The Pure Life of Dreams

May 6, 2025May 13, 2025

Her Mouth Contorted With Rage

It started when Siobhan became annoyed with my attempts to help her on her computer.

She gritted her teeth in an ugly way that I had not seen before, her mouth contorted in a rectangle and her cheeks sinewed with anger, and she spat at me that she didn’t want my help. I was taken aback by her fierce expression and it made think to stop so I left and mumbled something loud enough for her to hear that she was being rude.

I left the house, and as I was leaving she suggested I go to the zoo.

The zoo was in Wimbledon but I went anyway and, as a peace offering, I thought to bring back pizza after my visit.

I was sitting on the train headed for the zoo when I realised how far I was from home; and it became clear that any pizza I would pick up at the zoo would be cold by the time I brought back the pies.

Upon my arrival at the zoo, I stood in the entrance hall. Through the doorway I could see the animals playing. I asked the door keeper if I could just order pizza now instead of going in.

‘It’s not usual,’ he said. But then he said it was ok and I called Siobhan to say that I would bring back pizza but it would take forty-five minutes to get back after it was delivered to the zoo.

‘Perhaps it’s better I pick it up in Ealing.’ I offered. ‘That way it won’t be cold.’

She got annoyed at my remark and snapped at me not to bother so I left the zoo without ordering pizza. I walked along a pavement alongside of the road that led away from the zoo then I turned left onto another street where there lay a large open green space on the opposite side of the road.

I passed by a woman in a white fur coat sitting on a bench.

The sun was already setting.

The woman’s coat looked like it came from a thrift shop. The woman had long black hair that was a bit natty and she seemed upset. I sat down on the bench next to her. For some reason I thought she was Russian. The woman lay her head on my shoulder and I asked her what was the matter. Then she turned to me and we kissed softly although she was much younger than me, being perhaps in her twenties.

Then two Indian men came by and started to argue with the woman. They were about her age, shorter than me and a little stinky. They wore shades. They told the woman to come with them and she stood up to leave.

As the woman walked away I saw that she left some keys on the bench. I got up to hand them to her just as she was leaving although it occurred to me that she’d left them intentionally. But the woman span round as she walked away and indicated that there was a phone there too. So I sat back down on the bench, and sure enough, tucked behind a white seat cushion was a pink older model smartphone.

I started typing on the phone and the keys did not work well but still I got the words out that she would be ok. I don’t know why I wrote that. After I’d finished typing the two Indian men came back, and this time they had a third man with them, the same age as them.

They saw me with the phone. One of them snagged the white cable attached to the phone and tried to pull it away from me. At first I held on but then I figured I didn’t need the cable so I let it go and the cable came loose from the phone.

I followed the men to a house where I figured I could take them on, for all three of them looked stocky and unfit.

They stood together in a dark hall that led to a wooden barn and despite the darkness of the hallway the first two still wore their shades. Only the third man did not wear shades because he wore regular glasses.

The three of them crowded around me so I tried to push the the third man’s glasses off his head. Even though they were close they still did not seem threatening so I swiped again at the man with the glasses. And with each attempt to knock the glasses off his head he ducked just enough that I would miss. So I tried again, this time aiming to get two of the men with one swipe.

Then I tried again. Then I tried again.

Photo by Isabelle Carin via Pexels.

April 17, 2025April 17, 2025

At the Kensington with Srba

Siobhan and I were to meet Srba for a late lunch. It was her first introduction to him.

The hotel was the Kensington, and it had ornate gold inlaid chairs and white linen tablecloths and napkins—not our usual meeting place. We arrived early to find a separate room, or at least a separate area, where we could eat in private.

The restaurant fronted the side of the hotel and was long rather than deep, with a glass façade that overlooked the entrance where the cars would drive up to the reception doors. The side rooms were at the back.

At first we were told there weren’t any open tables.

Siobhan knew we should have made a reservation before showing up.

I stood at the podium at the front of restaurant while Siobhan walked through the main room to double check for spaces. The room was dark lit with tabletop candelabra and crowded with the subdued sounds of silverware.

After I tired of waiting I followed her after her, only to discover that was she had settled at a two person table that was pressed against another table which sat four.

‘Why did you get only a table for two?’ I asked. Siobhan was wearing a fluffy pink sweater, and I wondered what Srba would think of that.

‘They didn’t have private rooms,’ she replied.

I sat down.

‘We can use the table next to us when they leave?’ she suggested. Siobhan nodded to the group of four by our side, but they were already getting up to go. Their napkins had been tossed haphazardly on their table.

