Just in case... you were wondering what this was about - it's a holding place for my coursework so it's not on my work PC.

17.11.05 09:17 Permalink / 1 Comment / comment

The Princess and The Knight: A Fairytale   Once, upon a time… fficeffice" />  “There is no smoking in the castle, good sir knight.” “I’m not in the castle, princess.”   She raised an eyebrow.   “What are you doing then?” “I’m leaning nonchalantly on the castle wall and finishing this cigarette.” “It’s my wall.” “It’s my cig.”   He looked at her. She folded her arms and pursed her lips. Sighing, he put out his cigarette on the stone, carefully grinding off the ash so he could put it back in the packet for another day. Finally, she smiled at him.   And so, it began.   “What brings you to my castle, good sir knight?”   He jabbed his finger towards the sky. There were black shapes flitting across it, underneath the clouds.   “I saw your dragons, princess.”   “So?”   He dug around in his pocket and handed her his card. She read it. Then she read it again. Then she set up laughing so hard she had to sit down on the steps. He noticed she had wellies on underneath her dress. She was the most unladylike princess he had ever met, and he’d met quite a few. She guffawed heartily and slapped her thigh as the tears ran down her face. She tried to speak but she was laughing too hard, struggling for breath. He reached nervously in his pocket for his inhaler. He did not want the death of a princess on his hands.   Slowly her shrieks turned to giggles and eventually, hiccups. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and accidentally streaked green across her face from the mossy stone. She looked down at his card again. There was a picture of a sword dripping blood on it and underneath:   DRAGONS SLAYED – no job too small.   She reached into her skirts and handed over her card. There was a picture of a whip and underneath:   DRAGONS TAMED – no job too small.      He looked at it and then he looked at her. She looked an unlikely dragon tamer.   “What?” she said, smirking.   He looked at the ground and rubbed the back of his neck. Then he looked at the sky again. When he looked back to the steps she was gone, racing upward, back into the castle.   “Hey! Where are you going?”   “Come on!” she shouted back to him, “come on – I need you!”   ***   What could he do? He hurried after her. She took him down corridor after corridor and up and down endless flights of stairs. When they finally drew to a halt he was completely disoriented. He felt as though they might be in the very centre of the castle, but he couldn’t be sure. He had never had the best sense of direction. Often he had rescued the wrong princess. Once or twice he’d turned up expecting dragons and found empty caves with nothing in them but a few gold coins and some broken jewellery.   The princess fished a large iron key from between her breasts and opened the heavy door in front of them. The heat radiating from it was nothing compared to the heat that smacked him in the face as it swung open. It was like opening a door to hell. There was strong smell of sulphur. He put his handkerchief over his nose and frowned at her.   “This is the forge where I make the cages,” she said, striding into the room. “The dragons provide the heat.” His mouth was dry and his skin wet. It was so hot he could barely breathe. She stood next to an anvil as pale and porcelain as a doll. She waved her hand toward a smaller door at the back. “I keep the dragons through there. Come and see.”   He paused and she laughed.   “Are you afraid of dragons, dragon slayer?”   He shrugged.   Then he followed her. What else could he do?   ***   This room was bigger and cooler, but only just. It was set up as a stable, but instead of stalls there were cages, ranging in size. He noticed there was straw on the floor and bales of hay soaked through with water stacked up to one side. The air was less sulphurous. In here it was musky and sweet. The princess pointed to the cages on their left.   “These are for the dragons you saw outside,” she said.   “They’re tame?”   “Yes, I’ve had them for years. I exercise them every morning. It gives me a chance to muck out. Hence the wellingtons,” she lifted her dress a little and wiggled her rubberclad toes at him, “I’ve trained a couple of them to do tricks. People pay to see them, you know.”   “I don’t doubt,” he said, moving to get a closer look at the cages. They were large; he’d judged the dragons to be a little larger than horses and the cages bore it out. There were seven of them hanging open, with clean straw down on the floors and piles of gold and silver in the corners. Each cage had a piece of cardboard tucked between the bars and the name of the dragon written on in marker pen. Ordinary names. Steven. Christopher. Robert. Mark.   He squinted through the haze. “How are you keeping them?” he asked, “what are these cages made from?”   “Take a look,” she said.   