A Sort of Homecoming

Home (Page) at last

Home again, home again. Or not.
I've moved into my new house, which is nice. And empty. And I've finally got internet access, albeit dial-up, back so the world is no longer safe from my inane wittering and sarcastic opinions.
Oh, and I managed to turn commenting on. Say something.
Please.
Posted by Jim at 9:16:48pm

Something.
Comment by Steve at 10:02:28pm
You so funny.
Comment by Jim at 11:32:22pm

- - - - -

Unfurnished. I hadn't really thought about just how empty the house would be. Right now the only furniture I possess is the TV stand and bean bag in the living room and the computer desk and chair upstairs. It's all very minimalist. IKEA- the Swedish god of flat pack- calls to me.

I've heard that sleeping on a hard surface can be good for the back. I hope it's true, because the only thing between me and the floor is the spare duvet. With it as a ground sheet I feel like there should be a tent above me. My two suitcases are on one side of the bed, storage with handles, and all the boxes I packed my life into are clustered by the door or trailing off to the other rooms. Maybe I could build a fort, barricade the door and feel safe from all those unfamiliar creaking and popping noises the house makes as it recuperates before the 'morrow.

- - - - -

Lost and Found

Lost-
toothbrush, toothpaste etc.
Found-
Carter USM- 101 Damnations cd, which I thought I'd lost but turned out to be in a CD-R case amongst a pile of Verbatim disks I 'requisitioned' from my last job.
No. I can't sleep.
Posted by Jim at 2:19:32am

- - - - -

Ah, the joy of the lie in. I haven't found the radio alarm yet, so this morning I was woken by the shrill sound of my mobile. I turned it off, rolled over and went back to sleep. Finally rose at eleven. I was half showered before I wondered where I'd packed the towels. So now there's a trail of wet footprints all around the house.

I have a month's pay due. Extra time to find a new job, one benefit of the 'agreement' I came to when they sacked me. So I spent the afternoon printing out CVs and figuring out where to send them. I should just relax and take the money for a couple of weeks. All in all a very, as in not at all, productive day.

- - - - -

Cabin Fever

Okay, so I didn't leave the house at all today. Which is sad, I know. So tomorrow, honest, I'm checking out the neighbourhood. I've been away for a while, so who knows what I'll find.
Posted by Jim at 11:36:41pm

They tore down paradise, put up a parking lot.
Comment by Steve at 12:08:03am
I'm going to be in town tomorrow (this) afternoon. Give me a call.
Comment by steve at 12:47:16am

- - - - -

New buildings going up, old buildings coming down. I was like a tourist on the bus, sat on the top deck looking left and right all the time to see what had happened to all the places I remembered. After a while I took to running 'Dirty Old Town' through my head, not quite humming it but doing the rhythm by clicking my teeth together. It must have looked like I was worrying at a particularly small piece of chewing gum, the funny little tack tack movements my jaw was making.

It was certainly grey enough for a melancholy song. The big ugly concrete wall is still standing at Piccadilly Gardens. The least they could do is commission some art for it. I can't believe they turn the fountains on on such an overcast day.

I'd decided on any coffee shop that wasn't Starbucks, which narrowed it down to about three. Even then I could see an outlet of the coffee colonialists from my window seat. I settled down with a copy of the Guardian and a fairtrade latte and savoured being early.

Steve wandered in quarter of an hour later. He nodded in my direction and pointed at my cup. "Latte." I mouthed. He nodded again and headed for the baristas.

I made space for the tray. My empty mug went on the table behind, the Guardian curled up faithfully at my feet. Steve landed the tray and tried to move his cup onto the space that was left. "You don't call, you don't write....." he tutted as he sat down.

"Well, you know. It was only going to be two months. And then I hadn't been in touch for two months and then....." I made the shrug that said 'And then everything went to shit and they decided to blame me for it.' Everyone foolish enough to ask had received an e-mail ranting about the stupidity of middle, upper and line management and didn't need a recap. "You using up holiday again?"

"One day I'll be organised and plan a proper one. They only let me carry five days over."

"Brazil. You want to go to Brazil." That's a lie, I want to go to Brazil. I must stop projecting.

"I'd settle for Bournemouth.

"Actually, no. I wouldn't."

We sipped coffees and watched the wet shoppers go by.