I scanned the room to see if there was a better place and saw that the room was half empty. We have the pick of tables now that the lunch crowd is leaving, I thought. But are we too late to order?

Just then I saw Srba through the glass façade of the restaurant walking along the reception driveway. He wore a dark blue suit, a dark red tie and white shirt. Srba was still big, but also tall and in his hand he carried a briefcase and a wine bottle gift bag.

‘He’s bigger than you said,’ said Siobhan after I pointed him out—before he disappeared behind the open curtains of the restaurant’s glass front.

As Srba headed towards the entrance I hurried back to the podium to greet him. Siobhan got up to follow.

‘She’s taller than Sophie’, Srba said, as he looked over at Siobhan.

I grabbed him in a bear hug, just as he was about to extend his hand for a handshake.

My face was up against the crook of his neck as I hugged him and I raised my left leg, so that my shin rested comfortably against his inner thigh.

~~’Ox-fuck Street, Pick-a-Willy Circus, or Tottenham Cunt Road, wouldn’t do?’ I asked.~~

We hugged so closely that I felt the smooth skin of his jowls.

RIP ~~Srba Cvetkovic~~ Srba C

August 29, 2024August 30, 2024

Dad is in Paris in a Hospital for the Insane

I am in Paris to visit Dad in hospital and Mum only walks downhill.

I’m searching up where the hospital is, while sitting in a café.

A French woman is with me. We’ve been there for some time, talking. The iron lacework tables and chairs are painted white, like the walls of the café, which is bright and sun filled.

The woman sits at the table as I type out the name of his hospital. She has a sick parent there too and I know it is my chance to chat her up but it has been a long while since I did anything like that.

Her hair is short cropped and black, and I think she would be OK with me flirting but still I’m hesitant. Yes, even though she is cute I feign being unbothered about chatting her up.

We sit there for a long time.

There are three senior citizen hospitals in the Île de la Cité, I tell the woman. I speak about my Dad in the ward, about its white walls with its large windows like a hospital for the insane, though I don’t mention the last part.

She gets up to leave.

I know she’s going because I haven’t attempted to flirt with her but I’m adamant that it was easier to not flirt; despite losing out; despite the fact that we had common interests, what with both of us having a parent in the loony bin.

After she’s gone Mum and my sister come in to the café. The table’s a mess, with my computer and phone and iPad spread across it. Under the table is my two tone leather briefcase with the square handles.

Mum and. Elaine pull back two of the iron clad chairs and sit with me. They’ve just arrived so only I know how to get to the hospital where Dad is, I tell them.

Then we set off, my computer folded under my arm, out of the café and onto a cobbled street.

Mum heads off down the hill. She only does that because she has difficulty walking uphill.

No it’s not that way, I call out to her.

Downhill is easier, she says.

It’s up the hill. Sorry, I repeat, then we have to take the second exit of the roundabout.

I want to walk but because of her we’ll have to take the bus. And once we get to the bus stop we’ll have to figure out the ticketing system.

But we don’t have to wait long – the tram comes quickly and we get on.

We need centimes, I tell Mum, as she fiddles in her purse.

She pulls out a pile of coins but they are mostly quarters, and a few pennies.

Who has coins these days? I complain.

Then I realize that I am only carrying my computer. I left my other stuff behind!

Before the tram sets off I get out.

Go on ahead without me, I tell them, and I hurry back down the hill to the café.

I walk back in and the manager, who stands at a lectern by the entrance, her body facing away from the door, nods at the table I was sitting at.

I hurry over to the table.

My briefcase is still there, as well as my tablet and my coat. It is all there.

I also see my black iPhone, next to my notebooks. I didn’t realize I’d forgotten those, but anyway I’m relieved.

There is the familiar smell of Sunday morning bacon as, from the bright light of the walls, I stir from my sleep.

Photo by David Iliff via WikiMedia Commons.

March 7, 2024March 20, 2024

A Guest House in Alexandria

After the long walk along the Nile I arrived at the hostel. An old man, in a white jellaba led me through a warren of rooms. He had a greying beard and was a little portly. “There is a place,” he assured me, “only one pound.” The Egyptian pound was pegged one to one with the British pound in those days. Still, it was very cheap.

I just didn’t remember coming here before visiting Uncle Vartan.

October 5, 2022September 1, 2024

Designers on the Top of a Brownstone

We are on the top floor of a brownstone that FG has bought and an interior designer is around to measure curtains on the front wall. The thing is, there is only the front wall. And apart from half of an adjacent wall the remaining sides are just bare rooftop sky, exposed to the elements.