I love writing daft stories to amuse myself. Here is a small selection.



Jimmy stared in disbelief at the TV. The news was on. He was watching the top stories coming in regarding the virus.

People looked panicked! Watching this made Jimmy feel panicked too! He felt his pulse quicken and his temples throb slightly as if to telegraph an oncoming migraine. Butterflies churned his stomach.

He scrabbled around his sofa for his phone then swiped to get it going from its slumber.

‘Right, what junk have we in the spare bedroom’? He muttered to himself. He went upstairs and into his spare room. He had planned to eventually take in a housemate but things at work picked up for him after he bought the place and he decided he preferred leaving the room for his mates to crash at the weekends.

Surveying the rooms contents he saw Badminton racquets, tennis racquets, flippers which didn’t fit him, a guitar he had bought but never picked up and more. He started writing all of these objects into his favourite social media site’s market selling area. He’d heard from his mates that it was a good way to sell something quick.

‘Send!’ he gasped as his index finger stabbed the phone screen firmly. The advert for these items had been placed and was now live. His head wasn’t throbbing any longer but his stomach was still all a flutter.

Soon he heard his doorbell ring. It was Mikesy721 from his social media site. Mikesy721 was a tallish guy, maybe early thirties and he had the money in his hand ready, handed it to Jimmy then took the bag of advertised items in return. Then Mikesy721 turned, got back into his car and was gone.

Jimmy closed the front door and retreated to his kitchen. He looked at his hand clutching the crisp new banknotes. He giggled a little. His forehead was lightly moist. He looked back up and took a slow, deep breath. Held it… tapped his toe a few times.

‘Right, what else can I get rid of?’. Looking around his kitchen his eyes analysed every item critically. How often did he use those tongs? Have I ever used that knife? Just WHAT on earth were those serrated scissors for again? His mind whirred quickly, simultaneously assessing several items at once in each drawer.

He picked up an old cardboard box he had in the corner for his recycling tipped out the empty plastic bottles and started filling it instead with these unused items around the kitchen.

JaneG166s rang the doorbell. Jimmy had barely finished clearing the cupboard in the Living Room and answered the door.

JaneG166s was about mid-twenties, brown hair and about the same height as Jimmy. He offered the box from the kitchen he’d filled earlier and JaneG166s fished around in her handbag for the money. She counted it to herself and offered it to Jimmy. Jimmy’s pulse was quite rapid, wanting to get the transaction over with as quick as possible. JaneG166s thanked Jimmy, turned and walked down the street towards the traffic lights.

Jimmy returned to the living room. All his books were now ready to go in a bag-for-life. It felt like he was in the middle of a mild jog. His pulse ran fairly quick and his dopamine running high. A mixture of hyperactive frustration gripped him. ‘I need to get quicker or I’ll run out of time’! he admonished himself. ‘Buyers won’t be interested in buying forever’. He felt a bit panicked.


SmithPeterBoss thanked Jimmy and handed over the money. ‘You alright mate?’ SmithPeterBoss asked, ‘You look like you need a rest man!’.

‘I do… I do need a rest. Been a busy few days’ Jimmy croaked. He was still hyper frustrated and his heart was still quick but his physical body was telling his head that it was tired.

‘Well… take care guv, get yourself stocked up before they start rationing the supermarkets! My missus had me queuing for ages to get some toilet paper! Can you believe that! Right, take care’ and SmithPeterBoss was gone in his old white van. It was a fair bit heavier than it was when he had pulled up an hour ago. That made sense considering Jimmy’s double bed was in the back of it. And his sofa.

And his kitchen table.

Jimmy turned and went into his living room and sat down on the floor in the middle of the empty floor.

He sat, propped up on his hands for a few moments then slid down and rolled so he was in a prone position. He was feeling calm now. He had managed to sell all his belongings before anyone else did. His pulse was a slow resting one. Relieved, he closed his eyes and dozed off.

