This post two furking poems about cats; next post one poem about Two Cats F**king.
Author: N. P. Ryan
Planet Caramel
Some thoughts on that lovely stuff known as caramel:
Summer Lovin’ (call me a cab)
A short story about the memories a beautiful summer can bring. Continue reading
London: a Tardis in Reverse
It’s only with hindsight that I realise what a ‘playground‘ London was for me from the mid-eighties (when becoming old enough to do as I pleased) to the late nineties; when changes started running so deep they were impossible to miss and/or ignore.
What a Waste (Tickets, Please)
“I could be a writer with a growing reputation; I could be the ticket man at Fulham Broadway Station. What a waste . . . What a waste.”
I used to walk past that ticket man made famous by Ian Dury’s lyrics on regular occasion. Going to and from Chelsea matches at Stamford Bridge. It was always a man, as I remember. Not that I paid too much attention.
Except for one particular game against Continue reading
What a Waste
I used to scroll past half-decent posts without so much as a meh. Now it’s me doing the posting, I want the world to care.
Catastrophe
A sad, tragic, dismal culmination of events that saw defeat snatched from the jaws of victory; the gods of genius not so much unfavourable . . . more kept at bay by a needy beast desperately determined to fulfil its own agenda. Continue reading
I Don’t Understand
Following on from Perfect, nobody is; all of us have something we don’t understand. But is that what’s meant when the words are said? Continue reading
Perfect
To some degree everything is the result of anxiety; perfection isn’t so much sought, but fraught after:
My Big Fat Status Update
We all know someone who posts them, but never do it ourselves . . . Continue reading
N. P. Ryan 