It Just Isn't Cricket

I've decided that as soon as I can I'm going to move away from Lincoln as the place has really gone to the dogs (and you can interpret the word "dogs" in any way you choose, I'm really not fussed). I no longer visit the centre of the city at all if I can help it, but yesterday I simply had to go there because I needed some new cricket flannels, my old ones having acquired a tear in the derriere at which folk are wont to stare. It was my first trip into Lincoln for virtually a year. I came home covered in pigeon shit (sorry, did I mention that Lincoln city centre has more pigeons than there are child molesters in the Catholic Church?) but without any cricket flannels as Lincoln no longer boasts a single sporting goods outlets. I did at least manage to keep hold of most of my money, despite being repeatedly molested by beggars, hawkers and collectors for multifarious "charities", some of whom were downright hostile (particularly the charity workers). As regards the cricket clothing, I guess I'll have to try online and hope that my resultant purchases fit. At least I shouldn't get crapped on. Hopefully.

What I Want ...........

I’ve asked myself this a lot lately. To feel awake occasionally would be nice, but ultimately what it boils down to is one of two  things: death or happiness - and I’m too cowardly to go for the former, while as for the latter, I don’t believe it’s achievable.

Good Friday Blues

As a youngster I was overly impressionable, sentimental and sensitive. I can remember feeling depressed on principle on Good Friday, and enduring nightmares about what it must have felt like to have been crucified. I think I sometimes cried, albeit surreptitiously, whilst performing my duties as an altar boy during Good Friday afternoon services, particularly when Father Abfalter lay prostrate before the altar at a key point during proceedings.  Nowadays, as a committed atheist, it all seems somehow other-worldly, as though it happened to somebody else - which of course, in a sense, it did.

Unrequited Not-Quite-Love

All I ever really had was a single, winsome smile. The rest was fabrication, initially quite mundane and harmless, but ultimately the most elaborately convincing thing in my universe: a cuddly toy that gradually developed a mind and will of its own, together with teeth and claws which regularly drew blood.