently and kept them there, saying
‘Well, I’ve been thinking about this, my Mum tells me I should do whatever my hart tells me to.’ I stared at her, not knowing what she'd say next. I was putting it all on the line and I knew if she didn't want the same thing I'd die inside.

‘My heart tells me I want to be with you, I love you.’ I grabbed her and took her in my arms. Let go man, the three second hug rule, remember? I didn't care. I held her tightly and didn't let go. She squeezed into me and I smelt her hair before we let go of each other. Her watery blue eyes looked into mine. I kissed her and we both smiled, letting our foreheads touch.

I kicked off my shoes and took a moment to relish the sight of her curvaceous figure. She lay back on the brown silken sheets of her queen sized bed in nothing but a black thong. I love how great her double F breasts look under this bright light. Even when she lays back they're huge.

I pounced like a raging tiger and she shrieked. It all added to the sense of excitement. I landed on top on her and growled like a wild animal. She giggled excitedly and I bit her ear and her neck. The feel of her long manicured nails on my back sent electrifying tingles through my spine.


I watched her sleep, her pretty face expressionless. I kissed her eyes and lay back. I let my eyes fall shut and thought of how lucky a man I was to be with Lilly. I thought of how great Lilly Smythe would sound if it were Lilly Pinscum. Yeah, Lilly Pinscum do you take this sexy man to be your lawfully wedded husband? I laughed out loud.

Everything seems perfect. I get on with her parents, her brother likes me, plus she’s a posh girl. When she gets to talking like Lara Croft it makes my blood heat up. I synchronised my breath with hers. Goodnight Jenny Grey.


I carried my plate into the living room. The chinchillas leapt around in their cage next to the dining table. I took a seat next to Lilly on the three seater sofa.
‘I can’t wait till March’ I told Lilly. ‘When I pass my test I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.’ She laughed, sticking her fork into a piece of chicken.
‘That’s good, because I’m not marrying you without a car.’ I chuckled and we shared a special moment. We looked up at the television engrossed in one long comfortable silence.


‘How are you Hun?’ I asked her.
‘Tired’ she replied. I held her pale white hands in mine.
‘Oh you’ll get used to it love, a new job is like that.’ She nodded. I thought her drooping eyes looked beautiful in the yellow light of my living room.

We slipped under my bed sheets and lay back. Lilly fell asleep and I watched her closely. You’re so beautiful Lilly. I don’t mind if we just sleep tonight. Sweet dreams my beautiful flower.


‘Lilly I’m sick o' this, you’re always tired,’ she squinted at me and shook her head.
‘Well you wouldn't understand would you? All you have to do is a glorified paper round every morning, if you worked nine to five things wouldn’t be so different now would they?’ I opened my mouth and stared at her.
‘I can’t believe you’re saying this. The Royal mail needs dedicated guys like me. What’s happening? You don’t want to have sex any more, you’re too tired to go out, what’s the point?’
‘Oh look at you, you never understand me, never think about how I feel, like the other day, you said don’t take it out on me, just 'cause you're on your period, women get very emotional when it's that time of month, you shouldn't criticise us.’

I stared at her but my anger turned to passivity. Look at us, arguing like immature adults.
‘Lilly I‘m sorry, I know you’re tired, I apologise, I’ll take you out at the weekend if you like.’
‘No it’s okay Glyn, I know you’re trying your best to cope, I’m just so exhausted you know? I work so many hours and then I come home and have to tidy up and see my mum and dad, I have to clean the car then find time for you and my friends, it's hard for me, you know?.’
'We'll be okay you know.' She smiled and softened.
'I know we will babe.' I kissed her on her cheek. I should listen more. I'm not being very supportive.

She dropped her jeans onto the floor as I held the piece paper up to read from.
‘This is the poem I wrote for you, it's called touching on something great’ I told her. ‘Your flower white skin soft like the texture of blossoming rose petals, your ocean blue eyes deep like the dancing waters of the seven seas.’ She took her bra off and said
‘Let me make it easier for you.’
‘You beautiful breasts are‘ I stopped and dropped the paper. ‘Oh you're gunner get it’ I called out, jumping down onto the bed with both knees and hands. She pulled my face to hers and we kissed.


‘Are you fucking obsessed with Sarah?’ She looked at me with her hands on her waist and her lips pouting. I laughed in anger and asked
‘Are you fuckin' mad? Sarah’s my rock climbing mate, how or why would I cheat on you? I’d never do that to you.’
‘Well you get defensive whenever I ask you about her, you’re always mentioning her.’ I stared at her hard and she looked away.
‘I can’t believe you’re saying this.’ We faced off until it looked like neither of us would stand down.

