Free Love

Rising silently from the cavern her lithe body had created in the double waterbed, Janey unfurled her long, slender limbs from beneath her. The bearded form beside her grunted as the water shifted, causing him to roll to the centre of the bed. Janey froze. Her hazel eyes widened and darted around the near-silent space of his studio apartment, from her latest sleeping conquest to her finish line of his front door. She could not even remember how many times she had done this before, but each fresh night still sent her heart hammering in her chest, her lips dry and her hands shaking. Smacking his coral lips, his breathing slowed once more to a gentle purr and she allowed herself the briefest sigh of relief as she plotted her escape route. The early dawn sun glinted off the keys to his scarlet Mini which she knew waited patiently outside for her.  They were inches from her grasp, so enticingly near, yet just too far. Forwards she padded, keeping one eye fixed on... John? James? Jack? She couldn’t bring herself to care enough to remember. Studying the length of floor lit by a swath of sunlight, her hands closed around the keys, and she eyed up the leather wallet lying next to it with the tip of the TOTP tickets he bragged so arrogantly about in the bar last night poking out of the notes pocket. They seemed to be winking at her, so she grabbed the wallet and stuffed it into the patch pocket of her best miniskirt, delicately picking her way through the obstacle course of hastily discarded clothes and last night’s spliffs until she reached the door. Janey slipped out and down the narrow staircase, touching the fingers of one hand gently to the flowered wallpaper and counting the money in his wallet with the other. She caught a glimpse of his driving licence and drawing it out of its plastic pocket she tossed it carelessly over her shoulder. “For a time of free love, that certainly cost Jerry dear.” She muttered.

Dangerous Dragons and Perfect Princesses

As I rush towards the bus stop, I feel a salty droplet snaking down from the middle of my lobster red forehead, coating my eyelashes and stinging my eyes. Blinking furiously, I purge my eyes of my sweat just in time to see the angry red glow of the bus’s taillights as it pulls away from the stop at a snail’s pace. With one final glance behind me, I plonk my bottom down onto the cold, hard metal of the seat and, shielding my eyes from the brilliant sunlight and sighing resignedly, I search the bus timetable for confirmation of what I’m sure I already know. I settle in for 26 minutes of boredom, or ‘quiet contemplation’ as your parents will undoubtedly call it.

Craning my neck to the sun, I press my palms to my eyes. I let myself pretend that the black shapes moving in my vision now are handsome knights battling dangerous dragons, that the sunlight creeping in from the sides is simply the aura of magnificent beauty emanating from the perfect princesses in their foreboding, impenetrable towers and fortresses. A shuffling noise disturbs me and drags me out of my hallucinations. I move my hands to the more socially acceptable position of lay in my lap and sneak glance at my harbinger of doom or ‘reality’ as the more foolish amongst you may know it. I’m somewhat annoyed to see a distinctly average elderly lady before me.

“Jason! Jason!” she hisses. I don’t answer. My name is Peter. As moments of silence pass and nothing more is said, the idea of continuing the game I was interrupted from creeps steadily further to the forefront of my mind and I feel myself close my eyes in preparation. A hot, wet feeling on my right cheek tells me that this is not one of my best ideas. Steeling myself, I open first my right, and then my left eyes simply to confirm what the right was seeing. I find myself staring into her eyes, her face inches from mine and her halitosis damply hitting my cheek. Nobody could say she looked average now. Her hair had frizzed wildly and her eyeballs were tinged with a sickly green glow as she pushed her face further into mine. I remember my father telling me it’s rude to stare and I try to wrench my eyes away, back towards the sun. She shifts around and, once more, her crazed face fills my vision.

“I saw that man again this morning.” She whispers frantically to me. I roll my eyes towards the heavens and strain my ears for the sound of the bus. Nothing. All I can hear was the faint rustling as she runs her jagged nails along her arms, and I can’t help but stare as angry red lines blossom on her skin. “You’ve got to listen to me. You’ve got to help me. He’s everywhere, I can see him everywhere, but they say he’s nowhere. I know, though. I know he’s coming for me.” I risk a glance at the digital watch fixed to my wrist. I’ve got time to kill before the bus.

