Buslets

Posted on by

Since moving to london I have been an avid bus rider (which is a bit like being Knight Rider given that similar to KIIT buses do talk to you in a robotic voice via their announcements).

Anyway, here are some couplets I’ve composed over the years about the various routes I’ve taken. If anyone from TfL is reading this do feel free to incorporate them into the onboard announcements for each route.

Feeling naughty
On the number 40

In the mix
On the 176

I come alive
On the 185

So fresh, so clean
On the P13

Halfway to heaven
On the 197

Heroes unsung
On the 171

Beyond my ken
On the 410

Can you guess from the above whereabouts I live and have lived in London?

Pod

Posted on by

In each episode of this pod, Dick and Bristol-based artist Owen “O” Watts take a year and explore a few notable events and things that happened within those 365 (and a quarter) days.

Includes features such as Comings and Goings, highlighting a notable birth and death from each year, and also guessing the top-selling song in the UK charts.

Perfect for nostalgia nuts and pop cultural cuties!

Coming Out Story – a vignette

Posted on by

You’re a nice boy – you’ve always made mum proud.

There’s something you’ve got to tell her though. She’s always known you’ve been the shy and sensitive type, you were never really into sports at school, you played the clarinet. She knows that you and Harry have lived together since you met at uni in a student production of Little Shop of Horrors, but she seems to think the two of you are just very close.

So when she’s visiting you – her only son – in the big city, you take her to one of the nice (gentrified) pubs in your neighbourhood on a Sunday afternoon.

You sit in a quiet corner in the dining section. Roasts and a bottle of the house red have been ordered. You look at her meaningfully,

“Mum, i’m gay”

At that moment, the barmaid rings the last orders bell. Rainbow glitter rains down from the ceiling over your table. The Vengaboys’ signature hit Boom Boom Boom Boom starts blaring over the sound system.

Two oiled up bodybuilders in jockstraps and leather harnesses arrive out of nowhere and gyrate in front of you both.

TV presenter Anna Richardson emerges, drapes a pink feather boa around your neck, and congratulates you on being the 1,000th person to come out to their mum in that pub.

Richardson and the bodybuilders disperse, the music stops – as abruptly as it started. The waitress comes over with your roasts. When she brings the bucket full of condiments, she points out two bottles of Berlin XXX Hardcore poppers nestled between the mustard and the HP sauce.

“On the house” she says, with a knowing smile.

Open Windows

Posted on by

The view from this window will linger
long after the tenancy ends
on this flat-bound
locked down year.

I sit and stare from this window
at a cat facing their own front door,
as trains slide in and out of the station
to and from the city’s depths,
with laboured, whirring, mechanical breath.

I sit and stare from this window,
as many have and do – it’s nothing new!

You know they sit and stare
in places where idle time is a welcome break
from back-breaking labour.
Not in endless supply,
to plaster over with
mocked up, locked down busyness:
calls, catch-ups, one-to-ones,
Zoom quizzes, cocktails, online ‘fun’.

I sit and stare from this window,
a faceless form caught up
in someone else’s view, perhaps.
Or more likely, no one’s looking.

Not Always Like This

Posted on by

I sat on the coach as other passengers ambled on. A woman boarded, dressed entirely in purple. She stood at the front, and announced,

“Ladies and gentlemen, I need your help – I am casting a spell for world peace.”

She reminded me of a teacher on a school trip, but mad.

*

A week or so earlier, my doctor called me into his office.

My words tumbled out in a monotone jumble: I felt unable to cope, I’d banged my head against a wall on purpose.

*

The woman continued her monologue.

“You see, ladies and gentlemen, there are lines connecting all of us: green lines, orange lines and white lines…”

A bus station staff member boarded the coach.

“Can you step off the coach for a minute, love? We want to have a word with you.”

*

“You need to find a healthy way of dealing with frustration – hurting yourself isn’t going to help.”

An anger swelled inside me.

“I know that, don’t fucking patronise me.”

“I’m not used to being sworn at whilst I do my job,” he responded calmly. “I’m trying to help you.”

*

The woman in purple got back on.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m very sorry to have caused such a disturbance,” she said coyly, before returning to her seat, collecting her things and leaving the coach.

*

“I’m sorry,” I said, ashamed. “I’m not always like this.”

I took the pale green prescription slip and left the doctor’s office.

London I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down

Posted on by

Something for the fruit flies;

something for the pain:

a little pill – 20mg

to get me through each day.

 

Another rat has appeared

dead beneath the sink;

I sink into my overdraft

to get my round of drinks.

 

Now my body doesn’t look

like a young man’s does

from sitting in an office,

two hours on the bus.

 

So when will I grow up,

and what will I become?

Being twenty in your thirties

is not really so much fun.