The Office.

It had been such a long boring day, and I was really looking forward to getting home and just sitting back enjoying a cigarette and a whisky.
As I was about to leave the office the boss called to me and asked me a couple of questions about a contract we were drawing up. I wanted to tell him I was about to miss my train if I didn't get moving now, but eh, he's the boss, so I just let him ramble on. Eventually he finished and I was allowed to be on my way.

Of course I missed the train, and now had a ninety minutes wait ahead of me.
I resigned myself to the situation and prepared myself for the long wait.
Sitting there on the lonely platform I started to reflect on my life.

Here I was, fifty two years old, with a wife and two fine children. Joe Average, that's me.
I have a good job, and a fine home and good friends, but just where has my life led me?
Have I really lived?

Take my new secretary for example. She's twenty years old, beautiful, and she lives her life so free, and she sure get's through to me.
But today it is a new world from in my time.
It's strange how the world's accepting now, what they once did not allow
Someone sure played a trick by sending her to me. She drives me crazy!

She comes into the office. She wears a sweater and a skirt, somewhere deep inside of me something starts to hurt.
She really drives me crazy. She wears so little, and I can see what there's to see.
She looks around my office door and says;
" You wanted me?." How do I reply to that?.

Now I have been a good man, and I've played life by the rules. I've been a good husband and father, but after twenty years of marriage, the fire's don't burn too hot.

But for the first time in my life, I'm about to become a sinner. For tomorrow night, I'm taking that little girl .............out to dinner...............

Kitos.

The old man.

It wasn't the old man's fault. He found it impossible to coordinate his actions.
Old age had began to take its toll of his frail body.
He was eighty-five years old, and after losing his wife two years previously he had lived a lonely life, only seeing his son and family once a month or so.
He adored his grandson Harry. The boy was the old man's pride and joy, and he had pictures of him all over his small home.

His son decided that the time had come when his father just had to come and live with them.
The old man protested that he didn't want to be a bother to them, but when little Harry asked him to "Please come Grandad," he gratefully accepted.

All went well for the first few weeks, but slowly the old man's lack of coordination started to irrate the couple.
There were tea stains on the carpet and food smears on his clothing, and the slurping that he made when drinking his tea was driving them crazy.

It was really getting them both down and they were becoming very angry with the old man.
He just sat in silence whenever they complained about his table manners, but there was nothing he could do about it.

They decided that he would have to eat in his own room, alone once again.
They also suggested that it would be easier for them if the old man used a plastic plate and knife and fork.
These they could afford to throw away after his using them.
He quietly agreed to their suggestion.

Little Harry took his Grandad's first meal to the old man's room and was dismayed to see the tears in the eyes of his beloved Grandad.

The next evening the couple were setting the table for the evening meal.
Little Harry was sat on the floor busy cutting away at a plastic sheet.
His parents enquired what on earth he was making.

I'm making two plastic plates and knives and forks for when you both get old and come to live with me," he innocently replied.
The couple looked at each other and both softly wept.

The son went to his father's room and took him by the hand.
"Come on Dad, he said, your tea is nearly ready."

Kitos.

Forgotten times.

I'd no recall as to how I had come to be walking down this long dusty road, or just how long I had been walking.
I was dog-tired and weary.
Looking down at the clothes that I was wearing, I wasn't really surprised that the few cars that had passed me by had completely ignored my attempts to hitch a lift.
I wouldn't have stopped either, seeing someone of my unkempt appearance hoping to be given a ride in a nice car.

The rain started to fall and I sought shelter under a large cluster of trees, in fact it was a small wood, and I was grateful for its being there to afford me some respite from what now had become a torrential downpour of rain.
Eventually even the trees began to drop their rain upon me.
They had done their job, and now it was up to me to find better shelter.

Looking around in desperation, I spied a large house standing majestically atop a hillside.
Surely someone there would let me stay in the barn, or even the garage.
Running as fast as I could I reached the house after a few minutes.
There was indeed a barn, and its door stood ajar.

