Childhood mate

Everybody's buzzing around downstairs but we couldn't care less. We don't want to leave the bed. We are making out like our lives depend on it. It's like we're catching up the years. I feel his skin, watch his smile, hear his breathing. I take everything in.
After a while, I hear steps, the wood cracking. My mum's coming upstairs. I'm not worried, my mum pops Champagne corks every time she hears I made out with someone. But this time I should be. To my utter surprise, she is not happy but furious! "What are you doing? What is he doing here?" and a thousand of other questions explode in the room soon followed by "Get out of here, I don't want you in my house". Words that I have never heard or thought I would hear from my mum.

I am so chocked I can hardly react. But I don't really care (1) I just want to stay in his arms. After a while, I do realise that having your mother screaming at you is not helping when you tried to relax in bed, with your boyfriend. So we leave. One last look at the beige painted house sitting on a fake smallish hill under which is the garage and we're out of the street. And I'm out of this dream.

(1)  Sorry mum!

Scotland yard

It's getting dark outside my flat and I can't help but feel the panic growing inside me. Tonight is the big night. We have been working for month to get to this. We, two of London's best police officers, are on the verge of bringing down a drug cartel.
We are debating about the best way to do this. Mainly, we need to fix one issue. They know we're coming for them. And we know that they want to be the first to attack. The dealer's boss is a twisted man so we expect him to go for our families. I have no kids, no folks, I'm a loner. The only risk I'm taking is loosing my own life which is not a big deal. But she is a single mum. I know her son, I like her son. He's a sweet kid. A 10 years old with untamed blond hair.
After a long conversation we decide to split. One of us will lead the squad. One will stay with her kid and surprise whoever comes expecting him to be alone. We also decide to swap. Sometimes, a mum is not the best person to protect her kid.
The boy's sitting in the sofa with a book when she leaves (1). I am standing in front of the huge kitchen window, watching the Thames running below. Like her, I seem quiet but I'm ready to strike.
Less than 10 minutes after her departure, the window breaks. I scream "HIDE and close your eyes!!" to the kid and sees his slim body jumps behind the sofa. I have no gun with me (2) so I grab a steak knife and head for the intruder's chest.
One quick move and my hand is knocking his heart. He falls down.
Emotions are flooding through me but I don't have time to exhale, an other man's jumping in. I go for his throat but my kitchen knife doesn't cut properly. I have to rip through his flesh again and again. "Sorry I wish it was quicker" I apologies. He finally dies too.
However, there was not one, not two, but three of these *bip*. Now it's a woman who's climbing through the window. I look down at my hand, the knife I'm holding is out of use, I feel helpless. As I check that the kid is not looking in my direction I see the heavy flower pot on the floor. I pick it up and smash her head with it. She falls dead. I stumble back to the kid's hiding place. He's safe. I wake up.

The Armstrong& Miller show, live in Wimbledon

The monitor shows 7.40pm when I arrive at the station. The play starts at 8pm, leaving me enough time to stroll down the Broadway toward the New Wimbledon Theatre. It's the first time I'm going to the theatre on my own so I don't want to be too early and spend three hours looking at the curtains (I'm not great at socialising...).

As I sit down (between two huge men), I notice two set of eyes looking, straight from the stage, down at me. It’s like I’m facing Mona Lisa. Wherever I look, they’re looking at me. I feel self conscious but in a nice way. I look around to avoid the eyes fixed on me. The red curtains, the white statues, the wooden stairs, the banisters and wonder if in England too, having green in a theatre is bad luck. I can’t see any so I guess so.

 I was sitting in the same room just two weeks ago for the Vagina Monologues. It was a brilliant show, funny, sensible, sad. Three woman, Three chairs and it was enough to fill the entire room.

This is a different show. I won't give you a review, being a admirer of Armstrong and Miller, I could hardly be objective. Plus I don't want to take the risk of giving you the details about the show as it would be a shame. I loved being surprised by them more than anything and wouldn’t want to spoil it for potential viewers.  Ok, as you insist, here is a little insight: food fight, songs about anus, spectator abuse, chorus etc…are some of the many entertainment laid down for you.

It was even more succulent as  the show had a special touch for the People of  Wimbledon (which reminds me I added a special touch to my neighbour too as I kept unintentionally wiping my shoes on his trousers...).

After the show, one of the spectator told his girlfriend ( I see couples everywhere so it could have been is sister) "amazing stuff". It made me think how easily we use some words like 'amazing', 'awesome', 'gorgeous', 'beautiful' so much that they don't mean anything anymore (my flatmate thinks Cheryl in Hollyoaks is beautiful...). But then I realised that I was amazed. Not only by the performance of the comedians, but the way they reached to the public and grabbed it to be part of the show with them. For a moment, the whole room was one, there was no strangers, no worries, just everybody having fun together. And this, I have to say, is pretty amazing. 

  

http://www.armstrongandmiller.co.uk/