Faberge eggs and assassinations
‘Weather permitting’ suicides
and venom charged pin pricks
pickled wódka brains and this and that
diced red cabbage, rock salt mined
dreams lost to circumstance also

How soon a great Empire crumbles
when bloated and so very tired of caviar

She spoke a little English
sufficient to seduce as and when
purchase a breakfast croissant
have a stab at The Times crossword sometimes
yet cometh the hour
beneath Waterloo Bridge
she thought of drowning in the Serpentine
her unspoken words born of legacy
plus those newly borrowed abroad
all inconsequential when skulduggery was about

“I think they’re on to me”

The English boy listened intently
to this one-time ballerina wearing Doc Martens

“The only victims of oppression here are the pigeons…nothing to worry about’
passing her the half empty plastic fuselage of White Lightening

Three gulps and a driblet of spillage later
“Nobody likes us and we don’t care” her hackneyed riposte
picked up on the streets of old London Town


A relatively mild ‘back home’ Russian winter
may have saved the root veg and rye
likely would not salvage her
though handily ‘they’ have to
uncover her first providing her
at least that small comfort

The placebo effect of threat
idle or malicious gives way
to bitten lips and cold shivers
now is not the time to dilly dally

“I shall re-invent myself I think…good plan?”

No comeback from the boy
she turns about face
finds a grin plus Makarov pistol
flush between her eyes

Not time for her bladder to react
the boy makes his getaway
Timbuctoo beckons

Somewhere in a back street
a vagrant trades new shoes
for something more immediate


      1. ‘Twat’ seems to be her preferred word – more so this very morn when she sent me out to hang the washing up only for me to be thwarted by an aggressive gang of spiders on the washing spinning type thing.

      2. She hung it out herself in the end – she is prone to having a chat with the spiders. Yet now…’so unfair’ as your hamsters might say she wants me to go to the council tip…so very unfair!

      3. Did you know I once met a chap who managed to get run over by a steam roller! That’s 100% true by the way. He wasn’t a well man when we met…had to give up work and everything. I asked him how he managed this amazing feat. His reply, ‘I wasn’t looking when I stepped out’…’Surely you must have heard it coming plus they move so slowly. Can’t see how it could have happened.’ ‘Like I said I wasn’t looking’

      4. That is an absolutely true tale. He was a very, almost impossibly short guy with milk bottle bottom glasses (I did say to him that he must have exceptionally good eyesight to see through them) and a heart condition (from being run over) that meant he could drop dead any minute…so he spent most of his time ‘in drink’…had no wife or girlfriend poor chap.

    1. Right, that’s it. Now I need a paper hanky to mop the tears….of laughter…which is bad, very bad. (Although it may be wicked but it is also a blood good giggle at mocking the afflicted) He needed new specs AND a hearing aid. These things are bloody noisy. Noise? They shake the ground

      1. If he’d been a superhero his name would be Flatman…which reminds me I have the tale of Pac-A-Mac Man & Galoshes Boy to write…made a note in France to write it but quite forgot until just then! Cheers for reminding me!

      2. Ocht Mike, you wre too taken up wi Shirl’s birthday cellies and all that cooking your son did, to mind (That is remember up here ) I do think Flatman, like Everyman has a future though! My god, the man lay down before a steam roller ..welll

      3. Sounds like something from The Bible that does…you know, ‘And it came to pass man lay down before a steam roller and a jealous God knew he had sinned’ or such like

      1. In the beginning a jealous God did create a steam roller…Eden would never be the same! What glorious 20 degree wall to wall sunshine we have here this day. Just been down to the sea yet upon our return the missus went straight out gardening overlooking to proof read the poem I’m keen to post…where’s the fairness in that…I’m afraid to call he in…bollocks!

      2. In the beginning we can forget that apple crap and have steamrollers instead? This could be a problem for the book of Genesis. As for Noah and his ark, I think they are in trouble wi some of these fancy health and safety jobsmiths. Now then we did have sunshine indeed. Alas but being so far north light AND the retainment of the heat was different which meant we were freezing our bollocks off by 6pm. To quote the hammies in terms of fair? it was no not.

    1. Rather splendid to be back as it so happens…had a splendid time; took tons of snaps yet missed this old lump of a house we moved into earlier this year…missed the sea also. The sea, the sea as Iris Murdoch penned!

  1. I can see that your respite offered some prize winning inspiration though I dare to imagine where you got the theme of your Doc wearing ballerina. I hear they go for a pretty penny where you traveled to, perhaps too much to trade for anything more immediate.

  2. I found you via Syl’s blog and this post title caught my eye immediately – I’m a one time ballerina who wears Doc Martens. I love The flow and twisty ending to your tale, looking forward to more.

    1. My thanks Karin. I do trust that as a one-time ballerina wearing Doc Martens you don’t end up the victim of espionage though…wouldn’t be good!My wife has a collection of Doc Martens yet not a ballerina is she! Best of god fortune to you, Mike

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