Over at Tales From The Alphabet

Just posted this, a further snippet from the longer story.


Small Hands

Small hands, big thighs. That’s what he liked.
‘He’ being Stuart.
The lovable rogue, but only in his mother’s eyes and father’s pub-talk. Hated by most others. An imbecile, according to the graffiti scrawled crazily across the bus shelter up by Maud’s card shop. The gents’ toilets in the Hay & Scythe tell of other names that are not repeatable. Not out loud, in public. I have that on good authority, not having frequented them.
Stuart. A simple man with simple tastes. He likes to strike out, to hit; to offer a beating or two. Especially after a pint of Hamerton’s Ale. Definitely after several pints. Mostly to women. Almost exclusively, as it happens.
Certain types, though. Just those with small hands and big thighs.
Not that it’s an excuse I would offer up.

Read more here.

Tales From The Alphabet

I have a new project. One that is for the writers out there. Is that you?

It's called Tales From The Alphabet. And you can get involved.

I've started things off with the letter 'P' in a new short called Perfect Circles. It's an extract of a longer story I've been working on.

Perfect circles.Alfie could draw them at will. He used it as a parlour trick in pubs, aged 14, winning shots of whisky that he’d share with me and Bird.He could draw the different coin denominations. Perfect, every time.The look on the punters’ faces when they laid down a coin: like they’d been at the Somme.

That was how we passed the days, back then. Before our relationships petered out, became lost in the labyrinth of life. Or maybe purposefully gotten rid of; left at the side of the memory road as we screeched away in a car, the smell of burning rubber assaulting the nostrils.Yep, mostly abandoned.

In those days, we were carefree. Astounding drinkers was enough – or at least the reward of whisky was. Or so I thought. Our history through the eyes of hindsight is not quite as cosy.Then again, whose history is?

Anyway, this new project is not about me, it's about you.