A Day at the Market

A Day at the Market – Five Friends

Life has taken me on a twisted journey which was my choice to endure. It is evidence of my early foolishness that I could not see the truth of my situations. When we do not realise the potential of reality we deceive ourselves and others to readjust the illusion.

Pilot at 80

I’ve encountered a few thorny people and problems on the path. A decade ago I imagined machete named determination to cut the way through to today. What were the brambles? In truth, the choice of people who accompanied me was none too wise. Still, they are gone and will not return, life has many blessings.

I love the idea of change, flux, new ideas, new friends. As the years accumulate I realise independence and freedom are worth more than money. On reflection, the cynic within my being believes people imprisoned under challenging relationships are mutual gaolers. I threw the key to this trapdoor to unhappiness away a decade ago; it is now locked tight. Once one becomes free, the reality is seen. Ans another choice is to be made: is there an about turn and a path is cut to review the past? Or is the best way forward to forge ahead into the future?

Buster Fisher – Artist

Consider the sentiment of the last paragraph with care: it guides the reader to consider separations and broken friendships are to be celebrated. Why think we have lost something in the bitter separation? Why not believe there is everything to gain, nothing is lost? You cannot go wrong in new beginnings.

It seems to me: anyone who overcomes difficult situations gains more than solving the problem. They grow in strength and stature. Strength is power. Stature is reputation. Within the new beginnings, we discover how to interact with new people with integrity and truth. Journeying to the new horizon takes an immense dedication of purpose. This means we consider who we are and how we wish to live. Some would think commitment and determination are the answer. I doubt it: the more we investigate the who and how: the easier it becomes to discover how to transform life into sublime happiness.

Jon Sharp - Historian

Jon Sharp – Historian

The reader will look at the photographs of five friends. The five people visit the incense stall which provides a base for my writing. I’m sitting here tapping away between customers. My freelance writing, articles are written for a Daily News Article, short stories and ghost novels are written from here. Some people stay too long other not long enough. Some are interesting, others lost. Many have endured hardship, and some follow their path, others lost. It makes them interesting, and they teach about human endurance and courage.

One certainty is they impress by their character, not from their achievement. Accumulated wealth is nothing and those who believe it is everything know nothing. As my life hours become more precious, I realise if the wealthy were ignored or dismissed they would look for another way to impress. While money is god and scientist are considered the high priest, the illusion will continue. The pilgrims who tread the path to the temple of gold worship in the same way as many believers. Their faith is blind, and there is no respect for other religions.

Jennifer Always Smiling

The five friends have travelled differing paths. I would not describe or betray confidences. However, it is fair to comment there is an ‘Epic Novel’ if the lives of the five were to be combined. The reader can be sure that they enjoy their lives to best advantage. And this is why I like them; they teach me how life is a wonderful experience.

Consider the number of people the five have known during their life. Imagine how many others have affected their character and personality. Think about the possible days of sadness and happiness they have encountered. Then multiply this by the people who live in your city. There are millions of lifetimes, billions of stories and untold numbers of unique experiences.

The reader may wonder at the stories behind these unique humans. There would be one certainty if you lived the life of one of these people you would have lived ten lives. The lesson another could teach would remove fear from any man. The third could guide any fool into reality. Only three are mentioned to intrigue the reader to who fits the description.

I have a friend who writes spectacular essays. The words require deep consideration, while the reader enjoys skating on the surface of the essay, the explorer will crack the ice and realise the dark and icy reasons for the subjects of the essays. The stories reveal memories of inner torment and imbibe subtle lessons which guide to emotional freedom and release from anguish. Of course, this is why the articles have become very popular. It is suggested many readers do not realise the impact of the words.

Mystic Louis

Good friends are not dissimilar. They will talk about the how they became successful, not the ‘why’ they made a change. My preference is for people who talk about their ‘how to succeed’ not for those who speak about ‘why they suffered or endured’. How to’s are interesting and useful. Why’s are cruelty, pain, injustice caused by other people. How’s are how to overcome the cruelty, pain and injustice. Once the focus is on how to become free, the ‘why’ we need to be free is of secondary or no importance at all.

