Month: August 2015

The Devil’s In The Detail

‘Hi, I’d like to make a deal with the Devil, please,’ said Jen.

‘Of course. Take a number and a seat,’ said the receptionist.

Instead of celebrity gossip magazines they had porn and anti vaccination articles. Typically, the porn was all at least a year old and Jen had already seen it. (more…)



He hated visiting his parents. Going home always felt like ageing backwards. Years of personal growth, self realisations and independence fell away, leaving a small boy who took six minutes to tie his shoelaces and was slightly scared of everyone.

‘Are you comfortable?’ said his mother. She said it with a smile, but he immediately doubted his ability to make himself comfortable without help. (more…)

The Hat

The hat glittered with the light of a thousand suns hammered into sequins. The feathers put even the peacock models on the covers of peacock romance novels to shame. The hat band was a hat band. There’s only so much you can do with a hat band.

This would change everything. (more…)

The Drinking Game: A Play

Somewhere, it doesn’t matter where. Probably not, like, a bunker though. A duck pond?

Large Hadron and Collider are whatever race, gender and/or sexuality you want them to be. Maybe they’re ducks. That would explain the pond. If they’re at a pond.

Large Hadron: I’ve invented this great new drinking game.

Collider: Go on.

Large Hadron: Every time you do the wrong thing, have a drink. Every time you do the right thing but your actions are misinterpreted as the wrong thing, have a drink. Every time you’re forced to recognise the yawning canyon between who you thought you were and who you actually are, have a drink. Every time you have a drink, have a drink.

Collider: I don’t think that’s a drinking game.

Large Hadron: Then what is it?

Collider: Alcoholism. (more…)

The Perfect Crime

Graham Isaac looked into the wet cement the way God looked at whatever it was he made the universe out of. Playdo, maybe. Or Lego?

The cement was grey, which is not usually an exciting colour, but it glistened ever so slightly with the promise of immortality and more literally its own water content. With a stick, with a rock, with his bare hands Graham could shape the very future itself. This was his Sphinx, his pyramid, his celebrity sex tape.

‘Hurry up, we’ll be late for school,’ said Aaron Taylor. (more…)

Knock Knock: A Play

Night. A log cabin. The pine trees are pointy white cones; maybe it’s snow, maybe they’re racists.

Bacon staggers up to the door of the cabin, Eggs begrudgingly approaches from inside. Those are very common names in Germany.

Bacon: Knock knock.

Eggs: I don’t like knock knock jokes.

Bacon: This isn’t a knock knock joke.

Eggs: Then why did you say ‘knock knock’ instead of knocking?

Bacon: Wolves bit off my hands. (more…)