The vultures are gathering and circling outside. I watched them this morning, grouped over on the odd side of the street, with their long scrawny necks perfectly evolved for tearing away huge strips of flesh and swallowing them whole. It ressembled something of a 'Who's Who' of all those in line to fuck my life up.

It was Bartholemew I saw first, crouched down with a plastic bag over his right hand, picking up Marlowe's morning turd and dumping it with a thud in No.17's dustbin. As he looked around slyly making sure he hadn't been spotted, he kinda straightened up to full height and gestured to someone to to join him. That someone was Brian, breezing down the road with his post trolley, a handful of letters and a semi hard-on. As that played out my phone began ringing: 'Verity Cooper Home' flashing annoyingly up on the display. I turned back to the window suddenly feeling overwhelmed. That's when I spotted Little Dick Tracy and his two Goons arriving on the scene. Barely could theyeven have introduced themselves when I caught something poking forward out the corner of my eye. It was a long thin cigarette holder, and with that, and a little chort of smoke, The Garbo Tranny was on set too, striding majestically across the road in all his pomp.

What was being discussed over there I couldn't quite make out, but it really didn't look good. Everyone was either making furious actions or pointing over my way. When Little Dick ordered his Goons to whip their pencils out I knew something big was going down. I scrunched my eyes up – real tight and evil – and sent the lot of them my fondest wishes for violent and agonising deaths.


  1. The Garbo Tranny seems quite interesting. Barbara Cartland would have loved her. But then she was Princess Diana's aunt or something.

    Finding that book of Babs's would be a bad idea I think. As would killing Verity. By all means go abroad but don't do anything stupid first. Look what happened to poor Oscar...

  2. Oh my goodness, Mr. Spencer, it sounds as though everything is about to converge. You might want to take cover.

  3. Mrs Winthrope: the Garbo Tranny... I don't know about interesting, in the five years I've lived here he's never ventured out further than the high street. From what I can make out he dresses up in his bedsit then stands outside smoking until someone either hits or propositions him. I think he drinks.

    No, I've got to find that book, prove to verity there were no real plans to off John, and certainly no plans to dispose of him as I did. I need one person on my side. Hmm, poor Oscar, I know how he feels... X

    Lee Deville: I am taking cover! That's the problem. I'm gonna get it, a very soon if things continue as they are. X

  4. Abigail: felt... I know how Oscar felt. As if running away to France could ever help anything! X

  5. 'He dresses up in his bedsit then stands outside smoking until someone either hits or propositions him'.

    Well we've all been there.

    Metaphorically speaking of course.

    I believe what Quentin Crisp said about the French:

    They all speak English behind our back.

    It occurs to me that John could be Oscar's Bosie reincarnated - in his tantrumic nastiness...

    Actually the worst thing Oscar did was stay in London and fight it out.

    It ended up with him doing the hard labour that killed him at a young age.

    Do you want to end up writing The Ballad of Southwark Jail?

    Take heed.

  6. Hi Tristram,
    Do you have pictures of garbo tranny? I have a good idea what she looks like as with Bartholemew. Maybe this is little dick tracy..

  7. Mrs Winthrope: A friend of mine says that the french language is "a throat infection with a few vowels thrown in." Which is really wonderfuland true.

    Yes, Oscar's big mùstake was the libel charge he brought against Queensbury. To proove libel he had to proove he wasn't homosexual. have you ever reaf the transcripts to the trial? Really fascinating. A small moment where we can really see Wilde for ourselves and how he responds immediately to question put to him. I think it's probably the most insightful, personal, documentation there is. And it was a huge shame, because at one point he seemed to have wooed everyone and the prosecution was a laughing stock. And then he said about 'not kissing ugly boys'. Et voilà: Reading, calais, France, Dead and not even via the scenic route from what I've read.

    Wilde has a strange place in me. He's not an influence (literary) on me as an adult, but he influenced my late teens and early twenties to such an extent that I suppose he is forever somewhere in what I do. It's nice in that way and fitting for who he was. In that way he kind of does have eternal youth, for most writers become impassioned by him at a young age and he lives youth again through them in the present. Still he's the only writer I've read the entire life works of. X

  8. Lena: I will get some pictures for you.

    Mr Bartholemew: if you're thinking: 80's rolypoly toys (Weebles wobble but they don't fall over) with George's face, Sam's bald head and Bernards hat then, yes, you're quite close. X

  9. Jason, Thank you and hopefully we'll see you around here again soon. Tristram. X

  10. Hi Tristram,
    Sam definitely. The others not so much. I also see him in a grey mac and sort of looks like the life is drained out of him, he emits grey. I don't think his face is as pronounced as George and I never saw him wear a hat. Isn't it nice too know your readers see something different.


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