We meet people we do not like, it is suggested, those we dislike are like mirrors, we see ourselves in their mask. Is this accurate? From my viewpoint, if we feel uncomfortable with a stranger, walk away. From my experience, genuine dislike of a human arise’s through theft. There is only one sin it is theft. Lie, and we steal truth. Kill, and we steal life. Betray, and we steal trust. Adverse actions are like spoken words once made; they can never be changed.

My five friends all talk about how. They are teachers who may not always reveal their ‘how’s’ direct, often their ‘hows’ are revealed in the whole of a conversation. As they reveal their personal feeling and attitude toward the subject; their ethos is exposed. For two examples: Buster’s devotion to his family describes the how of a happy family. Jon’s devotion to his writing and historical research demonstrates the how of learning and intelligence.

My quintet of friends is diverse in attitude, history and background. They are great teachers of the how of human endeavour. Are they rich? I suspect two are comfortable and two will enjoy great wealth. One enjoys happiness where there should be none. Life is enriched by diversity and listening to the ‘how’s’ of people’s happiness.

See You Soon

Rock Bottom

 Dig Yourself Out

Dig Yourself Out

Don’t you just know the facts of everything? There is no way out of reality or truth. So why fight the inevitable? It is easier to live without hassle than live with it. I told a woman today I wasn’t interested in her broken love affair. I considered the tsunami which is about to hit her home. Christmas time as well: kids crying as they listen to inevitable fights. Jilted lover is about to ruin her life, the text or email he’ll send to her husband, an executioners axe.

We know when the choice is wrong, there will be no running from treachery once discovered. When there is treason in the acts of the heart, the judge will hand down a catastrophic sentence.

The advise is clear: run from a relationship: run solo. Never escape with another inmate. Separation is hard enough. A third party takes compromise out of the deal and puts revenge on the negotiation table.

When we do not listen to what is being asked. If the relationship is one-sided. Whenever bickering is the rule, not the exception. Something is wrong. Self-destruction works this way, self-betrayal and self-abuse all have the same effect. When we do not listen to what our body desires ill health follows. Listen? Yes, the wheezing as the stars are climbed, shooting pain in the knees when descending. The truth says no more food, alcohol, cigarettes or dope: and the mind says ‘we will give it up tomorrow’. Tomorrow is next decade, and soon there is no point in changing because the lie is more comfortable than the change.

Most practices have a defined right or wrong. Experts are not as expert as they like to profess. I knew a businessman who pretended to be the epitome of honesty. He desired all people considered him someone to look up to: in fact, he was the most significant tax evader imaginable. Hard working men and women pay the pension he takes from the exchequer. You may be paying for his three bottles of Moet. Greedy, two face liar. He liked to take about business practice and ways to make money. This woman is like him, and will soon use his methodology. However, she’ll not know the secrets I have discovered. The tax thief fooled no-one. Once I was away from his circle, his so-called friends revealed their true feelings. Draw your own conclusions or work out the inevitable consequences.

The woman is desperate for words of solace. There is nothing for me to give: I’m not becoming involved in this situation. Her friends will load her armoury with excuses. ‘You’re not to blame. No one should put up with that type of abuse’. They will keep her and support her while the crisis is laden with seeds of gossip. The betray continues: personal secrets and all faults are laid bare, no laid bare is too kind: the corpse of the betrayed as students of malice surround the dissection table. He will be carved alive for his sin of ignorance and apathy. Betrayer will transform into a pathological liar and dismember the victim organ by organ. Spirit and soul will become dowsed in waters of tears, and life then has little meaning. As time passes, the victim will become bitter and turns into the pitiful being.

He will look back and see the oppressors prosper and the bitterness will stifle and choke his life journey. Unable to function he slips into oblivion. One

e morning he wakes to the reality he has nothing. And here is the crossroads, because it is at this marker he sees his position on the map of existence. No mans land a desolation. He may choose to fall and die or stand and live. The choice must be made immediately. The conscious mind must not say ‘tomorrow’: Remember tomorrow becomes, next month, next year, next decade, some time later the victim dies without trace.

