Friday, October 09, 2015

09 October Prompts

2326 We collect our invisible belongings and exit
2327 Tarzan
2328 This is how things are designed. It is absolute
2329 The smell of coal-tar soap
2330 Chain Bridge, Ferry

2331 Camp Coffee, Garibaldis
2332 Rule Britannia!
2333 Running my finger under the tap
2334 SALT
2335 Out for a Chinese, the bus back

2336 Twigging
2337A stand-up wash in the kitchen
2338 Picking delicious scabs from your knees
2339 Last Night of the Proms
2340 Eggs, Chips Echo'd Bread

2341 Running for trains, always missing
2342 Jockeys in their Triumph Spitfires, dates in town
2343 Tea might help
2344 The Market Place
2345 The difference between a pantry and a larder

2346 Carriage after carriage, heartless
2347 Fireworks, a Diary, Harmonica, and once an opened till
2348 Copper Thomas
2349 Skimming stones, hiding in bushes, vowing eggs
2350 Stores Away!

Wednesday, October 07, 2015

October Blast 09 2276-2300

07-Oct 11:15 Wednesday

2276 Village Stocks, Electric Chairs
2277 Crucifixion, but a long way off
2278 We cannot be sure you are our sort of person
2279 I so detest it when they become educated
2280 Eventually we will eat our shoes, and then our books

2281 Pigs Fucking Pigs and Pigs Watching On
2282 It is all mud and I detest you for it
2283 Suitable Lampposts
2284 Remember when men were black from work but marched and sang?
2285 There is a far-off beauty in bells

2286 Pure gravestones, white as light, leaning crosses
2287 No poor, and now no disabled, no limbless, none struck
2288 Mist
2289 Genuinely, if a pox fell upon them, I would rejoice
2290 Would Communists be Worse, or Fascists?

2291 The soul gone, the heart. Now tax the air.
2292 Next!
2293 You took too much of my life
2294 If we could only find another Botany Nay
2295 We would march into Hell, nevertheless

2296 These are my last few unknown places, shadows of shadows
2297 Watch them, imagine smart grey uniforms and a certain kind of cross
2298 Tsars fell, Empires fade, but the filth and bile remains in festering minds
2299 Surely the poor have uses? Fertiliser, ballast, bad examples?
2300 Jesus, Privatised

Tuesday, October 06, 2015


I think yesterday may have been my polemic day. As well as a terrible poem, I got this from my daily batch of prompts.

I don't usually post a fresh story, but I can't imagine this placing anywhere (The Spectator, maybe?) so here it is.

Please share.



5 Oct 2015


Apparently, there are no poor people. We have it on authority from a particularly ugly immigrant who once ran a market stall, moved up to selling plastic shit computers and fell into importing millions of Chinese electronic boxes for other quite-rich people to access SKY and became a Lord. Thank-you Lord. How are this sweat-shops in Guangzhou, Alan? Not too many poisonings, I hope, suicides below ten a month? All good then.

We the quite-rich-really, we spread the word on our iPhones, jump in our low-slung go-fast striped Sierras, burn rubber on our dissolute ways to the best food banks. Some of us even change out of our pyjamas.

Obviously we squabble a bit over Tesco Everyday Corn Flakes (who the Hell wouldn’t?) and who wouldn’t shove a bit to get the only packet of Thai Chicken Flavour Crisps (hardly out of date.) You can’t stay in to watch your Blu-Ray of Fast & Furious on your 90-inch 4 x HD Panasonic and NOT eat crisps with your Stella.

We the quite-rich-really, we are the soldiers, the old soldiers, the ex-soldiers, the wives of soldiers, the children of soldiers. We are the archers who tramped towards Calais, our breaches undone to let dysenteric shit run out of us as we marched towards our murder. We are the full-fingered who followed a king, slept in fear and won for our country in a muddy field called Agincourt. We were soldiers, and when we have scrounged for a pack of Carling, we dance on the backs of soldiers, our fathers, brothers, uncles.

