That isn’t the question.

The question is simple: what are we?

The answer is human beings. We are a social species. It’s in our make-up to share. Since day dot, we’ve shared things, from a animal carcass in a cave to our brightest hopes for the future. This process of exchanging, giving and receiving, is what makes us tick as human beings – it’s what drives us forward. It is the human spirit.

Somewhere along the line, this innate desire to share our food, stories and knowledge of breakthroughs and fuck-ups grew to such a size and scale that man created money. Money distorted our ability to share into ‘shares’, ownership, greed, and the rest is history, no doubt written with bias by the victor wearing a medal.

Oh boy, Britain likes to talk about the past. We are Olympic Champions at Reminiscence. Our imperial roots run deep and explain why we’re often seen as arrogant or miserable or funny by our friends overseas. Yes, we have our moments where we remind the world how we can also be astonishingly humble, optimistic and funny (we must always be funny, it’s also part of the human DNA). Take Tim Peake only this week. ‘I love that smell of Earth. Could do with a beer and pizza.’ Profound + open + funny = human.

In 48 hrs we’ll know if we all said stay, go or don’t know. If you still don’t know, don’t panic. Don’t try and decipher the facts – they’re all fictional guesses about the future, a subject that sustains the meaning of life itself.

Just stare in the mirror.

Ask yourself what you are.

A giver or a taker.

One who quits or perseveres.

A believer in bridges or walls.

Make up your own words, or just ask your gut – it’s where the enteric nervous system lives…our 2nd brain…and it can’t lie.

That’s the truth.



The stage is set for you to steal the moment. Never before has a public felt so polluted, insulted and disorientated. Both sides of the EU Referendum push us aside like a dog trying to remove the last traces of excrement from its arse as it walks away from us despite our calls to ‘heel’. This is the most inhumane of campaigns. They treat statistics the way foxes treat chickens.

Jeremy, arise. Take a stance that we can all ‘get’. A stance that elevates the integrity and intelligence of the common man and woman. We implore you to speak for us, not to us or at us. You are one of us in that you’re not out to dupe anyone. You don’t seek to be liked. You know what this referendum needs. Honesty. Dignity. Humility. Clarity.

We give you a week. By next Sunday, please turn 3 months of backstabbing unintentional self-harm into a salient argument for and against. Out-balance the BBC and John Pienaar. It’s yours for the taking. Don’t shy away. Don’t back down. Deliver us from evil. For better, for wiser.

The People of Britain.


They had no idea how or when he had moved into their attic. He just had. They’d never have known but for one sleepless night, troubled by work, she heard him above her.

It was 4:15am. It wasn’t a dream – she never dreamt. It wasn’t a ghost – she didn’t believe. It wasn’t a rat – a rat can’t whistle.

No daylight, no food, no sanitation. What did he do up there? How did he survive up there? Did he sip from the drips of the old water tank? Why here? Why us? Did he plan to kill them in their sleep?

Her husband doubted her sanity. She implored him to call the police. I am the police he reminded her. He scoured the attic for the eight time. As ever, no man, only moths, in search of light.


He had a way with words.

A wayward way.

Every thought he thought fell over before it reached his mouth.

What came out weighed less than the air into which it was born.

This perennial disappointment became his calling card.

People near and narrow raced to the back of the queue to hear him talk.

Destined to lead a light life, he eventually found his purpose in an industry made for him….politics.


  1. Sit by the window. If the seat is taken, ask to swap. Explain that it is a matter of life and death. Theirs. If they won’t budge, sit on their lap. If they resist, stroke them gently behind the ear, purring as you do so.
  2. Stare out of the window every 3rd word – this will kill any lazy words and turn ideas into flying stoats.
  3. Be nosy. The person opposite can’t see that you’re writing about their hair, their habits, the dark thoughts about you brewing in their head. Beware writing about the person beside you – they may lean and press chewed gum into your delete button.
  4. Feel the rhythm of the train. Write at its speed. Stop when it stops. Should it crash, don’t hang around to save your novel/screenplay/blog/tweet as you may be on fire.
  5. Drink rough red wine. They’ll sell it on board, next to the insulation-accredited muffins. If you’re driving at the other end, don’t tell the officer you were simply obeying these rules.
  6. When your words are complete, read them aloud to your fellow passengers. Should love ensue, invite us to the wedding.


“Attagirl!” said the man, grabbing the lead.

The bitch looked at him, as if to say fuck you.

The man won, as he always did.

They walked.

They returned.

The bitch ate and the man drank cheap instant coffee.

Until one day.

Same “Attagirl!”

Same result.

Same walk.

Same meal.

Except this time, the man sat down before his coffee and nodded off, with the lead around his neck.

The bitch crept up to the man, took the hand strap of the lead and started to pull.

Only once the lead was taut did the man awaken.

A little too late.

The bitch left via the back door.

The police tracked her down.

The coroner corroborated the cause of death.

It went to court – the first time an animal had been tried for murder.

The case collapsed.

The bitch walked free.

The end.


They came in their thousands, the leaves, the twigs, the stones. They were here to see the tree, the standup tree, a force of gag-cracking nature impersonating the sensible chimp known as man. A tree so smart and so funny, it made its fellow flora laugh out loud.

This is the tree with no name…a mongrel of a trunk 70ft high with rubbery limbs that made mimicking us all the more expressive. The postures, the gestures, the intonation, you’d swear you were watching a post-historic Jackie Mason giant, abusing the gentiles. Yet, this was a time beyond The Road, the last human gone without as much as a tear expressed by the rest of the animal world.

So much for the largest brain of all.


Redchurch Street

Is full of twats

In Joseph Beuys hats

Stick modelly girls

Their life unfurls

Through looking the part

When, deep in the heart

They ache to doss

And not give a toss

But the aura is thick

With lookist pricks

Every pose they throw

Drives a mammoth blow

Curtailing their years

With inner tears

When they get home

They’ll be alone

Miserable fuckers

Now down-on-their-luckers

Who’d want to be

With a tool like thee?


Apathy in the UK.

It’s worth £1trillion a year.

That’s a fat half of the GDP of this lazy-as-fuck country. Yes, that’s you, me, and the next can’t-be-arsed person in line. A line that’s going nowhere. A line that sits still because everyone in it is too busy, too idle, too thick or too rich to ‘switch’ one of 20 or so contracts we all have with capitalistic mute behemoths.

I’d like to think I’m too busy or too idle but I may just as well be too thick and too rich.

Energy companies, phone companies, insurance companies, technology companies, they all prey on our sloth-like behaviour.

Even the supermarkets are it with weekly deliveries of food we won’t get around to eating.

It’s not just nice to have in. It’s mugging by stealth. They make more than enough profit.

While we’re busy flatlining in front of Gogglebox, they’re conniving and contriving more devious ways to ‘do nothing’ and keep us on the tariff that gets laughed at when you finally get round to realising you’re the only person on it left in Britain.

So, what do we do?

Start a petition to force through a law that makes multi-nationals assess your usage every month and offer you the cheaper tariff/contract that you really need and bloody well deserve.

That sounds reasonable. Fair. Honest. Open. Empathetic. Maybe even generous.

These are the companies who will win us over in the long run. The ones who know we’re lazy and look out for us just because they’re grateful as hell to have our business.

Then again, starting a petition sounds like a lot of work.

Don’t suppose you’d…

← Previous PageNext Page →