An Apple, A Thimble, A Fish.

Rain falls fiercely against my hot cheek.
Through the dark dank summer, looming
Figures appear holding three black umbrellas
Made of sunlight. Crow cry out their bleak
Melancholy within the fuming
Shade, sing stories of lost Cinderellas.

As the first lifts her moss covered hood
The moon’s rays catch her face in night’s day.
Charcoal hair spikes up to the sky, deep red
Lips murmur forgotten truths. There stood
The Snow White skin. Her soul ran away.
Her dwarves did her wrong. Her tears are all shed.












Once golden hair does blandly drop down
When the hood is removed from the next.
Hard circles of love now purple her eyes,
Bloodshot sarcasm framed by a frown.
They will not sleep till he comes. Vexed
Will her Beauty be till Sleeping she dies.












Slowly the last reveals her face.
I gasp as the scales glisten and dance
A cruel jig beneath long fiery hair.
Heart of song but mouth covered in lace
Where no sound will protrude. No romance
Be found in lies of a prince, just despair.












They waited and waited for all to
Be true, but all that was left was three
Starless ladies with no where to go. Head
Broken by men and an old sparkly shoe.
Three knees hit the floor, one silent plea.
That night was the last one I ever read.

All pictures copyright

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Being A General Loser.

   The past few days have been strange ones. I’ve felt all wrong. I’ve felt all odd. I’ve felt as though my insides were shaking maracas and pretending to be hosts on a Hawaiian beach handing out colourful, fake flower necklace-ma-jogs. When they’re quite clearly not doing that at all.

All the little bits that seem to hold my general frame together were trying to run off to the circus and start a more exciting life for themselves. They didn’t give a whatsit as to whether poor old me with peeling walls could withstand their abrupt departure. Comfort and Happiness skipped merrily away towards the sunset, hand in hand. Control not far behind, dragging his trusty steed Security laden with the heavy matter that is my private stash of Reason. And if that wasn’t enough to make my brain cry, ‘Abort, abort! Abort mission I say!’, Fear decided to join the Let’s Befuddle Eleanor gang with Chaos and Confusion.

It was all a little disconcerting. I felt as though I was surrounded by a melee of inadequate arseholes trying most to topple the hollow me off into the abyss.

This is when I realised how many white lies you can tell in one sitting. Literally in the space of about 20 seconds I managed to utter about 5 lies, going something along the lines of;

You; Are you alright? You seems a bit flat
Me; Oh yeah fine!1 Didn’t get much of a good night’s sleep.2
You; Ah kay.. How’s the house hunting?
Me; Yeah good.. getting a *bit*3 worried. But I’m sure it’ll sort itself out.4
You; Cool. By the way, your eyes look all red. Have you been-
Me; No they’re not!5 Honestly, don’t be silly.. When’re you going to Bournemouth again..?

1 – I’m really not. Hug me. Please.
– I passed out after drinking too much
– I’m completely freaking out.. I could scream
– I’m not sure. Not sure of anything.
– Yeah just been sobbing into a handkerchief for half an hour. But s’all good.

I am most definitely the worst for such things. I always seem to be trying to make sure everyone is happy and fine with a situation, so I’ll literally say anything so not to cause a scene. When I don’t call people or bail out on them, the excuses come thick and fast. I just can’t help it, they take over my ill-used tongue and scuttle freely into the world. I don’t even know I’m doing it sometimes, always trying so hard to not upset anyone…

A hermit I become. Sat alone writing dreadful poetry, thinking about how hard done by I am. It’s as though my whole body just shuts down as soon as the ‘nice’ emotions get fed up and join the Cirque-Du-Soleil… An extremely good friend of mine has had the brunt of me being a massive bowl of retardation. And by brunt I mean, not talking to him. You know when you’re a shit friend when someone says; ‘im not angry im just upset.’ #ouch

Isn’t that the worst thing ever. It’s fine when they’re shouting, screaming and making a generally displeased, fierce sort of racket. But when you are personally accountable for someone else’s upsetedness (Maybe I should have said ‘sadness’ there, but I didn’t. I wanted to make up a new word.) it just wont do.