Hurrying inside was like walking into another world. Dry and calm.
I closed the door behind me and lay down on a huge pile of hay that was stacked in the far corner.
I must have fallen asleep from exhaustion, for when I again opened my eyes it was night-time and the stars were shining in a clear sky.
The rain had long ceased to fall and the evening was still and calm.

Leaving the barn I slowly walked around the perimeter of the house. It was in total darkness.
No car in the drive, and no sign of occupants.
At the rear of the house I found the door to the kitchen standing wide-open.That was strange!

Knocking on the open door I called a tentative, "Hello," but received no reply.
To all intents and purposes the house was empty.
Surely the occupants hadn't left the house without locking the kitchen-door?
Switching on the lights I discovered that the kitchen was enormous.
Obviously a very wealthy family were living here.

Hunger overcame my reluctance to steal, and I opened the door to the large refrigerator that stood apart from the rest of the lavishly appointed kitchen.
What a sight greeted my eyes, for it was packed full with food of all descriptions.
Taking a ready-cooked chicken and a jar of pickles, I sat at the huge table and began to satisfy my hunger.
I made cup after cup of scalding hot coffee, and gulped them down between mouthfuls of delicious chicken.
There was even a pack of cigarettes lying on the worktop and I sat back smoking whilst enjoying my surroundings.

My next job was to go in search of something to write with, and on, as I'd no intention of leaving without writing an explanatory note to the hapless owners of this magnificent house.
Wandering through the expensively appointed rooms I was unable to find anything that I could use. Perhaps there would be something in the bedrooms.

I wandered upstairs and entered what turned out to be the master-bedroom.
There was nothing at all in the bedside cabinets. They were completely empty!
That again was strange.
I opened the wardrobe door and was surprised to find that there was only one suit hanging there.
On the shelf was an expensive shirt and a pair of dress shoes, and a set of underwear and sox.
The other wardrobe was completely empty!
This really was becoming a mystery.

The other bedrooms, apart from the furniture, were completely empty of clothing.
Perhaps the owners had gone on holiday?
That was the only suggestion my befuddled brain could come up with.

Entering the bathroom I found there were two large bath-towels hanging on a heated towel-rail, and an electric razor lying on the basin edge.
This was indeed a Godsend. Everything I needed for a fresh start.

I ran a hot bath, and while it was filling I shaved my face with the razor.
How beautifully it removed the unkempt stubble.
I was already beginning to feel like a new man.

Now soaking in the steaming bath I tried desperately to recall the events of the passed days, but I was only capable of odd flashes of memory.
Something about a hospital and nurses, a casino and gambling tables, two beautiful girls...
No, it made no sense yet, but it probably would eventually, given time.

Stepping out of the bath I towelled myself dry, and with the second towel tied around my waist, I walked back to the bedroom.
I donned the underwear and sox, put on the shirt and then the trousers. They fitted me perfectly.
On went the shoes and jacket, and I then inspected myself in the wardrobe's mirrored door.
The transformation was unbelievable.
"Clothes maketh the man." The old saying was indeed accurate.

Suddenly I had an overwhelming desire to rest once again, so I lay back on the bed, fully dressed, and closed my eyes.
Again flashes of memory overcame me; A doctor saying to a nurse that I would have to be committed to a sanatorium the next day.
The nurse giving me medication that I only pretended to swallow.
The furtive escape from the hospital during the night, wearing whatever clothing I had managed to find in the orderlies lockers.
Nothing fitted me, but I didn't care, I just needed to escape from this dreaded hospital.

Then only running, running, running, until totally exhausted, I had found this beautiful house.
I fell into a deep sleep. The last sleep that I was to ever have.

Meanwhile, in another country, a beautiful elderly lady was enjoying her breakfast.
She opened the morning paper and gazed at the picture of an unkempt face, along with an artist's sketch showing the face as it would appear were it truly recognisable.

Above were the glaring headlines, "DO YOU RECOGNISE THIS MAN?"
Accompanying the pictures was a graphic account relating to the man.
His body had been found in a derelict building in the city centre.
Police were asking for any information that the public could offer.