“I can see him, too.” I’m humouring her, trying to make my eyes as frantic and wild as her round saucers.

“He’s here?! Oh God, Oh God! Oh God, Oh God...” she chants, eyes darting as she pulls a foil hat from her bag with a flourish. “He can’t see me when I’ve got my invisibility cap on AND HE CAN’T GET ME IF HE CAN’T SEE ME! Hahahahahaha” I watch her fix the cap to her head and feign surprise.

“I’m sure there was somebody else here at this bus stop with me!” My voice drips with sarcasm as I pretend to glance around and then settle back on the metal seat. “Perhaps I imagined it. Perhaps I’m... Insane.” I shift my eyes pointedly to the woman in the foil hat. The bus nears and she put out her arm to hail it. The bus doesn’t stop. The driver doesn’t see her. A man walks by, being dragged slightly forward by a German Shepherd bounding towards me. I smile at him, and the woman gives a wave. He smiles hesitantly back at me, but there’s no flicker acknowledgement directed at the woman in the hat. My eyes widen, but it’s no pretence this time.

I feel a tap on my shoulder, and then guiding hands cupping my elbows and crane my neck to see who’s approached. Looking round, there is no longer a crazed wretch standing in the bus shelter next to me. No foil hat, no string bag of catfood, no evidence she was ever there. A kindly face swims into my vision, and the grip on my elbows tightens slightly. Somebody is saying my name and it sounds like heaven as I sag slightly in their arms.

“Peter. You can’t go running off like that! You know this is only a quick trip out and then we have to get back to the hospital. Your tablets were due 26 minutes ago and you know how you get when you haven’t had your medication!” The man in the white coat (a snowman? A priest?) chastises me gently, leading me back the way I have come. I am steered towards a long white bus. I am steered towards a crowd of crowing men and women. I am steered towards home.

Flash Fiction- Lovebugs

This is pretty silly :D

Gerard and Nancy strolled along the bright white and smooth path next to the crystal clear water and laughed gently as it lapped at their feet. Nancy tripped lightly on one of Gerard's many shoelaces and yelled out indignantly. "Gerard! I don't know who taught you to tie your shoelaces, but Jesus Christ! You need your money back!" Within seconds the two lovers were squabbling like angry geese, and it seemed it only took a split second for Nancy to totter on one of her heels and feel herself flying through the air and landing with a splash in the freezing water.

John Adamson swilled the water around in his mouth and spat into the gathering water in the sink. Glancing at his watch and realising he was late, he pulled the plug out and watched as the water swirled down into the sewers, dragging Nancy the beetle with it.

Autobiography, Part 3.

This is a work in progress. We were asked to write about our first jobs, but I only got as far as the journey to my first job.

Rain streamed down my face and I silently thanked God that my new uniform was black or the A6 cruisers would've been in for a treat when my clothes soaked through. It was early, and my lack of sleep combined with the warmth washing over me as I stepped onto the bus made my lids and limbs heavy with drowsiness. My head rested against the blue and orange vomit patterned seats and I watched as the world silently whirled past the window, then closed my eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights. I let myself drift off and marvel at how easy it was to place yourself on this route, without even having to open your eyes. A sweet biscuity smell hit my nose and I pictured the Santa's grotto outside McVities, snowflakes falling on the wooden roof and splashing the rainbow coloured lights. I soon smelt exotic flavours and spices tantalising my tastebuds and I quickly rubbed the sleep from my eyes, knowing that soon we'd be out of Levenshulme and arriving at Piccadilly, my final destination.

Baby's First Stabbing

A massive redraft of Autobiography Part 2.

