Flash Fiction – High Horn

He pushed his shades up onto his forehead and strained his eyes in an attempt to focus on the small hand but couldn’t – he guessed around 3 hours had passed in the blink of an ecstatic eye. The club was a big open space with a cold industrial feel and the dance floor spinned round him like a whirlwind of exposed breezeblock and dull metal banisters. The throbbing base line wanking his spine would release its grip soon and lights would expose those who had sought to change themselves in the safety of darkness. Taking in the scene around him he prepared to slip into his usual comedown from wherever he had been, unaware a high horn was about to consume him.

He considered himself to be neither attractive nor ugly by the admittedly low standards back home and his fleshy Glaswegian frame and pasty skin wouldn’t have got him much in the way of female attraction - where it not for his substantive sprinkling of personality. His arrival alone in a new city on the other side of the world only yesterday had been motivated partly by a desire to travel before his 30^th birthday (in 4 months) and also as a result of bumping into an old school friend last year. The friend admittedly was likely to be classed higher than he in the food chain of attractiveness if there were such a thing – but nonetheless he was adamant that the woman he had encountered on his travels in South America (and in particular those in Santiago Chile) were disproportionately enthused by the sight of any European non Latino type men (gringo’s).

Now that he had fully arrived back in the here and now from the luxurious numbness of his pill and booze induced haze the immediate and primal necessity was one of fast and urgent sex. He had no preference between sex of a casual nature or even black tie but it had to be tonight. The likely language barrier removed the safety net of awkward small talk and clumsy exchanges of phone numbers were totally out of the question. He required a signature on the line which is dotted and he required it tonight – there would be no contractual cooling off period either.

His body automatically moved into predator mode beneath him and suddenly the club opened up into the wide green expanse of a far away savannah at dusk. As the sun hovered gently vibrating on the cusp of the stretched horizon he knew he may not be the only hunter in the grass and began to focus on the area around him. Unfortunately those within swiping distance were either with partners, in packs or too alert and somehow aware of his presence and the associated dangers. Ready to flee their fate in a heartbeat. Not for them an early morning stranger fuck followed by a restless sleep and then the inevitability of being discarded, thrown into a waste bin like a razor full of hair – no longer of any use.

It was then that he saw it in a shadowy crevice to his right its elbow leaning on a speaker. It looked to be sufficiently drunk but still able to stand and had a demeneaour he hoped might have an air of post argument within it. It was older but still clung on to its youthful exuberance in a sad and desperate kind of way and seemed to be almost invisible to everyone apart from him. It had an indigenous look with shoulder length wayward brown hair framing an oval face of substantive cheekbones and black marble eyes. The smudged mascara and cherry red lips accentuated a strangeness against the backdrop of younger women who avoided makeup in such sweatily pointless conditions.

It was crucial he beat the lights and get out in the cover of darkness. There should be no opportunity to reconsider compliance and the inevitable stares could induce a cognizant jerk – so he made his move quickly. Like a great cat he moved through the elbows and shoulders between them balancing the need for both urgency and stealth. Within a flash he was there and it seemed startled then he was relieved when that initial look quickly faded into something between pleasant surprise and curbed enthusiasm. The smile slowly opened up a genetic window into Manco Capac’s legendary dynasty but the neon purpleised teeth seemed to veil a somewhat sinister look. This produced a sudden stab of fear in his chest as he now proceeded with caution into unfamiliar territory. Something didn’t smell right. The savannahs of Santiago never give up a meal without so much as a Fandango and if it does there is normally a good reason. He knew then that he was the only one who had taken the scent and there would be no need to chase this ageing Impala, no need to swipe at the fishnet ankles to knock them off balance. He was worried by the lyre shaped high horns and felt there may be something strangely familiar to him and yet to be revealed under the surface. One thing he knew for sure – either way – the hunt was over.

