My night-time ramble is all whizz and the day-glo stamped ones are doing their stuff; my temples soft as ocean sponge. Then I see it. A glove, its tapered black fingers limp on the road like an amputated hand washed up from Idi Amin’s crocodile river. Not quite the normal article. I bend down to pick it up, examine and sniff within – damp in there, sweaty, a leathery feral smell – feline, definitely female. I try my fingers inside and imagine her slim, exited hand – long ivory fingers, bruise-yellow in the clench-creases – their dark reptilian casing now discarded. Snake shed skin. Now I must go search the far corners of the earth for this pale lady’s hand that once wore the glove, and thence make her my own. Thence? Wrong word surely?
I guess it's that time again! Christmas greetings from the Palins, here in sunny Alaska!
Well now, 2009. It has been an eventful year for the Palin family. You know us, never a dull moment! But where to begin? With the man of the house, I reckon.
Every line of work has its indispensible tools. I would have found it impossible to get through some days without my twin-barreled Oerlikon 40 millimetre anti-aircraft gun. Not that you get a lot of low-flying aircraft dropping by the Lost and Found. No, it's because you get some pretty thick-skinned customers and the .50 Browning machine gun just wasn't cutting it any more.
I got up late – as usual, and by the time I got to the tube the platform was packed – again, as usual. There was no way I could have squeezed onto the first train, and I’d have been quite happy to not board the second one either, if it weren’t for the thought of my boss’s snide comments. Not that they would be limited to my punctuality, or lack of it. She’d also criticise my attitude, the quality of my work, my appearance, the state of my desk, and even the way I slurped my tea, and all accompanied by a chorus on the state of the economy and how lucky I was to have a job at all.
George was hurrying down the stairs, checking he had his train ticket in his jacket pocket, when he realised his phone was missing.
He groaned and heaved his suitcase back up the three flights to his flat. This was all he needed – it was Christmas Eve, he was already running behind time, and if he missed the train back home, his parents would never let him forget it. He’d have to buy a new ticket and catch a later train, and would probably end up standing for most of the three-hour journey.
For Your Ears Only by Bartle Sawbridge, read by Stephen Butterton
Commuters' Tails by Liam Hogan, read by Silas Hawkins
Christmas Future by Niall Boyce, read by Paul Clarke
Jason's Very Last Day at the Lost and Found by "PuzzleMonkey" (needless to say, this is a pseudonym) read by Michael Redston
The Steel Rim by Alan McCormick, read by Al Woodhall
Sarah Palin's Yuletide Epistle 2009 by Quintin Forrest, read by Daisy Whyte
Plus! Chocolate money, candy canes, free books and free booze after (for actors and writers who have contributed over the year, until the money runs out). See you there!
Longtime contributors Niall Boyce, Jonathan Pinnock & Richard Smyth all have books out which you'd be well advised to buy, then read, then buy for others. All genres are catered for, from novels (Niall's Veronica Britton) and short stories (Jonathan's Dot Dash) to nonfiction (Richard's Bumfodder)
KATY LIAR'S DEBUT NOVEL
Liar Katy Darby's debut novel, a Victorian drama called The Unpierced Heart (previously titled The Whores' Asylum) is now out in Penguin paperback. It's had nice reviews in The Independent on Sunday, Sunday Times & Metro (4*).
OUR INTERVIEW WITH ANNEXE MAG!
They came, they saw, they asked us a bunch of interesting questions. Interview by Nick of Annexe Magazine with Katy of LL: here