Baby’s First Stabbing

It was a Saturday morning, just like any other, and we met at 10am at the postbox on Nangreave Road. 4 15-year olds coming from the four corners of our estate, excitement bubbling out of us (not that it would ever show in our Kohl rimmed, hollow eyes). I was early, I always was. As Panic! At the Disco blared from my too-loud headphones, I leant my back against the cool brick wall and was glad of the iciness eating through my emo uniform of black skirt, black shirt, black eyes, black hair. A door slammed and a lone figure entered my vision. In a frizz of dyed black hair and a puff of polka dot skirt, Charley joined me at my waiting place, the others following within seconds of each other. Together we walked to the A6, to catch the bus to town. Heading straight for ‘our’ seats at the back of the top deck, we put up umbrellas to cover the cameras and allowed the smoke to unfurl from the orange embers of our Richmond Superkings whilst we discussed our latest poetic outpourings laden with words like ‘scar’ and ‘razor’ because our notebooks were the only ones that understood the pain we were experiencing. As we travelled through Heaton Chapel and Levenshulme, we yelled out the landmarks we saw every week. “LEX! THAT’S CALLED LEX! THAT’S YOUR NAME!” Charley screeched at me as we passed the car repairs place opposite the huge McVities factory. “HARDICKER STREET, I SAW IT FIRST!” Charlotte had won this week’s competition.

We began our assault on Manchester in Afflecks Palace, a wonderful splash of alternative and retro colour in the greyscape of Piccadilly, a place where nothing was ever bought but many things were somehow obtained. We smoked endless cigarettes in the cafe, ordering a token can of coke between the four of us so that we could stay for hours. Iona poured out salt onto the tiled mosaic tables and set about creating artworks of flowers and suns. Charlotte spotted our maths teacher working on one of the stalls, so obviously we thought we must say hello. It would be rude not to, Iona reasoned as she blew her pieces of art off the table and onto the laminate floor. We ambled over to him, giggling at the sight of something so out of place as a maths teacher in a suit amongst all the boutiques and fancy dress stalls. Urbis is where we ended up, where we would always end up, as it shimmered like an 'alternative' beacon. The gardens outside were teeming with life, black crowds lurching drunkenly from one social group to another as friends were recognised and enemies chastised. We sat in the afternoon sun, swaying from side to side as the dulcet tones of Gerard Way and My Chemical Romance filled the air, echoing from tinny Nokia speakers. As day turned slowly to night, we linked our arms together and, high on life, poppers and Morinov vodka mixed with whatever we could find that day, we wandered aimlessly to find the night’s entertainment.

There was a Battle of the Bands taking place in Urbis that night, which was obviously too good an opportunity to miss. It was hot, sticky, smoky inside as the bands competed furiously. With the shredding of guitars in the distance, it seemed like an excellent idea to go paddling in the fountains outside, and in hindsight I think that's because (despite the gallons of tramps piss in there) it was a good idea. I couldn’t tell you who won, it didn’t matter. I don’t recall even staying for the results. With our skirts sticking to our damp limbs and our feet rubbing in our Converse, we boarded the 192. 

Now, whenever I mention the 192 these days, I always say "You take your life into your own hands with the 192." and it's mainly because of this night. We headed for our usual seats once again at the back of the bus on the top deck, taking no notice of the other passenger nearby. His tedious life did not concern us excitable, chattering girls. Our exciting lives, however, seemed to concern him. His eyelids were heavy with alcohol and he seemed furious that we would be daring to enjoy life in such a manner. He questioned us, why were we out so late, where had we been. We answered truthfully. We had no reason to lie; we had no reason to care what he thought. "BATTLE OF THE BANDS?! BATTLE OF THE BANDS?!" The man bawled, disbelievingly. We wondered what was so unheard of about a battle of the bands, but he seemed harmless enough. I saw Charley giggle nervously as he shifted to sit in the empty seat next to her, her eyes darting around the group. Obviously, we had made ourselves a new friend. The stench of alcohol and regret drifted from him. We tried to ignore him; we lit up our cigarettes and simply tried to carry on with our lives. A young couple had joined us on the bus, and one of them made the hideous mistake of asking the man to be quiet. Suddenly, all hell broke loose. There was a flurry of action and a flash of metal, a knife was drawn by the drunken sod. When I got home, I chattered tipsily to my parents about the Battle of the Bands. The young man who now had a hole in his arm was not mentioned.

Autobiography Part 2

Another piece of autobiographical work for university.

