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Funerals Stories


Pity the Living, Indeed

Just a tiny piece I wrote when I realised something at a funeral

The thing about funerals is that it's not only the poor bastard on the casket who looks dead. As you reach out to grab the crying son's shoulder or the wailing husband's hand, you see the hollows in their cheeks and their ashen faces and feel skin unnervi...

I Swear

This happened to me when I was a child

I SwearEngland. South Shields, 1967. I leaned against our back gate, acting the big man in front of the bloke next door. Mouthing off to him and swearing even though he'd already complained a couple of times to Ma about my bucket-mouth. Thinking I was so...