When a man or woman is drowning in the quagmire of destitution. It is worth considering the method of death. As the body is drawn into the wet sand and earth, the suffocation is the wet sand and earth. The victim murdered by the medium which draws it into its depths. The sodden earth and sand execute a terrible death. The victim is not in water where the end is fast and during the last moments sublime. There is no need to expand the imagination is suffice. Sordid memory suffocates the mind with the same effect as the mire: becoming drawn into depths of despair.

At this time of choice the victim drowns or is free. Sufferer must realise the moment cannot be missed, it must be encouraged and reckoned with, no other way is accepted. The few who rise to the surface discover rescuers surround them. New friends, work opportunities, the option to move away.

I look at the woman in front of me and realise all of the anguish is ahead. The children of the illicit moments of escape will be pain, tears and anguish. Escape to prison is the truth, the reality. There is no sadness or pity it is not my situation or problem. If I were to comment I’d become an onlooker surrounding the dissection table.

There is one last truth. The lover will become despised, hated for the seduction. Remember all betrayals have the same outcome. Betray body, the mind pays the tariff. Poison the mind, the body suffers dis ease. Long term the prognosis is not great. Until the moment of capitulation, there is the cold rock bottom.

Twenty Minutes – 994 Words


Yesterday we had a few items stolen. They were not too valuable, and there was no damage to our property. I am too old to be angry or lose sleep over a theft. To my mind, theft is the act of a non-human, and I consider the thief has not stolen my property, he has taken my life hours.

What do I mean by life hours? This is a concept I have written about many times over the last decade. The idea is easily explained: those of us who work exchange our life hours for a wage. It matters not if we are traders, labourers or trained professional. Every hour of work has a value. If my hourly value is eight pounds after tax, then everything purchased has a total hour value. My microphone cost 240 pounds, and therefore it represents 240 ÷ 8 = 30 hours of work. When I value my possessions in this way, there is a more significant acknowledgement of its real value relative to my life.

So when a thief steals a possession, the thief steals the hours of your life. Never forget the thief steals life hours not possessions. The thief takes something which never can be replaced. I do not consider the thief as a human its acts are inhumane. For examples: the distress caused to old people and those who have few possessions is beyond measure. The thief is no different to the pervert or rapist who lowers the threshold of trust in millions of people.

The criminal steals life hours from every taxpayer. A percentage of tax is used to build and service the prisons for those who chose to renege on society. The social worker endeavours to help or understand the assassins of integrity. There is nothing to understand: knowing the difference between right and wrong is within the intellectual capability of all humans. And for those of you who disagree with this statement, I’ll remind you the criminal has no difficulty in understanding the implications of a jail sentence. Most commit the crimes and then fight the system through lies and deceptions to avoid punishment. No doubt they fear the incarceration, they are cowards. It’s a pity their emotional platitudes for mercy does not extend to a feeling of guilt for the victims of their crimes.

Enter a decent bookshop or attempt to find a library and look at the shelves full of criminals biographies. It is amazing how many people read these works and find themselves admiring the offenders. Worse than this is the celebrity criminal. I remember watching the notorious Frank Frazer on tv once talking about his exploits. The man was a psychopathic torturer as evil as they come and what happened when he’d finished his interview? You guessed right: he received a wild applause. The morons in the audience were, in fact, condoning the most extreme forms of violence.

