Wednesday, 11 October 2017

An Unconventional Angel.

Barcelona/a few days ago

Yes, you wanted to know something.

Yes, I’m interested… did he go outside and discuss things with the hovering apparition or not?

Hang on, let’s have a look. Next to the garage, a willow tree planted by Patrick’s long dead father seemed as good a place as any to discuss his destiny, so Patrick sat down against the trunk. Well, it seemed that he did.

And what happened?

Looking up he saw the night sky with thousands of questioning stars and he could feel the soft breeze of a late summer’s night against his skin.

You just changed something - ‘questioning’  - that’s not what it says in the original.

No, it says ‘dazzling’, it seemed a bit cliché when I read it.

But why questioning? I’m not sure you can have questioning stars?

Maybe I’ll change it again, anyway, there’s more.

Carry on.

The angel, for Patrick had decided to call the visitor by that name, hovered above him and looking down asked – “why were you in the garage with no clothes on at this hour?”

He was naked?


“I couldn’t sleep”, explained Patrick, “I was too hot and too worried.”

What was he worried about?

That’s what the angel said, look – “What worries you?” inquired the angel, though if truth be told she already knew.

I thought angels were male?

This one is female.

Is that important?

I don’t know, I’m not sure where this tale is heading.

It’s unconventional.

An unconventional angel.

Tuesday, 10 October 2017

The Over Zealous Greengrocer.

Barcelona Town/couple of sundays back

Hey your sister just rang.


No, she sent an e-mail.

Why did you say she just rang?

It sounded snappier.

A crocodile sounds snappy, you just sound daft. What did  say, and WHY are you reading my e-mails!

I’m your secretary.

You are?

I could be.

I’d prefer it if you were my partner, in a non-romantic way.

Ok, anyway, she asked you about the bullfight.

The bullfight! That was over fifty years ago, how could she remember that?

She wasn’t there.


She said it must have been traumatising.

I’ll never go to one ever again.

There was blood on the street Monday morning a week ago in Barcelona, did you see it?

I tried not to; it was covered in sawdust. It might have been paint.

It might have been a tomato that had been dragged along the pavement by an over zealous greengrocer but I doubt it.

I doubt that too.

By the way, I wanted to ask you about Patrick.

Patrick O’Malley?

That’s the one.

Could you ask me tomorrow? I’ve just opened a bottle of wine and put Kind of Blue on the turntable.

You could. Do you still have a turntable?

Don’t you?

Monday, 9 October 2017

Potential Patrick.

Barcelona/a week ago-ish

Did you know that if you clear the piles and piles of papers on this desk you get to a piece of paper right at the bottom that says ‘well done’?

I didn’t know that.

It’s actually fixed to the surface of the desk with a domineering glue, it’s meant as an encouragement.

What prompted you to clear the desk this time?

I have a new screen for the computer and I need to install it. I needed space.

Go ahead, install.

Install, install, connect, install, switch on. There you go!

Hey, look! It’s Mack!

And look here, a story slightly started.

What does it say?

When he was 51 years old and whilst his wife and two children were sleeping, Patrick O’Malley was visited by a benign but radiant spirit who made the following offer;

Who is Patrick O’Malley?

He looks like the hero of the piece.

What was the offer?

“Would you like to go back to the time before you were a parent and live your life again?”

Tempting offer, where did this take place?

Patrick was in the garage at the time considering suicide, so the offer seemed both timely and plausible, particularly since the aforementioned apparition was hovering a meter above the bonnet of his car surrounded by an incandescent halo of piercing blue light.

Suicide? Does this have a happy ending?

It doesn’t have an ending, it’s just a fragment of a beginning I think.

Is there more?

“I can make it happen”, continued the vision. The voice was soft yet confident and made Patrick think of waves on a distant shore. He got out of the car and turned off the engine, looked around to see if there were any witnesses and replied; “Can we go outside and discuss this?”

This Patrick is a very practical man.

It actually says that in the text, I just edited it.

You are editing this as you transcribe it?

A bit.


It might have potential.

Saturday, 7 October 2017

Clearing up the shit.

barcelona/last week

You know, back there on Wednesday, you said – ‘you know what the French say’.


Well, you never told us WHAT they say.

Look, if I am going to have to go back and fill in ALL the gaps on this blog we’ll be here forever.

Aren’t we?

Hmm, much as though most days I think I’m indestructible logic tells me that our time may be limited.

All the more important we fill in the gaps.

When you say ‘we’ you mean me, don’t you? You’re just going to sit there and pick holes.

It is, you can go inside, sit or lie down and if you’re three or four years old have a good giggle.

Have you?


Lain or sat.

I stepped in, I stepped out – I felt that I should have removed my shoes.

So – what DO the French say?

Well – as I tried to make clear before – they say a lot of things but at the moment of which you talk I was alluding to their explanation of why their national symbol is a cockerel.


Because it’s the only animal that sings when it’s in the middle of the shit.

Thank you for clearing that up.

You’re welcome.

Wednesday, 4 October 2017

A Separate Singing.

too long ago already!

What’s going on?

They’re singing.

I know that, but why?

They are feeling free.

Are they free?

Oooh, that’s a complicated question- freedom is in the eye of the beholder. But they have just voted for independence in a referendum that those they want to be independent from consider as having no legality.

So they are singing?

You know what the French say.

The French say a lot of things, zut alors for one.

Talking of debates, where do you stand on this catalan separation issue.

I’m not Catalan.

No, but you like Crème Catalan, I saw you eat that one very quickly.

It was yummy.

What are you going to do now?

Swim in the sea.

It’s October!

It’s hot, and the water is clear and inviting.

You’re mad!

No, I’m just separate.

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