The… (a list of)

What follows is a list of ‘the…’ I thought up while soaking in a long deep scented bath; which will in no doubt leave some of you wishing I took quick showers.

The ‘ahh’ sound you make after that first sip of tea

The mournful *ploop* noise a broken biscuit makes when it lands in the tea

The first time you find a grey hair that isn’t’ from your head

The forgotten reason you entered the room

The realisation in mid-wipe that your finger has pierced the toilet paper

The fine jet of talk-spit that you politely pretend not to notice drying on your cheek

The look the guy in the ‘free hugs’ t-shirt gave you when you asked ‘Why, what’s he in for?’

The fart in the bath that tickles your vivacious region with the bubbles

The fart you once bansihed from your innards that was so vengeful even you had to leave the room

The photos with beloveds where you trout-pout, duck-face and platypus and will regret doing so one day

The holidays photos ruined by foreground narcissists holding selfie sticks

The exhaling and hand-fanning of lips during a mouthful of hot food

The bemused look on some poor unsuspected persons face when you approach them from behind wearing just a bowler hat somewhere and urgently ask them what year it is; when they answer you run away away shouting, ‘It worked! It worked!’

The urge to call someone up and say, ‘I’m sorry I just can’t talk right now’ before hanging up

The way people moan about the food but answer ‘lovely thank you’ when the waiter asks how everything is

The type of people who think ordering coffee with their desert at 10pm is a good idea

The ‘full bladder in need of emptying’ dance

The gentleman who apologises after ‘you’ bumped into ‘him’

The way a landing duck combines frantic and graceful

The cute white mound on a dog’s nose after burying its face in the snow

The unavoidable pressing together of buttock-cheeks on a packed tube train

The unpleasantness of sitting on an already warm seat wearing damp trousers

The split-second realisation that the person you’re waving back to wasn’t waving at you

The ‘where’d I put that’ pat-down of pockets at the front of the queue

The fun you can have with cold-callers by asking them if they’ve had colon cleansing in the last six months

The exception to the saying, ‘surely no one can be that stupid’

The POTUS is that stupid

The day that every single digit of the lottery numbers will be one less than yours

The conceding transition from running to casual standing on a platform as the carriage doors close before you

The fancy dress party where you got lost looking for the loo and walked in on Porky frotting SpongeBob

The end


“Some days are sulky, some days have a grin; and some days have bouncers and won’t let you in”

Presenting another Spotify playlist to fill a gaping creative hole in my writing (as is always the case *insert winkey smiley*).

The theme for this 32 track eclectic musical feast is days of the week; featuring, in the interests of equality, a track for each day sung by him and her. There’s also three weekend toe-tappers to round off the week because why not, eh?

I don’t like ‘I don’t like Mondays’ so ‘I don’t like Mondays’ isn’t on this playlist, just to get that elephant out of the room as the first day of the week song you could think of was more than likely ‘I don’t like Mondays’ — amaright?


Nearly everything that’s been done has been done before. Every single note has been played, in not necessarily the right order, every possible rhyme has been written in every possible combination, every knock knock joke fallen flat; every metaphor and simile murdered; every Tom Jones song and painful rendition of ‘Sweet Caroline’, in the bath, shower, or the drive to the drive-though. We just weren’t there to see them done – because we were busy getting other stuff done!

You may never have walked into a room and wondered what you went in for, performed that synchronised left-right dance with the person heading in the opposite direction, acted like a complete spaz in front of a camera or giggled at one of your own farts when nobody was around, but it’s been done. I bet you know at least one person who’s called it a ‘hyperdeemic nurdle‘.

‘It’s been done before’ has been said before – or so it’s been said. ‘A reboot’, ‘A re-imagining’, ‘An interesting take’ and ‘a unique interpretation’ are merely ways of saying that something that has been done before is being done again, just done in a different way to the way it was done before – which is done quite often these days: a male character now a female, a white now a black; meh, it’s been done to death. Things done-the-same-but-different-to-death have been done to death.

Regardless, it’s all been done before. Prog rock was encumbered with musical bits that have been done before; Jazz, blues, classical, folk.  Every song has something in it – a sound, a riff, a chord sequence –  that reminds you of something that’s been done before; particularly if that music happens to be by Oasis (that tired old joke’s been done since the 90’s).