We-the-quite-rich died of Phossy Jaw, lead poisoning, mill-smashed limbs, gas and rock falls as we hewed your coal, and when we took a break from that we holidayed in The Ardennes, Gallipoli, Balaclava, Isandwhala or over Berlin. Occasionally we succumbed to malaria or snake-bite. Occasionally, somehow we won through, and you pinned badges to our chests. Rorke’s Drift or the skies over Kent.

We are the smoke on lamps, the smoke on ceilings, the smoke that lines our lungs. Our places are old, old, old, worn out, and yes, our children find chemical ways to live and then they are incarcerated. We are worn out, worn down, trampled even as you ignore us (except when we disturb you). We are the peeling labels on old tin cans, the shadows, your inconveniences.

We-the-pretty-well-off-actually, some of us have two pairs of trainers, and a change for when our favourite trackies are in the wash. We, the assistants, the apprentices, the miners, the steel-workers, the trawler men, the front line, we who unfortunately have managed to survive, we, Wellington’s Scum of the Earth, the stout Yeomen of England, now we lounge around in our penthouses, texting each other about the market, vaguely trying to choose between Cannes for the weather or the Alps - the shine of virgin snow.

Naturally, we the-fucking-loaded, we, the buyers of Chateau Lafitte ‘42, we who slum it sometimes with merely a half-decent oaky Chardonnay, obviously the last thing we want is work. Why in shit’s name would we want to work?

Would we want a job to feel human again? Would we want a job so our kids grow a little higher and stand a little taller? Of course we wouldn’t. Fuck me, Alan, of course we wouldn’t. It’s great here on the estates, we’re absolutely rolling in it, and we laugh our devious ways to the bank, to the boozer, to the betting shop. It’s hard to believe how happy are knowing we aren’t poor.

I was five in 1953, Alan, outside Fosters Garage, waiting. The sun was high, everything shone, and The Queen, the actual QUEEN was coming to see me. Imagine that. We were on Cardiff Road, just past Whiteheads Iron & Steel and Godins Steel if you (or HM the Queen) had just come through town. Up Corporation Road there was Lysaghts, too, and British Nylon Spinners and Stewart & Lloyds. One day they would build Llanwern. The docks creaked under the weight of coal going out and pit-props coming in, New Zealand Lamb incoming at 2/6d a leg, frozen in steely holds. Proud men worked then Alan, every man worked; and when her car came: the queen, bright and pretty in her light-blue hat waved at us with a white-gloved hand. We saw her for almost two seconds.

Maybe our leaders were just as bad back then. The poor will always be with us, eh? Except, we weren’t poor then, either. We only worked sixty hours a week, and we had a roof over our heads, didn’t we? Compared to a peasant farmer in the Domesday Book, we were kings, Kings!

We got to Barry Island once a year. We went to the Lido. We walked to save the bus-fare and were skinny. We stumbled towards adulthood, kicked a ball around weekends. Were we loathsome then, from the wrong schools, with the wrong accents, and ‘difficult’? Did you hate us so much when we joined together, all-for-one and one-for-all?

OK, our skin wasn’t fine - fruit would have helped - but the steel snaked from hellish furnaces, the cars rolled from lines, we made your cabinets and televisions, and sailed old fat ships on dangerous seas. We didn’t want to sit at your table, ours was fine, but a few bob extra would have been nice, say enough not to have to cut apples into four, or have to pick potatoes piecework on weekends to pay the rent. Just a little bit more was the point, but then it turned out we had never had it so good.

These are interesting times, but remember once Kings thought Kings were forever. Some of us are tired, some of us are beaten down. But just remember Alan, remember David, when you see your flushed cheeks in the mirror, that once a thousand noble knights, the cream of France thought there was no fight left in the poor.

So to the Alan’s and the David’s and the Boris’s, and Gideon AKA George, to those with puffed red Nazi cheeks and swollen trousers, to those with mothers called Felicity Alexandra followed by barrels, and 17th Lords, remember, when the pig is spent and you have zipped your swollen trousers that corruption carries the seeds of its own end.