15


When I was 15, I went through an emo phase. I will be eternally ashamed of this fact, but have grown to accept and even cherish the memories. I dyed my hair black, invested in the staple black clothes and didn't leave my house without a stick of Kohl around each eyes. I wrote emo poetry to show the 'pain' I was going through, convinced nobody but my notebook could understand me. I'm embarrassed to admit that there was even heavy use of the words 'razor' and 'scar'. Every Saturday morning, we would meet at 10am at the postbox on Nangreave Road and together we would walk to the A6, to catch the bus to town. We would begin our assault on Manchester in Afflecks, where nothing was ever bought but many things were obtained. We would smoke endless cigarettes in the cafe, ordering a token can of coke between us 4 so we could stay. Urbis is where we would always end up, shimmering like an 'alternative' beacon. The gardens outside were teeming with life, black crowds lurching drunkenly from one social group to another as friends were recognised and enemies chastised. As day turned slowly to night, we would link arms together and, high on life, poppers and Morinov vodka mixed with whatever we could find that day, begin our weary journey back to the bus stop where our carriage awaited.

Once, there was a Battle of the Bands taking place in Urbis, which was obviously too good an opportunity to miss. It was hot, sticky, smoky inside as the bands competed furiously. It seemed like an excellent idea to go paddling in the fountain, and in hindsight I think that's because (despite the gallons of tramps piss in there) it was a good idea. With our skirts sticking to our damp limbs and our feet rubbing in our Converse, we boarded the 192. Now, whenever I mention the 192 these days, I always say "You take your life into your own hands with the 192." and it's mainly because of this night. We headed for our usual seats at the front of the bus on the top deck, taking no notice of the other passenger nearby. His tedious life did not concern us excitable, chattering girls. Our exciting lives, however, seemed to concern him. His eyelids were heavy with alcohol and he seemed furious that we would be daring to enjoy life in such a manner. He questioned us, why were we out so late, where had we been. We answered truthfully. "BATTLE OF THE BANDS?! BATTLE OF THE BANDS?!" The man bawled, disbelievingly. He seemed harmless enough. We tried to ignore him, but he went on screeching. A young couple had joined us on the bus, and one of them asked the man to be quiet. Suddenly, all hell broke loose. There was a flurry of action, a knife was drawn by the drunken sod.

Autobiography Part 1

I've led a pretty boring life, if I'm honest. Nobody is ever going to request my autobiography, but if they were to ask.... Well, here's a slice of autopieography. This memory comes from when I was around 13 years old. I was a cruel child. 

Ghost Cat.


Darkness descended on the navy hallway as I flicked off the light and took my place in the procession on the stairs. My hand firmly clasped my brick-like mobile, the instrument of her terror. I set the scene and we lay in wait. I pressed the button and an echoing 'meow' sounded out. Ghost cat had arrived. She sat, entranced as we wove our tale, the story of a cat which haunted the house endlessly searching for her master, mewling and alone. I heard her breath catch in her throat as I once more pushed the button. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matthews hand inch towards his pocket. "Some say that if the cat sounds a bang, she is summoning her ghostly friends because she is in trouble." I flinched. Had he taken it too far? Charley's eyes said no. She was caught in our web. BANG! The party popper exploded. She screamed. We collapsed in a fit of hysterics, falling over each other to switch on the light and catch a glimpse of the sheer terror written on her face.

5 minute short film script

Another university assignment. Forgive this script, it was written hastily whilst hungover.

5 Minute Script

5 minute script for a short film.

INT. A SMALL DINGY BEDSIT

A scruffy man in his mid 20’s, JACK, reaches into a fridge and takes out a can of special brew. He cracks it open and takes a long swig.

                             JACK

Buuuuuuuuurrrrrrpppp... Ahhhh....

He ambles back to an old stained armchair in front of a small television.

                        TELEVISION PRESENTER

And finally, Susannah Colridge will be performing and meeting fans at Club Koko
for this year’s Children in Need event.
Susannah will be available between 7-8pm.
Now, over to Tim for the weather.

Jack reaches for an old Nokia 3310 mobile phone and dials.

