Objects Of The Useless And Bored

Neck cushions on a one hour and twenty minutes flight from London to Edinburgh.

Strange, plastic banana shaped cases to transport bananas from a home kitchen to the office desk with.

Plastic bin bag ties as opposed to the superior, classic knot.

Squares of cloth and expensive little jars of premium washing up liquid bought on the internet to keep limited edition trainers sparkling white.

The faded, fraying festival wristband of anyone over the age of 18, particularly if they are 30 and in a professional business environment.

Headphone cases and contraptions that wrap up headphone wires so they don’t get a little tangled, steal five seconds of a day and trigger cardiac arrest.

Cupboards and shelves worth of obsolete DVDs and CDs, kept sentimentally despite most of the cover art and movies being absolutely shit.

Little metal pound shaped coins on a keyring for trolleys which says you visit Tesco way too often and take it a lot more seriously than you should.

The umbrella that you’ll forget, that you’ll break and that you’ll ruin multiple people’s day with because you don’t know how to use.

Sock draws and the mysterious, unexplained worm holes of sock draws through which sock monsters prevent even numbers of socks ever remaining.

Madonna and the forehead of Rupert Everett.

The dehydrated white bap that comes with all aeroplane meals and the blunt knife you can’t cut into it with to spread non-spreadable butter throughout it.

Workstation Wrangle

Wow, hasn’t the weather just turned!
I was reading a book in the park on my lunch break!
I thought I was going to burn. It was so sunny!
Did you just see that flash of lightening?
I bet it’s going to thunder in a moment.
Oh wow, did you hear that thunder?
English weather, eh?
You’re only wearing a t-shirt Johnny?
He’s going to be a wet fish on the way home.
Then again, it might dry up.
You never can tell!

An Early Read

A swift shower made space.
The book’s pages turned to the past.
Springtime clouds stole sunrise.
On went the living room lights.

Through the walls, routines revolved.
Alarm clocks, flushes and showers
pulling the marchers to attention,
lining up their drills.

Niceties soundtracked kettle boils,
bag packing, coat shuffling
and the lightening bolt chords of zips,
encasing their passengers like armour.

Out to their worlds they departed
towards another broadcast starring
the same ever suspended in time
story arcs of familiar acts.

The lines of scripts were agreeable;
everyone plodding through their day
besides the bookworm who bounced,
charged with ideas from another time.

Checking Out

Everything was boringly bright.
There wasn’t a wall to paint.
Dreamer closed his eyes blank
stirring up make belief tastes.

Scenes lined his head’s roads.
Dreamer sped through wild towns.
Inventions you’d never believe
strangely made him feel at home.

He lunched on a feast of ideas,
danced with Wonder and Belief,
winked across at Second Thoughts
and saw mysteries to sit beneath.

Dreamer stood perfectly still.
Bright Land’s pedestrians frowned.
With a nod of his hat to creation
he opened his eyes to look around.

Walls, ceilings, paths and parks
felt so thought through and plain.
Adventure seemed beyond asleep.
Everything looked the same.

But Dreamer never crumbled
amongst such potent commonplace
for he knew a universe so rich
of indescribable tastes.

Friday night departure.

Ed scribbled down a
door’s Bowie quote
and a tramp rattled
by with a thought.
Mark browsed bottles
in a corner store
whilst I waited outside.
One by one at Ryan’s
the party arrived.
We welcomed Az back
slicing quiche
filling up flutes
and scooping up
handfuls of crisps.
Loose acquaintances
asked of professions
like that’s all we are.
Law and banking talk
filled, no, sucked
out the room’s air.
With no interest
in being measured
I plotted an exit
wishing goodnight
to the close ones
but side stepping most.
That tube journey
my headphones
dropping someone coins
and a late night chocolate
sounded and tasted
like the night’s peak.
Wes disappeared clubbing
Mark’s on Ryan’s floor
and this empty bed
of so much space
announces the weekend.
As these early hours pass
messages appear
doors clink and
footsteps shuffle.
For all the bad form
some find, envy, in it
I can’t stay somewhere
that doesn’t turn me on.
Like the cage of an office
groups and gatherings tire.
A little of a lot
never leaves me full.
So I’ll jog with Joe
eat pizza with Chris
cycle with Rob
and if I do join the masses
disappear outside
for closer connections
amidst clouds of smoke.
Less is more
and makes for cheaper rounds
however lonely it looks.

Summer 2007

Was it Donegal or Sovereign House
where the boys fought up the stairs?
Morgan charmed a squat next door
and fidgeting formed a toilet queue.
Only two girls arrived wearing hats
just like the party memo said.
Connolly retrieved misused cutlery
whilst a gate relentlessly buzzed.
Deliveries came, politics pursued
and reunions isolated those new.
The hosts stayed in tight control
of music so quiet nobody danced.
By midnight things had thinned
across a car park, now private flats.
The keep on crew lost Hannah,
shouting her name to come back.
The Castle’s door had bolted
marking the end of another night.
That Summer’s events just blurred
from one council notice to the next;
Impromptu ciders in Hoxton,
jumping fences into ticketed gigs,
and drive-by paranoia as Sully hid.
Those days awakened, defined,
destroyed, split and united most.
Migration, home making,
career baking and kids raising
now scatter the stories to which I toast.

One Crisp Morning.