The lady smiled to herself, and folding the newspaper, she gently placed it in the rubbish bin.
It had taken a long time, but fate had finally evened the scores.

Kitos.

House.

Let me make one point clear from the outset; I've never believed in ghosts, although I have seen many things that defy rational explanation.

I've always had some connection with the paranormal, and have often seen people, especially children, walking across the room, but none have ever stopped to speak or look at me.

I just accepted these sightings as a normal everyday occurrences in my life.
Never have I been hurt or afraid of anything I have seen, which brings me to the strangest, most heartbreaking thing that happened in my life.

About eleven years ago I was asked if I would be afraid to spend the night alone in an empty house.
The would-be new owners had been told that it was haunted and they wouldn't sign the "contract to buy" without someone, preferably me, giving the house the "all-clear".
Although unafraid, it took two hundred pounds to get my agreement to house-sit for the night.

The house was large and completely empty. Not a stick of furniture in the entire place. It had been swept clean by the outgoing owners.

I had the opportunity to speak to these sellers and they assured me that the house was indeed haunted.
They had had numerous sightings in nearly every room in the house and were scared out of their wits.
They were selling the house at a bargain price just to get rid of it.
They had told the buyers about the hauntings, because many of the neighbours knew the house's history, and they were afraid that the buyers could claim back their purchase price at a later date if it was found that they had been kept in the dark about the hauntings.

I found this all very amusing, and agreed that I would spend the night alone in the house to give the buyers some confidence in their purchase.
The only condition that I imposed was that my dog KIM was allowed to accompany me. Neither party argued with this point, so it was arranged that I would occupy the place from eight in the evening until eight the following morning.

So, there I was with my dog, two books, two packets of cigarettes and a heavy coat for warmth during the early hours of darkness.
The electricity was still turned on and I entered the house regretting that I hadn't brought a radio with me.
It was going to be a long night, but I was being well-paid, so I had nothing to complain about.

My first thoughts upon entering the house was that it was colder inside the house than outside, but I shrugged this off as a figment of my imagination. There had been no heating on in the weeks that it had stood empty so the house had naturally cooled down.

The first thing I did was make a cup of tea.
The sellers had left me a nice supply of tea, milk, sugar and biscuits.
I drank the tea as I walked around the ground floor rooms.
All was in order. The house had been spotlessly cleaned.
Finishing my tea I washed the cup in the sink and decided to inspect the upper floors.
Yes, there was also an attic, but no cellar.
This is when I got my first inkling that something was not quite right about the place.

My dog would not follow me up the stairs, but lay at the foot of the stairs and went to sleep.
OK, I carried on alone.
All of the lights worked, so there were no eerie rooms to shine a torch into.
I went around the entire house, attic included, and found nothing untoward, except to notice that it was indeed a cold house.

Going back downstairs I decided to sit on the bottom stair, as there were no chairs in the house, so I started on my book, very aptly, a ghost story!.
My dog slept at my feet giving an occasional whimper, but sleeping soundly.
I smoked and read, smoked and read, but dutifully I toured the whole house from top to bottom every two hours.
I found absolutely nothing untoward about the house.
Sure, it was bloody cold, but that's the only fault that I found.

Around three o'clock my dog's whimpers increased in frequency and volume.
I couldn't wake him as he was soundly sleeping.
This did worry me a bit, but dawn was nearing and we would soon be on our way.
I spoke to him as he slept, promising all manner of goodies for being such a good boy.

At six o'clock I started my last tour and it was whilst I was in the well-lit attic that I heard a pitiful whining coming from somewhere.
The hairs on the back of my neck started to prickle, and I made my way hurriedly back downstairs.

Kim lay there, but he was still. I tried to rouse him but he was lifeless in my arms.
I sat there and cried, for there was nothing further that could be done for him.

I opened the front door and sat on the step until eight o'clock when the buyers arrived.

