A musing for Lily's tenth birthday with leather jacket to match my own design of cause - mother not too keen I have a sneeking suspicion she'd like one too . By ten years of age kids of today are silicone valley sage a decade old an they're ready to fledge the family fold , far too cool for school they just let TiK ToK Rock and Rule !! .

A short story about a chalk and cheese Husband and wife with very opposing opinions on the arrival of some neo hippie neighbours with their green machine.

The Oxfam shop or "The dead man's drop" is an essential part of our high street culture we all of us at some stage find ourselves sifting through their silt as if stroking and smelling the scents and spirits of our past relatives like some lost and found bric-a-brac burial ground we old elephants come to rummage around amongst the bones and skin of our not so long ago departed kin. Unfortunately all the objects mentioned in this musing is what I have purchased and given away to friends and family as Christmas and birthday presents including many more objects d'arts or as most of my recipient's see it , jumble sale junk.

A short story I wrote about doing a favour for a friend which then turned into a terrifying experience of trying to get back to some semblance of civilization .

Krystyana Skarbek was a polish beauty queen a countess and the longest serving spy in Churchill's SOE , with a life expectancy of six weeks she lasted seven years as a field agent fighting against Nazi tyranny   only then to be   betrayed by her own trusted powers the British who at the end of the second world war with a stroke of their Judas pen  turned her  into a stateless  refugee and also leaked her name to Stalin's newly formed KGB . On the day that she was  due to fly out to be married and finally set free she was murdered this beautiful bravest of the brave   Femme Fatale .

My words may seem callous and cruel that's because they are taken from the comments emitted by the café clientele who share space with these poor disabled individuals By the grace of good fortune there walk we .

These old sentinels  guard over us in our early years stolid as  grandfather clocks their old hearts pendulum the rhythm of life into our ears a blood metronome beat sounding to the timpani of our tiny feet .

The macabre story about a great grandmother who's ashes were made into a bone china plate by her broken hearted lover the practice of using powdered human bone in pottery still continues to this day with artists such as Crow and Kraft who call it crafting Cremains .

Two Haiku Poems. 1 1 Suspicious minds. 2 Blood river .

Listening to these waffling old windbags wheezing about saving our world they quaff down wine squandering ten pounds a glass and then dare to set the price of carbon capture at three pounds a ton and this to save your granddaughter or grandson ?.