Made to Measure

‘That was The Drudger on the phone there Charlie, he wants 3 boxes this time. One for the detonator and 2 for the bombs. One is a dummy so we just need to put a bit of ballast I that one so it will weigh the same as the bomb’.

Charlie was through in the workshop and leant back from the bench to shout through to the office at Chaznee who was sat at his desk.

‘The Drudger? When did he get out? I never hear about that’

Chaznee was now opening up a spreadsheet on the computer infront of her. The order sheet and proceeded to start inputting the new order.

‘Yeah Charlie, I thought you heard about that? Early last year just before he got busted, he teamed up with Dirtman and they hatched another plan, but The Drudger was already too far gone with thee whole Pathogen/ kidnap plot to stop it. So that original solo plan got busted but Dirtman needed him out didn’t he? So he dang went and busted The Drugder out of the State pen’.

She was typing into the cells on the spreadsheet, Client – D R U D G E R. All typed using her index fingers only. Quantity – 3 Stainless boxes. Next were the dimensions.

‘Chaznee, did he say anything about those Pathogen boxes we did for him?’ He had turned his attention back to cutting the angle iron on his bench back to size. He was working on a sniper rifle case for the mega secret MI7 in London. He provided bespoke cases for all kinds of clients, lawful or… questionable. Everyone knew when you wanted the wow factor.

Charlie X’s cases were the only place to go. I mean, if you’ve spent say 5 years hatching a plot to make a political statement and you turn up at the place carrying something that looked cheap and nasty then how would anyone take you seriously? It the extremely fragile Vials or transplant organs were in a case where the foam insert was loose…. Then you might have a vial breaking before it reached the target! Totally unprofessional. Charlie X’s foam inserts were legendary. Quality tolerances where the heaviest or lightest of items would be securely and safely held. An AK7 magazine, drop it into the slot it was meant to sit and it would descend into the slot slowly as the displaced air escaped the well fitting space.

Chaznee looked down at the notes she made when she took the order from the Druger, 2 of the boxes were of equal dimensions and one was about half the size of the others.

‘Yea, he said the cases were amazing! Apparently the look on Agent Jones face when he opened them after he caught The Drudger was priceless. Jones was very impressed. He opened the case and the Drudger could swear there was gold light illuminating onto Jones’s face. The Drudger was in cuffs by this time of course. In the back of the van, on the way back to the precinct, Jones asked him where he got his cases from so I think we might be getting a call from Jones at some point in the near future.

Charlie finished his cut and wiped the swarf off with a rag and came through to the office. On all the walls there were pictures of all the famous clients he had made bespoke cases for. These were dating back so far some of the photo’s were a bit yellowed around the edges. There was even a picture of the first client when he made the switch over from making guitar cases. It was way back in the 60’s when he made a case for Luca Arrabiato. He was Don Corleanos family’s top hitman at the time and he came in one day to order a new Violin case. Charlie took the order but then when Luca came back to pick it up, he had opened the small violin case and said he wanted a different insert. He had wanted an insert for an old Sten gun, specifically with the stock off it so it would fit. Charlie was a little reluctant but did it anyway as Luca had said he would pay double for the work. Luca was so happy with the result, his trusty Sten gun fit so snuggly into the violin case it made him feel so good he said it made him feel a little less sad when he had taken someone out.

The rest shall we say is history. Charlie’s name spread wide across the land and eventually across the sea to the land of the rising sun. He made dozens of cases for the Yakuza and their treasures swords. He made cases for the British secret service, the German secret services, the Russian secret services, the Cubans, the North Koreans, the French, the Libyans pretty much anywhere or one who needed a smart looking case for a weapon or contraption, a detonator, a priceless diamond tiara, an extremely rare element, a critical memory chip anything. They came to Charlie X and repeat orders got 15pc discount.

