Monthly Archives: Oct 2018

The classic Mrs Thought bubble

This is a surreal piece I wrote about the cruelty of life and how the elderly are treated in Britain. It was inspired by the time I spent with my grandmother in her care home when she had Dementia and Alzeihmers. It’s a stream of consciousness borderline script.

 MRS BRUISED :   “I’m tired”

                                 “I’m tired”

 CARD SHUFFLER: (throws his voice from a table on the left)

                                      “I’m tired too.”

MRS BRUISED: (Sitting upright like a majestic, beaten up old queen)

                                         “I’m tired”

CARD SHUFFLER:     “Aye? Go to sleep then”

 The room fans out into a full house of insidious laughter.

MISS CARDIGAN:   excuse me Dear, can you tell me where the toilets                             I’ve only just                                            popped by

THE WEED: ( Looks around for sign of a staffed house)

                                         Of course just follow me….

(The weed walks back from the toilets  and goes to crouch down to hold Mrs Thought Bubble’s hand).

THE WEED:             She has pissed herself. Can someone change her?

THE ROSE:             No- she hasn’t.

GINGER:                Here you go. Open your mouth?

(Shovels a hefty spoonful of what looks like boiled bagged food) 

Lost in thought……

(The smell  of piss  can’t be worse than death’s kiss…)

GINGER:               Here- wah la!  open your mouth.

Listen to thoughts of an animated  Mrs Thought Bubble.


THE WEED:           Tu es Pleine?

Like an old coffin opening for the first time in a century;

 MRS THOUGHT BUBBLE:  ( creeks out slowly)


THE ROSE: ( Comes back from the kitchen with another full beaker of  red diluted kids juice)

                                  You   are thirsty today.

                                 So so thirsty.

Three empty beakers all lined up in a row – My eyes rest and are ready to aim – trigger happy and ready to blow.


THE WEED:          She has pissed herself, look!

THE ROSE:          Oh you have made a pee pee Mamie- a pee pee!




A skeleton- face grinning .

Bright light beams from  Mrs Thought Bubbles eyes.

An Image.

A carved pumpkin with a toothy grin.

Burning away in a dark room:  within.

More strained laughter churning out lactic acid.

MRS BRUISED : (on a loop)

                              Oh ,I am tired. 

BRUNETTE:      Fiddler!  Stop putting your hands down your pants.

Maybe that is the only way she gets to feel something.

Legs splayed-  FIDDLER’S fingers exploring her vagina hungrily.

MRS BRUISED:       I’m tired

CARD SHUFFLER: Yeah me too! Shut up.

Eyes veer to the table on the left.


Dying flowers  in a glass vase.

If I had to throw it would reality become what I once knew it to be?

Jeer me on why don’t you? 

Throw the fucking vase.

Throw it!

How long have those silver wrapped chocolates been  stood there. This is not some fancy New York hotel. 

If they are going to start leaving chocolates make sure you get Hershey’s kisses.

Brown as the shit under neath Mrs Thought bubble’s  nails.

THE WEED:  She has pissed herself!

GINGER:      I will go get dessert.

Does it come in different sex positions? 

Sweet Silence.

One of the toughest spells to break.

No one dares look at the other.

Carers go  a drift.

Congregate to conflate into  gossip office politics.

THE ROSE:            Go and tell them to change her.

The weed creeps along the  floor until it has found the right door.

THE WEED:               Can some one change Mrs Thought bubble!  She is                                       in her own piss.”

MRS HEGEMONY:  Wheres nondescript and the other one too?

Great big sighs. A room full of eyes wondering if the pay they get is worth the time.

Time finally has a stroke and then another and another.

The hoist in all it’s bluesy hues comes for Mrs Thought-bubble .


GINGER:               I’m sorry I got called into the office.

THE WEED:       Look it’s not you. Its just.. I am sitting watching Mrs                                           Thought bubble  over  here, shout out….  and                                                            “she is wading in her own  piss!

THE ROSE:           Let’s go outside

THE ROSE: ( turns to BRUNETTE)

                             Can we take her outside?

BRUNETTE: ( a voice rolls out  like a plush  red carpet)

                         Of course.

 ( BRUNETTE rolls out the wheelchair – )

She hasn’t been outside in over a year.

She shouts and protests.

Vintage sunglasses are placed on her  to  help process her eyes.





More shouts and protests.

MAINTENANCE:  Do you want me to take a picture?

(THE WEED and THE ROSE in unison) Oh yes please.



Mature cheddar smiles captured against the vines.

THE WEED:  I love you Mrs Thought-bubble.

Muffled sounds.



I’ll settle for that as an good enough au revoir.

Four doors.

Four Windows.

Four wheels.

Taxi take us very fucking far away from here ,please.

THE WEED:     Did you notice that nobody came to clean the chair?


                           EVERY NIGHT I CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP!

                           IF WE MOVE HER AGAIN(pause) SHE WILL DIE.

                            PLEASE LET HER DIE



                            IT IS BEYOND MY UNDERSTANDING.