                        JACK

Yeah, yeah, Jill. It’s me. Did you just
see what I just seen? Yeah, at Koko. We
have to go. Nah, I’m sure as soon as I
actually speak to her she’ll get to know
me, see the real me. And... And we’ll fall
in love and have a beautiful wedding, and
she’ll wear a red dress because she’s just
so alternative like that and...

Jack’s voice fades out as we see that his house is basically a shrine to this celebrity. SUSANNAH COLRIDGE, a 50’s style raven haired bombshell with a modern twist, bright red lips and porcelain skin decorated with a multitude of piercings. She has a full hourglass figure and appears particularly fond of corsets. Underneath the numerous posters and photographs, Jack has scrawled her name surrounded by love hearts.

                                                     CUT TO:

EXT. BUS STOP -- EARLY EVENING

Jack steps onto a 253 bus; its destination is Camden Town. He now wears a shabby tux, the arms and legs are too short and the buttons strain over his beer belly. His shirt has an old ketchup stain on it.

                                                     CUT TO:

INT. BUS

Jack grinning to himself, nodding his head in time to the music that is blaring from his headphones. The music itself is similar to that of ‘Evanescence’.

FX: A mobile phone rings, the ringtone is a monophonic version of the song he is listening to.

                        JACK

I’ll be about 20 minutes, yeah. So,
what I was saying before is that
after the wedding, we’ll go on our
honeymoon to somewhere dead alternative
like Finland or really retro and wacky.
Scarborough or, like, Scunthorpe or...
Jill? Jill?

Jack looks at his mobile and shrugs.

                                                     CUT TO:

INT. CLUB KOKO

There is a long queue. Jack and his friend JILL are right at the back, slowly inching towards the front.

                      JACK
And I think that we’ll have 3 children,
maybe 2 boys and a girl, and maybe we
could give them really edgy names, like...
SATANESSA or something equally as cool
and ‘out-there’... A combination of our
names could be awesome. Jackannah... I
like it. I really like it. Or if it’s a
boy, like, Susack. Like some kind of
cool French guy from a film or something.

Jill looks bored as he is saying this. We get the impression it has been going on for a while, and Jack shows no signs of running out of steam.

                                                     CUT TO:

INT. CLUB KOKO -- Overhead view.

People are moving quickly through the queue, the action sped up.

                        JACK (V.O)

I know she’ll be on tour a lot, but I
know she won’t be tempted by any of
those guys. Flash cars? Fancy guitars?
Nope, Jill, Susie’ll know. Once you’ve
had the Jack, you’ll never go back. We
can always get a nanny for Susack and Jackannah and...

                                                     CUT TO:

INT. CLUB KOKO

A burly looking BOUNCER interrupts Jack’s daydream.

                        BOUNCER

NEXT! You get 1 minute, pay up or get
out, Miss Colridge is a very popular
lady, no time for timewasters.

Jack hands him a grubby ten pound note and rushes to the table. Susannah is sat there, looking bored and chewing gum.

                        SUSANNAH

            Yeah?

She pops a bubble in Jack’s face.

                        SUSANNAH (CONT’D)

            Whaddaya want, loser?

She peers at him, her face right next to his and then reels back like a startled ferret.

                       

                        SUSANNAH

Hey! Who the fuck let you in?! You some kind of disgusting HOBO or something?! SECURITY! Get that... THING away from me!

Susannah sniffs theatrically.

                        SUSANNAH (CONT’D)

Is that... Is that you? OHMYGOD! You’re disgusting!

The BOUNCER and one of his cronies swoop in and grab Jack, pushing his arms around his back.

                                                     CUT TO:

EXT. OUTSIDE THE BACK OF CLUB KOKO

A door opens and out sails Jack, landing with a dull thud on a pile of black bin bags.

Jill runs out, she crouches down and removes a banana skin from Jack’s head. She looks tenderly into his eyes, which are shining with tears.

                        JILL

Hey. Heyyy... You don’t need her. I’m sure there’s somebody who wants to marry you and have 3 alternative children and a retro honeymoon.

                        JACK

No, Jill. You heard her. I’m disgusting. A... A HOBO! I bet you a fiver, no! A tenner! That nobody will ever love me.

Jill leans in and gently kisses Jack.

