Frivolous Monsters

Archive for the tag “Humour”

A Christmas Eve Horror Story

I seem to keep my neighbours under close observation and scrutiny; from the man who looks like a beetroot Roy Kinnear over the back, to his neighbour whose wandering hands creep into our garden over the fence to very visibly snip through all our creepers which climb up his patchy conifer that overhangs our garden, but this Christmas Eve tale of English horror revolves around the house next door to us which, at the beginning of 2016, was still for sale after being briefly haunted by a previous owner who still had unfinished business in this realm.

horror

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The Reading Room 08 – The Final End

I do not cope well with change. Of that I am sure. For my kamikaze writing career I’d come to rely upon my small table outside the toilet in Costa Coffee and the reading room in the library, as they were the only places in town where you could sit quietly and do some work1, and so I was therefore distraught when I was cast out of the reading room, beyond the reach of spiritually bereft librarians for ever, and it had nothing to do with hanging about with strange men in there like you might imagine. Library

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The Reading Room 07

I rounded off a visit to Costa Coffee by reading some of The Stepford Wives, a novel about the ultimate men’s club, before heading off to what I jokingly referred to as my own: late night library Wednesday in the reading room.

Bishop Brennan

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The Reading Room 05

Visiting late-night library Wednesday is like an episode of the old children’s cartoon Mr. Benn in that with each visit you spin the wheel of local-characters and that you never know which of them is going to go off.

bear 2

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The Reading Room 04

I was doing late-night Wednesday at the library and it was quiet and surprisingly devoid of characters. This was until the Rubber Band Man arrived to liven things up.  08

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The Reading Room 02

As a local writer of no celebrity, and even less fortune, I dine at the finest joints and hang out at the trendiest of scenes. By these I refer to the lowliest possible table in Costa Coffee, right by the toilet door, where no-one ever wants to sit, and of the reading room of the town’s central library, but it was by frequenting these locations that it put me in the sphere of influence of certain local characters.

Library

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In Conversation with the Coffee Shop Stalker

I was in Costa Coffee when the large middle-aged woman who I’d already christened my coffee shop stalker came in and sat down next to me on the long sofa up against the back wall.

Costa Coffee barista Read more…

Toilet Tales 05

As a local writer of no celebrity and even less fortune I naturally dine at the finest tables and hang out at the trendiest scenes. And by that I, of course, mean the library reading room and the lowliest possible table in Costa Coffee outside the toilet door where no-one ever wants to sit. But by frequenting these locations it does put me in the sphere of influence of certain local characters.

Costa Coffee

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Toilet Tales 03

Friday, market day, and so in amongst the coach-loads of visiting pensioners to our World-famous market I was compelled, once again, to become the Costa Coffee toilet monitor.

Executive washroom membership card. Admit one.

Executive washroom membership card. Admit one.

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Toilet Tales 02

Having given up a so-called proper job to become a writer I reviewed my end-of-year accounts where in the In column I had fifty pounds which I’d won on the premium bonds, the two tickets I’d won to an American podcast recording in a science-fiction bar, and the two I’d also won to a National Theatre play. And that was all. I’d once been disillusioned about the paltry sums earned by writers, but even so this was going some.Space Monkeys Manchester Bryan Johnson Brian Q Quinn

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