Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

The Way It Is. A hot tin roof with a cat asleep on it A plumber saying “it’s easy this bit” A banker saying “we don’t talk shit” A miner giving Maggie Thatcher a bit Andy Pipkin saying, “I like it.” You won’t hear of any of these. Cameras getting your speed wrong Politicians singing the same song Summer sun that is three months long Christmas number one’s that don’t drone on A Eurovision song that’s not too long. All things that will never happen. Asking a cop with a taser to think twice Asking a drunk for drinking advice Telling your cat not to kill mice Not seeing MP’s involved in vice Thinking Lidl sells that special spice. Dream on. Thinking your dog won’t jump in a river Hoping you can actually touch liver Reading Steven King without a shiver Having chocolate but eating a sliver Hearing someone say hither and thither. All impossible (almost) Selling a car for what you think it’s worth Not getting squeamish at your first

Judge Pebble Presiding The Defendant: Mud Speck (representing himself) The Prosecutor: Paper Scrap The Charge: Trespass of the puddle beside the lamppost on the other side of the road. The Plea: Not Guilty. PAPER SCRAP -  Mr Speck, you float accused of a serious offence here. You are aware that the puddle in question is only an inch deep, are you not? MUD SPECK -  I am. I refuse to further comment on such a shallow charge. PAPER SCRAP -  Mr Speck, this is a cross examination. You are expected to comment. MUD SPECK -  I refer back to my alibi. PAPER SCRAP -  Yes. Your alibi. I would like to clarify some detail. MUD SPECK -  If you must. PAPER SCRAP -  You claim that on the night in question you had...sunk? Is that correct? MUD SPECK -  Yes. To my usual crack in the pavement. PAPER SCRAP -  And the purpose of your visit? MUD SPECK -  I have relatives down there. PAPER SCRAP - T hey can confirm this? MUD SPECK -  Yes.

A man wearing a hat is up ahead, holsters strapped to left and right thigh, each holding a six-shooter. He’s running. The first thing that strikes you is the horse. There isn’t one. Why is the man running? The second thing that strikes you is the feeling you’re in danger. You look down at dust-covered boots. They feel solid and comfortable. But they’re not your boots. The trousers are worn and frayed at the ends. They’re not yours either. But the nightshirt tucked into the trousers is yours. Your head is throbbing. Reaching up you touch a bandage. When you examine your fingers, there are smears of blood. You’ve no memory of the clothes, the head wound, or how you got here. The man is still running, getting further and further away. A sudden squall blows dust in your face, your eyes water, you spit and spit, breathing is difficult. By the time you’re finally able to open your eyes, the man has disappeared. You keep walking hoping to clear your mind, hoping for some cl

Pink lady was crying, almost as if she cared. But grown ups didn't care. They just moved you from place to place and never listened. They shouted, just like bald man had shouted at her when she saw what he was doing to her friend. He'd shouted in the loudest voice she'd ever heard and she'd known then that she had to run. Run and run and never stop. But then railway man had found her, given her hope and now it was all going wrong again.    Sobbing, Sandra wrenched the gate open and ran. Ran away yet again, and this time she was never going back.    She didn’t really see the blue car as it swerved across the road towards her. She didn’t really feel the bonnet crumple as she bounced across it and was flung up into the morning sun before she hit the verge and everything just disappeared.    For a second, the driver seemed to hesitate and then the blue car screamed away from the scene, leaving Sandra lying in the road and Monica screaming as she ran towards the