The monster munched his way through the disco until he chipped his sticks and couldn’t hula hoop to his favourite golden wonders any more. One crisp morning he got ready and shaked his head, for he had seen a pack of walkers frying the French! ‘McCoy!’ he cried. ‘Open the kettle, for there is a quaver passing over me for what I have just seen!’ McCoy went into the kitchen and prepared a cup, tea bag and spoon – you know, the usual nik naks. ‘Thank you McCoy’ said the monster munch. ‘Those squares have tato for brains, thinking those French were space raiders.’

James Sullivan addition:

This story, wotsits about? Monster munch got himself in a bit of a state. His head must have been full of frazzles. I wonder, were the teabags triangles or squares?

Reoccurring Themes.

Hey Mister Oh So Charming
your boots don’t seem too big from here.
Chips on your shoulder are blocking our light
and we’re switching into reverse gear.
Mrs Apathy, please crack a smile.
You don’t know how lucky we are.
Digging yourself a pit of criticism
will only push solutions afar.
And to the friend that thinks he’s a best
that makes us mates, not Romeo & Juliet
so pick up the phone and dial some effort
or our chasing will fade and we’ll forget.
People, let’s not follow made up scripts
ranting in our minds at imaginary scenes.
If we pull our heads out of our behinds
we’ll start being healthier beings.
Loosen up and like what you like
not what you heard’s the trend in New York.
You’ll have less contrived, more honest fun
if you lay down that rusty Pitchfork.
Crack a smile, stretch, breathe, relax.
If we don’t look up, we’ll just fall down.
Stand up, take one step back
and hold a greater view of the town.
We’re all a-part and all alone.
Look around; life is suffering is rife.
But connect, share, support, love
and hope will start putting it right.
Beauty’s in the eyes of the beholder
but you’ll never see it with them closed.
The only truth’s in the power of now
not the regrets and fears we’ve chose.
Allow yourself to be saccharine sweet.
It can’t be any worse than their bitter tea;
round after round, sipping more of the same
leaving us anything but free.

Tory Stitch-Up Failings

Here’s a look back at just some of the government’s many failings, a day after Oliver Letwin’s leaked memo reminded us what we all know, that the Tories hate poor people.

This ginormous, blatant stitch up of a right wing press backed government gets away with murder and needs to be held to account by all corners of society.

The majority of us are fortunate enough that we don’t feel the government’s actions directly impacting our day to day lives but in the grand scheme of things, they adversely affect us all. We can’t pass a blind eye. It’s a matter of morality and ethics.

My views towards the Tories are well known, but this isn’t even about the support of one party over another. The actions of any government and party needs to be challenged, by both its supporters and opposition.

It is our duty to engage in how the country is being run. Don’t let one newspaper tell you what to think, find out who your MP is, get your issues heard, connect with your local community and encourage dialogue amongst friends and family. https://www.writetothem.com/

Five people linked to over £3m in Tory donations are receiving New Year’s Honours. Read more.

The UK’s economy is stagnant, volatile and exposed. Read more.

George Osbourne’s been having shady meetings with Rupert Murdoch ahead of the dismantling of the BBC. Read more.

Cameron is back boozing with News Corp, the people that hack the phones of murdered school children.Read more.

The government’s own report details how those affected by the bedroom tax are being driven further and further into poverty. Read more.

The UK’s bombing campaign in Syria could cost up to £1.5 billion and is merely a futile effort against Isis that lacks a long term strategy and will achieve little. Read more.

The NHS is in crisis and the government’s amending its weekly reports to cover up the extent it is failing patients. We’re about to see the first strike of junior doctors in 40 years because of pay cuts of up to 30%.Read more.

The department for work and pensions has been printing leaflets of fake testimonials about how much their policies are working. In fact, over 2,300 people died between 2011 and 2014 after being declared ‘fit for work’. Read more.

The UK’s housing crisis is getting more and more dire by the month. Councils such as Hackney and Westminster are introducing ‘public space protection’ orders that allow them to fine people £1,000 for sleeping on the street or begging. What the actual fuck? Read more and more.

Favourite Albums Of 2015

In no order. Well, maybe the first, perhaps.

Kendrick – To Kill A Butterfly
Ghostface Killah – Reasons To Die 2
The Libertines – Anthems For Doomed Youth
Noel Gallagher – Chasing Yesterday
Four Tet – Morning/Evening
Roots Manuva – Bleeds
Chemical Brothers – Born In The Echoes
Bjork – Vulnicura
Donnie Trumpet & The SOcial Experiment (Chance The Rapper) – Surf
Dr. Dre – Compton
Joey Bada$$ – B4.Da.$$
The Weeknd – Beauty Behind The Madness
Jamie XX – In Colour
Logan Sama – Fabric Live 83
Big Grams (Big Boi & Phantogram) – Big Grams
Fashawm – The Ecology
Statik Selektah – Lucky 7

Fogged out morning.

sometimes you just have to laugh
at the guy’s loud music on the tube
people not walking in straight lines
everyone’s phones in their palms
and palms in their face.

just swipe the card and walk through
now there’s a pile up of tuts
How efficient is self service
if you need approval to transact?

crumbs cover the kitchen floor
we rarely get to finish a sentence
there’s no weekend rest for builders
and the neighbours love to slam.

rolling around in new trainers
shivers hold off thermostat cranks
superstitious quiz show hosts myth
as oven trays rattle and hiss.