Eventually she softened and apologised. I figured it was because she was getting tired. She said she didn’t mean to be jealous but sometimes she couldn’t help it. I told her I’d forgive her and we kissed and agreed to forget about it.

She stood in the kitchen cooking dinner. She was a great cook. Eventually we’ll be living together and everyday will be a unique experience. When we're married and have kids I'll look back at arguments like this and realise how stupid they were.


‘I know we’ve been together five months but this is the first whole weekend we’ve spent together, it’s usually make or break.’ I smiled.
‘Yeah, we’ve done pretty well don’t you think? Your parent’s house is really romantic, it's beautiful, like you.’ She smiled and tilted her head.
‘Oh, you’re so sweet.’ She reached out and pinched my cheek. ‘And show cute.’ I grinned and smacked her on the bum as she walked past me. She laughed and I grabbed her, hugging her and planting kisses on her neck.


‘I don’t know, I just want us to try new things, lately it just seems a bit stale, we’re always trying the same things.’ I told her I’d buy massage oils and scented candles. I promised to be more adventurous.
‘I’d change anything for you Lilly Pad, I love you with all my heart.’ We kissed and that night we made love in the land rover like we always said we would. Afterwards, unwinding the steamy windows with our panting breath in the same rhythm we shared a cigarette. It was a naughty pleasure, something we'd never done. It's true what they say, a cigarette is great after sex.


‘It’s been seven months and now you decide to tell me you're a smoker?’ I can’t believe her.
‘I can’t believe you never knew, all these months, how could you not know?’
‘How could I not know? You've fucking hidden it from me. You've lied and crept around behind my back, you make up stories to avoid telling me, how could I have known?.’

She couldn’t lock eyes with me, instead she was defiant, sure that she was in the right. I hated her stubborn streak.
‘Look, I smoke, deal with it.’ She lit up in my living room. 'Don't look at me like that, I'm a smoker, get over it.'
‘Oh so now it’s cool? It’s water under the bridge?’ I stormed out of my flat and slammed the door, leaving Lilly to her foul smelling habit.


I sent her the twentieth text that night. Why doesn’t she answer my calls? I send one text and she doesn’t answer. I send three texts and she still doesn’t answer. My phone rang as I was staring at it hoping it would. I'd been waiting.
‘Hello?’
‘What do you want?’ Were her first words. That cut me deep.
‘What do I want? Oh nothing now.’
‘Fine’ she said calmly. I felt like crying. Anger was the only thing that stopped me from breaking down.


I placed a pizza slice onto my plate and watched jaw move up and down.
‘I’m not saying I’m dumping you’ she told me. ‘I’m just saying I don’t know what I want. Me and my ex were in our own house and had a mortgage after eight months.’ I glared across the table. Waiters approached, pissing me off a little more with each visit.
'Care for a refill sir?'
'Look, no, I don't want a fucking refill.' The guy looked at me in shock and walked off. ‘I’m not your ex Lilly.' She lowered her voice.
‘I know you’re not Glyn, and I’m not comparing you to him.’ Yes you are. You’re comparing me to that loser.

‘Fine, take a week, take two weeks, decide if you want to be with me, if our relationship is worth working for then fine, if you decide it isnt don't waste my time, it’s not fair on you and more importantly it's not fair on me.’ silence loomed over us for minutes on end. I heard the clock ticking above the colourful pictures on the wall. I couldn't swallow the pizza I was chewing. Suddenly my appetite had gone.


I paced my bedroom sending text after text. I wrote a ten thousand word letter telling Lilly how much I loved her and wanted things to work. I sat in my grandparent’s house staring into the black sky through the conservatory windows. I’d promised not to ring. Fuck it. I’ll break the rules. If it's meant to be then rules don't apply. The ringing went on for a good five minutes.
‘What is it Glyn, what do you want?’ I started as I meant to go on.
‘Come back to me Lilly, I know you think you’ll be better off alone but you’re not, you’re better off with me, we’re good together, come back to me.’

She spoke in a voice that sounded close to disgust,
‘Aw don't. I’m thinking about things. You can’t ring me up like this, it’s not fair.’ I told her to take as much time as she needed, really I wanted an answer and I wanted it to be positive. I couldn't imagine my life without Lilly. I couldn't bare to think of loosing her. I'd do anything, change anything. She's all that matters to me.


