"And the winner is–" Zoom freezes on my laptop. But I don't care. From the gallery director's opening comments in her awards speech, praising this year's portraits, it's clear my landscape has not caught the judges' eyes. Again! However, I've learned to channel disappointment into creative energy.
It was a hot drink. Hands flaying, trying to disengage from his depraved grip, fighting off his unwanted advances. First and last date with this man. So, this is internet dating? Disparaged and feeling sorry for myself, I drove off. Nothing expected or implied. How simple? I was old enough to know the risks.
“Ladies and gentlemen, though I use that term loosely,” the pub laughed, and the MC smiled. Laughter signalled the crowd was well lubricated. The publican would be happy. “It’s the final of tonight’s Lagermind,” the MC continued. “Calling Thommo and Moley back to the stage. Or should I say, stagger back?”
The group trekked for several weeks over rough terrain to reach the border town. On the way, they pooled their meagre resources and precious reserves of e-credits and cash to buy food and water and begged when these ran low. Finally, they arrived exhausted and hungry at the border and found no queue for visas.
The golden glow of Norman's youth was a distant memory. The passing years had added aches and pains and padding, and his soft and doughy love handles had long since served no purpose with Alice. But when he looked in the mirror, Norman recognised the man he had once been. Just wiser and more wizened.
The shitstorm hit the Twitter fan overnight. Deeman had thought his followers would laugh at his sarcastic late-night tweet. He’d watched a news clip about refugees from a COVID ravaged continent. And he’d retweeted it with a tongue-out emoji, "Let them eat COVID. In their own country. LOL!"