"You should have sent me a message. I could have helped you move."

"Everything I own fit in the back of a small van with room to spare. It wasn't a big job." This struck me. There was something wrong about it. "I'm sure I used to own more. I mean, I can remember when I could get everything I owned into the back of an Escort. Last time I moved I swear I needed a tranny van.

"I must have left so much shit at my parents' house."

"You don't know?"

"I guess I got too wrapped up in all that corporate bullshit. I...." Another shrug. I'm getting better at stopping myself. Plus, I'd had another realisation. "Oh shit. I left all my porn with my parents."

"What?"

"Well. It wasn't porn porn, you know. More sort of...... erotica."

"Erotica?"

"Erotica. Stuff like books on oriental erotic carvings. And stuff." Vague hand waving gestures that could mean anything.

"Can we stop talking about your porn?"

"Yeah. Sure." Back to drinking our coffees and looking out of the window.

"What's the gossip?"

"What do you know?"

"I don't know."

"Well." Steve began ticking things off on his fingers. "Mike and Rachel are engaged."

"Again?"

"Again?"

"They were engaged for the Millennium. At least, I think they were."

Steve shrugged. A 'nobody ever tells me anything' shrug. "Tom and Graeme have split up."

"No surprise there."

"Neil has a new girlfriend. I swear she's only ten."

"He's breaking the album rule?"

"I think she was born after he bought his last album, let alone his first."

"Vinyl?"

"Oh definitely his last album on vinyl. She's much younger than that.

"What else? Oh yes. Bob and Louise have split up as well."

"Shit. Now that is a surprise."

"Not to some of us."

I figured I'd leave that one alone. "Anyway, I was thinking of going record shopping."

"That sounds like a plan."

- - - - -

3(?) feet tall and rising

Damn those record sales! I just bought five new CDs.
It's true- I can resist anything but temptation.
Posted by Jim at 6:38:27pm

- - - - -

Notes This is from the original incarnation of Post & Publish, written a while ago. As with Boyfriend Season, it's going to be expanded upon. I'm seeing the story coming together as four "seasons", starting in Spring, with Jim's emotional progress mirroring them in some way. The Album Rule (a phrase first coined by Brian, and which I asked permission to use ages ago) is going to be yanked out of the Spring section and form a major part of the Summer part. Autumn is Boyfriend Season and Winter allows me to wrap stuff up. I'll be publishing bits and pieces here then putting together a full manuscript. If you'd like to be in my test group for that manuscript get in touch.

Other fiction- check out So Much to Answer For, the crime tale I wrote last October, Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I wrapped up last year, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Comedy, Manchester

Boyfriend Season

"Autumn is boyfriend season. With the nights drawing in and the weather getting worse it's the right time to have a man to keep you warm and stuff."

I was with Lauren and Vanessa, a few pints into the night somewhere in Didsbury, when Lauren had dropped this concept into the conversation.

"And in Spring you can dump them because there's so much else to do." Vanessa added.

I think I did a guppy impersonation for a while. It was only later that I thought that men are at their horniest in Spring. It's all sunny and the serotonin levels are rising again. I'd probably have been told that that's just the way it goes.

Tis the season to be hunted
Important message for the Brotherhood of Single Men!
It's Boyfriend Season.
They're after you, be afraid. Be very afraid.
Or let yourself get caught. Whatever.
Posted by Jim at 00:52:34am

I really ought to have asked what a boy does to attract attention during the season. Preferably early on. It could be useful information.

I'm not looking for a relationship, but, then again, I'm not not looking. You know how it is. And the sort of relationship I'm not looking for is a long term one. I don't think I'm wired for one night stands, flings or seasonal affairs.

Unless the right woman suggests it.

So I'm meeting new people, trying to give a good impression to as many women as possible and having conversations about dating to suit the weather. There's a whole world apart from the geeks I know and love and it's quite interesting.

Just so long as they don't ask me to do tech support.


Sue kills mice for a living.

Not, you know, herself, physically. She does have little hands, probably small enough to wring a rodent's neck if the need arose. There'll be a fetish site for that sort of thing.

No. Sue formulates the poison that goes into those mouse hotels, or whatever they're called, the black or brown plastic boxes with little circular doors you see on the exterior walls of cinemas and the like. Her aim is, perversely, to make the tablets less toxic. If she can kill the mouse quickly and have the poison break down there's less chance of it getting into the food chain.