Although the cages were empty they were still warm. Standing in front of them was like standing in the kitchen of a bakers shop. He reached out to touch one of the bars and burnt his finger. She laughed.   “Look, don’t touch.”   He bent down and looked closer. The bars of the cage were black, but they weren’t solid. They were made up of something else, strings and strings of something else, shimmering and moving in the heat.   “Are those …” he looked closer, taking his handkerchief and folding it over and over so he could touch the bar with it, “are those … words?”   She nodded proudly. He looked at his handkerchief, singed almost all the way through. He swallowed, hard. He couldn’t believe she had the strength to deal with them. He’d never been this near to dragons without a full suit of armour and a heavy sword. She was unarmed, and there were no weapons in the stable that he could see. He moved away from the empty cages. The heat was becoming unbearable.   He realised slowly that they weren’t alone. He could hear the wheeze of hot dragon breath and claws scrabbling across flags. To him they were noises of battle. She led him forward, towards the sound and the heat. At the back of the stable it was almost pitch black. The smell of sulphur returned. Flames flickered in the dark, flames he knew were shooting from mouths with a thousand teeth each. She struck a match and lit a torch. The two dragons reared back, screaming in the light.   “These are a different breed,” she said, “they’re not ready for show yet. I’m still working on them. They are called TheBabyThatNeverWas and TheManThatBeatMeBlackAndBlue.”   These were huge dragons in huge cages, the bars almost as thick as his arm. His eyes stung with the heat. He could feel his blood racing in his veins. He hoped against hope he wouldn’t pass out. He’d seen bigger – he’d fought bigger, but he was older than her and stronger. He felt her hand in his, small and cool. She tugged him away gently. “Come on,” she said, “come and look at this.”   ***   She led him over to an incubator. Inside it was an egg, bigger than a hen’s egg but only just, jewel red and glowing. “This dragon will be called MeAndYou,” she said. Her face was very close to his. He could feel her breath on his cheek, a relief against the burning. He swallowed again.   “What do you want?” “Give up your quest, good sir knight, give up and stay here with me. I need someone who knows how to deal with dragons. I go through keepers like nobody’s business. I have been waiting for you. I have been waiting for someone who isn’t afraid.”   What could he do? He gave up and gave in and broke his vow. He pushed her down onto the straw, down onto the floor next to the hot box with the dragon’s egg in it. Not only was she wearing wellies under her dress, she wasn’t wearing any knickers. Not very ladylike at all. He noticed for the first time her palms were crisscrossed with scars. There were old burns on her ankles and on her arms.   He kissed them and said, “what have they done to you?”   She kissed his scars back and said “what have they done to you?”   ***   Afterwards she propped herself up on her elbows and motioned him to keep quiet. Her hair was falling down and she had a bit of straw stuck to her forehead. There was a very, very faint cracking sound, just audible above his breathing. They both got up, quietly, quietly and peered into the incubator.   “It’s hatching!” he said in loud surprise. He’d never seen such a thing before. The dragon had struggled almost all the way free of the shell. Like the egg, it was bright ruby red, red as wine, red as blood. He reached out only to draw his hand back quickly. The little dragon was cinder hot. The princess pulled on some asbestos gloves which reached up to her elbows. She picked up the dragon gently and cradled it in both hands.   She raised it up to her face and blew gently. The dragon blew back, a puff of steam.   “He’s going to be fine,” she said, with a big smile. “He’s beautiful. He’ll be a big draw.”   There was a silence as they stood there, watching the belly of the dragon rise up and down with each tiny breath. He’d never seen anything so small before, or so perfect. He found it difficult to balance the knowledge that something that could fit in the palm of a princesses hand could grow be so dangerous and so frightening.   “Will you stay?” she asked.   It was the first time he’d seen her uncertain. Her eyes were glittering. What could he do? He had fallen in love with her.   “Yes,” he said, “I’ll stay.”   He sold his horse and moved into the castle the very next day. They built a cage together for MeAndYou out of stories about dragons they had known. With time he got used to the heat and the noise and became the best keeper she’d ever had. She auctioned off the smaller dragons to the highest bidder and concentrated on getting the large ones good enough to show. They were very popular. People like to be frightened but know they are in no danger.   And so they lived, happily, ever after…

