Not a Review of the Kenwood HM-332 Micro Hi-Fi Component System

Oh, Ramona. If there was only some kind of future.

 

Once upon a time, I started a music degree. That was during a Labour government when tuition was free and banks would throw money at you.

Continue reading “Not a Review of the Kenwood HM-332 Micro Hi-Fi Component System”

Six-Hundred Words About Expecting Different Results While Doing the Same Thing

As a mature journalism student in my hometown, I just had to visit my old school and provide a statement.

 

Due to less than stellar book sales – which I’m going to attribute to the effect on the markets of Brexit, Covid and Putin – I’ve gone back to school.

Like an addict mistaking sobriety for enlightenment only to return to the bottle, I’ve decided to hobble around Portsmouth University on a bad knee like a fat ghost, hoping against hope that Student Finance England will get their act together before all my credit cards are maxed out.

I’ve been here a month and can last maybe one more before I’m shaving my toes and selling feet videos on OnlyFans.

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Fame.mp3

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, taking photos, ‘No one reads my blog anyway,’ and she laughed like I was joking.

 

My God, how is it almost May?

Well, a lot’s happened since I last posted here. The Omicron variant kicked our booster shots in the teeth, then all the armchair epidemiologists became experts in Russian/Ukrainian relations and the Tories ramped their brand up to 11, lying under oath and smirking at our grief.

Keep it light, Parlett. This is supposed to be an advertisement.

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Monsters #1 | Prologue. Part One. | Eighties racist hatred.

I’ve ummed and ahhed about whether or not to upload this as is or to just re-record it, but I’m thinking I’m happy with what this is – my first attempt at a reading from ‘Monsters.’

My concerns are that it’s rough as all fuck and hardly up to the quality of an audiobook, but then even the act of doing something – even if it may be futile – is still very good for your mental health.

Continue reading “Monsters #1 | Prologue. Part One. | Eighties racist hatred.”

Eight Stories in an Evening

I asked friends to give me a word each so I could build a story from three. It just seemed like a good idea because wine and I’m not saying these wee tales are any good but they made me feel good writing them and that was lovely, thank you. Written in six hours or so, so go easy.

 

SLUG SUGAR SWEAT

They called it a slug, you know, that round that goes in the gun or whatever. I called it a bullet and they all sniggered, sniggered at how I held it, how the sweat poured down my face as I aimed the cursed thing.

One thing’s for damned sure – ain’t no one gonna be callin’ me sugar no more.

 

Continue reading “Eight Stories in an Evening”

Tinder. A Sociopathic Short Story.

The photo showed a woman whose make-up struggled to cover the years, let alone the rest. She clung proudly to a rough looking teen I assumed was her son. The little treasure himself wore a glare that said, ‘Don’t you dare even think about fucking my mum.’

I swiped right.

Game on, ladies.

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