    

                        JILL

I think you owe me a tenner...

        ***************

FIN

Jesting about radio script

This was written for a BBC Radio competition. I didn't win. It's a bit of a twist on a customer who phoned me at work once.

FX: Cashier Number 5, please!

FX: Quiet background noise, a child crying in the distance and people chatting.

Cashier (female, fairly young and sounding bored, with a slight North East accent): How can I help you today, Sir?

Man (heavy North East accent, elderly): Just a balance for me today, pet.

Cashier: Put your debit card in. [Beat] Balance is £45.80. Anything else I can do for you today, Sir?

Man: Erm, I need an engineer for my washer-dryer.

Cashier: [Beat] Sir, I can’t do that for you. We...We’re just a bank, I’m afraid.

Man: So, when can I expect him?

Cashier: Well, you can’t. I haven’t ordered him.

Man: Well, I’d like some kind of estimate, I mean I can’t just be waiting around all day for him, you know what I mean?

Cashier: I understand, Sir, but again, I must just say that we are just a bank. Now, is there anything else I can actually help you with?

Man: My wife’s in a wheelchair.

Cashier (becoming increasingly aggravated): I’m very sorry to hear that, but unfortunately we can’t order engineers and we can’t perform miracles! Once again, just a bank!

Man: So will it be tomorrow, then? I suppose it’s too late to get one today.

Cashier: Will what be today?

Man: My engineer!

Cashier: Well, obviously not, I haven’t ordered one!

Man: Well, you were the one bringing it up again.

Cashier: Ok, well, are there anymore banking related queries I can help you with? (with each sentence, the cashier’s voice gets quieter, as if she is backing away from her awkward customer) No? Ok, that’s great. I’ve got to go... lie down for a few minutes.

FX: shutter closing

Poetry SLAM.

Perhaps the title is misleading. The following are less a poetry slam, more a poetry tap if I'm honest. These are poems I wrote for my first creative writing university assignment.

4 Haiku

conkers smack
shouts of glee resonate-
new beginnings

*

Indian summer
contrasting with the season
baking in the sun

*

paper thin golden
scattered across the wet dirt-
the ending of lives

*

a singular drop,
a solitary journey
down the sparkling glass

Haiku are not necessarily my strong point, I generally feel like I need more than three lines to express things. Those of you who know me will know that I tend not to shut up, so keeping poems to a minimum like this was pretty hard.

1 Ode

Ode to Rainfall

Tall sunflowers crane up to the clouds
as bodies jostle for space in the parks and the greens.
Complaints of overheating can be heard from the crowds,
and then you come and wash them away, make it clean.

The heavens open and the first drops fall,
after days of burning, you are welcomed by most.
A smattering on the skylight, I listen to your dulcet drawl,
the remnants of Summer are now just a ghost.

The skyline is blackened, ashen clouds hang low.
I’m mesmerised by the new world you show,
as down your droplets throw and throw.

I'm still not feeling this poem, even after hours of tweaking to get it ready to submit. Maybe it's just me, but I'm not a fan of flowery poems expressing love for mundane things. 

1 Shakespearean Sonnet

My eyes glaze over as my mind wanders.
An old copy of the Financial Times
brings me far more joy than you, Moll Flanders
with your boring life and your tiresome crimes.
Why must I plough through pages of whoring,
thievery, trickery and dodgy deals?
Why did he bother with your life story?
How does Mr Defoe think us readers feel?
Pray for me, for I am nearing the end.
The conclusion’s in sight, it draws near close.
Moll prays for repentance, I pray again
for the end of this tale, impatience grows.
Finally! The last sentence I have seen!
That book wasn’t too bad, actually.

This is my favourite of the poems, and also the one I found easiest to write. I feel like everybody can relate to the idea of being forced to read something or do something they don't want to, as well as the relief once the task has finished. 

1 Projective Verse

Lollipops for Lead Gen

run in 25 mins late
a reward for each lead
she says
1 hour left “Hi, you’re through to Alex
can I try to sell you shit you don’t need?”