19.10.05 15:29 Permalink / 7 Comments / comment

First of the Angry Young Men. It wasn’t lost on me, the cosmic joke that your flat was on Gallows Hill and the house I shared with my man was behind the old prison. I’d run back there in the morning from the thousand tiny deaths I’d died in your arms the night before. Reprieved, resurrected and sent back to my cell to wait out another day. The legends said there were tunnels under the city. A tunnel from your home to mine for the prisoners to scurry along, safe from the lynch mob above. I could have done with that tunnel. Mostly it was just the milkman winking, but I lived in fear of seeing someone I knew or worse – seeing one of my tutors, or seeing your missus in tears. There was never any sneaking away. The dogs’ home at the bottom of your street would set up howling as I tiptoed past and the workmen in the caff would look up and nudge each other at the grinning girl stumbling down the pavement, carrying her shoes. It would have been easier to stay the night and say I’d been at a friends but that wasn’t how it worked. Staying the night would break the rules and stop it being a game. I’d always slipped out by five a.m. You should have been a one night stand. Sharp cheekbones and sharper teeth. I should never have gone back. You weren’t like the others though. You had fought Death. I was impressed. I was the only person you didn’t lie to about your scar. You told people you’d been knifed in a mugging. You told people you’d had to climb out of a crashed car. You told people that you’d been savaged by a bear. Anything but the truth, which was they cut you open to make you better, but it might not last. Death could come sneaking back more stealthily than I ever snuck away. When I first met you the line across your belly was so red and angry I was terrified. I stopped fiddling with your belt and looked at you. “Can you fuck?” I asked. “Can Ah fuck,” you replied, pleased with your joke. But you could fuck and you did fuck and we did fuck all through autumn and spring too. You wouldn’t fuck your girlfriend but you’d fuck me. “Just like the Mafiosi,” I said to the raised eyebrows of my girlfriends. “She’s too special to him. Too pure. I’m the one he can’t resist.” They raised their eyebrows higher and eventually stopped talking to me altogether. You were an angry man, much given to cornering them on the dance floor and demanding to see me. They were terrified of you. But I wasn’t scared. How could I be scared of a boy I’d seen sobbing and frightened and afraid he was about to die? How could I be scared when you called me around with a takeaway the first time you were well enough to eat proper food again? I could never be scared of you, no matter how much you raged and fought and kicked down fences. I was scared you’d make yourself ill, and scared you would stop wanting to see me but I was never scared of you. The only thing you bloodied your knuckles up on was brick walls. All autumn and all spring. There is never a winter or a summer in a university town, and especially not in ours. The rain came down and blurred any line between the seasons. The rain came down. It was a strange time. Most of England lay underwater. It was difficult to get out of the city, trapped as we were right in the middle. The only time it didn’t rain was when I wanted it to the most, on those walks back home just before dawn. I’d lean my forehead against lampposts trying to get my breath. The sky should have been sobbing and so should I. How could I when I was grinning so hard I had to put my hands over my mouth to hide my smile? The wind would blow through my hair and ice up my skin. That’s how I’d slip back in the bed. Icy cold. Did he know where I’d been? I expect so. You thought that’s how I was. Northern, like you. Tough, like you. I was once. I had been. Then I met the man I loved and his Southern heat melted all the ice off my heart and left it soft to the touch. When you squeezed it, it bruised. It hurt. I waited til your angry red line was just a silver mark. Your scar was fading away, as mine was just forming. I ran my fingers up and down it and looked at you, all healed up. “Will it come back?” “Let it. I’m ready for it.” A pause. “I’m leaving.” “Aye.” “You’ll be alright?” “Aye.” I never went back. I didn’t see you for a term or two. The last time I saw you you were in ruddy good health. You were fatter and pinker, like you’d been reborn, which I suppose you had. We sat outside in the beer garden, in the rain and talked and talked. It surprised me to realise I’d been in love with you, and it surprised me to realise I wasn’t any more. You had your hand up my skirt the whole time, with your thumb resting by the elastic of my knickers. One of my old friends caught sight of us from the doorway and sneered her disgust. You winked at her. She stalked back inside. You were going to go back North. I had my sights firmly set on the South. There was nothing between us any more. It had all been washed away with the rain. When I heard you were back in hospital a couple of years later I was surprised you’d stayed in town. I was relieved I’d escaped. I never found out if you got better, but I don’t believe for one second you would have let Death get one over on you. I can’t believe that. I think about you from time to time. Fondly, but without desire. I’m still a sucker for scars though. Mine are invisible, you see.