They smiled when they saw me sitting there in the early-morning sunshine.

"Well, how did it go?" said the husband.
"I did as you asked, and I neither saw nor heard
a sound, but my dog is dead. You make your own minds up,"

I carried my dog home and buried him in the garden. My wife was heart-broken, as was I.

The house,? The couple decided not to buy it, and when I left England a year or so later, it was still for sale.

Kitos.

A man.

I always try to look my best,
A little better than the rest.
Why do I try,?
Who gives a damn,?
I'm just another tired old man.
Yet still I strive
To keep my place,
An equal in the human race,
Not a loser,
Nor a thief
My self-respects beyond belief.
Other wonder why I try,
They let their lives just pass them by.
No shining shoes, no well pressed shirt,
They never try to shift the dirt,
That lingers there beneath their nose,
Dinner stains upon their clothes.
Or is it me, am I too vain?
Will I cave-in beneath the strain,
Of trying to look the best I can?
After all, I am but a man.

Kitos.

A night in the vault.

It had all started with a bet. We were returning home from the night-club around two o'clock in the morning when we decided to take a short-cut through the old cemetery.
For a laugh we were making rhymes about the names on the various headstones.
As we continued along the pathways we came to realise that this was a far bigger cemetery than any of us had ever imagined.
There were hundreds of graves, some with enormous headstones, and some without any.
All around us the multitude of huge old trees cast their shadows, shadows that were made by the full moon that was blazing away high in the heavens.
It gave the cemetery an eerie, yet calming atmosphere.
As we approached what turned out to be the centre of the place, we became aware of several vaults, all standing regally in the moonlight.
Each of these vaults had a huge lock securing its doors.
We sat on the steps leading to one impressive vault and smoked our cigarettes and drank the remainder of our cans of lager.
Talking about what had transpired that evening in the night-club raised peals of laughter from us, laughter which rang through the silent graveyard.
"Hope we don't wake anyone up," laughed Keith, one of my posh mates.
"Nah! replied Steven, they're all sleeping the sleep of the dead."
This again had us all laughing.
Harry climbed the steps of the vault and tried the lock on the doors.
"Hey, this lock doesn't seem so secure. let's break it open," he laughed.
"No sooner said than done," replied Steven, and taking a small headstone from a nearby plot, he smashed the lock completely off the door.
"Come on then, who's brave enough to go down into the vault," enquired Harry.
Inflamed by drink and full of bravado, we all trooped down into the vault.
Several lighters were brought into use to illuminate the dark interior of the vault.
"Look at this then," laughed Norman. This is the casket of Count Alucard, some local big-wig no doubt."
"I wouldn't want to spend the night in here, would you?" said Keith.
Steven laughed out loud. "You mean you wouldn't dare, more like."
For some strange reason I found myself saying, "How much would you bet?"
The others all looked at me as if I were crazy.
"You actually mean you would?"
"Sure, but you would have to leave the cash here with me," I replied.
Steven, the "leader" of the group said, "OK boys, empty your wallets. Let's see how serious he really is," and with that the wallets were all emptied onto the top of the casket.
Steven quickly counted it, and looking directly at me he said, "Five hundred and thirty quid. Are you still game to spend the night alone down here."
Five hudred and thirty quid ... I'd spend a week down here for that!
"Just give me the cash, and off you go. All night here will be a doddle," I replied with a confidence that I did not honestly feel, but I desperately needed that cash, and anyway, what was there down here to harm me? It would soon be daylight, and my task would be over.
"OK lads, laughed Steven, lets be off and leave our hero here. I wouldn't stay down here for five thousand quid."
At that they all trooped laughing back up the stairs and slammed the doors to the vault behind them. I could hear them fiddling with the lock and fixing it back onto the outside of the doors.
So, here I was, all alone and five hundred and thirty quid the richer.
A couple of hours and it would be daylight, and then I could get off home.
It wouldn't take much pressure to force the now broken lock off the doors of the vault.
As the sound of their voices drifted off into the distance I felt the silence of the vault closing in around me like a dark, cold blanket.
Imagination is a terrible thing, and sitting there alone on the cold floor I could imagine all manner of things occurring around me in the cold, dark vault.
I shrugged away my feelings and lit a cigarette.
The feeble light from my lighter flickered across the caskets that were stacked tidily all around me.
I didn't need reminding just how many corpses were rotting away around me.
Each dull glow as is I drew on the cigarette did little to dispel the fears that were crowding into my imagination, but the cold of the vault and the beer in my belly were lulling me into a deep sleep.
Oh well, I thought. I'd be better off asleep as awake under these circumstances, so I succumbed to the blackness and let myself surrender to my dreams. I closed my eyes and slept.
In my dreams a beautiful young woman had enfolded me in a loving embrace, and I returned her passion with all the ardour that my pent-up emotions could muster.
It all seemed so real.
Never before had I encountered such a willing and beautiful woman, and I took full advantage of my good fortune.
Of course it was all a dream, yet when I awoke it was still pitch black in the vault.
I lit my lighter and noted with alarm that it was midnight.
It had to be midnight, because it was still pitch black.
Surely I hadn't slept for so long!
Funnily enough, when I rose from the floor, there was no sign of stiffness in my limbs.
I felt alive and renewed, although a little weak, and oh so terribly hungry.
Strangely I had no desire for solid food.
What I had a craving for was blood.
Fresh warm blood.
How very strange!
I stood for a few moments thinking just where I could find the answer to my problem, and then I remembered ... my mates would all be in the night-club around this time. Wouldn't they be surprised to see me walk in there.........