We, the various microscopic inhabitants of your Jermyn Street cheeseboard, the tired but not yet dead, we will find a way.

Let me put it this way… You have sat too long for any good you have been doing lately. Depart, I say; and let us have done with you. In the name of God, fuck the fuck off and die.

1,144 Words

Monday, October 05, 2015

October Blast 08 2251-2275 
06-Oct 00:01 Tuesday

2251 Cherry Blossom
2252 A Commonwealth of Thieves
2253 Major Major
2254 A ferret, a flat-cap, an old pair of boots
2255 A Small Lie

2256 The Unwritten History of the Native American
2257 A Pity Youth Does Not Last
2258 Trees, Path, Light
2259 A Substantiation of Inconsequentials
2260 A Coat on a Chair

2261 Grinning, with someone else's teeth
2262 The Stilted Sixties
2263 Beyond Coincidence
2264 John, Paul, George and Sylvia
2265 My Hi-Viz Jacket and Trousers

2266 Air Hostesses and Similar Animals
2268 Seven Pillows of Wisdom
2269 Underneath the King's Horse
2270 A Ring of Steel, and Inside Our Servants

2271 The Former News Editor, Albert Jackson Brown
2272 Work Like a Chinaman
2273 Gravitas
2274 A Confederacy of the Aged
2275 The Men Are Rowing Out

Help my Son and Help Yourself

At the end of November, my son, Alex (PJ) Pearson-Jones, after just twelve months as a power-lifter is off to Vancouver to compete in The CommonWealth Powerlifting Championships

He needs to raise funds to cover flights etc. 

If you can help his crowd-funding, great, but in the meantime I'm offering membership of Boot Camp from now until the year-end for the ridiculously low price of £50, (normally £198) all the £50s to go the PJ's travel fund.

Please help, join us in BC, and/or share widely.

October Blast 07 2226-2250

05-Oct 08:05 Monday

2226 The smoke on lamps, the smoke on ceilings
2227 Gain is Loss Somewhere
2228 The peeling labels on old tin cans
2229 1953, Fosters Garage: the sun was high, the queen was bright
2230 People kill People. Guns are labour-saving devices

2231 All six of us stumbled through, the poor breeding
2232 We dance on the backs of soldiers
2233 Lido
2234 The town is old, old, worn out, worn down
2235 What was beautiful as the blood spread

2236 In the name of God, fuck the fuck off and die
2237 There is a place called Limousine 
2238 I feel endings lining up, disaster
2239 We all need to be stretched, some by the neck until they are dead
2240 If. If there was a school shooting every day

2241 Loathsome, his fat red nazi cheeks and swollen trousers
2242 It is not about the crime, not about the criminal
2243 We lead fools, their babies as appetisers 
2244 In honour of a distant death
2245 Hepatitis-T, starting in a Manchester Hotel

2246 Bing Bang Bong!
2247 We must not be disturbed, we are above those things
2248 Apothecary
2249 Two years ago, when I was still alive
2250 Ethelred the Fraud

Saturday, October 03, 2015

October Blast 06 2201-2225

04-Oct 00:01 Sunday

2201 Nightmare in Twickenham
2202 The Hills Above Bradford
2203 Suffragettes
2204 Hope moves in circles
2205 The various microscopic inhabitants of a cheeseboard

2206 I am tired but I'm not dead yet
2207 The dark secrets of the scrum
2208 Watermill
2209 I am perfecting flapping
2210 One beautiful minute or  a decade of survival?

2211 In these most interesting times
2212 The English, Vanquished
2213 Icarus Jones
2214 There are no poor people
2215 A field, a day's march from Calais

2216 A Small Poorly-Lighted Place
2217 Jezebel
2218 Writer in Residence for the NRA
2219 Dysentery
2220 The White Hunter's Fist Assistant

2221 English Lady, Purple Dress
2222 A Catastrophe but Forgettable
2223 Letter From America
2224 Professor Blenkinsop's New Machine
2225 Let me put it this way...

