Pensionista

A robin on a pillar box topped with snow, in a country lane - a typical winter scene on a card signed by June and Roger, who I've never heard of.  In an envelope addressed to a Mrs Ann Brown, who doesn't live here any more and probably never did.  The printed message is the… Continue reading The Card →

The bell tolls. Eleven. The man in front of me takes off his hat and bows his head. One of a crowd of hundreds, not thousands.  It's a small town.  Here we stand, ordinary people in the open air, like millions across the country,  all over the world. The roads nearby are closed, blocked by… Continue reading The Silence →

The long cardboard box is carried out of the van with care, like a coffin - but the sticker says, Keep Upright - and the item inside should be alive and growing. Cut through the tape, then break open the box. The plant revealed stands in a plastic pot. It's not the largest aspidistra in… Continue reading Algernon →

There are mushrooms at the bottom of my garden.  Not the fairy-friendly type of fungus, with neat spotted roofs on stalks  - but fat white cancerous clumps pushing their way through the chippings of bark to the surface.  They smell of damp and decay and they weren't there before. You can't turn your back for… Continue reading Scent →

When I open the new magazine, a lot of leaflets fall out. One is called Caring Solutions - 'mobility aids to independent living'.  One solution sends me into an instant decline.  It's not the walk-in bath, the model in a hideous swimsuit like a corset, or the riser-recliner chair or even the scooter which 'carries… Continue reading Stairs →

Sitting at a table near me, a young man's in love with his laptop, gazing at the screen, while his coffee gets cold.  He's not a regular, not like the woman settled in a corner, who looks as if she lives there. Her hair is white, permed all over into cauliflower curls. She's digging deep… Continue reading The Cafe →

Note: this piece is a short story, based on real events. Berlin, 1945.  In the Fuhrerbunker. The 28th.  I have my own room, with a nice carpet, a comfy sofa with a matching armchair and a single bed. The standard lamp in the corner has a shade of pleated pink silk, like the ones in… Continue reading The End of April →

I'm ready for it.  The routines are complete - doors locked, blinds down.  Make-up off, teeth attended to. Mount the stairs, then put a glass of water within reach. Here comes the night. Read for a bit, turn off the lamp, then sleep for a while - but lightly and not for long. The late… Continue reading Night Visitors →

Two bananas, three times a day, with milk in a small bottle, the size once delivered to schools. That was the first one, to keep a classmate company. We were war babies, with heavy bones from our mothers' extra rations and disgusting dollops of cod liver oil - but we wanted to be sylph-like and… Continue reading The Diet →

I was once a King - or rather, married to one.  Wearing a long purple velvet coat and a single daffodil, I picked up a ballpoint pen and wrote a new surname in a Town Hall register. A spike of a word. It was 1971. I thought it was the Law, that you had to… Continue reading The Signature →