Thousands of years; billions of possible ways of communicating, emoting, expressing, pontificating, posturing, putting a point across, must have all been done. Even if it hasn’t been done recently – well, not as much as it was done in the old days; probably done away with ages ago because it wasn’t worth doing in the first place, like dunking witches in ponds. There’s a reason we know it’s not worth trying to staple water to a tree!

It’s entirely conceivable, don’t you think, that just because you don’t know of something being done doesn’t mean it hasn’t been done; some done things live out their lives in secret drawers or garden sheds; others, perhaps, daubed in a cave; a quiet ritual by a lake; a private performance for a King’s eyes only. Being at a party and trying to find your coat, which is nearly always among other coats, piled on a bed. Yeah, you’re nodding at that being done. 

That funny shaped rock you found on the beach? There’s another one just like it – c’mon, it’s a big universe. If you split that rock with a mallet (it’s been done; plenty of reasons for taking a mallet to the beach), there’ll still be two split rocks just like it – probably separated by several hundred thousand billion light years, but that’s not the point.

Some time ago, in some other place, maybe in some other reality, it also bucketed down for exactly three minutes and forty-two seconds, emptying three and a half millimeters of rain. It occurred on the day you thought was going to be clear (not quite jacket weather, not exactly shorts weather either; you know the one) and decided to peg a load of bloomers on the line before heading off to work – as you do. Sound familiar?

When brainstorming, researching, trolling cyberspace for ideas to plagiarise (now, that’s mega-done. Everywhere. By everyone), I find many things that have been done well, or done badly, or probably shouldn’t have been done at all – at least in the way it was done. Sometimes I try to be clever (that’s done all the time, and not always done well) and come up with something off-the-wall, only to discover that it’s been done before. 

We’ve all, at one time or other, stumbled upon an idea for a poem, or play, or make an observation that has been said or done before. Sometimes, after we’ve done something, only then we’re told of it having been done before – were we leap to defend what we’ve done on the grounds that we didn’t know it was already done, and if we did know it was done we wouldn’t have done the way we did.

In the end, you have to accept that what’s done is done, and was done, and will be done again – like popping to the loo in a strange house at a fancy dress party, only to pick the wrong door and be presented with the unseeable sight of Sylvester scissoring Elmo on a pile of coats.

I think I’m done.


Caring is one of the most magnificent things you will ever do, whether in public or in private; briefly or indefinitely. Live it, own it; cherish it. It is a privilege to care and a reward to be cared for, it costs nothing and is worth everything. Caring is a personal adventure that will shape you…

There is nothing greater than when souls connect in inexplicable ways, sharing the good times and the bad – the laughter and the tears. Your life will be enriched with good memories of the friends and loved ones who have played a part in your journey through life; people have, and will, mold and shape you with their influences. They will inspire you to shine.

There’s more than enough room, so don’t come in to conflict with yourself when you find yourself caring for more than one person at a time – emotions have no rules or restrictions; they are yours to do with as you please. Do with them as you please! There are billions of human souls on this world, and each has the potential to stir you and improve your life in different ways. Welcome and celebrate each and every one.

You can’t measure love with a spirit-level and you won’t always be sure how the other person feels – not until we evolve read each other’s thoughts, anyway. You were taught to disguise your true feelings from the time when you were a child; when told, ‘don’t give me that look’ or ‘don’t look so miserable’ – right up to the civility you have to display in certain awkward situations; to people that you can’t stand the sight of. Think about how well you can pull it off. There are better actors than you in the world. But risk is part of the game.

Everybody walks to a different beat and it is natural that peoples’ feelings will be different to yours. You will be disliked by someone, someday – yes, even someone as adorable as you! Don’t resent that person if they don’t feel the same way about you as you do about them – there is, was, and always will be a 50/50 chance of someone liking or disliking you; it is the natural order of things.

It’s none of your business what someone thinks about you, hard as that is to accept. You may one day be put in the position of someone claiming to care for you when you feel nothing for them. Be gentle with them, but remember that you didn’t choose for them to care – it’s theirs to endure, just as it will be yours when the roles reverse.