Charlie looked at the screen as Chaznee typed in The Drudgers order, working out in his head what sort of materials he’d use and whether he had enough in stock. 3mm brushed stainless checker pattern he thought. 5 hasps for each of the larger cases and only 2 for the smaller box. He might be running low on the chrome effect hasps…

The other line on Chaznee’s desk started ringing. Chaznee looked up at Charlie ‘Well get it then, cant you see I’m busy with this’?

Charlie moved to pick the other phone up. For a man in his 70’s he moved remarkable lightly.

‘Yello’ he hollered down the line. He preferred to answer like that as nothing was given away should it be a wrong number. Only people wanting to place an order should be calling.

He listened intently and nodded. He didn’t have to say much. So you want 1 large box. Black panels. Matt silver edging. Yup. What sort of weight will it be carrying? Ok. And for the insert you will fax me an outline? Yup, as usual. Nice, thanks for your custom once more. . . Oh, thank you, it is good to hear that you were satisfied with the last consignment. Ok, take care and we will get that out to you ASAP, ok, bye’ and hung up.

‘Chaznee, that was a priority order so The Drudger will need to wait a week for his bomb and detonator cases. Al Quida are back in business it seems and have somehow got a hold of some sort of Virus from the Chinese’!.

False Profits

‘Welcome everyone to the 14th weekly meeting of 2020. Thank you all for attending, I understand everyone is busy in their respective departments so let’s get straight down to business. Jill, If you can read the abridged minutes of the previous meeting please’

‘Yes Jim, certainly. Meeting 13, 2020 commenced 1030 am. Minutes from meeting 12 Item 1 discussed daily attendance issues. This was left with Matt Hobbs of logistics to look into streamlining. Item 2 was overview of 2019 trading figures. Sales agreed to be holding steady and the committee agreed upon spending budgets for the remainder 2020. Item 3 discussed the outreach program and the board agreed upon the findings of that report. Item 4 the board discussed and agreed upon this years AGM meeting date and agreed upon the schedule for the weekly meetings for the rest of the year. Including the 3 week breaks for the summer, Easter and Christmas except for essential personnel. Lastly, item 5 we discussed this year’s share holders dividends. This was not concluded and we agreed to discuss further in this meeting as time had run out on meeting 13. That concludes the minutes of meeting 13, 2020. Are we all in agreement’?

There was a mumble of agreement around the board table.

Jim stood up and thanked Jill for her summary.

‘Ok Brothers and Sisters, in this meeting I want to start directly with the issue of shareholder dividends for this year. As we are all aware, most of the stock is divided between the people in this room so let’s not beat around the bush. Currently our flock is trading slightly below last years value and so far this year we are not reaching our projected blessings’. Jim Mitchell, head preacher of the Jim Mitchell Evangelical church sat back down. He pushed back on his chair and hefted his feet onto the table. The smell of the new leather of his cowboy boots wafting over to the nostrils of his committed pastors. His inner circle.

‘Ay say we push the dividend to fahve point fahve perceynt’ the Southern drawl always seem to come out harder when he spoke about money. ‘Can we all agree upon that today?’

A few nods around the room. Not all by any measure though.

Halfway down the table there was a clearing of a throat followed by the straightening up of a person in one of the plush board room chairs… All the heads turned to look in the direction of the disturbance.

‘Brother Jim, I as head of the department of Practical Operations, I must ask again if you can please reduce this dividend to 3 percent this year. I feel we should really channel a little more budget into blessings and the production of Holy Water. So far we are not reaching our flock and are struggling to meet demand. We are lacking at least 10 qualified pastors who could relieve us of this shortcoming’.

It was practically what he had put forward at the end of the previous meeting. The rest of this congregational board had been reluctant to rubber stamp the idea. Some had just bought their very own private jets and did not want to jeopardize their winter prayer breaks to Aspen by not having enough to pay for that too.

Jim Mitchell’s Alligator grin never twitched a muscle. It was a grin chiselled from granite and as such, immovable. In another life he would have made a formidable poker player.