The Hallway

It’s late, he knows he should be in bed as it’s a school night. Something random on the box has caught his attention as the dark room’s walls dance around him in the jagged TV light. He will forgo morning freshness for an extension of his evening and leaves the room to get some juice from the fridge. He returns and tries to settle again but soon feels the twinge and knows he must go to the bathroom, but he is anxious. The kitchen is fine at night as it is the first room down the hallway from his living room but the bathroom is at the far end and involves passing the darkened rooms where he knows it waits. Since it’s appearance he has periodically been pissing in the kitchen sink so as to avoid passing an empty room but has stopped that, concerned at the implications on food preperation. He switches the hallway light on in the knowledge it won’t help, it only makes the dark rooms even darker to either side of him. First he passes the kitchen to his right, as he expected it is there. In his peripheral vision only, if he turns to look into a room it will be gone, but as he passes any room at night it is there and has been for a few weeks now. It is thickly black and tall, hooded perhaps but he can’t pick up such detail. Next he passes the guest bedroom and again it is there. Finally he reaches the sanctuary of the bathroom where he diverts his stream away from the water and on to the porcelain, loud splashing noise doesn’t seem appropriate. Then there is a flush and a wash of the hands before continuing back up the hallway past the guest bedroom on his right, it is there. Finally past the kitchen on his left, it is there. His eyes are soon on the TV but his thoughts are on those rooms. Why now? There have been several explanations he has come up with but the most obvious and plausible is that the figure is death and he is soon to die. What other reason could there be for a tall, black, probably hooded figure living in the peripheral vision of his unattended rooms. Tonight is different from previous nights though. A feeling of heightened awareness and terror washes over him unchecked as he powers down the TV and this time in complete darkness moves down the hallway toward his bedroom, past the kitchen on his right first, it is there. He stops at the guest bedroom on his right and stands motionless, it is there, he tries to focus on it as best he can without turning. It seems to move slightly in a forward and backward motion as though readying itself to dissapear when he turns to face it.

‘I don’t want to die.’

His words echo around the stillness of the hallway with it’s wooden floors. Perhaps it’s just a ghost, or better still simply his overactive imagination. Finally he can resist no longer and he turns to face the now empty room. He knows if he walks back down to the kitchen it waits for him in his peripheral vision but he is scared and plans to beg for sleep. His head twists and turns on the pillow for what seem like hours when the smell comes to him. He raises himself on to his elbows and looks at his closed bedroom door in the knowledge it is standing directly outside.

London Bias – Again..

I read an interview with Lorraine Heggessey (former BBC controller) she said she was saddened by TV Production being so London centric and that she was committed to ‘nuturing talent in Scotland’. So how confused do you think I was when I heard recently that a new BBC commission was to be produced in Glasgow (called Hole in the Wall and is a shit Japanese rerun but that’s a seperate issue) the presenter of the prime time Saturday night show is Antonio Du Beke and he will commute from his London home to Glasgow to do the filming. So basically Lorraine there are no established/capable TV presenters living in Scotland, or even an emerging talent in need of that nurturing you promised?

TWAT!

Freedom of speech

Lord Carloway has brought the judiciary into line with Parliament in a blatant example of why I’m beginning to doubt the independent status of sections within our once highly respected legal establishment. Apparently he has upset quite a few libertarians in the past with other controversial decisions. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/glasgow_and_west/8109359.stm

Politician or Judge?

I have been a Rangers fan all my life. I am not and have never been anti catholic or anti republican. I have however sung anti catholic and anti republican songs at matches (not recently though as a result of political censorship). In this blog entry I would like to try and explain why someone like me would sing songs of this nature. Football is an entertainment (using the word entertainment when refering to the Scottish premier League is a stretch i know) and our stadia is the theatre where the drama is played out. Fans have always had a role to play as the revered ’12th man’ and that is to generate as much atmosphere as possible, the only tool fans have at their disposal in this regard is their voices, this atmosphere can on occassion encourage your team and hopefully intimidate the opposition. We all know 99% of Rangers and Celtic fans live their lives outwith the stadium with no interest in bigotry or intolerence, most have partners or friends from the opposing side and they live in harmony. I myself have many friends and aquaintences who are celtic fans and or catholics. I do however defend the right of both sets of fans to sing whatever they like in the context of sport/theatre combined with our constitutional right to freedom of speech. This is simply a post 9/11 bandwagon that Holyrood politicians jumped on to be seen to be stamping out any form of of racism or bigotry but it was a knee jerk and vote winning strategy which has done nothing but create a problem that didnt even exist befor their meddling. Of course both football clubs have a small minority of trouble makers but no one believes for one second that censorship will any way disuade them from seeking out confrontations.

