Notes in the margin of a newspaper

It's all colopsing around one's ears.
What to do? That is the question. Hamlet, when he was a boy, did he have an imaginary friend?
Where do I fit in? Perhaps I'm a non fitter-in. Surely not.

The Misfit - he didn't fit in anywhere. At least, that's what he felt. And if you feel something then that's the reality of the situation, isn't it.

He's writing, writing all the time doctor. It's not natural, is it?

Drums, Group, Dancing, not doing good at any of 'em.
Not a successful Thursday night. Why can't I remember steps.
Of course, being deaf doesn't help. Not stone deaf, just hard of hearing.

Perhaps I need a good horror story to take my mind off things.

But who's interested in how you feel. They've all got their own problems, so drink your Moretti and eat your crisps, though not too many because of the fat content.

Alcohol and crisps, she said, I spent it on alcohol and crisps.

It's coming to something when the adverts are more interesting than the football.

And with one mighty bound, he leapt to freedom.

The beer has reached my knees. I will depart into the night.

I’ve always felt out of place – or in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like I never fitted in. 


The feeling of a lack of solid ground on which to stand. Like I don’t know who I am and therefore how to behave in any situation.

BUT I'm getting used to it.

Memories of a village childhood

I was thinking about all the games we used to play as kids. We had to amuse ourselves back then; there were no computers, or even television. We played outside in the street, and we were healthier for it.

Tick; hide and seek; spin the bottle; they were just a few of the games I remember. 

Although I do have a hazy recollection of a game; I think it was called ‘Vlad the Impaler’. I don’t remember much about it, ‘cos I was only little, but the name sticks in my mind. I know it involved them spiky iron railings at the end of Froggit Street. And for some reason I seem to associate it with my first ride in an ambulance. But my memory isn’t what it used to be so I may be mixing things up.

We didn’t play the game for long though. Now I think back, we stopped playing it about the time that policeman came to the school to talk to us.  And Daft Derek – the lad who invented the game – went away.

And He never came back.

And the council pulled down the railings.

Anyway we moved from the village just after that.

Happy days.