masthead image - an open book


(8 stories)


I was an accordianist
In a jug band
Played to audiences
Across the land
And that nudist camp
A little accident
When naked be careful
Where you hang your accordian

When she dreamed of singing to rapturous audiences, she didn't understand that, like sand in an oyster, each one could contain a critic.

He sighed, resting back on his throne.
“Your Holiness…” began his assistant.
“Please, Paolo, enough for one day. No more audiences.”

Stick Ioves an audience
When he’s out strutting his stuff
He’s supposed to be in camouflage
But he just can’t get enough

She sighed, sat back and looked closely at herself in the mirror; crow’s feet, brow lines, sagging cheeks. Long gone the days when she had audiences in the palm of her hand as she sang, strutted and gyrated in stadia across the world. #130story

Tim put down his pen, his first ballad complete. Three chords and the truth. He hoped Siobhan and the paying audiences liked it. #130story

What keeps going bump in the night? Am I clairaudient? No, it's the midnight funfair over the river, complete with fireworks. #130story

4 dogs, 4 rabbits, 4 hens, 3 sugar gliders. As a dad joke enthusiast, its an impossible audience to crack #130story