We see criminals who become successful writers and painters, skills apparently learned in prison. There is little doubt their notoriety is part of the success. They wallow in their apparent success like swine on a crap heap. I have read the works of a few criminals, and the truth is the books are as sterile as the author’s conscience. This writer has no ‘respect’ for their stories or exploits. Would you have preferred me to list the books? No, not in this essay. If you desire a synopsis of the majority of the books I’ll provide an insight into the stories all follow a similar pattern: 1) neglected or abused during childhood. 2) poor education and bullied by peers and teachers. 3) the police and institutional injustice have combined to become the excuse for their move into crime. I do not believe their justification; we return to the understanding of the difference between right and wrong. This is the crux of the criminals pleas for compassion and forgiveness. They knew the crimes committed breached social protocols. The damage was done to their victim’s confidence, and the victims heightened perception of fear, daily concern for personal safety can be irreversible. A book written from the perspective of the criminal is irrelevant, they deserve no compassion or understanding. The writing of their books is a testament to the ignorance and contempt for the victims of their activities.

The drug dealer and the broken addicts are instigators of theft and deception. The addict does anything for the fix, and the dealer has no respect for the lives of the addict. In fact, the dealer is certain to be responsible for the deaths of many people. These people deal with death and degradation. There is nothing good in their acts of aggression and murder. Few people will accept the salient fact that many people die as a result of drug addiction. The suppliers of the drugs are the cause of the addiction and therefore directly responsible for the death of the addict. The dealer is without doubt murderer.

This essay will anger many readers. There is no feeling of guilt for the sentiments you have read. The thief who stole our property is in my mind a non-human. The act of theft demonstrates an inability to take responsibility for the passage of life. They are parasites of the same ilk as tapeworms and flukes, they live off and destroy the healthy host. Forgive them if you choose this is your choice. It is my choice to write from my perspective of the social parasite named thief in this way. My compassion is for the victims of these non-humans. There is no excuse for their actions and crimes, forgiveness or an attempt to understand their acts is not within my intellectual capacity.

The Doors to the Past

1000 word or twenty-minute essay

The Doors to the Past

David Cassidy

David Cassidy

The doors to the past close one by one. Yesterday, David Cassidy died, he was sixty-seven. Apparently, he endured a troubled life. How could we compare the life of a celebrity with the life of a mortal? There is no comparison between any life, we all endure or enjoy our existence. Maybe our thoughts should be directed to David’s fan club. At the height of his fame, his fan base was greater than Elvis Presley and The Beetles combined. There is no better testimony to his popularity.

In the same way, like many celebrities, he married a few times. His family life was difficult, becoming estranged from his daughter, and close to his son. In the same way, he became estranged from his father the brilliant actor and singer Jack Cassidy. David must have earned a fortune in his career and was declared bankrupt a few years ago. For all the fame and wealth there seems to be little common sense. His drinking and self-abuse could account for many errors. However, no matter how his lifestyle is excused, the certainty is he did not set an example to follow.

For many people the death of a contemporary entertainer is a marker: they review their whole life from the memory of a song or situation. As they scan life timelines, the realisation of the mistakes and waste shock them into the reality of their situation. The celebrities death seals the truth of time squandered. Could they have avoided the waste of lifetime?

There are simple and basic rules all humans have to live by, and if we follow them, we will come to no harm. The rules are so basic in concept they are often ignored. If you watch a human see if he is failing to use the rules I’ll guarantee he will be struggling. Not only will he struggle with his life, but he’ll also believe himself always right, and expert in life. This fellow will justify his methods and ignore the reality of life.

What are the rules? In no order they are: –

Work for a living.
Live within earnings.
Make the objective owning property.
Save to buy – Do not enter debt.
Focus on personal and family happiness.
Allow others to follow their path.
Realise you become your friend’s persona.
Accept most people have no interest in your opinion.
Meditate daily on the word ‘integrity’.
Give nothing you cannot afford.

These rules work, and there is no escaping the lessons within the ideas. Argue and debate them for a lifetime the potentials will not change. The ideas have one requirement: they have to be understood early in life. As time passes terrible habits and delusion settles in mind. To overcome the illusion takes years of hard effort and sacrifice.

This is not a moralistic essay: it is written after reading of David Cassidy’s death, a man of great talent who had the greatest of opportunities. We could wonder if he’d followed the simple rules of life if he’d still be alive today. This question has no answer, although, it is possible his life would have changed. The permutations are too complicated to consider and his life is over.