Find no place for jealousy in your life, but if you have to be jealous, hide it well! Direct envy in a positive way towards the ones you hold dear. Never stop learning about them, earning their trust, and gaining their respect. Be proud of their achievements and celebrate their success; you are witnessing landmarks in a persons life, be grateful for that gift. Never rest on your own laurels; you are only as good as your last thing. Don’t ever assume that you can pick things up where they left off; you may even have to start all over again.

The hardest thing to do is to say goodbye; whether in person, or apart. You will not always understand why it has to be goodbye. A time will come when you are the one who chooses to walk away; there will be times when you can’t face to walk away. There will be times when it is too late to say goodbye. Every goodbye will be different. Scripted scenarios will always play out in your head – confused and clouded thoughts of how things might have been so different; what you didn’t do – what you never said. The hardest word you will ever have to say is ‘goodbye’; the hardest word you will ever hear is ‘goodbye’.

You will get hurt! It will happen without warning; and it’s called ‘hurt’ for a reason. It has to be felt and cannot be conveyed – you will certainly know it when it hits you. Let it take you when it comes; flood your lap with tears, rock yourself to sleep, play melancholic tunes, or drown yourself with booze; endure it and understand it because it will stay with you for a long time. Life will inevitably provide more where that came from. Keep hold of the good memories, even if it makes you angry or hurt; they were part of the days of your life; you are something because of them.

In my life I have been charmed and disarmed, deflated and dejected, accepted and rejected. I have won some and I have lost some; I have pulled some in and I have pushed some away. I have had to say goodbye and I have not had the chance to say goodbye. I have a life full of fond memories and stories to tell; encounters that have taken me to heaven and hell. I tell you all of this because I have cared. I tell you all of this because I have been there. I tell you all of this because I have nothing to regret. I would tell you more, but I haven’t finished learning, yet…


Despite its apparent sense of humour, the universe is a cold and foreboding place. It does not recognise care, cruelty, love, pain, and empathy. It is neither the enemy nor the ally; it simply ‘is’. Primitive civilisations over the ages have tried to compensate for this cold, sobering fact by fabricating ludicrous belief systems called religions, centred around all-knowing, all-seeing, fantasy beings called Gods.

Like children who filled their boredom and loneliness with imaginary friends – created to be all they want them to be – so did these certifiable nutters create creators of everything, as an explanation for everything; available 24/7 as a conduit for credit and blame. All the positive things are because we are all ‘Being blessed’ (not to be mistaken for being ‘Brian Blessed’) and all the shit that happens is because ‘The Creator‘ (not to be mistaken for the creator V’ger was seeking in ‘Star Trek: The Motion Picture’) work ‘in mysterious ways’.

Not in my universe!

I cannot influence or control the universe – wars will happen, governments will fuck up, the wrong people will die, the banks will never learn, tax-cattle will get State Stockholm Syndrome – but I can influence some of what happens in my self-universe. My self-universe is made up of unique perceptions, sensations, thoughts, and emotions that are experienced from my own unique perspective – a private self-universe with spiralling galaxies of loves, hates, empathies, prejudices, sentimentalities, vices, voyeurisms, taboos, guilty pleasures, and hidden pains.

No one will ever be able to cross the barrier into my self-universe. No person will ever experience their self-universe in the exact same way I experience mine – even when other self-universes converge in the same physical space, as they tend to do from time-to-time, the way they perceive their self-universial reality (the way they feel when they hear a great tune, watch a sunrise, taste a drink, hear a joke) is totally subjective; unique to them, and them alone.

Compared to physical reality (I was going to say ‘the one that came from a big bang’, but then didn’t we all, if you know what I mean), a self-universe is a harmonious place to live in because there are many ways to control and influence it. I play by my own rules. In my own self-universe, for instance, I decide what is serious, relevant, satire, or a freak-show. I decide the important headlines, the greatest hits, and the latest trends. I decide who’s fuckable and who’s forgettable; I decide the truths and the lies; the laughs and the cries.

Sadly, though, most self-universes are conditioned to be unaware of such potential for self-universal determination. Instead, they are led to believe they are beholden to the perceptions of other self-universes –  confused and conditioned to live by  a set of collective fabrications that have been given form and false meaning in the physical realm; non entities without physical form, not even at a molecular level. They drift along, living someone else’s dream, playing by someone else’s rules, playing out someone else’s act; with firewalls erected in their own self-universes, blurring any perception of what is real.