Kitos.

A man called Bomber

A man called Bomber.  

Her name was Belinda, and she was beautiful, but unfortunately she had not been gifted with brains and therefore she could never find a job that paid well.
Tiring of moving from job to job, she decided to take her girl-friend's advice and ended up using her beautiful body to meet her monetary needs.

It was late one Saturday night that she happened to be walking past a night-club just as it was closing, and she was accosted by three big guys who thought they would have a little fun at her expense.
She was trying to talk her way out of a very difficult situation when a shadow fell across the sidewalk. She turned to see the most handsome man she has ever seen in her life.

"Are these three young gentlemen annoying you Miss?, he quietly asked.
"Well they were, but I think they have just decided to change their minds, haven't you boys," she replied, looking at them in a confident manner.

The three men eyed the newcomer warily and somehow not one of them thought it was a good idea to call his bluff. They turned and walked away muttering to themselves.

"It was fortunate for me that you came out of the club just then," she managed to say. She really liked this big guy.
"Maybe I should walk you home just in case they return," he suggested.
This was just fine with her. They walked to her home without saying very much other than to exchange names.

They had started to meet regularly and it wasn't very long before he moved in to live with her. Their lives were blissful as he had a well-paid job, and she no longer walked the streets at night.

It wasn't until she fell pregnant and gave birth to a big bouncing boy that he started to change.
He became moody and argumentative. He had no time for the child, or her, and he started to stay out very late every night. When she started to complain it was then that he had struck her for the first time, but the beatings became more regular over the passing years.
The boy was growing quickly, and he was the scourge of the neighbourhood,forever in trouble with the police and his school-teachers.

At the age of sixteen he dropped out of school and started to hang around with older boys. They all respected him because of his ability and eagerness to fight with anyone.
He was given the name of "Bomber" by the gang, because one blow from him was usually the last thing the recipient of the blow felt.

When he was eighteen he had risen to become the leader of his own gang.
It was in the middle of a robbery that he was again arrested by the police.
It took six burly policemen to hold him down and handcuff him.

It was just before his trial that he was handed a letter in his cell. It was his call-up papers for military service.
He was released by the court and sent to basic military training.

Although he was always breaking the rules his commanding officer realised that this boy was a natural killing machine. His skills were a natural part of his nature, and even his instructors were hard pushed to teach him anything.