Another door to the past closes. Some of us will remember him in the early seventies and some years before in the television series ‘The Partridge Family’. As the years are reconsidered, there are few memories. A Pentax S1a camera and cruise ships. Nothing else is worthy of mention apart from the most important facet of those years: music and books. I remember songs, writers, artists, films. Fahrenheit 451, Erich Fromm, Bullitt, Alan Watts and Micheal Powell: these are five pieces in a thousand piece jigsaw. David’s death evoked memories which formed my creative character. The reader may find listing favoured books, films, music provide a fascinating insight into their creative foundation.

This writer see’s the death of a contemporary (someone existing at the same time as another) entertainer as a reminder of his mortality, failures and achievements. During meditations, I have considered the aspects of all three. Death I can cope with, there is no fear of the final sleep. Failures? What are failures? They are examples of when the rules were ignored. Achievements are nothing of importance. One happiness is an understanding of the rules. If there were tick boxes next to the list: everyone would be confirmed. During the last fourteen years, the rules are followed to the letter. There is no need to look back and think ‘Life could be different’ as my life is good.

Should we consider the future as uncertain or not? If the future is uncertain, the choice is to be reckless and care not a fig for our actions; this means trusting to luck. If the future can be mapped, then we care for every action made realising the implications of our deeds. The choice is made when the rules of life are known. The problematic aspect is knowing success requires long-term dedication.

Clocks Ticking

Clocks Ticking

David Cassidy can still bring pleasure to anyone who listens to his songs. Very few humans can realise this legacy. Most of us will be unknown within a few decades after entering the final sleep. As the clock ticks closer to twenty minutes I realise my insignificance. There can be no better gauge of being a successful human than accepting we are no more than a grain of sand in a Universe no-one understands.


Heed the Danger

Heed the Danger


I knew a man who was subject to a betrayal. His actions were the driving force behind the situation. For decades the betrayal ruined the lives of every human who came into contact with him. I knew him as a dangerous man. It is a fact those who crossed him do not to how close they came to disaster. A real disaster, violent and vengeful. He told me once he planned to use a crossbow to settle a long-lasting feud. No doubt in my mind someone was close to death. Later I asked him if he still considered murder ‘I have rehearsed the killing. Even to the extent of aiming the bow at the accused. The fact I can kill the guilty is enough for the time being’. No doubt the answer held empirical truth.

Time passed: he became older than his years: at thirty totally grey. The lines on his face deep crevasses of inner pain. No love in his heart and malice in actions. A spiritual human would say ‘Everyone has love in their heart.’ My friend disproved this; he had no feelings or concern for the plight of any human. Those who knew him found him a highly intelligent, his reasoning abilities profound in capacity. Maybe the void where conscience once existed became full of intellectual ability. I have never met a human who could sift through a problem as this man.

He was not as wealthy as he should have been. His capacity to earn and spend two ends of a seesaw. Later in life, he became wealthy, goodness knows how rich he could have been if he’d followed the path of money. He owned a secondhand items shop. Many believed he thrived on stolen property; they were wrong, he detested thieves. In fact, he was the most honest of men. I asked him to lie for me and he asked me to leave his company. Two years passed before we spoke again. My favour sullied our friendship, he told me so, and I cried.

One evening he beat two boys who tried to rob him as he left the bar. I write boys; they were seventeen. One came close to death, the other stayed silent, he knew my friend was a cruel man. I think the boys lived in fear until he died. Their drug habit drove them to the assault. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew the story. Everyone in the neighbourhood still chooses to forget it.

I visited him every day in the hospital. Never could there be a braver man. ‘Just keep me comfortable, I refuse all treatment’ his only comment to the consultant. After he died, his body was taken to the mortuary and cremated the following day. The ashes disposed of in the way he’d decided.

The solicitor’s office is clean and old. Across the table is a good-looking woman, about thirty, blond hair. ‘He has left you everything: the instructions are straightforward: you must sell the property and goods and use the money as you wish.’