1 lolly

            2 lolly

                        a drumstick makes 3

a note on your account saying you’re due
a financial review
stuttering through
never recover.
she doesn’t B I T E.
lose hope.
“Thanks for your call”

“Hi, you’re through to Alex.”

Although I enjoyed writing this poem, I also found out that I'm a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to poetry. To me, I feel like a line break isn't enough to identify it as poetry. I'm fully aware that poetry doesn't need to 'rhyme' as such, but I'm a stickler for a good old ababcc.

As if you couldn't guess, this poem is about an almost daily event which occurs at work.

TOO MUCH PRESSURE.

Here's another piece I did for my AS level in London. The following is a script from a radio show, think 'XFM Breakfast Show with Alex Zane' for an idea of how I pictured it sounding.

Presenter: Alexa Chung.

[Cheesy jingle plays over the sound of the presenters giggling]

“98.3 Soma FM, the real home of indie…”

Alexa Chung [breathy and giggly, as though her and the other presenter had just been laughing at some inside joke throughout the jingle playing]: Hi, I’m Alexa Chung, as usual on Saturday afternoon with your lowdown on the latest indie chart. Due to being on vacation, Alex Zane won’t be able to join me today, so we have a special guest presenter with us today. I know he’ll never be able to replace Alex, but give him a chance. It’s Dev Hynes, AKA Lightspeed Champion!

[scattered applause from sound engineers etc. inside the studio, followed by more giggling]

Lightspeed Champion [Sarcastically, but good humoured]: Wow… I don’t know what to say. Everybody’s so complimentary here. I’m truly humbled by your kindness.

A.C: Well, you know, we aren’t usually this hospitable, it’s just for you, Dev.

L.C: Yeah, I can tell you’re not used to doing it…  [laughs] So, I’ve been a regular listener of this show for about a year now, and it seems you’ve had a lot of guest presenters for Alex, but none for you… What’s up with that? [His voice is full of innocence, but there is a hint of trouble in it] Do you not like vacations or something?

A.C [sounding jokily uncomfortable]: Oh, er… Well, I’m just a lot more dedicated to this show than Alex.

 [something inaudible is heard shouted in the background, from one of the sound engineers in the studio]

L.C: What? What was that? Sounded interesting… Come a bit closer to the mic and say that, will you?

Sound engineer [giggling]: They give Alex more holidays because he does better work than her.

A.C [sounding hurt, occasionally sniffing to give the illusion she is crying, whilst sad violin music plays in the background]: Well… That’s not exactly true… I mean… There are other factors too…

[a chorus of Awwwwwwww echoes around the studio, as the Alexa bursts into fake wailing, similar to that of a baby who’s just dropped her ice cream]

[Meanwhile in Hollywood by Elle Milano starts playing, Alexa’s sobs still clearly audible for around 5 seconds, but fading away until they are completely gone by the tenth second of the song. As the song finishes, it is followed immediately by After Hours by We Are Scientists. As After Hours gets close to the end (around 10 seconds from the end), it fades out and you can hear Alexa’s sobs, and Dev comforting her]

L.C [Softly, soothing Alexa]: I’m sure they didn’t mean better better… [Quickly switching to ‘professional mode’ with a clear of his throat, starting to talk directly to the viewer] That was, of course, Meanwhile in Hollywood, the new single from Artrocker favourites Elle Milano in at number 10, followed by After Hours by We Are Scientists. Now, Alexa, what’s been happening to our favourite indie types this week?

A.C [Alexa’s voice now changes to one similar to a BBC Newsreader, professional and crisp, giving an air of importance]: Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly. has been signed up in place of Babyshambles to headline the Love Music, Hate Racism Carnival, after frontman, Pete Doherty was sentenced to three and a half months in prison for breaching his probation order. The carnival will take place in Victoria Park on Sunday 27^th April. Other acts confirmed as appearing include The Good, The Bad and The Queen, Patrick Wolf and The View.

Not strictly indie, but still noteworthy, Madonna has revealed that she will be appearing at Radio One’s Big Weekend, a free 2 day festival which is being held in Kent in May. The line up also includes The Fratellis, We Are Scientists and The Ting Tings. Speaking of our favourite Scots, The Fratellis told us in an interview yesterday that their new album will be hitting our shelves in June.

