I often think.

On Lord Rochester: (1648 – 1680) The Idle Rogue on His Deathbed Or After Death Nothing Is Here I Lay, Lie or Lay an Idle Rogue Some Men May Say My body wrapped in cere cloths Pissing blood and pus And Spitting Bile In the Mortal Agony of Not Knowing Whether I meet my God or Another below Or just go As Some Men Say, Burning, Straight to Hell The Damned Black-Frocked Bishop Burnet Flaps around My Death Bed Taking My Confession, Religiously Pecking at me Like a Crow does Carrion He Faithfully Hopes (Unwisely Say I) To Pluck my Soul Like some tasty Morsel From this Rotting Putrid, Stinking, Flesh Confessing to My Idleness, Lasciviousness and Lust He Assures me will Secure my place in His Heaven, Hell I Do Not Agree! But I’ll String this Foolish Man along A Mountebank I will be ‘til Death takes my release “God’s Teeth” I cry, And He, Like the Confessor He purports to be Cries  “My Lord God, Thanks be, He is Now Within Thee!” And Still Despite his exhortations The Chancre

It was 13:37 as Colonel Pervez drew up outside the main Matunga railway station. He steeled himself to run the gauntlet of journalists and curious onlookers that had gathered outside the station. As his staff car slowed he waved his hand at the armed Police guard that were stood outside the entrance to the station concourse. He commandingly gesticulated for them to come forward and protect him from the throng of people. They all moved as one brandished their bayonetted rifles, pushing aggressively against anyone who pushed back. A police sergeant quickly, smartly, stepped forward and opened the Colonel’s car door, as he did so he stood bolt upright and saluted the senior officer. Colonel Pervez manfully strode into the train station not quite prepared for what was to confront him that day. There was a river of abandoned luggage trolleys filling the station concourse, like an awkward log jam of mangled metal. They sat there holding hands like so many small scrap trains being marshalled

It was 9:30 in Bristol Zoo restaurant and the staff were all in the kitchen drinking tea and chatting. They had no-one in the restaurant because of the thunderstorm raging outside and they were taking a breather. The door from the cold room suddenly flew open, “We’ve got to get rid of this these Lion burgers pronto….” Tony Esposito the new zoo restaurant manager slammed a box of frozen burgers onto the kitchen worktop. “Why?” Doris the short order cook looked at Tony and shrugged. “We’ve got to. The restaurant inspector knew they were Lion burgers right from the start.” He paused and carried on, “He curled his lip up and made a sort of roaring noise.” “How will we? This bloody thunderstorm is keeping the punters away.” Doris said disinterestedly. “Not by selling ‘em you stoo...” Tony stopped mid flow. Polly the waitress looked at the ceiling and shrugged. She didn’t get involved in kitchen matters. “I dunno how to. Not had the training, disposing of Lions.” she muttered and

He can no longer spitefully hiss The terrible command For the hook nosed Jew boy To climb across the room And into his stinking Piss stained bed He can no longer invoke the foxes To bite at the boy’s ankles or head He can no longer create nightmare’s Filled with sheer terror and dread He can no longer climb Like an incubus upon the boy’s back Fetid breath panting on his neck Arm wrapped tightly around his throat All this must happen before the boy sleeps He can no longer implant the thought That the boy must dream in colour For those that dream in black and white He often tells the little boy Are scared of the nights and what they bring Now the boy doesn’t have to dream Of the Paisley pattern to fill his head And take away the terror of what Had just happened.