If Rangers and Celtic fans are banned from singing lyrics relating to charcaters or events from actual historical events (wether intolerent or not) then whay are the English allowed to sing ‘rebellious scots to crush’ in the sixth verse of the English national anthem. I’m Scottish and i find the idea of being crushed as pretty extreme/intolerant. So Lord Carloway how about it, a bit of parity, or would that be too much to ask for.

Freedom of information act – My arse

For previous posts click on children category to right>

Having requested data relating to demographics and also exclusions over the last 20 years (under the freedom of information act) I received the response below from East Renfrewshire Council Education Department. So as requested in the email I telephoned Mary who really didn’t like my attitude at all. Mary suspects she will be unable to fulfil my request and didn’t take kindly to my insinuations she was involved in a cover up (is that a paper shredder I can hear in the background Mary?). She suspects she can can only get me 2 years worth of data (I asked for 20 years worth), she also reckons that the 2 years worth she ‘might’ be able to get me is in St Ninians High School itself which is locked up for summer holiday’s. On top of all that because of the ‘nature’ of the request she reckons I will have to pay for the information. I asked what she meant by ‘nature’ but she really doesn’t like being asked questions. I explained I would await her predictably uncooperative response prior to pursuing other avenues (higher authorities/appeals/panels etc). I suspect East renfrewshire (like me) are fully aware that the stats they are unwilling to release will illustrate their attempts (succesfull to date) to exclude children from socially excluded areas in order to focus on those from affluent areas and the associated benefits for their impressive league tables. Because we all know scheme kids are thick right.

Tartan Stereotypes

In tonight’s episode of Eastenders the writer (Gillian Richmond) let herself down badly in my opinion by reinforcing all the old biscuit tin stereotypes that we all do our best to avoid. One of their characters (Ian Beale) and his family spend a week in Scotland and he comes back decked out in tartan announcing he has claims to the chieftanhood of some obscure clan or other. First off it’s extremely far fetched but more importantly it implies that tartan and clans is pretty much all you get on a trip to Scotland? It’s just lazy, unimaginitive and pretty condescending, come on guys get a grip. If you bothered your arse to actually visit (Oh shit nose bleeds north of St Albans) you would see that the Scottish culture is cosmopolitan, vibrant and were worth a lot more than that bollocks. I propose to the writers of River City that they should send a Glaswegian family to London for the week and have them arrive back in Glasgow with pearl buttons sewed on to their kappa tracky’s, eating jellied eels and singing chas and dave songs. Gillian Richmond you really are a twat.

Hello there we are from London!

 

West Highland Way Poem

It would be fair to say I was moved by the west highland way. I’ve been fortunate enough to do a fair bit of travelling to date but the landscape was like nothing I have come across. I’m a bit ashamed that it took me 37 years to make a journey that starts on my doorstep when I met people who had travelled thousands of miles to do it. If you want to see more pic’s add me on facebook (Mark MacNicol). I could probably write a 2nd novel using the trek as my inspiration (I may well do that, I have an idea about a contemporary retake on the Glen Coe massacre) but I wanted to do something quickly while I still have the smell in my nostrils and the blisters on my balls. So I wrote a poem and used as my inspiration the section between Rannoch Moor and the Devil’s Staircase. Eerie would be an understatement and many new friends I met along the way all agreed the place ‘felt’ a bit funny. We told some great ghost stories around the campfire that night drinking warm cider and eating monkey nuts, especially ones about the Fingalians who lived on the land 1700 years ago and had many famous battles with Vikings..

Breathe on me oh Fingalian..

In tribute to West Highland Way June 09

‘The other place’

 We walk in your shadows across the floors of moss and heather

You don’t see us, but we are here

We protect you from those who fester and decay in the other place

This is our home, we are as fearless as we are Fingalian

 

Your pampered feet touch the same that once we could feel beneath us

Our breath is your wind and Norseman’s tears your rain

Death and hell has raped this land in the name of paper

The land always believes it belongs to the sky

 

We Fingalian lay claim only to our souls

In the darkness and in the light, we shall protect you

We walk as giants in this world, as in the last

For when the great Fingal Horn sounds, we will rise again

 

Mark MacNicol

Quality education for affluent only..

As some of you may be aware I am a volunteer with a charity who work with teenagers in a Glasgow housing scheme (Arden) in an attempt to keep them away from bad life choices like gang fighting, knife carrying, alcohol, drug use etc. It would be fair to say we have an up hill struggle but for as long as there is a chance that even one of them will make a different choice this charity will continue to do their amazing work and offer an alternative message.

