March 28, 2010

The pig-faced man continues talking,

“…golf with an old college buddy… handicap of thirteen… bogeyed the fairway???”

I nod, but his words mean nothing to me. A young woman with pretty green eyes arrives and interrupts excitedly.

“…non-specific retrovirus… neural pathways… funding application???”

Again I nod and laugh encouragingly, but she seems to expect more. I wander off through a maze of corridors.

Later I meet the young woman again. Now she is wearing a face mask, but I can still see her pretty green eyes.

“…dreadful containment failure Dr Matthews… appear to have contracted Stupid…”

She leads me away.


The Romantic

March 20, 2010

Spencer was a hopeless romantic. His easy charm and deep brown eyes, which hinted misleadingly at hidden depths, had broken hearts across the country. From Beth the dental assistant in Charlotte to Cindy the attorney in Philadelphia.

Each and every romance was passionate, all-consuming and ultimately short-lived. What started with flowers and poetry ended with accusations and unreturned phone calls.

It was not as though he intended to be a Casanova, but after yet another angry break-up he wondered if love could ever last forever. That was until he met Dr Julia Spires owner of the Portland Institute of Cryogenics.

The Dinner Party

March 16, 2010

“This salmon and apricot mouse is simply divine,” simpered Miranda. “You absolutely must give me the recipe.”

There were murmurs of agreement from around the table. Glowing with pride Miriam began to reply.

“Well it’s quite simple really…”

“My dog could make a better salmon mouse,” Geoffrey interrupted cheerfully. “Farmed salmon is disgusting, it’s pumped full of steroids and antibiotics. It has been scientifically proven to cause a ninety seven percent increase in colon cancer in lab rats…”

The shocked silence was broken by an arch whisper.

“Geoffrey, remember what Dr Spunkmeyer said; dinner parties are not like the internet.”


March 6, 2010

General Richards strode into the control room where klaxons wailed and alerts flashed on a wall of monitors.

‘What’s the problem Lieutenant?’ he barked.

‘It’s the telemetry, Sir. The subject is recording increased levels of serotonin, dopamine and norepinephrine. His heart rate and blood pressure have gone through the roof,’ replied a young officer.

Richards scowled, ‘What about brain activity?’

‘His anterior-temporal lobe just lit up like Christmas tree,’ the lieutenant looked up, visibly shaken. ‘Do you know what this means?’

‘Indeed I do,’ the general grabbed the nearest phone. ‘Get me the Pentagon immediately… the President is in love!’


March 2, 2010

‘Baaa,’ says Dave.

Dave is a sheep, like me. We stand in the meadow, under a blue sky dotted with small white clouds. It is the perfect day to be a sheep.

‘Baaa,’ repeats Dave. He is offering to share the patch of clover that he is eating. I take a bite… delicious.

‘Baaa,’ says Dave anxiously, looking at two men climbing into the field. They yell human words which I cannot understand.

‘Oi freak, get out off my land,’ says one of the men, incomprehensibly.

I wonder who they are shouting at. There is nobody here but us sheep.