Author Archives: patrickprinsloo

Life

There ain’t no quick fix. We just aren’t hardwired to do that. Humans – badly designed. Age two, they’re still pissing their pants. Unlike the good old lion cub which by that age is busy tearing throats out of passing … Continue reading

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How the other half live

I knock on the door of #33. The postman has left a parcel for her. Widowed Mrs Murray. She says, Come in. I look around. She says, Cuppa? I says, Yes please. She in kitchen; I run forefinger along top … Continue reading

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Dilemma

He was, as usual, reassured by the spotlessly clean scrubs. At first he had been anxious, but the ongoing professionalism of the operating room staff has meant that he never really worries when he is wheeled in to lie under … Continue reading

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Bovril

He was the perfect pub dog. Friendly with the punters, he spread his wet nose favours without prejudice to one and all, even the lager drinkers. He allowed children to pet and pat him at will happily tolerating their sometimes … Continue reading

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A Modern Tale

A Modern Tale Things weren’t going well at Acme Ball Bearings. Management blamed the workers. As you would expect. The workers blamed management. Ditto. The Board couldn’t decide so they called in consultants, a firm with a four letter name, … Continue reading

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Local News

He was certainly the oldest man in Whitby. Occasionally the odd cub reporter would be sent by the editor of the local rag to try and get a story. “Silly old bugger won’t ever tell us anything, but you have … Continue reading

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Exciting times

They’re starting to move into the new town houses next to the station. “Exclusive development.” Three stories high, two bathrooms – bedrooms you couldn’t swing a cat in. Integrated kitchen appliances, thermostatic shower to bathroom. Not enough garden space for … Continue reading

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Summertime fun

“It’s called camping.” “Uhuh?” “Yeah. You haul out this canvas house, a tent, that’s full of mould and dirt, clean it up, spend an hour folding it, and put it into the boot of the car together with awning, groundsheet, … Continue reading

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Playtime for playboys

“Scissors, rock, paper. C’mon, you big sissy.” “Sticks ‘n stones can break my bones. But words can never hurt me. Nya nya nya. Mummy’s boy.” “Cross that line, buddy, just cross that line.” “You cross this line. My line, you … Continue reading

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The Florist

In this world there are people you can trust. And those you can’t. Sometimes it’s difficult to know who falls into which category. It’s a bummer. We spend energy working out who to confide in, to deal with, to befriend; … Continue reading

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