12.9.05 12:46 Permalink / 10 Comments / comment

Postcard from the Pennines We take one of those silver sinewy roads that snake up over the hills Driving into the mist, listening to Nick Drake It’s a strange situation Finding ourselves visitors To this bleak and melancholy landscape Where once we made our home This land, my land Bruised purple with heather Her soft curves scarred over with stone walls And stories of dead children And villages lying drowned under reservoirs We park up and tramp like tourists over the rocks “Desolate,” you say, into the silence Desolate Back in the car you put on some Artie Shaw And we head back south Into the sunshine

6.9.05 14:42 Permalink / 12 Comments / comment

Heart Cries Wolf: A Fairytale. fficeffice" />  “There’s a wolf!” shrieks Heart, skittering in through the front door and hiding behind my legs. “A big wolf!”   I look around. The front door has been left wide open and is flapping wildly in the wind. There’s an animal stalking up the garden path. Stalking? I squint at it.   “That’s not a wolf,” I say, reaching behind me and lifting Heart up. “See?”   “But I’m frightened,” squeals Heart. “It must be a wolf.”   “It’s not a wolf.”   I tuck Heart down behind the sofa and go to close the door. It’s not a wolf, or even a fox, but a very big rat. I don’t tell Heart. We stay up all night listening to it scratching at the door. “I survived a wolf!” Heart tells me proudly as the sun comes up.   “It was just a rat, Heart,” I say gently. “Just a big rat.”   Heart says nothing. I sigh. Heart sees wolves everywhere.   ***   “Wolf!” yells Heart from the garden. I roll my eyes indulgently.   “It’s not a wolf!” I shout back. I’ve grown used to this.   “Wolf!!” shouts Heart insistently. I lift my head from the washing up and stare. There is a wolf on the lawn, mangy and old. Heart is up a tree pointing. I lean backwards and reach for my rifle. I know my duty. I must protect Heart. I level the barrel on the window sill.   “Don’t!” shouts Heart. “It’s old! Don’t kill it! I’m safe!” I lower the rifle and squint at the wolf. It has its nose on its paws and its eyes closed.   “Okay…” I say, slowly. I unlatch the kitchen door. Heart tears down from the tree and stands beside me shivering. We approach the wolf together. I don’t understand why it’s not moving. Heart is hopping up and down. The wolf doesn’t even look up as we draw close.   “There’s something funny about this wolf, Heart,” I say. Its fur is matted and its eyes are dead. I ease the safety catch off the rifle. Heart darts out from behind me for a closer look. There’s a flash of green from the wolf’s mouth and Heart screams. Then I scream. It’s just a wolf skin lying in the grass, flat and empty. The snake that was hiding inside is sliding off through the grass to its next victim. Instinctively I fire, missing my target by miles. The shot rings in my ears for weeks after. I kneel down next to Heart.   “Are you hurt?”   “I’m bitten. I don’t understand. It wasn’t a wolf, was it?”   Heart had been poisoned. We stayed indoors for a long time after that. I made up soups and stories. It was a long winter, hard and cold. Heart dreamed of wolves. I dreamed of snakes in the grass.   ***   “Wolf?” asks Heart, half afraid.   “I don’t know. I found it in some bushes.” I stroke the ball of fur in my hand. “Shall we keep it and see?”   Heart nods, slowly. It’s not a wolf but that doesn’t matter. Heart is getting better. I watch them in the garden playing out Hearts favourite stories. The Wolf and The Nanny Goat. The Wolf and The Fox. The Wolf and the Seven Young Kids. Heart is happy. I am happy.   I am happy.   And then the wolf comes.   