Read

It was too early to say whether Angela would be beautiful, even when most of her bandages had been removed and she had exclaimed about the novelty flatness of her stomach. She was still on a liquid diet, unable to exercise or start an eating regime with her designated personal trainer. She could wait, though. To look like she was gonna look, she could wait for years if she needed to. Buddy, it's taken long enough to get here.

Am I the only person in the world who prefers to have his toilet rolls served over-arm, rather than under-arm?

It was that fateful afternoon that the exclusively black cat named - 'Puddy' as a ridiculous nametag betrayed, made its entrance into my life. Cuddly moniker aside the beast had an almost ethereal presence. With its fierce emerald eyes resonating eerie intensity and black outline of exquisite proportions, it was certainly 'otherworldly.' It is said that the ancient Egyptians ascribed to the cat a god like status and 'Puddy' with his sleek graces and his regal manifestation was the living illustration that this was not misplaced.

Outside the window dusk settled on the huge monolithic building that made up this part of the hospitals complex. On the other side of the brook was a blackened tree, as I squinted I could make out four ominous shape's ' crows or worse still Ravens I feared. The bird of ill omen sent perhaps in warning or punishment.

Regret. People say they have no regrets. I think they are in denial. How do you learn if you have no regrets? How do you change? How do you get it right the next time? How do you progress? How do you get happy? If you have no regrets, you've just stopped feeling your feelings, you've stopped aiming, stopped trying, you're avoiding.

"He's got the holy spirit about him you can tell that by looking a him - Some hairy guy in a documentary about Bob Dylan.

And that got me thinking. Isn't it the case when we thoroughly enjoy a film or a book or any work of art, that sometimes we carry it around in our minds with us for days, if not years to come? Particularly if we can relate to it. It becomes like a soundtrack to our lives.

Simon lay back in the soft, long grass, his hands behind his head, his legs crossed. Simon's binoculars lay in the grass next to him; he still held the strap in his hand. There was not a cloud in the sky. He took in a long satisfied breath, and bathed in the warm light of early morning. Then he yawned lazily, letting a lung-full of air escape with the kind of sound one is usually told to make in a dentist's chair. Simon closed his eyes, felt the sun's soft glow; could see it through his eye-lids. It was Sunday, and a very nice day to go city-spotting.

Although I was mad as a coot, I almost smiled at him. I never could stand his taste in clothes. I nearly shot him there and then. Admittedly, Roger McKay was dressed in an immaculate dinner jacket. But he had fallen for that sickening new fad. You know, my sweet; the range of designer suits by that Japanese, Yamazokizuki- whatever it is. The one who had the bright idea of dinner jackets in colours other than black or white. McKay's DJ was a dark shade of peach, which looked disgusting on a self-respecting business man like himself. I took solace in that fact that, at the very least, this aspect of the loathsome man would no longer bother me. I would put a neat red blossom directly over where his heart lay. It would no doubt seem like he had a red carnation in his breast pocket.