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He came down for Christmas eagerly awaited by both, dumb to each other for years but resounding for him, their very own City boy. They swaddled him in praise, stroked his ego, him, love-soaked, befuddled,

On the corner of St Jude and St Thomas, a group of teenagers were dancing around a car that they had set ablaze. Spencer paused for a while to watch them, enjoying the heat from the flames. As he warmed himself, he heard the ubiquitous swooping noise of air being expelled from vertical engines, and looked up to see an angel coming in to land.

It wasn't long after my fifteenth birthday when I decided I was old enough to start going to pubs. Despite the law's view on this it didn't take much for me to convince my friend Ali Morrison, also recently turned fifteen, that he was old enough too. It was a pity that the bouncers of those pubs commonly frequently by the town's borderline age drinkers didn't agree. A Friday night spent traipsing round Ballymena soon let us know that it would be a few more years before we would be welcome in any of the town's licenced premises. Except here, in Mc Attamney's, a small side street pub we didn't know existed until then.

"Tell us a story, Aquamarine," the young elvlings pleaded, pulling at the forest green tunic of the short, ungainly elf. He smiled, shrugged his muscular shoulders in resigned amusement, and putting an arm around the shoulder of the most insistant youngster, he escorted the children to a stone bench wreathed in ivy. Gently, almost reverently, he pushed away enough of the persistant vine to clear himself a place to sit. Good. Now he was ready to accommodate his eager audience.

Silence, speechlessness and silence again¦ Quietly,¦be quiet, calm your senses and put your souls at peace. Start listening¦listen to the rain, the gentle babbling of a mountain stream, the sound of flying wings, a distant melody, in the scattering morning rays, in the rainbow in-between them. Look around you without a thought, with no emotion and just¦be.

ditto re '...Nightclubbing...' & '...Poetry to Cats...'

'That's not a good look,' said Larry. 'I've got a bit of pea-skin between my teeth,' said Mick. 'It won't attract the ladies.' 'Hence my intended removal of such prior to departure.'

Santa pushed open the door of the toy factory. The elves paused in their toy-making and looked up at their leader. He glanced sadly around the assembly. "Elves. He said. "I've got bad news.

Dominic, the figure in the bed, writhes a little, his sleep disturbed, his sweat burning. Violently, he turns, again to bury his enflamed mouth in the sopping pillow. The gentle slam of a door throws him once more as his brother, Benjamin, enters. Dominic is neither awake nor dormant and remains unaware of the presence.