I washed the floor tiles. I washed my curtains and pillow cases. I had my hair cut and had a clean shave. I ironed my best clothes and washed the dishes. I put everything in a tidy place. I waited for her arrival. She told me she'd made a decision and I was praying it was a positive one. It was only a matter of hours before she'd be here.

My buzzer rang, snapping me out of my trance. I pulled my hands out of the hot soapy water and dried them on a white tea towel. I glanced around. Everything has to look in order. I pressed the black button and the ringing sound ceased.

I opened my door and waited. A woman walked through the door to my landing and I stared at her. I blinked and gawked in shock.
‘I didn’t recognise you Lilly, what have you done? You look great, have you been for a makeover?' She acted like she hadn't done anything.

‘Would you like a drink?’ I asked her. She told me she was fine. I had this stomach wrenching feeling. She's going to end it. She sat down and made a point of looking me straight in the face. She held my hand and stroked my knuckles, an overwhelming sense of disconnection ripped through me like an earthquake. I couldn’t look her in the eyes or bare to speak.

‘Have you had time to think?’ I asked her. Please say you want to be with me. I love you Lilly.
‘I have had time to think.’ She paused, and? ‘And you’re not going to like it.’ My shoulders slumped like I was a deflating balloon.
‘That’s okay, I was expecting it anyway’ I told her.
‘Don’t say that,’ she said it like she was surprised.

She held my hand and said
‘It’s not you, you’re really great, it’s me, I need to get my head sorted, I need to be single and sort my life out,’ yeah, sort yourself out with someone else. It’s just me you don’t want a relationship with. Why can't you be honest and tell me the truth.

‘You’ll find someone else Glyn, she’ll probably be better than me’ she said, laughing to herself. How can anyone compare to you Lilly? I love you. I’m madly in love with you. She looked around the room as a long pause brought ringing silence to my ears.

‘Well I'd better go before I start crying. I’ll always love you Glyn. You’ll get a girlfriend in no time. I’ve been a real bitch to you.’ She said it like I should be glad to be rid of her, like this really was an issue about her.

I wanted to tell her I needed her. I wanted to explain how much I wanted to grow old with her. I needed to grab her and beg her to stay. I knew it was too late. I've fucked up. It's my fault. I thought about five thousand things I could have done differently, mistakes which seemed so rookie that I felt like banging my fist against a brick wall.

She walked away from me, glancing back coolly. I knew right there, standing staring at her in my hallway like a lost child that this was the last time I’d ever see Lilly Smythe. I’ll never kiss you again and I’ll never feel the touch of your naked body against mine. She smiled one last time with a look of kindness and pity. then she closed the door gently behind her.

Putting it Simply

'I proper 'ate the dick 'eds round my ends, mans are just hateful people who hate to see people gettin' ahead in life, you'll be walking past Jacksons and they'll shout somethin' at you or stare you down, pure scum man,' Joel spits on the wet grass and takes a drag of his Benson and Hedges.

Taryn wafts the smoke away from his face with his hand.
'Oh I don't know Joel, it's not all that bad, I mean I go to a private school, a lot of the guys are very stuck up, you know?' Joel flicks the cigarette filter through the air and it falls the ground about six yards away.

'Nah man I mean it, they're all scum mate, just walk around beating people up, they won't get you when they're on their own, they need a crew of 'em. I can't even walk tut shops anymore, fuck.' He stares down at the ground before saying 'Come on Taryn, let's play this game, how's your Mum anyway?'

'She's very well thank you, so are you actually any good at golf or are grandparents the only thing we share?'
'Nah man, I'm good, just watch.' Joel picks the club out of the brown leather golf bag.

Taryn steps forwards and grabs Joel's arm gently.
'That's a putter Joel,'
'So what bruv?'
'Well we're heading for that flag over there' Taryn tells Joel, pointing towards a small hill in the distance. Joel lifts his hand to his forehead and squints.
'Be reight bruv.' He lifts the putter back and smacks the white ball. 'Five.' Taryn sighs, shaking his head.

Morality and Physicality

When I first started doing kung fu two years ago I was astounded by the intensity of it. There are the physical aspects but also the mental aspects. It was everything I'd been looking for and more.

One thing that stood out for me was the level of morality expected from a kung fu practitioner. I'd always wanted martial arts to change my life and my outlook and finally it could happen. I'd done martial arts but it was a guy teaching you how to kick and punch, shouting like a drill instructor. For three years I'd stayed with this.

