Lorraine Goes to Scotland

Amanda Palmer was telling me how she had to drive. The very thought was quite forward, but I appreciated the no-bullshit approach and was about to steal a car when I noticed a woman stood in front of me, ostensibly mouthing along to the music. I popped one of the headphones from my ear and tried to nod her away- it was a beautiful day indeed, and yes, isn’t it lovely how the days are getting lighter. But my nodding appeared to have the opposite effect to the one I had intended- she continued talking and I gradually felt my brain slipping out of my ears. The headphones stayed in, so my brain began to emerge from my nose instead, under the brilliant winter sunshine, at the dreary town centre bus stop.

‘That’s a fancy coat,’ she began, ‘where did you get that from?’

It’s cold outside, I hate the seasons here.

The Cushion of Benevolence

The Cushion of Benevolence sat very still upon the sofa and waited for the two humans to stop tugging wildly at the pizza, yelling something about ‘too fat to move’ and ‘I never loved you anyway’, before they could eventually sit down and force their hairy arses into his fluffy and benevolent face. He had earned his name through the great adult-circumcision trauma of the previous week, whereby a floppy, blood-soaked penis had landed upon his tassels and he had calmly waited for it to be removed, whereas his cousin, the aptly named Cushion of Malevolence, had gone quite insane and had attempted to rape the internet router as a result of his ordeal.

Bleeding Out

The builders were waving their rods around outside the window.

‘Shove that rod in ‘ere.’

‘I shoved my rod in ‘er!’

‘Waaaheey!’

Pigeons Wear Top Hats

The corpulent pigeon landed upon a telegraph pole and surveyed the surrounding area. To the very edge of the horizon, where the distant hills met the purple clouds, the land was covered in snow- all white and cold and irritating. The pigeon scratched his eyeball with his left foot, having lost the toes on the right one in the great peanut battle of ’86, and thought about his strategy for the evening. The great, boring wintry nature of winter had attempted to scupper his plans, but as far as he could see there were no mice or men shuffling about on the sidelines, there instead was just a pigeon with a manky foot and intense dreams of Christmas dinner. Nothing could possibly annihilate his proposal! Nothing.

The Christmas Cactus

I’d bought us a Christmas cactus to breathe some life into the fucking emptiness of our relationship. It had a Santa hat on made of felt and a couple of comically misplaced wobbly eyes. It was one of those cacti covered in white fluff, which was supposed to represent Santa’s beard, but instead it covered every single inch of the spiky bastard, which instead made it look a bit like a yeti. A yeti with spines and a Santa hat, just the thing to make everything better.