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ZipZip!I zipped up my coat against the cold wind and battled on down the road. Why anyone would want to be out in this weather I don't know. The rain beat down like daggers on the road. I sped up, feeling the cold rain trickle down my back. I opened the shop door. The bell tinkled a melancholy sound. The sound of the bell startled Detective Jack.He turned round and greeted me with a sigh. I edged towards the side of the little shop and looked around. Detective Jack pointed to the till. I took out my wallet and gave the shop keeper a note. The shop keeper sighed and pinned the note to the notice board, next to the rest of the IOU notes the police department had given her. She handed me the bottle of gin and a packet of cigarettes with an angry look at Jack. He smiled a sarcastic smile and walked out of the shop."I'm sorry about him" I said, sheepishly, "We will pay, eventually." I added"Sure you will" she said hopelessly.I turned and walked to the door."You know the drill, right?" I
Can you change the lightbulb?"Honey!""Yes, Mum?""Can you change the lightbulb for me please?""Agh, I have homework to do!""Well, I have ironing to do! Stepladder is under the stairs""Where are the lightblubs?""Under the Sink, where they always are"Trudge down the stairs. So much effort. Into the kitchen. Light's too bright. One stepladder and one light bulb. Back up the stairs to the bathroom. Stepladder down."Honey!""Yes, Mum!""Can you open the front door please""But I'm changing the lightbulb""Yes and I'm ironing your uniform"Oh. For. God's. Sake. Back down the stairs. To the front door. Open door. Help Dad carry the shopping. Put back down. Go back for another."Honey!""What now!""Can you put the dinner on?""erm, I'm helping Dad""yes and I'm ironing your football kit.""Why do you need to iron my football kit?"Into the kitchen. Light too bright. Put potatoes in the oven. Turn the oven on. Open can of beans. Pour into bowl."Honey!""What!""Have you changed the lightbulb yet!"Temper Explodes.
The Darkness of the NightIt's the middle of the nightAnd you stumble towards the light,Completely drunk and yetThe voice in your head makes a betThat it is nowhere near drunkEnough to stop the thunkAnd thud pounding in your head.You make it to the light and now it is time for bed.You sleep and you dreamBut you seemto be being invaded by a noiseso you wake and step over the toysthat litter the floor,which your niece left by your door.You carefully undergoAn operation to avoid the legoWhich is scattered about the roomAnd you know your feet are doomedAnd you feel the pain as the brickEnters your feet and so you pickIt out and hop in silent agony,Across the floor to safety.It's pitch black and you edge towardsThe stairs, care full not to tread on the board Too late! The squeak that seemsLouder than is deemedTo be humanly possibleBut yet it does the impossibleAnd wakes the cat from its slumberSo it scratches your leg in a numberOf places and you sigh a littleAs the blood begins
The tale of a TheatreThe door closed with a satisfying click behind me, and the dust swirled into the air, settling on the tattered sheets that hung over old pieces of sets, like skin on a corpse. Red velvet chairs stood sombrely to attention, looking almost like gravestones, a reminder of the audience that once was. A mouse scurries out of one of the many cracks in the wall, and runs under the pile of old clothes, costumes from long ago.A thin beam of light streams down from a gap in the roof. A spotlight, waiting for a star to shine onto. This place used to home to the music halls, Ol' Crazy Tom says, when it re-opened, before that it was an old theatre, home to the Duke's company."been here since 1660ish and that be a long time. At night, as I sit here, you can see the ghost of old actors and actresses on the stage, you can hear the organ play, you can hear the words of the past. It's like they never left. "I have always been told to ignore the words of strangers, and equally of urban myth and folklo