The sale of the shop’s contents made 107 thousand: the property 320. I found a duffle bag full of cash (37 thousand) and eleven prestige watches. In two bank accounts the total 111 thousand. A life policy 100 more, goodness knows why he had a life policy. 638 thousand: over 500 after death duties.

She did not look like her father. Claiming to be sorry not to have seen him before he died. There was no mention of money. After the woman left my home, I looked out over the sea. The waves were vitriolic as if his spirit had whipped them into a scathing anger. The daughter spoke of his early life and the betrayal. I hated her for the cold explanation. Looking through her eyes, I knew she’d inherited my friend’s cutthroat persona.

The sea has raged for over a week; he is not settled even in death. On her journey home, the girl skidded on the coast road, she drowned. I heard her mother was brokenhearted. Knowing the story of the betrayal, I know my friend now has his revenge.

More of my work here

Guy Fawkes – Hero – Ian and Jon Podcast

Jon talks about Guy Fawkes after ‘Bonfire Night’. This tradition celebrates the overthrowing of a plot to bring down the monarchy and government.  While we think we know about the plot many of us do not know about the man. Jon offers the suggestion he was a hero, not a traitor. He proves the good-looking red-headed six-footer was a man of incredible bravery and true to his principals. He stayed silent under torture, in the hope his fellow conspirators, would continue with the cause.

Listen to the MP3 Here

Historian Jon Sharpe

See You Soon

States of America

Nottingham Contemporary Exhibition

During the audio recording made after reviewing the exhibition, I mention the sad fact we cannot photograph the images at the display. The staff were excellent and explained that for copyright reasons no one would be allowed to take a picture inside of the exhibition.

The copyright excuse is similar to police and other authorities who use terrorism for reason not to explain a truth.

I suspect greed is the motivation behind this restriction.

Add another reason…

The exhibition is as poor as it was lit. In fact, the lighting was so dim and the images poorly presented. Any snaps taken with iPhones and cameras will have the same quality as pirate videos taken in 1980 porno cinemas. It is evident to me, the curators are in fear of the public, realising the images are nothing brilliant. They are images taken of day to day life in the period between the 50 – 60 – 70’s in America. That’s it, folks, Bugs Bunny bites the carrot.


Listen to the review above and realise that without the images, you can only hear why I am not impressed with the images. If my narration accompanied the images, there would be a better understanding of my observations and opinions. The review is recorded minutes after leaving the exhibition. It is free flowing and made without notes, I felt it was important to record my immediate feelings before my memories became faded. As the narration continued, the realisation was, without the images, there is no way I could provide an adequate review of the images. Without a photograph of the interior, I am unable to show why, the density of a photograph is influenced by the reflective interior lighting of the gallery.

The exhibition is billed as recording three decades of a changing nation. If you believe this to be accurate, that fine. The cynic in me suggests the images were taken in the same way as many street or ‘nothing else to do with their time’ photographers. They took pictures because they could. Arbus let me down, Winogrand’s image betrays a spy like approach, many images look like covert photos. Ok, we see him working on YouTube, and he takes pictures, smiles and clicks another. However, the printed image betrays a machine gun technique. You can do this without a second thought. I cannot write further on the exhibitions content, the MP3 is sufficent.

Do you realise the problem for me is I cannot give a proper appraisal of the exhibition because I cannot provide a reference (a picture) to explain my opinion? Do you read the point? You have to trust my words only, with images, I could verify my observation.

Why not take photos of the images in the exhibition? Most people cannot afford the originals costing thousands of dollars. If you could afford one of these photos, to my mind, they could give little emotional gratitude. The printing is poor, the composition is ‘seaside snapshot’, end of story. The curator may argue, the images will fade in daylight. If this is the argument, it is lying and there is no understanding of the permanence of the correctly made silver image.

In her defence, the curator may argue, the images will fade in daylight. If this is the argument, it demonstrates a misunderstanding of photographic presentation or the permanence of a correctly printed silver image.