When I started kung fu I realised I could read books on the subject. In essence I could learn as fast as I wanted to. There was no 'wait till brown belt to do this.' You learned everything straight away then got better at them over time.

My kung fu teacher has been one of the most influential people in my life. I'm so much more confident and better off training under Sifu Peter. I'm still madly in love with the idea of doing kung fu. It really has been a turning point in my life.

Will I every stop training? No. people say they'll do this or they'll do that. I can truthfully tell you I'll do kung fu for the rest of my life, however long that is.

Valentines

The hairdressers where my Mum worked was called Valentines. In the summer holidays my Mum would work five days a week so she dragged me along. The woman who owned Valentines was called Denise. Denise had a daughter called Sarah. She was a little black girl I played with as a kid.

We'd sit drawing or writing in the tanning room while women of various ages came in for their perms or their weekly rinse. I heard so much gossip I could write a book. It'd be
'Oh have you heard about Edna?' Or
'What about that Peter on Arnold Avenue? Didn't you hear? He cheated on his wife.'

If Sarah wasn't around I would stand in the back room and stare up at the yellow smoke stained ceiling. The whole place stank like hairspray and the ageing floor tiles had black dirt ingrained into their corners. What the flip am I going to do?

My mum would send me next door to the GT on hearing
'I'm bored.' I'd take the pound coin and buy something to entertain myself. I used to get little books of stick on tattoos from the fifty P machines. You licked them and stuck them on your body. Sometimes they didn't wash off without fairy washing up liquid and ten minutes vigorous scrubbing with a Brillo Pad.

I remember wishing the hours away. I could bring my bike out but I grew tired of the on road I was allowed to go on. I'd pretend I was in a fictional world. I'd beat down invisible opponents. I'd make a hundred different types of paper aeroplane.


It's weird to walk into a barbers now. I see kids there and understand why they look so bored. Still people gossip and talk of others. I make sure I go with an interesting story to tell. Hopefully they'll pass it on, saying something like
'Oh you know that guy who jumps on buildings? Well he's winning an award for bravery.' Well you've got to spice up the truth, haven't you?

No Fear

I jump from the wall to the garages. I grab onto the lip of the roof with my hands. I repeat the movements. I hear a voice calling out
'What you doing you?' I stop moving and look up to a balcony on the high rise flats. There's a guy staring down at me.

'What am I doing me? I'm doing parkour.' His tone rises till it sounds like he's wining.
'You getting clever dick 'ed?'
'Am I getting clever?' I repeat, slowly and concisely. 'I am quite clever yes.'

He raises his voice.
'You want knocking out dick 'ed?'
'Hmmm, let me see, do I want knocking out? That's a tough one.' The guy spits and calls out
'Dick 'ed' before turning around and slamming the door to his flat. I laugh and face the wall.
'Fifty three' I say, jumping to the red bricks with my feet and hands.

First Move

'Yeah I'm arrogant, I am aggressive, and I'm strong, so what? You come up in my face like you want fuckin' up.' The old man swallows and holds his hands up, palms showing.
'Sir, I only wish you pay your bill and leave quietly, we are closing the restaurant.'

The big man weighs up the old man and the waiting staff nervously cleaning glasses behind the bar.
'This is what I think of your Chinese food' the big man says. He glares into the old man's calm, brown eyes. He spits at a table. It lands on the table cloth.

The old man springs forwards like a cheetah and grabs the big man's arm. He grabs hold of the big man's hand and prizes his fingers apart. The big man tries to swing his massive arm but the old man is quick to prize his fingers apart even further.

'Get off me' the big man shouts.
'You get out and I will let you go.'
'Get the fuck off me.' The old man prizes his fingers apart and twists his wrist in the process.
'Walk' the old man demands. The big man can't struggle. He walks with the old man.


'I thought he might hurt us Dr Wing' the scared waitress tells the old man. Dr Wing laughs.
'There's an old Chinese saying, you don't move, I don't move, you move, I first move, maybe next time I tell 'im I'm kung fu marster.' The male waiter smirks at Dr Wing and together the three of them cash up and lock the doors.

I Miss You Bro

I miss the way we used to argue. You'd always get the girls. I wanted that success. I love how we'd stay up all night. We'd pass a spliff, drink a crate of beer each and surf the net till we couldn't read the words in a chat room.