So it was with a heavy heart I discovered this week that East Renfrewshire Council http://www.eastrenfrewshire.gov.uk/education-and-learning.htm have been targetting these very teenagers in an attempt to exclude them. I had been hearing rumours to this effect from a few different people since returning from London last year but over the last few weeks I have actually spoken to some children who have given me their own stories and I have now come to the conclusion that they are not simply rumours. 

You need some background:

St Ninians High School http://www.ea.e-renfrew.sch.uk/stninians/default.htm located in the affluent Giffnock/Newton Mearns area of Glasgow was built by Strathclyde Regional Council to provide education to children from a number of areas (including Arden). Since it’s construction Strathclyde Regional Council no longer exists and the school is controlled by East Renfrewshire Council. Arden is not controlled by East Renfrewshire, it is controlled by Glasgow City Council. It would be fair to say that Glasgow City Council has many areas within it’s control that would be labelled as being ‘socially excluded’, Arden is one of them. Many of these children are living in poverty and have many factors stacked against them in terms of life expectancy and opportunities, alas it would seem that even a fundamental right to quality education is being placed outwith their reach.

The Scottish Parliament (rightly) expects local councils to provide quality education in return for the substantial tax payer investment. One of the ways it guages this is by using controversial league tables. East Renfrewshire’s own league tables are of a very high standard. St Ninian’s High School is consistently at the top of East Renfrewshire’s league table. http://www.ea.e-renfrew.sch.uk/stninians/page10a.html Can you see where this is heading?

East Renfrewshire Council unlike Glasgow City Council has few if any socially excluded areas within it’s boundaries. The accusation is that East Renfrewshire council and St Ninian’s High school have came to the conclusion that children from socially excluded Arden will handicap their league tables, represent a drain on resources etc etc. In essence lets have an elitist education system and segregrate our schools on the basis of social background. Subsequently it is their intention to exclude children from Arden and their ultimate target is to encourage/force all of them to go to Glasgow City Council schools. They have been accused also of applying disproportianate punishments (including innapropriate expulsions), even refusing to provide a school bus for the children of Arden (despite buses being laid on for every other area). I spoke to the mother of a 12 year old girl was attacked last year on her walk back to Arden from school. I mean really how do these people sleep at night.

So.. Here’s the deal. The children of Arden have now got me in their corner as towel man and I promise I will invest all the energy I have to fight this blatant injustice on both a local and a national level. I am more than adequately resourced to take on the likes of St Ninians High School and I promise to become a thorn their flesh for as long as it takes until the children of Arden are given the choice to attend St Ninians and receive the high quality education they are constitutionally entitled to.

Local: I have requested from East Renfrewshire in writing (under the terms of the freedom of Information act 2000 with which i have made myself intimately familiar) http://www.opsi.gov.uk/Acts/acts2000/ukpga_20000036_en_2#pt1 a list of numbers of children from Arden attending St Ninians over the last 20 years. I have also requested (under the terms of the same act) a list of the numbers of suspensions and expulsions of children from Arden over the same 20 year period. They have 20 working days to respond and I will be studying those numbers closely (and also passing them to the media). I have requested with immediate effect that a bus be laid on for the children of Arden.

National: Legislation currently dictates that local council’s need to gather information on the effect of policies and practices on the education available to pupils of ethnic minorities, pupils with disabilities and also based on gender.
I have met with my MSP and he has agreed to work with me to request that pupils who are socially excluded be added to that legislation. I have also had contact with the department within parliament http://www.scotland.gov.uk/Topics/Education responsible for the newly launched curriculum for excellence who have agreed to review provisions for children from socially excluded backgrounds.

Watch this space..

The mechanics of attraction..