He was posted to a commando group where he received even more gruelling training, but he thrived on the work and skills which he continued to hone and improve.
He became the model that other recruits strived to equal, but none ever came even close to Bomber's standard.

In spite of his popularity  was still a loner at heart, and sought isolation from the others.
His troop officer recognised this trait in him, and as a result of his observations,  was called to the Captains office where he was given the news that he was to become a "lone wolf".
He was mystified at this term until the Captain explained that he would work alone in the field, and his role would be to seek and destroy members of the enemy forces.
He readily accepted his new job.

For the first time in his life Bomber accepted and obeyed an order.

His next few months were spent behind enemy lines where he succeeded in silently killing many sentries and making safe the advancement of his own comrades.
It was around this time that the fighting was at its most furious and many hundreds of troops were being killed.
The enemy were advancing rapidly and he found himself even deeper behind enemy lines.
He had decided to retreat to his own lines, and whilst doing so he came across a small battle taking place.
Several of his comrades were pinned down by a group of the enemy.
They were taking heavy fire and the situation looked hopeless.

Springing to his feet he charged into them firing in short bursts,which in tandem with his own comrades fire, turned the tide and they were able to escape from their position and retreat in relative safety.

Unfortunately Bomber had taken three bullets in exchange for his actions and fell to the ground, but his mates were able to get to him.

They managed to get back to their own lines and Bomber was taken into the field hospital to have his wounds attended to.
He was hospitalised for a couple of weeks before being sent back to England.
He was discharged from the military due to his disablement.

He wandered back into civilian life and found it was difficult to find work due to his disability, that was until the newspapers announced that he was about to be awarded the Victoria Cross for his bravery.
Then everyone wanted to employ him, and he became a local celebrity.

This fame quickly faded, and very soon he was reduced to seeking handouts from friends. He wandered from town to town, often sleeping rough and begging from people in the streets.

Eventually he arrived in Northern England and there he ran into an old friend. He stayed with his friend and between them they managed a frugal existence.

One night his friend told him that there was a chance of getting some easy money.
There was an all-night grocery store a few streets away and it should be an easy job to rob the owner who was always alone during the night.
Bomber was reluctant to do this at first, but his friend was very persuasive and finally he agreed to go along with the idea.

They entered the shop in the early hours of the morning and his friend immediately confronted the old owner and demanded money.
The old man had prepared for this eventuality and on the pretext of opening the till he drew a gun from beneath the counter.
Bomber, who was stood by the door decided to make an escape and pulled open the door.
The old man raised the gun and told him to stop, but Bomber ignored the warning.
The old man fired the gun, intending to fire above Bomber's head, but the bullet entered the back of his head and he collapsed to the floor.
The escaping blood from the wound pooled across the shop entrance.

The police were called and an ambulance summoned to take Bomber's body to the morgue.

It was when they laid him on the slab that one of the policemen noticed Bomber's clenched fist. They prised his fingers open, and in his hand lay the Victoria Cross.
The policeman said;

"Where the hell did this bum get this? He must have stolen it."

Kitos.

Changes.

 None of us are who we were,

We lose our teeth, we lose our hair.

Our sight goes dim, our joints all ache,

Every day we slowly wake

To another day without any chores

And so we venture out of doors.

To supermarkets with bulging shelves

We wish we could indulge ourselves.

But times are hard

Money's scarce.

You have no need to check your purse.

You know damed well, what lies within

Just enough to buy a tin

Of beans or spaghetti, that's your choice.

You want to scream, and raise your voice.

But there's no point

Good times have flown,

And so you wander back alone

Back to the flat so cold and bare

There really is no comfort there.

But there you go, to relive the past.

Your family's gone, you are the last.

You sit alone, forlorn and blue

Gazing through a misty hue,

The times you had

The fun, the joys.

The photo's of young girls and boys.

Where are they now, alone like you?

Sitting there alone and blue.

Kitos.

My old Gran.


