Wednesday, 26 November 2014

Friday Night




The constant supply of fizzy drinks was a great benefit of having a mum who worked in a pub, but one of the downsides was having to spend Friday nights with our neighbour, who looked after me, whilst mum worked and dad stood on the other side of the bar, getting drunk. I often pleaded with my parents that I was old enough to look after myself, and that our neighbour had her own two kids to look after. But my words fell on deaf ears, and so every Friday night, at about seven o'clock, I was frogmarched to the house next door, where Mrs Green welcomed me, and looked after me, until my mother collected me later in the evening.

The Greens had two cats, who pissed throughout the house, giving it a disgusting odour, that headed directly for my nostrils as soon as Mrs Green had waved my mother off and closed the door behind me. And if the smell of feline urine wasn't enough to leave me feeling sick, the smell of whatever it was the family had eaten, just before my arrival, certainly did. But there was no escape from the house from hell, and after I had managed to get use to the terrible smell, I was forced to spend the evening playing Monopoly with Mrs Green, and her two sons, whilst Mr Green sat in front of the television, drinking bottled beer, whilst watching something that made him laugh occasionally.

Cats pissing, playing games and drinking beer - when Tony Joy was a young boy in need of a good hiding.

Extract from "Dad drove a bus" - out now for Kindle via Amazon

Sunday, 16 November 2014

The Platform


The sleepers went years ago
For firewood and missiles
The panes were smashed from the beginning
Replaced, replaced and no longer replaced
The bench was unbolted
The booth was attacked
The clock was stolen
The toilets were pissed in
The canopy was cracked
The posters were torn
The steps were pissed on
The bins were booted
The rails have resisted
The weeds have run wild
The rainwater comes in
And still we find things to do

A tattooed beast sprays his poem
Over the toilet walls
A cocky lad draws up phlegm
To fire in the air
A pretty girl takes a six-incher
From a small boy
An ugly girl laughs and swears
She's seen it all before
The boy takes vodka
The pretty girl is tired
The small boy is proud
The cocky lad is tired
The rails have resisted
The weeds have run wild
The rainwater comes in
And still we find things to do

(c) Luke Ryman. November 2014.

Tuesday, 4 November 2014

A Plumber Called Deano

There's a plumber called Deano - he's young, rich and quite good looking.
Then there's his mate, Phil - he clings to Deano because Deano is the one with the money. Phil likes cheeseburgers, drinking lager and having a good time.
And what about Sarah? Well, she's common and vulgar, she wears supermarket clothes and she drinks vodka and orange.
And finally there's Clare - Clare Green, from Canterbury - who is Deano's long-suffering girlfriend.

Clare hates Sarah but tolerates Phil.
Deano loves everyone, because that's the sort of guy he is.
Sarah loves herself.
Phil loves double cheeseburgers.

"Welcome to Normandy!" shouts Deano, as the four friends arrive at their gite, which Deano has hired for their two-week holiday.

The girls aren't impressed but Deano is sure that a good time will be had by all.

Just what will Clare do to amuse herself in a village that time forgot?
Where will Phil find his precious cheeseburgers?
What will Sarah make of the locals?
Why has Deano got his eye on the girl with the guitar?

Find the answers, take a trip around Normandy and laugh a little in "But Bloody France!" - the first of three short ebooks, out now on Kindle via Amazon.