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Better Days


I heard the car before I saw it in my rear view mirror. Come to think of it I smelled the smoke billowing from the rusted tailpipe before hearing if it. It was the most beat up car I had ever seen. As it limped past me in the right hand lane (turning on a red as I waited to go straight) I saw the model. It was a decrepit old Mercedes Once this had been the envy of the neighbors, pride of its owner in the dim and distant past.

It made me think I f there weren’t such strict laws in Britain about what constitutes road worthy, how many clauses out, rusted shells would be driving around tagged as Rolls Royce.

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Opening Day


Is McFoible the only person who thinks ‘to throw a knuckleball’ sounds like a horrific baseball injury?

Sunday Wordle-Silent World


Silence now. After the fires died out.

Three years of destruction ending in torrential rain.

Search for life with our sonar. The hopeful wave dances over the planet. We hold our breath as it uncovers a garment, but its owner is long gone.

Bowing to the inevitable we move on.

Writing off another lifeless planet.


This was another ‘wordle’- a story based on 12 words supplied from this site.

The words

Wave. Year. Fires. Writing. Search. Three. Rain. Garment. Find. Silence. Bowing. Beam

Fantastic Future


McFoible is a strangely prescient optimist. He can already tell that today is going to be a fantastic day.

Every Day


Every day, the nice folks in The Cloud alert McFoible’s phone with a photo from a year ago. For several months, he has been taking a photo of his meals to enter into a weight management app.

Soon his daily nostalgia will consist of a bunch of quickly snapped shots of salads and soups.

Will he get all emotional about the occasions he let himself have macaroni and cheese?

Immortal Memories


It used to be that our memories aged with us. Photographs faded, as did the yellowing pages of old diaries. Now electronic memories could last forever in the cloud.

One day will scientists be able to clone our minds through our social media feeds?

There’s the seed of a story there. Perhaps a novel if someone would care to write it.

Suddenly Awake


Dear birds. I live your optimistic singing in the mornings, but could you perhaps start a little later at the weekends?