I see him slinking through the trees at the back of the garden, a streak of grey amongst the green. I put it down to tiredness; to failing eyes; to an overactive imagination. One night I wake up with a gasp. I can hear the wolf howling at the moon. I put my pillow over my head. I am too old for wolves. I pray that Heart is still sleeping.   Months pass. I’m in the middle of “The Wolf and The Man” when Heart says –   “I saw a wolf.”   I stop reading. What can I say?   “I know.”   “What are we going to do?”   I look up.   “What do you want to do?”   There’s a pause, and then Heart says very slowly and quietly –   “I would like to see a real wolf before I die.”   I close the book. Then I close my eyes.   “So would I, Heart,” I whisper, “so would I.”   ***    The next day when I go for my rifle it isn’t there. The house is empty. I rush into the garden in a panic. From somewhere far off there is a shot, and then I see Heart walking back over the field to the gate. Alone. We don’t say anything to each other over breakfast. We are both too sad.   We spend the rest of the morning preparing.   “Now remember, Heart,” I say as I strap on my sturdiest boots. “Don’t be disappointed. We have been wrong about wolves before.”   “I know,” says Heart, checking over the rest of the kit. I shoulder the rifle. We head into the woods.   It’s dark and quiet. We don’t talk much. Twice we almost mistake mossy boulders for our quarry. The woods are deep and confusing. We stop for a rest and to eat our sandwiches.   “Shall we go home?” asks Heart.   Before I get a chance to reply there’s a sudden confusion of fur and teeth and growling. The wolf has Heart pinned to the ground and is biting and snarling between me and the gun.   “Shit,” says Heart, bleeding out on to the ground. “Shit. That’s a real wolf.”   “Shit,” I say.   Heart’s right.

31.8.05 12:56 Permalink / 15 Comments / comment

Note to an adventurer: Turn back explorer We've been here before and I told you then And I'll tell you again The city is not yet built that will be home to you Be patient, traveller We're shoring up the foundations and Cutting out the dead wood Wait until you see the flags and Hear the band and know then That we will welcome you. We will welcome you.

27.7.05 11:35 Permalink / 13 Comments / comment

Me, You and a dog called Blue I’m watching the sky. Watching the moon fat and white and thinking that old dog’ll be around any day soon. In the distance I hear him howl. You stand at the door whistling for him, and put down a bowl of beer. I roll my eyes. You whistle some more. I want to slap you and shake you and ask you what the hell you’re doing. I don’t want that dog back in my house. I can’t keep him away. I can’t keep you away from each other. He slopes in and sits at your feet like you’re his lord and master when really it’s the other way around. You both fix me with your sad eyes and I crumble. You need each other. You needed each other long before I came along. I’ll never keep him away. I just have to learn when he’s about the show up. Take the good sheets off the bed. Keep the cat in the kitchen. Leave the two of you alone. This weekend I watched you sleeping with a smile on your face, a sight so rare I had to reach out and touch your mouth to check it wasn't a trick of the light. I thought Blue was a long way away, but he was waiting by the back door, quiet and stealthy. That’s a clever dog you’ve got there. I never know he’s upon us until I feel his hot breath on my neck.   (blue dogs by Mrs Naylor's class, Mira Catalina Elementary)

26.7.05 09:23 Permalink / 1 Comment / comment

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