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The Treacle Rush

The Treacle Rush (re-edited) by CpSingleton (c) 2012

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This is a short story I first wrote when I was first properly setting out on the word trail and, sadly it shows. I uploaded then, because my tutor at the time said I should, to Kindle and now really want to take it down, as I am now editing it with more experience and knowledge in the art of writing. Well, hopefully with more knowledge.

Be Warned: there are few blue words.

Hope you like…

 

The Treacle Rush By C.p.Singleton ©2012

It was the summer of nineteen-ninety and Thatcher was still Prime Minister. Simon Bates was still depressing the morning Radio One listeners with ‘Our Tune’. No ending was in sight for the IRA bombing campaigns: with the deaths of three Policemen; one Nun; and Ian Gow, Chairman of the Conservative back-bench on Northern Ireland. Rushdie was still skulking around with a Fatwa hanging over his head -Paint your own picture there- and it was safe to visit the Hospital.

In a summer of successions Mr Carey took over from Mr Runcey as Archbishop of Canterbury, Graham Taylor was appointed as the new England football manager and Leeds United returned to the top flight.

All this news, however, blissfully, passed by the eyes and ears of Britain’s new youth culture. They didn’t want to hear about the death of more channel-tunnel builders, or the reports, by The Joseph Roundtree Foundation, that stated, due to low birth rates, the need for an immigrant workforce by 2006 was extremely likely. They didn’t want to know such trivia. They only wanted to know where the next rave was, if the police knew about it and where the hell was Gimpy with the drugs!

The tense excitement before Gimpy appeared, with his pockets crammed with Bart Simpsons, Dennis the Menaces and low grade Pink Champagne, was stretching them all. Nine primed and ready teenagers sat, expectantly, around Nige’s shabby living room, begging to be smashed out of their tiny, excitable minds.

All were dressed in their SPX trainers, baggy jeans and long baggy T-shirts, they knew which club they were going to and how they were getting there; they just needed the goodies.

‘He better get here, man,’ moaned Colin, or Colon as he was less-affectionately known, over the sound of the stuttering, metallic voice of Max Headroom jabbering away on the bulky television in the corner, as he paced the threadbare carpet.

‘He’ll be here, Colon, don’t worry,’ Si re-assured him, his arm firmly glued to the shoulder of his girlfriend, Lisa. ‘Anyway, what’s wi’ all this “man” business? Yer not from fuckin’ Manchester, yer cock!’

‘Din’t say I was.’ Colon sulked, before slumping into a vacant armchair.

The three-piece sofa was tightly packed with Si, Lisa, her friend Claire and lastly, a young man called Besty. Two other mismatched chairs were already occupied by Alex and Tigger. Gazza lay strewn across the hearth-rug.

Colon looked around the room like it too had done him wrong and then began to pull belligerently at the chair’s exposed stuffing that grew out in clumps like an elderly man’s ear-hair.

All eyes immediately turned as the battered living-room door crashed open.

 

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About Chris42

I am a liar! A maker-uper of stories! If this was the 16 (c) I'd be burned as a witch. Fank goodness it is not, eh?! I have four children: two wonderful girls, a fantastic lad and Leeds United. I have no strict genre. I write children's poetry and stories, to edgy, stronger themes. Up until now I have stored them for my own and my family's viewing. Last year i thought bugger it and starred in several short films. One, Playground, which is on the BBC Film Network, used the monologue that I wrote for the audition. You should've seen the face of the receptionist, of the Manchester hotel, where the audition was being held, as I turned up dressed as the psychopath, Gordon. It got the desired effect! I then moved up to Cumbria and wrote and appeared in several live performances on stage. 2012. A local artist, Kayleigh Richardson, commissioned me to write a poem for her to paint a representation. I sent her, The Rise of the Robot Monkey Army. Kayleigh painted a fantastic piece that blew my mind! From that we are collaborating on the Jacob Bear series of stories. Oh and Two's Company is to published, along with seventeen other Sci Fi short stories as part of a collection. Not a bad start to the, so called, last year of the Earth. Now is the time to show the rest of you. I take my themes wherever i see them, whether in reality or dream-world. I hope you enjoy. If not tell me why. If so tell me why. Many thanks and be safe. So far I have published: Jacob Bear's first Christmas,https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B007GK872A (UK) http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007GK872A (USA) Jacob Bear Goes to School https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B007JD3OKY (UK) http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007JD3OKY (USA Jacob's First Words https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B007VZWPSC (UK) & http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007VZWPSC (USA) Space Here https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B007H96M90 (UK) &http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007H96M90#reader_B007H96M90 The Rise of the Sponge Cake Moon https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B007WWZ16M (UK) & http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007WWZ16M (USA) © Madstoffa, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

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© C.p.Singleton, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Don't make me have to take the shirt off your whipped back if you break the rules! I will you know! Us writing folk work hard to make rubbish up for you to enjoy, so don't abuse or you lose! Tha's right!

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