God help me, but I found this fascinating. So much so that I sought her out after the speed dating session and we talked some more. It helped that she's cute. Short, slim, very dark hair, pale. Perhaps a little too pale, she does look like someone who spends her days around poisons. In a room full of topped up tans, Rimmell and hair gel her unpainted pretty face drew me.

I didn't ask for her number. I don't know what the etiquette is about that, and she didn't ask me. I ticked her name on the list, however, and hopefully she did the same for me.


The boyfriend season thing's becoming a meme. I've had a couple of comments and a few people have mentioned it in emails. I'm waiting to see how long it takes for someone to tell me it as if they think I don't already know about it.

In the meantime, the local chapter of the Brotherhood of Single Men is trying to imagine what sorts of lures we could be using.

"Shouldn't the hunters be the ones using the lures? We are the prey, after all." Steve observed.

"Ah, they have their feminine wiles to use as lures." I can't believe I said that. This is what happens when you drink strange spirits people bring back from holiday.

"T-shirts with big targets on them." Bert suggested, "Or that say 'This space available to rent' and point at the crotch."

"Mount me." I offered.

"What?"
"T-shirts that say 'Mount me'."

"Oh. Right."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a duck call kind of thing."

"What would it sound like?"

"Wa-Hey!" Bert offered.

"Nah."

"Get yer tits oot for the lads." Me.

"Not going to work."

"I have chocolate." Bert again.

"That.... Now that might work."


I really, really hate Neil.

Oh, okay, that's a lie. I love him to bits, in a totally heterosexual way. But he's getting laid, so I'm very jealous.

She's a Phd student, "Companion Animal Learned Behaviour."

"What?"

"Pet psychology."

"You're joking right? They do postgrads in pet psychology? How?"

"Have you ever tried to out-think a cat?"

"Fair point. So what are you doing in the pub with your sad single friend when you've got a hot doggy shrink to go home to?"

"She's got some sort of open session on. 'Bring in your gerbil and we'll deal with its Oedipal problems.' That sort of thing. It won't be done for a while."

"I was hoping it was because you still loved me."

"Nah, sorry. You're last moth's thing. I'm just slumming with you 'cause she lives across the road. Bar billiards?"

Two games, and another pint, later, his phone rang. "Hey honey." he glanced out of the window at the flats across the road. "Really? How come? Oh, well, that's cool. Just take all your clothes off and I'll be right over. Bye bye."

My shot had gone so horribly wrong that I'd knocked over all three pins. Mental images.

"I've got to go. Finish this if you want." Neil waggled his half drunk pint.

"She isn't going to be waiting there naked you know."

"She might be. And would you pass up the chance?"

"No, I guess not. No doggy style, though. Might remind her of work."


Maybe Neil's girlfriend can introduce me to a few of her friends.

Or maybe not. The last time we went to a student party Steve and I got drunk and started reminiscing about the early nineties.

There are only so many times you can hear, "I was only four!" before you start to feel old.


Larger offices tend to have a demarcation along employment status lines. The perms look down on us temps because we don't have their security. We look down on them because that security so often leads to lack of imagination and risk avoidance. Morlocks and Eloi, where it's always the other bunch who are the knuckle dragging devolveds.

Karen was another of the temps at work. We'd developed a nil carborundum kind of camaraderie against the management stupidity. It was her last day on Friday, so we went for a few drinks.

She's quite buff, goes to the gym twice a week, to maintain the flat stomach and muscle definition. I refused the offer of an arm wrestle. Cycling does wonders for the definition of my arse and legs, but my top half is flabby and weak.

One by one our band of Eloi disappeared, off home to S.O.s and cats. In the end it was just Karen and me. Somehow we'd made it to the Kro on Oxford Road opposite the University. It was that flux period, between the after work drinkers going home and the party animals getting dressed and heading out.

Karen cycles as well. I shouldn't have been surprised. Perhaps I should have suggested a ride, but there's an inner ten year old that just can't accept the possibility of being beaten by a girl.

At some point before closing time we went our separate ways. I don't strictly remember the bus ride home. Not that I blacked out. It's just that I've made it so many times it all passes me by unless something particularly interesting happens.
I can't believe I didn't get her number or email. I think she knows about my blog.