 [A voice clip of Jon Fratelli now plays. There is background noise, creating the atmosphere of the interview having taken place at a festival, or something similar] “Yeah, we’ve just finished recording the new album, and it’s called Here We Stand. Hopefully it’ll be out at the start of June.”

A.C: Back to you, Mr Champion.

L.C [Giggling at being called Mr Champion]: Thanks, Alexa. And now to play you our numbers 8 and 7 in the indie charts this week. First up, at number 8, it’s… [laughs] Well, it’s me, actually, Lightspeed Champion, with Midnight Surprise.

[Midnight Surprise by Lightspeed Champion plays, followed immediately after by Mr Understanding by Pete and the Pirates.]

A.C [Now completely back to normal, as if her previous outburst had never happened]: And that was followed by our number 7, the new single from indie rockers Pete and The Pirates.

[The cheesy jingle from the start plays once again, followed four 30 second ads: One for the new album by Death Cab For Cutie, one for Subway: Eat Fresh, one for a sale at PC World and finally, an advert for Soma FM’s weekday breakfast show, with Simon Amstell and Jo Whiley. After this, We’re in the Music Biz by Robots In Disguise plays]

L.C: That was electro favourites Robots in Disguise with their single We’re in the Music Biz, in at number 6. And now it’s time for a competition, where you, our loyal fans, can win 2 tickets to see Bloc Party live at the 02 Arena next Saturday. All you have to do, is tell us who this celebrity voice belongs to:

[A 20 second clip of Alexa Chung and Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly. having a conversation over a cup of tea plays]

A.C: Yes, all you have to do is text us on 60786 with the name of my celebrity house guest. Better get your thumbs moving, though, ‘cos you’ve only got ten minutes to tell us. You must have celebrities popping round for a chat all the time, eh, Dev? Can you give us a few secrets they might’ve spilled to you?

L.C: Ah, well, that’d be telling, Alexa. Although, I guess just one won’t hurt. Erm… [Pondering who to spill the beans on] Well, Conor Oberst won’t go to sleep with the light off. He says it’s because of an episode of South Park he saw once involving some kind of Manbearpig thing.

A.C: Interesting… Verrry interesting. On that note, I’d like to introduce you to our numbers 5 and 4 in the charts. Both from Nebraska, It’s Tilly and the Wall with Beat Control, followed by Bright Eyes, with Four Winds.

[Beat Control by Tilly and the Wall plays, followed by Four Winds by Bright Eyes]

A.C: Almost time for this week’s number one! Ooh, my legs are turning to jelly and I’ve got a funny feeling in my loins… It’s gonna be a good’un, boys and girls.

L.C: And it’s almost time to announce the winner of our text competition, too, so stop texting now, we don’t want you wasting your hard earned cash.

[A 30 seond advert for Sheila’s Wheels home insurance plays, followed by a 30 second advert for Ticketmaster.com and a 30 second advert for the new Fratellis Album. These adverts are then followed by two songs: Backfire at the Disco by The Wombats and Go Mr Sunshine by Remi Nicole]

A.C: Backfire at the Disco, the new single from the Wombats first there, at number 3, followed by Remi Nicole’s Go Mr Sunshine. And now [long pause for effect] It’s time to announce the winner of the text in competition… Tell us, Lightspeed, which lucky listeners will be seeing Bloc Party perform at one of the biggest arenas in the country?

L.C: Iiiiiiiit’s… [Drum roll sound effect, whilst Alexa pauses for effect] Hilton from Coventry! Well done, Hilton, those tickets will be finding there way to you no later than Tuesday.

A.C: Now. Take a deep breath. Maybe sit down. It’s our number one.

[The intro to Two Steps Forward by Emmy the Great starts to play for around 5 seconds, before fading out to background music]

A.C: Two Steps Forward by Emmy the Great! Enjoy, and I’ll see you all next week.

[Two Steps Forward starts up again, just as Emmy the Great starts to sing, playing through until the end, when the Soma FM jingle is heard once more]

 I can't remember if I made the news bit up in the news section.