As usual before agreeing to meet last night’s date I had seen her www.match.com profile photos and could see that she looked the part and was attractive. We also had some email & msn chat so I knew she wasn’t a complete retardo. It would be fair to say however that within a few minutes of meeting her I simply knew I wasn’t attracted to her. Strangest thing happened though; I still felt the need to make sure that she was attracted to me, which I found a wee bit strange. Like going for a job interview in the knowledge you didn’t really want the job but wanted to make sure you got offered the position in any case, despite not being sure why as you know you will never take it. It’s like, OK I may not be attracted to you sufficiently to consider a relationship but my ego needs you (and every female im not related to) to be attracted to me. It really is a lot of bollocks when you think about it. Not everyone on the planet can be attracted to you. It doesn’t even really come down to looks when you consider it. I have in the past been electrified by women who are not ‘traditionally’ attractive and yet had zero reaction to others who score higher on society’s sliding scale. Vice versa I’ve encountered complete dogs that wouldn’t lift their leg if I was on fire and conversely total stunners who hang on my every word. Weird.

In any case that thing we call the ‘X factor’ or ‘spark’ was not in the building for me. I wonder if any scientist out there has come up with a study to better understand the actual mechanics of attraction. Complete mystery to me. In saying all that of course (in the interests of full disclosure) I am as you know a red blooded male. We hunt, we are genetically programmed and socially conditioned to do so, we can’t help ourselves. Ladies reading this> Your partners will never admit it to you but they all hunt. Only difference is they do it for sport and throw their catch back in the water (some don’t of course). As for us singleton’s? We kill first, then taste, if we like it we devour, if we don’t we discard it for the scavengers. After around 45 minutes I hadn’t completely ruled out a second date. I may not have been attracted to her but she was nonetheless an attractive women. In any case that option evaporated when she drew things to a halt saying she was tired and had to go home for an early night, at fucking 19:45? Come on give me a break. Bottom line, the lack of attraction was completely mutual. Wouldn’t it be great to live on a planet where the following accurate and honest conversation could take place:

Her: I can tell you’re not attracted to me, I’m going home to watch the telly.

Me: That’s true, but your well put together and although I may not be sufficiently attracted to consider a relationship, if you fancy having a wrestle in the dark I’m game.

Her: Thanks for the offer but to be honest I’m not attracted to you either, I don’t make the distinction between dark room wrestling and relationships, I need to be equally attracted to someone for both.

Me: Fair enough, any chance of dropping me at my flat I’m only 10 minutes up the road?

Her: Would rather not if it’s all the same, I don’t know you from adam, you could be a car jacker or a rapist.

Me: OK then, best of luck, see you leter.

Her: Bye.

50 first dates

So I was discussing with a friend yesterday why I ended things after five dates last week with a women who seemed to tick all the boxes and the only explanation I could come up with was an enthusiasm I have for going on 1st dates and how excited I was about putting my profile back on www.match.com I have my 10th date lined up for lunchtime today (tapas in 3 hours) and as with all the other 1st dates to date I’m genuinely excited and looking forward to it. I have little baby Lepidoptera in my tummy right now as I write this, It’s that sense of anticipation I’m hooked on. Definately sexist but what comes to mind is what i would think a women feels when her Jimmy Choo’s touch the delicous tarmac of New Bond Street as she penetrates the cusp of a shopping frenzy leaving her financial responsibilities behind. Also, only having seen profile pictures and some email/msn with no face to face contact there is the uncertainty, she may be ‘the one’, the 6x number lottery ticket, thunderbolt and lightning (very very frightening). Invariably there is probably more chance I will be hit by lightning leaving a shop where I just purchased a winning ticket as i suspect there never was any such thing as ‘the one’ and my natural high pre 1st date is always building me up for the anti climatic 2nd date (probably why I have only been on 1x 2nd date).

All downhill from here..

Most of our friends/family know all about our history/hopes/values etc so on a 1st date we get the opportunity to talk extensively about ourselves (how often do all you people in safe relationships get the chance to do that i wonder?). My date (at least out of politeness) will pretend to be interested in my self indulgent ramblings. Of course you have to return the compliment and let them talk about their shit but that’s OK. In actual fact I have been thoroughly impressed and genuinely interested by some of my dates, Head of PR for a political party, journalist, headteacher, cabin crew, detective, paramedic, the list goes on. I kid you not, fascinating, excellent raw material for a writer and great for building my female characters (I even started a cheecky wee database, match should be charging me much more). Is it wrong that I’ve been making voice recordings on my phone while they are in ladies room about how silk like strands of hair keeps falling over a cheek, eyes like plums dipped in water, lips moist and welcoming, swimmers shoulders alien on a soft edged frame, the tantalising curve of a vertebral column. Well they do say the genius is in the detail..  

Only 40x more 1st dates to go – love it..