The day my Grannie passed away
I almost lost my mind.
For even at that tender age
I knew I'd never find.
Another Gran as good as her
So nice, and kind and sweet.
Who'd sing me songs and stroke my hair
Whilst sitting at her feet.
I'd no idea what I would do
Nor still the words to say.
I only know I stood and cried
As they took my Gran away.
What could I do, where should I go?
Now that she was gone.
My mind was in a turmoil
She'd treat me like a son.
They lowered her casket in the ground
The people all stood still
I heard a soft voice whisper,
"I'll be waiting for you Bill."
So I know she will be waiting
When my time comes to go.
Fot my Grannie wouldn't let me down
That's one thing that I know.
Though many years have passed me by
Since she has left my side.
I still think about my Grannie
And it burns me up inside.
TO think that one as good as her
Was taken from this earth
Yet others still remain down here
Who can't compare in worth.
Yes, she is gone, and I'm still here
And yet I her hear her still.
Whispering in the dead of night,
"Sleep tight my little Bill."

Kitos.

I'd sat watching him as long as he had watched me.
I hoped he hadn't noticed my interest in him as I didn't want to offend him.
He was shabbily dressed and obviously hadn't shaved for many days.
His shoes were ancient and badly scuffed, his raincoat ripped and of very little use in a downpour.

One couldn't help but feel sorry for him, although many who would willingly have shared the bench with others, walked quickly past the bench that he sat on.
I was dressed only slightly more tidy than he, as I too was down on my luck having been paid-off from my last job after three years loyal service.
Times were hard and I was really fed-up with having no future prospects, but surely I wasn't as hard-up as this old guy.
He would never work again, even if the job market was awash with jobs.

I ventured over and sat on his bench.
He paid me no heed and continued to gaze into the distance.
Pulling out my cigarette packet I offered one to him, even though the pack only contained two.
Ah well, I had intended to cut down.
He thanked me and put the cigarette in his raincoat pocket.
"For later," he smiled.

We got to talking and he told me that he had once been in business but he had lost everything.
His wife had divorced him and his children no longer had any association with him.

I told him that I was in a similar position, what with losing my job and with a baby on the way, and now, the building society talking about repossessing my house which was still under mortgage.
He was most sympathetic and wished me luck in finding another job.

As it was getting dark I decided it was time to be getting back home.
My wife would be worried by my long absence. I'd only gone for a walk in the park and she had expected me back ages ago.
As I stood to leave I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out what little money I had.
There was a two-pound coin and some change.
I hadn't the heart to offer him the change so I handed him the two-pound coin.
He looked at me and smiled again, "Surely you can't afford that," he said.
"You need it more than me mate, at least I have a roof over my head, for the moment anyway," I replied.
"Thank you so much,"he said. "You're very kind in spite of your own problems."
"That's me, Rockerfeller," I laughed as I walked away.

As I was leaving the park I glanced back to wave, but he had gone, probably for a cup of tea and a sandwich in the park cafe.

Some weeks later I received a letter from the bank.
An appointment had been arranged for me with the manager.
When my wife read it she cried like a baby.
"That's it, they are going to take the house off us, whatever will we do?" she wailed.
"Don't panic love, let's see what they have to say first.
Perhaps they can stagger our repayments somehow."

I entered the bank with leaden feet.
My bravado to my wife had been just that, bravado.
We were going to get kicked-out and we had nowhere to go. I felt like crying myself.

The bank managers secretary led me to his office.
I was dreading hearing the news.
"Good morning Mr.Jenkins, please take a seat," was his opening greeting.
"I received correspondence from your building society last week, and I've just received the paperwork relating to your house."

Here it comes, we are in deep water, was my first thought.
He handed me an official looking document.
I looked at him quizzically.
"I assure you it is all in order Mr.Jenkins, your mortgage is paid in full, and this is your new bank account book.
Congratulations Sir, I'm happy to see someone is surviving through this difficult economic period."

He shook my hand as he rose.
He could obviously see that I had nothing to add to the conversation.
I was at a loss to understand what he was talking about, but I was sure that my wife Jenny would sort it all out, she was clever with things like this, far cleverer than me anyway.

