14 years on from the original project, a new year of daily writings. another year of unconfirmed true stories.
May 7 Clean-up after pollution incident
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I struggled to keep a straight face as Stuart let Miranda know exactly how much he'd drank that night. That's a question I doubt she'll ask again in a hurry.
The train stopped without warning jolting Wilf forwards into the lap of a flustered thirty something photographer who wondered for a second if she was being assaulted. As he began to apologise the train lurched to the right as passengers pressed their faces to the windows to get a better view. Wilf and the woman, Audrey, she introduced herself as they joined the audience, couldn't believe their eyes. A shudder past through the carriage, a bolt of recognition and unease, suddenly all the passengers were as one, all united in their normality whilst outside, possibly miles away was something else, something that wasn't them. There seemingly perfect in every detail was the head of young boy, about 8 years old, brown hair, blue eyes, podgy cheeks and about 800 feet in diameter. He only lasted a few seconds, long enough to promise some vague actions if we didn't change our ways and then he was gone, disappearing into the mountains like a heat haze. What do you think we sh...
In the latest bout of austerity, and partly connected to the recent reintroduction of W it ch D octors and Shamen into the NHS to address the current staffing crisis, a large appeal has been made for any old tablets, tin c tur es, medicine or food colouring to be handed into local pharmacies where they will be blessed, mixed up under a full moon and be handed out to school children by lollipop ladies and Ice Cream vans. If most are ok, we expect adults to follow later towards Easter.
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