Friday, October 02, 2015

 October Blast 04 2151-2175

 02-Oct 23:59 Friday

2151 The Strange Case of Mary Bridget O'Hare
2152 Outclassed
2153 B is for Badger; F is for Fox
2154 The babies are lined up, anointed
2155 "Let us go then, you and I"

2156 How we come back to ourselves
2157 Moondown
2158 GLASS
2159 A Moment in ER
2160 Finally, the edits are removed

2161 TAPS
2162 Drama, of a kind, just not dramatic
2163 Modesto, California
2164 Reading Larkin's Diary
2165 Yes, fucked up. Why are you surprised?

2166 We have arrived. Be happy
2167 Cold Sore
2168 As the clouds part, light
2169 The footsteps of strange men
2170 Coffee and a Croissant

2171 Derek Derek, P.I.
2172 Garbage
2173 Blood in the sink
2174 I am ready; you need to be ready
2175 A set of perfect, artificial, teeth

 October Blast 03 2126-2150

 02-Oct 12:05 Friday

2126 A fistful of dirty coins, the taint of blood
2127 We stay off the streets these days
2128 We wait, we try to stay alive
2129 I've ordered a 21-Gun Salute
2130 My brother, heavy

2131 El Presidente
2132 Granite, polished wood, amazing plastics
2133 Is death better or worse when casually dealt?
2134 Frankincense
2135 Enough salt, enough peer, the right amount of heat

2136 They went there merrily, pockets jingling
2138 His own worst friend
2139 The first time I died it was messy
2140 I would have a fiery daughter, a peaceful son

2141 The mourners dressed as bananas
2142 Feel the weight of night, the closing down of unseen clouds
2143 My lives have been varied, some too long
2144 I attended high masses but did not inhale
2145 My Father's Toolbox

2146 If condoms grew on trees, money in furrows
2147 AK47
2148 Georgie Williams wears a Nazi armband
2149 Time Gentlemen, PLEASE!
2150 One more school, soon to be forgotten

Thursday, October 01, 2015

 October Blast 02 2101-2125

 01-Oct 20:25 Thursday

2101 Ball Games
2102 The Burned Children of Various Middle-Eastern Countries
2103 The Wisdom of Augustus
2105 Letters from the Pope

2106 At the dead end of the valley
2107 Cherokee
2108 Margaret is Marigold now
2109 Apache
2110 Ships Passing

2111 Wait, let it fall as far as here
2112 Her Dirty White Dress
2113 Only a pint or so of gin
2114 Articulate, Enunciate
2115 Landscape

2116 The Working Lives of the very, very poor
2117 A Serenity of Dying Larks
2118 Plasma
2119 Poetry before the poets
2120 Peeling potatoes, the radio on

2121 How exactly did you end up here?
2122 A Thin Red Line
2123 Shark versus Crocodile
2124 I Never Promised You a Rose-Garden
2125 Blackberry
October Blast 01 2076-2100

 01-Oct 01:120 Thursday

2076 Like a body taken up from the flood
2077 Late, very late, too late
2078 Most of the family had gone to Mars for the weekend
2079 Master the art of losing badly
2080 Like a daughter needs a mother needs a daughter

2081 You cut me like a wire divides cheese
2082 Hickory, Dickory & Dock
2083 When your ex-wife keeps calling
2084 Montezuma
2085 Let us talk about great small things

2086 Too tired to rise from my chair
2087 The Smell of Burning Plastic
2088 Think of me as the dead, as the pocked exiles
2089 TOAST
2090 We stood together, fell individually

2091 The car continues, driving by memory
2092 Sitting in the Gods
2093 Serviceman
2094 PLUM
2095 Me, God, and two brown-tops in the snug

2096 Some have passed, some are waiting to pass
2097 On a tram, Cambrian Road
2098 There is not enough time
2099 Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Strawberry Jam
2100  None of us meant to hurt her