I hurried home and laid the bank book on the table.
Jenny opened it and there, in our names, was a balance of fifty thousand pounds.
"What the hell is going on here,?" she cried.
"I don't know, it's just as the bank manager gave it to me, and this is a letter from the building society."

She tore it open and inside were the deeds to our house, all paid and signed over to us.
We looked at each other in amazement.
I picked up the envelope, and inside was a solitary cigarette.

Kitos.

The Captain.

As promised, my first and most favourite story.

The Captain.

The quayside pub was packed as usual and I had to elbow my way to the bar to order a drink.
The air was thick with smoke, but mingled within the dense blanket of exhaled smoke was the unmistakable, pungent aroma, of "his" pipe.
"He" sat in his usual window seat. All the better to watch the ships that sailed slowly past on their way out to sea, or back to a safe berth in the harbour.
Everyone called him Captain, but truth be known, he had never captained a single vessel in his entire life.
He was seventy years old and long since retired from seafaring, but he was the most interesting of men.
His tales were the stuff of legend, and his glass was never allowed to go empty whilst he was in full-flow with one of his many tales.
He'd manned whaling ships, tramp steamers and tugs, and each tale he told was the absolute truth, therefore everyone wished it to continue to its climax.
He was a wonderful storyteller and never ever seemed to run out of new adventures to relate.
Every man in the bar admired, and secretly feared him, for he had a violent temper, and it was well known that he had walked away unscathed from a multiple of dockside brawls.
Definitely a man to be wary of.
He feared only one person in the world.
That was his wife Sarah.
Sarah and he had been married for fifty years, and he loved her with all of his heart. They had never once quarrelled in all of those years, because he knew, above all other things, that she loved him deeply in return, and he would never say a word to hurt her in any way.
He had had an unhappy childhood and he recognised love when it came his way.
His Sarah was a beauty, and he would wonder until his dying day just what she had seen in him as a young man. He wasn't good-looking.
In fact some, behind his back, would say he was really ugly and dumb.
But his Sarah, she had recognised immediately that here was a man on whom she would be able to depend for the whole of her life, and she'd loved him from the very first moment of their meeting.
They had no children, more is the pity, so they had just accepted that that was the way it would be, and had loved each other even more deeply.
His only other love was the ocean, but this would never be a contender for his love of Sarah.
Every day he walked slowly to the quayside tavern and "his" seat by the window was always vacant.
No-one cared, or dared, to occupy it, even if he was late in arriving and the tavern was packed, "his" seat was always vacant.
Each evening at 9.00 p.m. promptly the door of the tavern would open, and Sarah would be standing there in the doorway.
She would glare at him demandingly, and he would stare back defiantly, but in each pair of eyes there was the sparkle of love and respect.
He would down his drink and stand slowly and stretch his arms to the heavens.
"Well me'boys, time I was in me' hammock," he would bellow, and an avenue would be made for him through the crowded bar.
Sarah would allow him to pass through the open doorway, and then she would deliver a broad wink to the assembled mariners drinking there.
That was the night he died in his sleep, and Sarah came to the tavern to inform everyone there. She never cried or showed any sign of grief, but the light had gone from her eyes.
Things would never be the same for her, nor for the crowd in the bar.
To this very day "his" chair has never been sat in by a single soul. Everyone knows he is sitting there still, looking out of the window, watching the ships go by.

Kitos.

KITOSDAD has a blog, at last!

Hello to all of my English-test.net friends both past and present.I have started my blog in answer to the many requests  that I have had to do so. I will endeavour to post a new story or poem each day.
Although I do realise that many of the stories that I will post may not be new to you, I still welcome your comments or feedback, both paiseworthy or critical.
During my time at English- test.net I was permitted to edit hundreds of compositions written by the students there who were seeking entry into English colleges. Although I am not a qualified English teacher I am happy to say that I helped many to pass thier exams.
As an absolute newcomer to blogging I do hope that I can count on your support in my efforts to make this blog interesting.

Kitos.