The Exhibition gets 4/10 – The curator of Nottingham’s Asset – 1/10 – a waste of the public purse which paid for the building (lotto, donation or Nottingham Council contribution). I comment in the recording we have to thank or appreciate ‘The Contempory’ for putting on the exhibition. I thank them for being brave enough to believe the public is artistically ignorant. Travel to see it if you are desperate to see poorly presented images in dull and boring galleries. Why not save yourself the time, if you like any of the photographers work, buy their expensive books from Amazon. At least you’ll be sure the copyright is not in doubt and the snappers or their estate will recieve their royalties.

More of my work here

Jon Sharpe – Talks 15k B.C and Atlantis

The images are part of Jon’s research into the symbolism of different civilisations. It is within this research Jon see’s the associations of Collective Consciousness. Very much part of our interest in The Symbolism of Mankind.

My dynamic historian friend talks about a city which dates back 15 thousand years B.C. After this, the man of mystery and knowledge reveals the actual position of the mystical Island called Atlantis.

This interview lasts for twenty minutes. It is worth listening to if you have an interest in ancient civilisations.

Download MP3 HERE


Ian Timothy

Ian Timothy

Most Days: Off the bus, through John Lewis’s shortcut, escalator, perfumery – makeup counters, into the market. Buy a cup of tea, 50p, open stall, ready to write and sell a few rocks and incense sticks. I’ll write a couple of thousand words. An email presents a freelance job, a touch of research, the days working well. Normal Day.

ToDay: Off the bus, through John Lewis’s shortcut, escalator ‘Excuse me you’re in my way’ Aggressive lady pushes by, sarcastic sigh. Top of the escalator, she glances back, zooms off like a vindaloo victim in search of the ablutions. I see this ‘must get ahead’ attitude every day, I‘ve written about this malady on other occasions. She must be late: Lateness is the cause of, frustration, anger, a rise in blood pressure, heart attack and death. As a child, my mother told me a little boy lost his leg after being trapped on an escalator in Marshall and Snelgrove’s store in Leicester. That was typical of my mother. She blackmailed with fear: ‘Don’t run up the escalator Ian. A little boy lost his leg messing around on one of those.’ she was a poor parent one of her cruellest method s of control was: ‘You will have to go to the doctor for a painful injection if you don’t behave’ as a child it sticks in mind like a whalebone in the throat. I asked her once how you lose your leg, and if there was a way to remove the leg. She biffed me in the ear. The point is: I have been taken back in time, to a memory I could do without. (not really I couldn’t give a fig about one-legged orphans and painful injections).

After all the speeding and aggression, ‘Sarcastic Sigh’ has stopped at the Chanel counter. She takes a sly glance around the store, picks up the Number Five tester and sprays her neck 1,2,3,4,5 times. She hears my ‘tut-tutting’ comment; I smile, the wolf-like sneer indicates she hates me and always will. I am pleased, happy to prove my theory of instantaneous hatred. The idea is, it is easier to dislike someone than like them. By the way, I ask you to consider the benefit of dislike, for one it is cheaper than like. No Birthday or Christmas prezzies and then there is the pleasure of discovering an arch enemy is gored by a bull (no joke). If a friend is mugged by an addict, the result is a boring visit to the hospital, and have you seen the price of grapes. No, dislike and hatred is the cheapest and more enjoyable way to go.

Why did she overtake and then stop at the counter? The London Underground is full of overtakers –  Indignant ‘Could I pass P L E A S E’ smug bastards. They’re living in the city and mugs like me on day trip have forgotten the protocols of so-called city life. Well, I tell you what Jack, in my day, I smoked on the underground and every pub in Soho had a resident drunken artist or celebrity. So don’t think your superior attitude impresses this chap. And according to my mother, little boys lose their legs when messing about on the mechanical stairs, don’t you forget this possible outcome of speeding up and down escalators.