‘Brother Peter, I hear your concerns, but the Lord has already informed me that his love, and attention, can be equal no matter how many letters, or how many gallons of water is put in front of one of his preachers for blessing’

There was an ‘Amen’ from the congregated board members.

‘Brother Peter, your departments preachers are extremely experienced in mass blessings now so I have been blessed with an idea, from the Lord himself, how His word may be spread more widely. Instead of taking those mailbags, stuffed full of those blessing requests and donations, into our mailing department and spread over the table for our preachers to mass bless, why don’t we…’

Jim paused. He knew how powerful a pause was when orating. He had learnt that even before he got to high school when he was in the debating club. The pause enabled his listeners to catch up to where he was. They had a chance to process what he had just said, evaluate it and were then ready for the next dictum. He relished these moments and even afforded himself a small lick of his bottom lip with his tongue.

‘Why don’t we’, Much louder, everyone awaiting the important message.

Now more softly, more softly than he had spoken so far so that everyone had to strain to hear him.

‘Why don’t we, NOT take the mailbags into the Church sorting office. Why don’t we have our esteemed and honourable letter blessing pastors just bless the WHOLE MAILVAN before any sacks are unloaded? As the Lord has instructed me, we should make HASTE with our blessings Brothers and Sisters. In fact, to delay in passing our important salutations is not working for our Lord effectively. So we bless the whole darn Mail truck, praise Jesus’

‘Praise Jesus’ hail the board members.

‘Then, the blessing requests and donations can then go straight to the accountancy offices for clerical processing, praise Jesus’

‘Praise Jesus’ came the response.

‘So brothers and Sisters, we shall proceed with the dividend this year and streamline the blessing processing.’

Jim took his boots off the table and drew himself back up to the table proper.

‘Item 2 today’ he drawled with the same alligator grin, turning to Jill to make sure she was up to speed with the minutes.

‘Increased production of Holy water’

Malcolm and Me

‘Ooh you should’ve heard what Malcolm came out with tonight on the way home from work Rita, it was hilarious’!

Rita had her back to Tom, putting some shopping away.

‘He said ‘It was so cold this morning he thought he saw a stockbroker with his hands in his own pockets!’, oh he makes me laugh’. Tom guffawed as he bent over to get some more shopping out of the bag to pass to Rita.

‘That’s nice dear. I wish my commute was only a thirty-minute walk into the city. The traffic was so bad getting back into town tonight’.

‘Meeting Malcolm each morning means I get decent company too on my commute, not just the traffic report and some gobby radio DJ. Lucky he lives just around the corner. Funny how we both just moved into the area about the same time too’. Tom picked up the empty bag and started folding it up. ‘Apparently in his younger days, he used to play cricket for his school too.’

‘I happen to like the radio’ Rita protested with a wry smile. She turned around and put the oven on. It was a modest two bedroom flat in the docklands which was quite a recent development. Tom had left out some veg on the counter and started to prepare them. ‘Well, since we’ve moved. I’ve not had much of a chance to meet anyone yet and all my friends live at the other end of the country. Perhaps you could invite Malcolm around for dinner some night? Has he a partner he could bring? Maybe she knows some clubs I could join and she could take me….’ She drifted off a moment. ‘Right, so tell Malcolm tomorrow morning to keep his diary clear for next Friday night. We can do a Tagine and some cous cous. Got to make a good impression’!

‘That sounds great dear! I didn’t think you would be interested in doing something like this. Tomorrow I’ll ask him if he and his partner can come over to dinner. Sorted’.

Dinner was a pasta bake with extra aubergine and a light drizzle of truffle sauce. They both loved it.


The doorbell rang.

‘That’ll be him’, Tom got up and strode over to the mirror checking his collar was uncreased. ‘I’ll get it’.

Rita picked over the cushions in the lounge. ‘Shame his wife couldn’t make it’. She went into the kitchen to stir the tagine and joined her husband at the door.

