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Showing posts from May, 2020


Stay alert, go to work, don’t go to work, stay at home, home is where the heart is, live laugh love, eat pray love, love Tennis, play Tennis, from Wednesday you can play Tennis for twenty hours a day if you like, unless it’s with someone from outside your household, actually no, Dominic, Dom, scrap that, you can choose one person to be with outside your household, so what I’d suggest doing is holding open auditions to see when it all comes down to it, who’s really worth the hassle? Is it Mummy or Daddy? Is it your fella or your weird Uncle? Is it your Grandmother or your side-piece?   A mess. I do not need to be reminded to stay alert — I’m a kid who wears a mustard shirt, sports a tinsel fringe and wears white socks on the streets of North Liverpool. I am a brother who watches his big sister wash her face after four night shifts of watching people die and cry for their loved ones goodbyes while her face is cracked with the combined dents of stress, sweat and face mask


It’s Wednesday morning and it’s the fourth night that I can’t sleep properly. I’m having nightmares of Carole Baskin dipping me in sardine oil, memes of influencers screaming “Chanel, Chanel, she’s an African Grey and she’s gone towards the canal”.  Or, even worse, the stark realisation that my Mam might be a secret part of the illuminati and she’s cooking up world dominating vaccine in our shed. Who am I kidding? We haven’t got a shed. And the only conspiracy theory me Mam’s interested in is who is smuggling hair dye in the street because her roots, they are as white, weedy and offensive as my legs in football shorts. She’s gonna kill me for that. I want to dive into something that isn’t politics so I take The Guardian’s advice and download the Headspace App - the free version though coz ain’t no way am I spending my money on some middle aged man whispering into my ear about releasing my sacrum to the sounds of Dolphin’s whistling in the Atlantic .   I give up after t