I’m on a mission, nothing going to stop the rant. Imagination man has lit the candle in my creativity dungeon. Lights on, the cupboards open and the skeletons are dancing. That’s the way, one seed of thought, one observation, one ignorant, pushy woman steaming up the escalator like a clapped out locomotive. Get tapping the keys boy; there’s an insight into your mind which someone will read. And I don’t care if no one reads the essay, I don’t care about anything today. That woman’s wound me up like a spring, and the only way out is words following words.

To my mind, lateness is a sign of poor preparation or laziness. I prefer to steer clear of the unpunctual. Letting people down demonstrates a degree of selfishness. Our life hours cannot be retrieved, anyone who deliberately wastes our time is a foe. The body is our most valuable possession, and time is our greatest asset. Those who let us down are prepared to waste life-time, it is not acceptable. My new mantra will be ‘Sod of time wasters’ – Yes, I like it ‘Sod off time wasters.’ The four words have meaning and purpose SOTW – How can the words be changed to the order STOW? Sod, time. Of, wasters. No, it will have to be SOTW. Goodness, I’d better stop this I’m wasting your time.

‘Sarcastic Sigh’ watches me walk out of the store, she’s’ judging me. I know her type, she’d let people down. I would win the pound for a penny bet that she is selfish and greedy. No doubt, she’s an inferior, superior and mother of three arrogant bankers. The more I consider this wicked witch, the more I see. No doubt, if the year were 1939, she’d be wearing an S.S. uniform and her reply to my ‘tut, tut’ would have been two sharp reports from a 9mm Luger and the following day would see my family being taken away in a cattle truck.

I can see it now, the whole bloody mess, my brains splattered over the Chanel sales counter. She is intoxicated by the ability to deal out swift injustice, my twitching body evidence of her power over life and death. That same evening her three Gestapo officer children, sit around the dinner table, eating veal schnitzel and sauerkraut are enraptured as their mother recalls the morning incident. ‘He attempted to push me down the escalator, as I confronted him, he denounced the Fuhrer, there was no alternative but to shoot him. They howl with laughter; good days work in the pursuit of oppression.

On the escalator her action demonstrates a get out of the way attitude, it is ‘the road is mine’ attitude of the selfish driver. Ok, she is a selfish road-raged imbecile as well. I can see through this woman persona. The mask is transparent to me she drinks gin by the gallon; she is sure to be alcoholic. Is this the reason she sprays a fivers worth of Chanel round her neck. This aromatic camouflage is a well-known ploy used by gin swigging old soaks the World over. I’ve never met a woman who wears strong perfume who doesn’t drink gin. What! You feel I’m harsh? It’s a tough life Jack; it pays to be aware of any tell-tale signs which will help us through it.

Incidentally be wary of non-drinkers. They have the advantage over those of us who like a beer or two. I am not saying the gin swigging Nazi is forgiven because of she drinks, I warning you if you are a drinker, never trust a non-drinker. I mean it, you’ll get your fingers burned with those bastards, and then you’ll be like the legless child, hopping mad and crying in your soup, that you’d not listened to my advice. Now, I hope you understand this essay is free-flowing, so I’m not going to clarify the sentiment in this paragraph, one thing is for sure, the guidance is from real life experience.

I’m feeling better, the therapeutic exercise of speed writing and limited words have a calming effect. I no longer care about the ignorant monster and the hundreds of other morons who chose to be late, rush about and blame everyone and everything for their inability to get out of bed in the morning. No doubt, if this woman didn’t swig a gallon of distilled juniper berries every night, her life would be better and less stressed.

Times Up – 30 minutes 1235 words – Grammar Nazis forget it. It’s a tough call.


Ian and Jon’s God Spot

Ian and Jon talk about Jung’s Symbolism, and then the interview charts the dangerous, perilous waters of religion. Although, hang on a second, not belief as you know it. No, religion according to St Jon of Wicca. Our learned saint offers the suggestion all religion derives from one cultural source of wisdom. He then takes us on a voyage across the oceans to Atlantis. I know, there is nothing more to say. Just listen to our intrepid saint who was canonised only last week, after being burned as a heretic.

listen to the interview from the soundbar

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