This is the diary of a bemused Boomer. Teetering on the tightrope between the demands of his family and ageing Mother and his desire for more ‘me time’, he is trapped in No Man’s Land, a victim of the inter-generational war. Ecce homo, ecce Boomer, ecce Man in the Middle.
Winner of the Sandstone Short Fiction Prize, Man in the Middle is often seen in Age Space and The Chiswick Calendar.
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07.15 The bathroom is whoosily hot. As I poach myself back into the Land of the Living after an excessive Saturday bacchanal, I wonder where my toes have gone and if they will ever come back. I watch my body turn the colour of a hot cure smoked salmon and doze. 07.20 I slip under…
Chocolate: the opiate of old age
Mother is sitting at a table by herself. Her fingers rest on the edge of a cup and saucer half full of spilt tea. Her eyes are open, and her head is tilted backwards, perhaps thirty degrees. I can’t tell if she is gazing up a slight incline towards Heaven or is asleep. Whichever it…
Sweatbreads? What an offally nice idea
Sunday. I walk into the kitchen hoping for a quiet breakfast brew and an update from the papers on Boris Johnson’s latest falsehoods, fabrications and fibs, only to discover that overnight Netflix have converted my kitchen into the film set for a new version of George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’. The place is swarming with young…
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