tranklements

Two little girls in prams with mums on the bus.
One’s asleep sucking her dummy – an overgrown baby,
the other’s wide awake, dummy free and looking for someone to play with.
She strokes the face of the sleeper
who doesn’t stir.
She pulls out her dummy.
She knows she’s pushing it.
She gets a half-hearted telling-off.
Dummy goes back in.
She wants a proper reaction.
She pokes the sleeper’s eyes to try and open them.
Surprised tears announce the rude awakening.
“I squashed her eyes,” she explains with a smile.
Mum is embarrassed now.
I look out of the window.

Mary hit the enter key very hard, very quickly, more than a few times and then growled through gritted teeth. She wanted to do this about as much as she wanted to pull out her own teeth, but she picked up the phone and dialled. The first time through the oratory assault course she failed and ended up with a dead line. The second attempt was, she supposed, successful.
“Good Morning East Midland Trains how can I help you? You’re talking to Kevin.” The very un-Kevin-like voice greeted her.
“Hello,” sighed Mary as polite as she could muster, “I’d like to book a ticket I’ve seen on your website. I’ve booked it online but it’s stuck on the confirmation page.”
“Of course ma’am, which station are you travelling to?”
“From Brighton to Sheffield.”
“And the date?”
“The 23rd of February, the ticket I’ve seen is a single and leaves Brighton at 0637.”
“OK ma’am just checking for you.” There was a short pause and Mary held her breath for what she knew may be coming next.
“That train isn’t coming up on my system ma’am, there is no train at 0637.” Mary felt the frustration rising and took a deep breath.
“But it was showing as available and I booked it, but….”
“It will be the 0711 with 2 changes arriving in Sheffield 1207, at a price of £49. Would you like to book the ticket ma’am?”
“No no, hang on a minute, what about this 0637 train I saw on the website? Also the price was only £24.50.” Mary had the sneaking suspicion that Kevin was not actually listening to her.
“Ma’am the 0637 train does not exist and we only release a limited number of super duper saver advance like gold dust tickets.”
“But the website let me book it.”
“Website is not always 100% up to date ma’am.”
“What?” The agitation rose a few more centimetres, it had now climbed to the top of Mary’s chest. “I thought that was the whole point of a website?”
“Website is not real time ma’am. You must have tried to book a ticket that had actually been removed.”
“But, but it let me book it, it was advertised as available.” Mary was aware she was starting to sound less like the articulate no-nonsense woman who had initiated this exchange.
“I’m sorry ma’am, but it obviously is no longer available. I suggest you call back in a few days to see if any more tickets have been released at the time you want to travel.”
“No no no no no.” That was it, our Kevin had done it, he had sent Mary over the edge with just that one innocent word ‘obviously’ and she had not even heard the ridiculous instruction that came afterwards. In full flow she continued, “I want to buy the ticket as advertised on your website now, today, immediately please.”
“I’m sorry ma’am, I’m unable to do that.”
“Why not?”
“The computer won’t allow me to do that, there are no tickets.”
This was it, no more holding herself back, no more Mrs Reasonable, she did not give a damn how she sounded, “This is ridiculous, I’ve spent 2 hours of my morning trying to book this imaginary ticket. I’m only trying to get to Sheffield, not Narnia.”
“Excuse me ma’am?”
“Never mind. What’s the point in having a website if it’s not up to date?”
“I’m sorry about your experience today ma’am.” Replied Kevin who sounded as if he had heard it all before.
“I’d like to talk to your supervisor or manager about this please.”
“Yes of course ma’am.” There was a short pause, enough for Mary to think she had been cut off. Then the voice came back,
“I can put you through to my supervisor now ma’am.”
“Hang on hang on before you do, what’s their name? In case I get cut off.” Mary found a pen that didn’t work and the back of an old envelope.
“His name is Frank ma’am but you won’t be cut off.”
“OK, Frank,” she scored into the paper with the useless pen, “And what’s the direct telephone number?”
“It’s 08456……”
“That’s the main number I originally rang, don’t you have a direct number in case I get cut off?” Mary said, feeling the power slipping away.
“That is the number ma’am. Don’t worry ma’am I’ll put you through now, you won’t be cut off.” And with those merry words the inevitable happened. Nothing.

Alfie was well-off, loaded, wealthy, privileged; super-rich basically. Lovely, you might think, but the houses, the holidays, the cars, the private jets, the pampering just weren’t giving his life any meaning, you know? He was miserable, there was something missing.
So, Alfie went to live with ‘real’ people on a council estate to ‘find himself’. He didn’t like his neighbours much, but couldn’t really get away from them. He didn’t enjoy waiting for the bus in the rain while the local kids made fun of his clothes because they were different to everyone else’s. He couldn’t get a job and, against his better judgement, started watching daytime telly.
The cheap non-organic food and lack of skiing and diving was playing havoc with Alfie’s skin and making him fat and he became depressed.
At least Alfie had discovered one thing, how it really felt to be miserable.

It’s coming
You can smell it
Animals know it
You can almost taste it
Fresh, clean, new air
Buds ready to burst
First flowers waiting
Sun hanging around longer
It’s almost here
It’s just around the corner
It’s nearly Spring.

I was made in Sheffield
So were my scissors
They used to call it Steel City
Not anymore, my Sheffield’s on the up
Hard graft shoved out by hard sell
They’re building over Sheffield’s past
Polishing away its mucky industrial history
Sweaty factories now apartments actually and chattering call centres
Names and dates carved proud above doors, meaningless decoration
Now smoky windows give away nothing.

It’s not all worthy of polishing up
Pockets are forgotten in this rush of change
Ashamed of and pushed to the back
Taken over by dark alleyways and broken windows
Streets patrolled by working girls
Once the domain of the workingman
I get lost now in my Sheffield
Names are the same
But they’re not the familiar streets I walked without thought
Now surprising landmarks
A road emerging where there used to be a building.

Blackbird in the garden
blowing on a branch.
Keeping watch.
Has he seen me
spying on him?

Scott is my perfect boyfriend; tall, dark and handsome. He buys me flowers, writes me poems and never leaves the seat up.

On Valentines he filled the house with paper love hearts he had spent all week dying various shades of pink.

Last weekend he took me out for an Indian and told me how boring I was and what a mistake he had made by loving me. To avoid a scene (which would have embarrassed him), I went to the ladies where my heart quietly broke.