Petals start to turn inwards – it’s a crying shame to see a rose start to wilt.

RED CAP:       There was a sticker attached saying ‘TO CLEAN’

THE WEED:    Oh.

                        I’m sorry.

                         I love you , Rose.

                         I can’t imagine what you are going through.

THE ROSE: (Wilts that tiny bit more)

                         She doesn’t even know who I am anymore.

THE WEED:   I know who you are.

                         You know who I  am.

It doesn’t matter if the sun is shining- water will always ignore the air around it. If it wants to pour so it shall.

Tears pour.

Tears break.

 The weed reaches and creeps until it has a secure grip  around The Roses stem.

Hands entwined.

The Weed .

The Rose.

Both look out their own private window.

 Bee would have loved to see that cow…..

THE ROSE:     ( watered and ready to pose)

                         So tomorrow is a busy day. We have to sort out the cake

THE WEED:   The cake?

THE ROSE:       Daisy, the wedding cake?   And We need to find Mr Thought bubble an outfit  for the wedding.

THE WEED:     (grapples for breath)

                            Is she actually allowed to come?

THE ROSE:        Madam  Hegemony, says it is fine.

THE WEED:    (flat)

                              Oh,Cool. I wonder did we tell the cake makers that we have                          changed    the theme from sun flowers to  yellow roses?

THE ROSE:       (exasperated)

                           YES! We are just having yellow icing on normal    flowers..

 THE WEED:     Oh… like the colour on our invitations? 


THE ROSE:      See you tomorrow.

THE WEED: (as an after thought)

                        Mint,yes, tomorrow.

THE ROSE:   10:30, Don’t be late.  We are getting threaded first.

                        Have you got The Bees shoes?

THE WEED:  Yes Mam.

THE ROSE:    I swear if you had loads of money in this town you still                                           wouldn’t be able to  spend it.

                        It’s all bullshit

From the horses mouth – let him narrate for this bit.

                     And so the the earth continues to travel around the sun.

                    The sun goes down.

                  The moon is full faced and all fluttering eyelashes.

                  And  I still have a long face.

                 Nothing but everything changes.



Horses don’t talk.

Neither do flowers

Horse manure.


Jut another day in ‘I wonder what the fuck  next land?

Just an average day in an average Care home.


Image Francecsa Woodman 



Janus of global slang

Inspired by his lyrics – it’s not exactly physics.

Big boy

Little boy

Atomic bomb don’t come across as coy.

Paranoia looms over a  shadow with no owner.

Scented thoughts hang outside on the laundry line –  drying out, pegged up, sketchy.

Nowt out of the ordinary.

The demise of senseless beatings.

The savage frolic in secret meetings.

Can’t keep these eyes open – Mind is wired to sensor an alert token.

Add a word to the vocabulary list.

Reading made up stories,

Can’t get the gist.

Thinking of  the times I’ve reinvented my speech,

Just so folk wouldn’t turn away


Mistake me for a blast of mist.

Solar plexus

A libran to balance my ails.

 If vaccines worked, would I even need this skeleton tail?

I’m proficient in scripted fulminate. 

A non- believer has to have a reason to detonate.

Terrorized by bones unhinged, pelvic oddities, a face grappling on the fringes.

Uncertainty – you can do it!

Mascot duty bellows:  You blew it.

Everyday the input becomes more,

Ouput audios in a  fervescent roar.

Fading into a nebulant place slowed down by brain freezers swimming in a shoal.

No  near-empty dregs to fill my soul.

Restricted by self- limitation.

Hear me when  I say,

I’m not doing this for inspiration.

What to do in a world knocked into  askew?

Nondescript,  omniscient  eyes

Know when to usher in the seasonal yule.


no sense.

Prop me up.

Inhale oxygen.

Don’t give up.

Against all better judgment – I implode from the inside.

I had it all figured out until I became a seeker in need of washed out make -overs from dead flotsam at low tide.

*Inspired by internal conflict and the world.* 😀 


Blocked by representation

Two blocks stand in front of me

Prevent me from re writing unforgettable history.

Two  blocks part to reveal

That brazen  character,

It stands in front on me.

Deceive my fatal flaw from completing my true destiny.

Insidious eyes cause a distress call

Warrant to see,




Clamouring hands apply pressure to  the ear


Detect the sharpening of  feline claws .

Stealth like

So poised

That nightshade


my dreams-

Haunts my waking hours.

A ruthless Freddie Kruger


Veers just out of reach of my tunnel vision.

Scratches out eyeballs

With no need for an applause.

Urine infected chaise longues

For a burial in secret.

Littered skies

Unadorned  eyes.

we live to see the lie.

Despise the gluttonous blocks


For its depiction .

The reflection of its nebulant disguise

 starves all growth

withholding all affection.


These two  blocks

they obscure security

Make life seem like a mere deflection.

*Writers block. Write to recover. An unrevised stream of conscious piece. Needs more work write to recover *