Dave Routley

Happy New Year!

So January turns up like some late party guest who hasn't brought any booze and the weather is a mixture of cold sun and cluster bombs. The new year is the same as the old year, but with a smarter logo and longer telephone numbers. The news, if you believe any of it, has once again been dominated by the break neck, joy riding progress of science. A charity shop worker who was sacked for being mad, rediscovered the bubonic plague and formed a powerful rival chain of shops. Saturn has a big hole and a horrible smell is spilling out. Professor Slot, Cambridge, has discovered the cigarette lighter - biro interchangeability matrix and failed to explain it properly. Even the Christmas charts were dominated by the Voyager Probe Remix featuring Mozart and the Beatles and the work of an unknown and distant alien life form. Yes the music industry is still ruled by gimmicks and sex and the discovery of the Optimum Orgasm Producing Sound Wave has led the biggest companies to ditch the songs completely.

The rest of the news is irrelevant, unless you're poor or old, or ill, or a soldier, or you're planning a holiday to the States that involves wearing sandals. The man in the street with the sandwich board says THE WORLD IS GOING TO GO ON FOR A LONG TIME, so my friends, decide what's most important to you, get a gun and steal it quick.

The Ambulance War

The ambulance wars. What the hell was that about then? The first just war of the 21st century or a complete waste of taxpayers money? I remember charged crowds of people swapping news during a blackout; the warming faith that every ambulance on the street was a single victory of good over evil. It was so beautifully simple, no politics needed. College kids looking for their first big cause, reactionary old women making sandwiches for them and sensible working men joining the army and getting their legs blown off.

Does anyone remember who won? Or does it not matter as long as it was all bloody good fun? Shall I tell you? Nobody won. Nobody won because the ambulance wars are still going on. It goes like this; war, production and destruction reach an equilibrium and in this long term project the noise is turned just below the pain threshold. The death toll is smaller but it exists. Hidden. Weapons we don't recognise have us in their sights. Look for the casualties and believe it; the good old days are still with us.

A. Estaban

The Secret Of Eternal Youth

I killed my husband a week ago. I'm feeling the benefits already. Only today my hair-dresser asked me if I'd changed my face cream. I just winked at her reflection in the mirror and smiled my sweet granny smile.

Brighton

With some difficulty - for she was eight months pregnant - Mrs Donovan bent down to pick up her husband's overnight bag. She put it on the bed. He'd told her he would unpack it when he got back from work. "You just sit and rest", he'd said. But she'd do it for him. He worked so hard! And that business trip to London had really taken it out of him! Mrs Donovan took everything out. At the bottom of the bag she found sand. Sand? In London? She stood there very still staring at the sand. The phone rang once or twice, but she let it ring.

Colgate

Bruce was very happy. A while ago he'd brought an engagement ring for his fiancée. They were going out for supper that night and he was going to propose. How though? Down on one knee? He'd like that but an old knee injury wouldn't allow it. Would he put the ring in Susan's drink? What if she choked on it? He'd propose to her that night no matter what! Bruce wanted to shout, he felt so happy. He felt like greeting everyone that crossed his path, to wave at all the sad faces in the cars. He wanted to smile! Smile! Smile! And what a smile! The sun reflected off it and bounced back into a bus driver's eyes causing him to lose control of the wheel and crash into poor Bruce. He died instantly.

The Man Who Wasn't There

There was a noise - like a crash - which came from upstairs. A man lived up there but we hardly saw him. My mum told me to keep away from him. She didn't trust him. Life went on as usual. Letters addressed to the man upstairs started to bulge out of his letterbox. Me and my mate pinched one and opened it. It was a summons to go to court. We burnt it. My mum complained to the council about the smell that drifted down from his flat. Me and my mate were playing football when the fire engine arrived. My mum shouted at me to come indoors. She seemed frantic. Me and my mate watched from the window. My mum kept going out into the landing and craning her neck northwards. "I have a right to know", she said. The fire fighters found the man hanging from the ceiling. The only thing in the room apart from the corpse was an overturned chair at his feet.

Lithium

It's the Easter holidays and my mum is acting strange again. She isn't taking her medicine. She tells me it's the pills that make her ill. She wears too much make-up and hardly sleeps. She starts a lot of things but doesn't finish any of them. She is very excited about our future. She has lots of plans. She begins to pack our things. She gives a lot to charity shops. She says were moving to the countryside. I want to phone the doctor but I'm too scared in case they take her away again.