Archive for the ‘Middle-Aged’ Category

The Complete Works, (so far!)

Hey there, and many thanks for stopping by. On this site you’ll find a collection of my short stories and screenplays for your enjoyment. Please feel free to leave feedback both good and bad – as Plato once said –  the worst thing is to just be ignored!

Even better however, would be if you could find your way to actually purchasing one of my published books using the links below, that way I may continue to dodge bullets and bailiffs with your help. All books are available online, in all reputable books stores, E-books… and no doubt soon, all local Charity Shops.

Hope you find something here to enjoy….

Best Wishes,

Mike   x


“SPRINGBOARDS”         – A further collection of original short stories, short scripts and feature screenplays.



“BUM NOTES”          – A collection of eighteen original and diverse short stories:



“DIFFERENT STATES”           – One Man, One Credit Card, One Continent… No Plan. A travelogue from East to West Coast USA.



“MOLEHOLE”            – Essays on the Human Condition. The story of one man’s dark and lonely three year journey so far up his own ass that he arrived out his mouth to recount the tale to a deaf world.  (Not suitable for minors or miners.)


Thanks awfully x


The Future Christmas Baby Insurance Policy.


I don’t get this whole having kids thing…

There I’ve said it –  form an orderly queue to throw rotten tomatoes at me please… 😉

I want to understand it because I have that massive fear of missing out. Most of my friends post pictures of their new born babies on social media. Great, fantastic, I’m really genuinely pleased for you – so get on with it, enjoy it and stop trying to sell the world on just how much fun you’re having – I don’t believe you.

If my male friends printed out a photo of their newborn and we all hooked up for a big get together, (which never happens any more because their women won’t allow them out once they had kids) – but that aside, if we played a game of Snap with all those baby pictures then it would only last two seconds, because every baby looks the damn same. But apparently they don’t. Facebook should be renamed Babybook for people of my age in London approaching 40. It’s almost like a badge of honour or a badge of suffering to have had a baby by 40.

Sure it must be great – for all the moaning and bitching, all the old female friends who suddenly become child psychologists who say how long you must breast feed for, and oh my god, you’re killing your baby if you don’t breast feed for 6 weeks, no, 6 months, no 6 years lactivists…  etc…  Each feeling they are SO correct in their approach to what a good mother should be… if only to make all the other mums feel insecure under the weight and pressure of all the parenting books they’ve read, etc.. Yawn.

Like that condescending TV advert for follow-on-milk from Aptemil or Nestle  – ‘Take it from us, you’re doing great, if you’re a mum you’ll understand.’

Well, here’s the news – take it from ME –  ‘I don’t give a shit either way.’

I am scared of having a child. There, I’ve said it.

I’m scared for a lot of reasons, so I’ll try to explain them if you can be bothered to read on…

I’m scared that my current selfish lifestyle can’t afford to support a child, hell, I can’t even afford to support myself, so isn’t it a bit odd to have a child being a child myself? The child sucks on my teat and I, in turn, expect to suck on the welfare teat to support me and the child too?

I couldn’t emotionally deal with having a child – there are so many things in me that I haven’t come to terms with fully – my massive misplaced ego, my low self-esteem, my understanding of cognitive dissonance and many more things go figure. So to see a little version of me growing up and my faults reflected in him or her, I’d feel at best a mixture of pity that he was suffering from things I couldn’t help him with because I hadn’t worked them out myself, and at worst hatred that he was reflecting to me the things I can’t yet accept in myself.

Whether it is from a sense of our animal nature – every animal MUST reproduce, it is all we are designed to do… Or for those more self-aware a sense that everyone else in society our peers expects us to do it – so we don’t feel weird or ‘other/outsider’ by not towing the line, I honestly don’t get it. Maybe I was just born a bad animal?

Surely, people fall in love when they are young, and if the relationship lasts then the woman, (in my friendship circle 90% the woman) says as she hears her biological clock tick down to time-mong-bomb  – give me a child or I will leave you, if you love me you will, and the man for want of better ideas and direction or because he genuinely loves his woman and wants to keep her at all costs agrees.  But for the above reasons I fight against it, but I want to learn. Like some sort of fucked up alien I want to learn why men have kids?

I was nothing but a big world of trouble for my parents, a truly horrible child. I’d hate to give birth to another me, and I feel the universe has a way of teaching us what we best need to learn – so for all my cruel jokes and snooty proclamations over the years you best believe my child will be handicapped, or if not then the biggest cunt since me.

The only good thing I can see about having kids is if you are a good parent despite your faults, and your child grows up to be cool, then you have a Christmas Insurance policy against being a sad and lonely old fucker living alone by yourself, un-thought of and unloved with only a TV dinner for company.  I’m scared of those maggots eating into my varicose ankles when I’m 80+ until Social Services find my corpse in the Spring, thawed out with the untouched frozen turkey.

But I’m equally scared of creating a needy, helpless new life that’s a small version of me. Especially if he’s created out of boredom, lack of future ideas or worse, desperation to hang on to my woman in misguided love.

Please can any man explain to me why having kids has been a good thing, apart from this insurance policy against a lonely future Christmas or a genetic impulsive memory of needing someone to pull your plough in old age…  Fair enough in the third world,  but here in London where the NHS takes care of us in our old age, or our children stick us in Old Folks Homes when we start to become an embarrassment anyway,  it just feels to me like arrogance that we believe our DNA is so important it must be replicated at all costs or just to please our woman.

Anyone out there who can help me understand what I’m missing out on because everyone seems to be doing it so I’m the guy in the wrong. I feel like an alien observing, the ghost at the feast, the outsider pressing his nose up against the window.