I’m just sad. I can’t help it and I can’t get Happiness to end his Summer Tour early. So, for now, you’ll just have to forgive me.

”I am sick. I am tired. My last chance has expired. I am lost. I am free. I have hurt. I have plead.”


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Singles Warehouse Girl Hunt Blog

CHECK IT; Here’s my next guest blog at Singles Warehouse Girl Hunt! It’ll make you laugh and realise how utterly desperado’s I am.. #cringe. Don’t put labels on people that don’t want them..



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Mad, Lazy Person.

Now, I’ve just been called lazy. By numerous people. Certainly not naming any names, *pointedly stares right at YOU.* Yes you, back there, laughing wildly with all of the other incredibly talented people, none the wiser to my deathly glare.

But it’s just ‘how I roll’, so to speak. I have never done it any other way. Even when I try my damnedest to plan and set out a nice little story of events, my mind seems to immediately disregard any notion of order and happily gallivant on its own thread of meaningless prattle. I remember well, sitting obediently in my English Lit. classes with a bunch of eager and intelligent brains whizzing and popping at words like ‘brainstorm’ or ‘spider-diagram’.

I just sat there, like the numpty I am, and carried on writing poetry or gaze into the middle distance pretending I was running across fields with Mr Darcy. Homework would be set to write a prolific set of prose to engage an examiner due in the following week. Well, Tuesday next I would hear the boffin’s chatter before the lesson; “I have rewritten this 4 times!”, “Oh I brought in a draft to Ms ‘So n So’ last week’’ and “My spider diagram really helped me write my plan, which then really helped me write the introduction paragraph, that, actually, if you look goes on for four pages…”

I implore you to see that I always did have the best intentions at heart. I’d get home the evening the work was set, and genuinely *try* to make some sort of spider diagram. Which would look less like a diagram, more like a spider had fallen in ink and proceeded to waltz across the page, breaking into a bit of street dance mid-way. My brain just couldn’t handle, what it saw as, the deathly cage intent upon honing it into a controllable being. It just wasn’t having it. That’s not my fault is it?!

So every Tuesday, I’d sit patiently, head in hands, with an essay I had written at 11o’clock the previous night hiding feebly in my rucksack waiting to be tormented and scribbled upon by an angry English teacher.

How I managed to get A’s and B’s is beyond me. There is method in the madness.

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Singles Warehouse

HAVE A GANDERS at my new guest post up on the fantastical dating site!


And vote for my for best blog at ”Who’s Been Our Best Writer This Week?

Thanking you kindly,


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Twelve Years. Twelve Shows. ‘Twelfth Night’.


12 years ago, I was the bonny young age of 8 being dragged along with the family to another one of those Shakesp-blah things. The sort of evenings where people dressed all funny, saying things I thought was nigh on another language and where children drift swiftly into far more exciting dreams of their own. So, heel-dragging my way into Rendlesham Forest with crazy looking characters prancing around me, I was becoming ever more thrilled I’d brought my crayons with me. I must say, I wasn’t best pleased when I was told to sit on the floor either. Nose in the air I settled myself down to be bored out of my fledgling wits.. How wrong one may be. I’ve been every year ever since.

“I know what the story is!.. Maybe not the big words. But it’s really funny! And cool!” Alice, 9 years old (2011)

On a beautiful July evening I rock up to Theatre in the Forest 12 years on. At once I excitedly point out two colourful characters wafting around at the front of the car queue taking tickets from bemused, delighted and enchanted soon-to-be members of the audience. A cheeky faced youth pokes his purple and red hat-laden head through our window for tickets, “Ah! More victims here to see the show. I do hope you enjoy it!” The wonderfully cheeky banter, mixed with genuine excitement and a splash of politeness already has everyone in the best of moods.

Even as you unassumingly trundle into the main space you’re accosted by more vibrant actors. It’s incredible; they stay in character for a whole hour and a half before the performance even begins, waltzing around teasing the young and charming the old. As one very happy goer said, “It’s more than just a 2 hour play. It’s an afternoon in another world.”