Not in my universe!

With contradiction being a given in most self-universal circumstances, the most exciting thing about my self-universe is that most of the time I haven’t got a clue what’s going to happen next.  Also, unlike the physical universe, my self-universe is self-aware and recognises, and is capable of, care, affection, pain, loss, joy, jealousy, sadness, guilt, anger, and gargantuan acts of magnificence.   What is more awesome about a self-universe is the power to create any fictional reality where the laws of science don’t apply.

If you explore your self-universe deep enough, you’ll realise that while there are immutable laws in the physical realm (physics and shit prevents you from flying or walking through walls), a great deal of what is supposedly ‘real’ is fabricated anyway – you can’t touch ‘the law’, or punch patriotism in the face; tax doesn’t have a molecular structure, Governments, borders, even countries, don’t really exist. There is no such thing as a forest; you cant touch a forest – you can touch individual trees, though. You dig?

By exploring the self-universe, you can learn a great deal about the physical universe and allow the two to coexist in perfect harmony. It’s not always perfect in my self-universe and it does not hold all the answers (sometimes it even causes a few problems), but nobody in my self-universe pulls the strings or works in mysterious ways; there is no God to turn to when it all goes FUBAR; no higher being to be loved, obeyed, feared and worshipped. No one is the King of my self-universe. No one, that is, except me!


Presenting my second ‘playlist to the stars’ featuring an eclectic mix of space-related music from TV, Movies, and albums that I love so much.

Running Order:

Iron Maiden – Satellite 15…..The Final Frontier
Genesis – Keep It Dark
Elton John – Rocket Man (I Think It’s Going To Be A Long Long Time)
Kraftwerk – Spacelab
Vangelis – Theme From The TV Series ‘Cosmos’ -- Heaven And Hell
James Horner – Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan
John Williams – The Imperial March -- Darth Vader’s Theme
Orbital – Doctor?
Air – Kelly Watch the Stars
Antilles – Astronaut Dance
Apollo 440 – Lost In Space (Theme) -- Instrumental Version
Buckethead – Big Sur Moon
Monty Python – Galaxy Song (Monty Python Sings)
t.A.T.u. – Cosmos (Outer Space)
Adam Ant – Apollo 9
Billy Bragg – The Space Race Is Over
Yello – Solar Driftwood


The Spotify playlist widget (above) may not be appearing on mobile devices or browsers with plugins like ‘Ghostery’ and ‘AdBlock’.

Click here to open Spotify on your device (Hopefully)


Hello, friends – and accidental url clickers – I hope you are well.

Over this last few years I have been enjoying a quiet life in the Valleys, away from the white city noise that distorts an corrupts the thought channels,  and pressing on with the journey of self discovery I embarked on after my diabetes diagnoses in 2009 – when I realised that much of my mind had been MIA since the death of a good friend in 2001. I’ve always been a bit of a hermit, and am most at home with little company a few healthy vices to get lost in. 

Among continued self-educating in philosophy and sciencey stuff, I’ve been continuing to feed my technology addiction through unnecessary gadget purchases (some would say) and exploring the new and exiting world of Linux (some might not say). Occasionally I shoot aliens on Xbox. 

This website thingy is a casual hobby of mine, but it’s not just my writing that features here. This site has allowed me to productively apply other hobbies: writing, poetry, photography, web design, graphic design, and compiling themed musical playlists. It has been my creative canvas; encouraging me to look at the world around me and draw from it.

The inspiration to write was unexpected. What started as a list of random observations and opinions of the world grew into something bigger. I felt it would have been a waste not to have found out where these ideas took me.  50 blog posts later, I’m quite happy with he way it’s been going. I’m no Hemingway or JK Whatsherface, , but that’s okay. Fuck them. When I eventually find out why I write, I’ll be sure to write something about it.

It’s on my own terms. I do not possess the desire to impress or achieve anything beyond what I am presenting here – no plans to pitch or pander to needs of editors, to meet deadlines, to keep to ‘x’ amount words. 

I’ve previously mixed work and hobbies as a video editor, and having to creatively roll over, to do what others want, is a stifling road I won’t take again.