My bedroom was your bedroom. We watched DVDs and played computer games for hours on end. You weren't working. I used the money I got to buy us cannabis resin and beer. I didn't mind paying.

As an only child it was weird at first but eventually I settled into the notion of having you as my brother. You used to say something. It was never your dad, it was our dad. As far as we were concerned we'd been brothers all our lives.

Now the court case looms. You're going to prison. I'm writing a novel. I don't smoke and seldom drink. Look how different we are. Look back at all the years. You're still my brother.

We were bums, alcoholics, casual drug users. We had some times didn't we? I'll never look back and see stupidity. I'll recognise a time where the fun was endless. We fought like brothers. We played like brothers. I miss you bro.

Acknowledgement

This post isn't to big myself up. I want to speak about my blog. I would write if I had no encouragement. I write mainly to please myself. I would post blogs without any feedback.

When I do receive feedback it's a great encouragement. It's always nice to know that people read these posts. I have no idea how many people read my blog. It doesn't really matter. I appreciate feedback of any sort. It's nice to know someone has taken the time to read my thoughts and ideas. It almost validates them.

For many years I wrote for my own satisfaction with endless files saved in My Documents. I didn't know about blogger until recently. Blogger is a really useful tool for me as a writer. It's good to realise that there is a reader. It's useful to know that people may potentially read what I'm writing.

My Mum has read this blog. My best mates have read this blog. People I know little of have read this blog. I have no idea of the numbers but that doesn't matter to me. Just knowing there is a reader, whoever that may be is a good motivator.

Here are a few things that made me smile. These are a few things I have seen or received that have made blogging even more worthwhile than it already is. Blogging is now a way to organise my thoughts, get things off my chest and grow as a person. Blogging is a way of life. I don't leave the flat without a pad and a pencil. Thanks for any feedback that has come or may come in the future.



"Briefly read your blog. It's nice to see not all young people think inside the box and proof that regardless of background there are intelligent individuals out there :) That you dont have to be uncool to be intelligent the view a lot of youngsters take which is a shame."

- Sofia, Myspace



"Your account made me smile inside."

- Peter Simpson, Northern Parkour



"I love this blog and it's so true"

"I'm glad you wrote about this."

- Victoria Dixon, Blogger

Primrose Valley

They looked like little paper tadpoles. You threw them at the floor and they'd make a snapping noise. I loved the chairs that swivelled in the bus stops at crystal peaks. You gave me a pound or two and I'd spend hours in the toy shops looking at army men, toy cars or sweets. You think about how simple life was, how easily you were pleased.

Our holidays weren't to far off destinations. We'd travel to the east coast of England. I'd enjoy myself in the caravan listening to the beating English rain on the metal roof. I knew I was dry and warm, that's all that mattered.

We'd go to Bridlington. As my mum and my grandparents went shopping and have coffee they'd drop me off at the Indiana Jones fun house. I'd go down vertical slides, swing on ropes and climb on rope ladders. I'd slide down firemen’s poles or walk through a dark room full of punching bags. It's the sort of thing I'd still enjoy to be honest.

I was an only child so being alone always made sense to me. I'd play on the park for hours. I didn't look at the fitness aspect then. It was fun to climb things, jump on things and explore. I spent many a happy hour on the adventure park.

I'd drag the blue toboggan on its back wheels to the top of the hill. Once at the top you slotted the toboggan into the concrete half pipe that went all the way down the hill. Push the lever and the toboggan moves. You turn left and tilt around the high edges so you were sideways in places. At the bottom you'd hit a big black tire. It was free so I did it hundreds of times.

There's a lot to be learned from children as they play. They're happy with minimal rewards. Their needs are simple. It seems that the tirade of paying bills and drinking alcohol have conditioned us to feel unhappy, like it's a compulsory life change. Let's go back and be that carefree child. It's within us I'm sure.

Reconcile

Intimacy builds. Everything yields to that feeling. You're revealing feelings that make you feel higher than the ceiling. I know that stare and that smile. I know only too well that my head can swell. In the past I've spoilt the mood. I've been rude and crude till they were like dude, what's going on?

It's a skill to disconnect and connect. In the past I only connected. A vast intersected part of my heart wasted. Now when I taste her lips it's like taking sips of the sweetest punch. And that's what hits me. That gritty sensation. I'm laying awake and contemplating making this a permanent function.

Sometimes it's not for me to choose. Sometimes I lose and the only muse that can comfort me is that of the booze. Friends drink and taking sips I clip that picture out of my mind. I can't find any comfort in this daily grind. What's in store? I've wondered and pondered this conundrum a thousand times. A thousand women.

