Peace?

Can we give peace a chance? Anybody?

-Job

Only Messing

Harold longed to insult his boss. He really did. Tell preening Paul what he really thought of him. Use all his bad words. The ones mother wouldn’t allow.

But he couldn’t. Instead he hid inside his fleshy shell.

One day there’ll be a revolution, he thought, and people like me will rise. Then I’ll grab my boss by his hipster beard and throw him off the building. Or a cliff. Whichever is closer. 

Paul continued his endless tongue tirade. Laughing. In front of the the whole office. They laughed too. What else could they do?

‘Does your mammy still buy your clothes for you Harold?’

‘No.’

Harold lied.

He lied a lot.

‘Only messing Harold. You’re great fun you are.’ Paul said.

Harold sipped his tepid tea and returned to work.

Tea-break was over.

Sitting back to his desk he whispered a silent curse while the office continued to laugh.

-Job

Marmite on toast

Marmite on toast. So wrong but right. It was hot and comforting. Not sweet. The opposite of sweet. The Japanese would probably call it umami. 

It had to be created with care. The toast brought to the edge of being burnt. Then the butter spread while the toast was so hot it would melt into it. Lots of butter! Marmite added then, a good layer, not too thin, not too thick. Spread right to the edges of the toast. Then served with a hot mug of tea or tall glass of milk in the sitting room while we watched a movie (probably Labryinth) 

I remember it fondly because it was a taste my younger sister and I shared. There was a regular debate between us as to who made the best version. If she make it I wanted hers. If I made it, she wanted mine. 

-Job