It was Christmas 1940, WWII: my young Great Grandmother, Mavis, and her sisters, Gwyneth and Poppy, wanted to find something special for their mother. With the War in full swing and rationing in place there was little to be found or afforded.

The three sisters were walking through the town of Ebbw Vale one day when they came across a large, red apple in the window of the general store – such items were considered luxuries for the poorer families in those war torn days.

The siblings pooled together what was left of their ration allowances, which was just enough to afford the tempting apple. My Gran would always recall the joy on her mother’s face on that Christmas day, when they presented to her a rosy red apple. After Christmas dinner, she sliced the apple into four pieces and shared it with her daughters to reward them for their love and kindness.

During modern times when families horde the shops like gannets; purchasing the latest fashions and gadgets – price no object, nor failure an option – it is warming to think of times when the thought really did count; when the true spirit of Christmas was as much about giving as it was receiving. Where kind words and the pleasure of warm company was the most priceless gift of all.

Perhaps we all need to take a trip back in order to move forward.


After the supermarket shutters close on the daily shopping masses, a different type of trolley rolls into the car parks. Piloted by 17-year-old boys in full pubescent swing – the nocturnal hours signal the rise of the Boy Racer…

Tonight we follow 17-year-old Trev – a strange ferret looking creature surgically attached to a genuine fake gold chain cutting the blood flow to his brain. Trev has spent the last two weeks at his 30-year-old dad’s garage modifying his £150 Vauxhall Corsa with aero parts from the local scrap yard.

Today Trev is adding the final additions to his ride, straightening out the chicken wire grilles and touching up the poly-filler with Dulux finest gloss. He screws on his personal number plate: 1MA CNT, and with his tank filled to the brim with siphoned petrol, he buys a quarter of ‘skunk’ from his old man. He is ready for a cruise.

The place to be tonight is the floodlit forecourt of ASDA car park. In attendance since lunchtime is the throttle totty bunking from school and dancing to Nokia ring tones while sharing a half-empty bottle of Lambrusco. The distant roar of a sports exhaust, designed to mimic the mating call of the blue whale, signals the arrival of Trev.

As it’s Friday, Trev’s female passenger is wearing an extra scowl, with week-old pink onesie and bunny slippers, a three day build up of Boots hair spray and an extra layer of make-up protects her from the harmful rays of the moon.

Trev has had treads on his re-molded tires for over day, so he makes his entrance in style, flexing his cars non-existent power with a performance of hand break pirouettes, masterfully colliding with a shopping trolley. He commences a lap of the car park, blazing from zero to maybe… eventually.

Cleverly designed to look as plastic as they are, the streamlined Lego appendages, consisting of an improbable wing that NASA hadn’t noticed missing, flatters to deceive; creating the aerodynamic efficiency required to negotiate the tricky speed bumps at near-stationary velocity.

His Kenwood digital theatre system is set all the way to 11, blasting a narrow variety of indistinguishable beats – the sonic boom box pounding seismic ripples through the earth’s core. His passenger seems almost hypnotised by the graphic equalizer.

The underneath of the car is illuminated with lights, the purpose of which is to help find any drugs that are discarded should the police arrive. There are rumors that the fuzz are venturing beyond DunkinDoughnuts tonight, in search of a vehicle containing a suspicious item believed to be a tax disc.

Trev takes his place among the other 42 boy racers, all sporting alloy wheels bought from the same eBay seller. Signalling his intention to go EVA, he fixes his polo shirt collar, dons his baseball cap and steps outside. Choking on the clear Lynx free air, he complains to the other petrolheads about not being to afford ASDAs new congestion charges, he’s been saving up for his driving test so will have to hang out at KFC car park; 50cc scooter territory.

He is starting to look unwell, his eyes aren’t glazed over and his ghost completion is returning. After one coherent sentence too many, he puts on his official counterfeit shades and returns to the tinted cocoon of his ride.

His passenger has sold four Mayfair cigarettes and two cans of Strongbow to the throttle totty, raising enough cash for them to share a donner kebab before going dogging. Trev rubs the two loose ignition wires together, bringing the Vauxhall Corsa to life. He rolls a spliff on a stained MAX Power magazine, lights it up and toots farewell to the totty, leaving in a trail of intoxicating smog. He may lose his virginity tonight.