Tom unlocked the door and swiftly opened with a big beaming smile.

‘Malcolm! Great to see you!’

Stood in the doorway was an extremely dishevelled, dirty, humanoid shaped figure draped in miscellaneous clothing of varying sizes and uses. Under what looked like the hood of an anorak there was a ruddy face encased in a bed of greasy lank hair and a dense grubby beard. The lips looked a bit chaffed and crusty.

‘Tom! Nice place! And you must be Rita, hic, I’ve heard a lot about you, you, hic, you sound like a truly amazing lady, hic’. Malcolm made a bottle appear out of thin air. Well, from somewhere under the numerous folds of however many coats he was wearing. He burped a little and said, ’You can’t come to a dinner part without bringing a, hic, bottle of something can you? hic’. It looked like Malcolm had mild case of the hiccups, what a pain.

Tom took the bottle and had a look at it. ‘Oh, a bottle of Buckfast, thanks! I’ve not seen a bottle of this since I was a teenager’! He stepped back from the doorway to let Malcolm in. Rita managed to catch his eye, she looked a little confused, or maybe distressed!

‘Oh, erm, Rita was wondering if you liked Moroccan Tagine, it was a bit of a gamble as people generally love it or hate it. Are you ok with that’?

‘Is it warm’? He barked a few clipped laughs. ‘I’ll be fine with that sure, Tagine, Tagine, hic, can’t really say I’ve ever tried one of those, hic. Or even heard of it before’.

Malcolm took off a coat then handed it to Tom. Tom hung it up in the little cloakroom just by the front door to the flat, turned back and Malcolm handed him another. Rita stepped back a pace. Her face wrinkled a little despite her best efforts to keep it neutral. She felt she could actually see the odour coming from him. Little brown wisps trailing off him. It was probably just her imagination.

Malcolm settled on stopping his disrobing at an old cardigan. A beige, diamond patterned button up cardigan. He was happy at that level despite obviously having quite a few more layers he could go.

Tom motioned them all to come into the sitting room and he opened his bureau to get some glasses out for drinks.

‘Tom mate, do you mind if I use your, hic, toilet first? Just before we, hic, have something to drink together’?

‘Sure Malc, just outside this door and next to the cloakroom’. Malcolm shambled off. It looked like he had kicked off his shoes at the door when he came in. Rita thought she could see small flies buzzing around his feet.

‘What the hell is this?’ Rita whispered to Tom. ‘I thought you said he worked in the city with you? Not a, a, a ‘. She waved her hands frantically grasping the right word out of the air. ‘BUM’!!!!!!!

Tom blinked. ‘I never said he worked in the city’. He started looking more perplexed. ‘He lives at the emergency exit at the bottom of the flats just across the canal. He meets me each morning and we walk into the city together’. Tom handed Rita a glass of Sherry. ‘What he does in town I don’t know. I think he recycles plastic bottles from bins or something, but he’s normally sat by the tube station stairs by the time I am heading home at night’.

Rita’s rage was simmering, close to exploding but Tom put out his hand in a calming motion. ‘He told me he used to be a broker as well, years ago but was hit hard by the crash in the eighties. Poor sod’.

CRASH! There was a noise from the toilet. They both looked in the direction of the hallway, then Rita turned back to Tom. ‘I just can’t believe you sometimes Tom White!’ and got up towards the toilet giving Tom a stare all the way out.

‘Malcolm, are you alright in there’? She creaked the door open a little.

She came storming back into the lounge to Tom.

‘He’s out cold in there’. Her finger stabbing in the direction of the toilet with each word. ‘and there’s a f*!^ing NEEDLE in his arm’!

‘Oh,’ Tom looked down, closed his eyes and his hand came up to massage the bridge of his nose. This evening was not how he had hoped it would go.

‘He told me he’d been off the heroin since his Goldman Sachs deal went sour’.