You couldn’t find a more diverse audience if you tried. Mothers hanging onto their children whilst they try to chase a big man in black, sporting a ridiculous feather upon his noggin, I hasten to add (Malvolio). Young adults ‘chilling’ on the grass, quaffing, chomping and being generally merry before the big performance. Older couples tottering into the arena, sandwiches and fold-up chairs in hand. Teenagers lurking around, itching to talk to “that really cute guy”, who also, may I say, had a really rather silly purple hat on and pranced around as though he owned the place (Duke Orsino). A loud ‘pop!’ erupts as champagne is opened, followed by laughter from a family in the corner, tucking into their picnic hampers. Every face, new to the Forest or old hands like us, spelled the letters ‘YAY’.

The play begins. And there is quiet.

Until shrill shrieks fill the stage as actors become birds with brilliantly designed and made puppets by Jimmy Grimes. They swoop down upon the audience as main protagonist Viola (Left), played by the beautifully talented Lauren St Paul, falls onto the stage. Her sweet grace as Viola, coupled with a hysterical interpretation of Cesario, both captivates the audience and sends us into absolute fits of giggles. I didn’t realise one woman’s face could contort itself into so many facets of humanity!

More spritely, comical, mistaken, sexy and frankly alarming characters quenched the stage of its thirst for talent. The blindingly gifted Christopher Ashman had clearly nabbed two of the most quirkily marvellous entities in the play; the flamboyant Duke Orsino and highly misunderstood Sir Andrew Aguecheek. One of the most memorable parts of the show was Sir Andrew and Cesario/Viola’s ‘battle’, that could only be described as… that embarrassing moment when two people clearly terrified of anything sharper than a spoon have to fight with swords.

A favourite of mine from last year’s ‘Midsummer’ performance, Edward Day, joins the troupe again as a disturbing (in the most amusing sense of the word) Malvolio. I honestly don’t think I have ever laughed so raucously than to Edward’s rendition of ‘Mellow Yellow’. You know that awkward moment when you’re giggling so much you think you may have wee’d a little? Yeah, that. His superb transformation from a stalking great buffoon into the young Sebastian is divine. Definitely one to watch out for.

The play’s director and producer succeed themselves in their performances this year. Not only does Jo Carrick fantastically direct this wonderful display of utter Shakespearean genius, she graces it with her hilarious portrayal of Maria. Then David Newborn blindly stumbles across the stage as a drunken Sir Toby, equally entertaining the expectant audience.

Another surprise was Owen Morgan’s musically gifted Feste, who provides a consistent thread that seems to drive the play forward. Having watched Owen since his debut role as Benvolio (Romeo & Juliet 2009) he has truly surpassed all of his performances, making the Jester his very own.  Fleur Keith’s Olivia then seduces all those watching with her raunchy red pantaloons. Throwing herself at a petrified ‘Cesario’, she plays the aloof yet broody widow exceptionally well, achieving even more mirth from the crowd.

It is enormously special that this magical evening has kept the personal and intimate feel it has had from the very beginning, despite its rapid growth. I think that I can honestly speak for everyone when I say, this novel and creative depiction of a traditional play has changed the immediate judgement you can place upon Shakespeare. It’s not all serious men in tights. It’s mostly silly men in tights. Yellow and black tights to be exact.

Book tickets for the show at:
If you want to book that in advance please let us know!
Rendlesham Forest Centre parking – £3.
Show is suitable for all ages and to make it even better under 4’s go free! Get them involved!
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Just Be. With Me.

Grey wool engulfs my entire room,
It fuzzes my eyes, wraps itself

Through my throat, soaking up your fume.
Sultry foxes touch your shelf
Full of treasured findings. Of secret shells,
Of sodden layers of sheet in motels.

Of hardships breaking backs, of your
Own feeling. Immortality
Beckons humiliated demure
To bestial centrality.
This misty nothing you can stand to live
Within baffles me. My soul will then dive

Into your cavernous, broken
Heart. Patiently I linger in
The doorway. All my unspoken
Words fall onto faded sequin
Of which you’ve worn. The shaded darkness I
Have realised to be your very blue sky.

Don’t let it be. Don’t let this take
You into an unknown land of pure white.
A land in limbo. Please do not forsake
The love that does reside in you. I might
Just take your face and tell you how much you
Really mean. How your essence does ensue.

Leave the past to be. It is said
And done by you. The rest is me

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