Pain manifests till even my best is put to the test. It's no longer about the pursuit of love or happiness. It's that glistening ball of light that is your life. Take a deep breath. Heed the lessons that keep your heart guessing. There's more to life than worrying and creeping around with no sound but the overbearing pound of your beating heart.

I Won't React

I don't like to use the word chav because it's derogative to a certain class of people but that's what these guys are. There are four of them in white Reebok classics and dark hoodies.

One of them shouts at me as they walk past.
'Pussyole.' They stare at me from across the road. I don't have to worry about them over there in my stranger space. It's when someone's in your common space and especially your intimate space that you have to think on your feet.

I'm a self disciplined martial artist. I don't need to show these people acknowledgement or aggression. I glance at them four times as they walk away. They seem disinterested. It's not in my best interests to get in trouble near my flat. It's like the saying 'Don't shit on your own doorstep.'

I remember the rhyme my mother taught me as a child. It was a mantra to help me deal with bullies. It went 'sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. When I'm dead and in my grave you'll be sorry what you've called me.' I used to say it to bullies, never quite realising at the time that this short rhyme was designed to instil an attitude, a certain type of resilience inside of me.

I don't have to react to people like this. They're just insecure. I have to be a humble martial artist and a strong individual.

A blond woman offers me an all day saver.
'No thanks' I say. She tries handing it to a guy standing to my left.
'It's a bus ticket' I hear her say. She gives up and places the ticket on a small blue seat in the bus stop.

I pick the ticket up. A guy with long hair walks into the bus stop.
'Free ticket?' He smiles like he's passing off something he didn't hear. He realises I'm still looking at him and takes his white iPod earphones out.
'Sorry?'
'Free ticket' I repeat, handing him the slip.

He looks at the ticket like it might explode. He continues to examine it for a good twenty seconds before looking back up at me.
'Thanks' he says, sounding rather uneasy. I know what he's thinking. Why is a stranger giving me, someone he doesn't know something for free?

I sit down on the bus and breathe easy. The guy with long hair sits next to a pretty brunette. There are two mature guys just staring at him. Why are they staring? I shrug and one of the guys looks at me. I give him a vacant stare. He and the other guy look away.

The pretty brunette is talking to the long haired guy.
'Yeah, there was no-one else on the bus but he came right up and sat next to me, had his scarf in his mouth like this.' She bit her scarf and pulled a funny face. 'Why do people sit next to you like that?'

I relax and my internal monologue takes over. Maybe it's because some people hold the naive belief that human intimacy still exists between strangers. The fact of the matter is you have to be careful who you talk to, especially on the bus that runs from my housing estate to town and back.

A Difference in Significance

'I don't know, it's like the excitement’s gone, he never takes me out anymore, he always wants to stay in, and-' She lifts the index and middle fingers of each hand and flexes them twice, 'chill out.' The other two women both exhale simultaneously and grin. The blond says
'I hate it when they do that Demi, like give it a fuckin rest.' Demi laughs,
'Yeah, it's like he's always telling me I'm beautiful, always buying me flowers, like I need that twenty four seven, and he never agues with me, just avoids the issue.'

Bryony runs the brush through her strawberry blonde hair and shares an experience with Demi and Chloe.
'I've been seeing this guy; he's got piles of money, works in accounting or something. Thing is we get in bed and you know how this one goes,' she lifts her little finger and flexes it. The other two women burst out into uncontrollable laughter.


'So we're down to our seventh drink, now to say it's a blind date that my brother set me up with she's quite sexy, you'd expect her to have a moustache wouldn’t you?' Kaden laughs,
'Yeah man.' Farrell continues
'Well I'm like wanner come back to my place? Straight away she's like oh I thought you'd never ask, now I've known this girl two hours and already she wants to go home with me, I'm thinking slut man'
'Yeah man, so did you?'
'Ah you know me, a gentleman never tells.' He pauses and looks very serious. His face contorts into a grin and he shouts 'Yeah right, course I did man, every room in my flat.'
'So you gunner see her again?'
'Don't think so man; don't think our lass would appreciate that one.'
'That's if she finds out,'
'Yea if, but knowing her she's probably got the phone wire tapped.' Farrell punches Kaden on the arm. They both laugh.

Speaking Proper

A lot of people say I 'talk posh' or that I use 'big words.' When I was younger I thought only snobs spoke with eloquence