Sue chose me!

Hungover and befuddled I checked my email. I nearly blocked the message from the speed dating site. It proclaimed 'Susan wants to see more of you!' and I was about to mark it as spam when I recognised the site name in the email address.

Sue put a tick next to me on the website. As I ticked against her on my page we get each other's emails to do with as we please. I was far too hungover to do anything and decided to leave it for a while.

Steve owed me a fry up, so I headed over. Somehow he convinced me to pick up the bacon and sausages on the way. There's something not quite right about that.

Bert had been photoshopping and now his desktop is a picture of Alyson Hannigan as Vampire Willow, saying "Be vewy, vewy quiet. I'm hunting boyfriends."

We like the idea of being hunted. We don't believe it really happens, though. Any woman caught making it easy for a bloke would be kicked out of the girly club.


Sue emailed me whilst I was out. Is it a bad sign that she's capable of being that coherent on a Saturday morning?

She wants to get together some time, tonight even, if I'm free. I guess if I take some paracetamol and drink enough water I'll be able to pass for sentient by the evening.


Food and drinks in Metropolitan on Burton Road. We met early evening, before the pre-club crowd filled it. It was as awkward as you'd expect at first. I bought her a drink (Directors, good call) and we found a table.

"So...." I began, but couldn't think of what to say next. 'Why did you wait nearly a fortnight to tick my box?' would probably sound too judgemental and/or desperate. I sort of waved my hands and smiled.

"Sorry I took so long to complete the feedback. It's been hellishly busy the last few weeks. I just got back from three days in Germany yesterday."

"Sounds interesting."

"Not really. I didn't get to see anything of the area. It was all meetings, trips around chem labs and late meals at the hotel. I got some reading done."

"What sort of stuff?"

"I'm re-reading all my Pratchett."

"Oh. I started doing that last year."

We discussed the Discworld for a while, and somehow it segued into hobbies. Thankfully, nothing Sue does in her spare time involves cruelty to small furry animals. We ate, and drank a bit more, then it became a bit too crowded.

Her place was only a couple of street away. It seemed logical that we should end up there. It was a single bedroom flat on the first floor. I sat on the sofa and checked out the living room whilst she broke open some wine. It was good to know I'm not the only one who's so untidy. It wasn't messy, it was just that paperwork, books and magazines were filed in piles on available surfaces.

She brought a bottle of white and two tumblers and sat right beside me. One glass later she was draped across my lap and I was pushing and tugging her top off.

She's got tiny tits with responsive nipples that seem, relatively, large. I couldn't keep my hands, lips, tongue and, occasionally, teeth off them. She squirmed a bit, made a lot of appreciative noises and finally went tense and then limp with a little "Wow". The flush on her pale skin was very sexy.

Having made her come just by concentrating on her breasts I had sealed the deal. We took things to the bedroom.


Coffee in bed. Sweet.

The bedroom's tidier than the living room. Two bookshelves completely filled, a dressing table and two cupboards. The only signs of disarray were the suitcase and our discarded clothes from the night before.

It was good coffee, too. "I buy the beans from the health food shop. They're FairTrade." Sue explained.

She was wearing a big baggy top, looking tiny. Her hair framed her face and she looked worryingly young. "I nearly didn't tick anyone from the speed dating night. I kept telling myself no-one would be interested."

"So what made you change your mind?"

"You seemed a nice guy, and interesting. And I was a bit horny. And, well, it is boyfriend season."

Notes I did think of posting this in parts, but then decided to present it in one piece. "Boyfriend Season" was written in October whilst working on an IT helpdesk. It was inspired by a conversation very like the one that opens the story (see my own version of the Boyfriend Season post). Sadly I haven't seen the women who introduced me to the concept since that evening.

I'd like to expand upon this story. I was experimenting with minimalism when I wrote it and on re-reading it I think I may have stripped away a little too much. I've stated my aim to incorporate this into a novel about a blogger to be called Post & Publish. I see it being the second, of three or four, distinct parts of the novel. Parts 3 and 4 will concentrate on Jim and Sue's relationship developing and the lives of their friends. I've only got this lightly sketched out at the moment, it's my New Year writing project.

Other fiction-

So Much To Answer For, a crime story also written whilst I was on the helpdesk.

Heavensent is the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up.

Download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Romance, Comedy, Manchester