Home : Writers' Showcase : Submission Guidelines : A Man of a Few More Words : Links

Writers' Showcase

Drink & Alpen
by James A. Stewart

It's not that I don't like the fairer sex, God knows I've bought enough of them rings. It's just that I find them so argumentative, snapping at the least wee thing. It's bloody frustrating when, after a hard day's gambling and drinking, I come home to find an empty table in the kitchen. It's not as if I have any money to buy my own dinner, I mean I would have if weren't for the last fence at the track, daft horse jumped it into it as if Henry VIII was her jockey.

There she was, my darling wife, hair all bunched up and a face that looks as if she had been sucking a lemon just as the wind changed, staring me down. 'The oven's not working,' she tells me. The fact that I had promised to fix it six-weeks ago was neither here nor there. And anyway, what was wrong with using the microwave? Apart from the fact that I had swapped my mate it for ten fags and a case of beer, nothing.

My leisurely, intoxicated, stroll home – interspersed with songs questioning the criminal activities of Phil upstairs as well as what position Jemma at fifty-two preferred – had turned into complete nightmare thanks to stumbles, fights (not my fault, the songs were tuneful) and my wife's torn face at the front door; and I was starving. I checked the fridge and found it to be full of nothing but space, with only a lone pint of milk blotting the chilled landscape. I could hear the cereal shouting at me, I loved Alpen.

When I asked where the dry, yet tasty, breakfast snack was, 'Coco's tray' came the answer. We had run out of cat litter and my wife'd rather starve than have a dirty home.



It's amazing what you'll eat after a day on the drink. I didn't even use a bowl.