“Are you wearing a cape?”
“It’s not a cape, it’s a cloak.”
“Big difference. Where the hell did you get it?”
“Antiques place.”
“Is that a stain?”
“It’s second hand isn’t it?”
“More like tenth. Is it even your size? Looks big.”
“One size fits all apparently. The guy said I’d grow into it.”
“Paul, you’re thirty two!”
“No physically. Mentally. You have to get used to wearing it, you know.”
“I know you’ve finally lost your mind.”
“You’ll never guess what else he told me.”
“No, I don’t suppose I will.”
“He said it was Jack the Ripper’s.”
“Paul, no one knows who …

My wife left me for a serial killer,he moved into our house the day after I left.
The last time I saw them,he was painting the lounge wall with her.

Mother dragged us to the sea-front every year. It was abominable, but she said that it was all that she could afford since Father left. We weren’t allowed to talk about Father, we were always to say that he was dead, killed in the war. We didn’t know what war it was supposed to be, but nobody ever asked.
We knew he wasn’t dead.
We didn’t like the seaside because everyone stared at us. At home,
people were too polite to stare, or point, or whisper as we passed. There were too many …

To write a haiku
Take five then seven then five
Include a season

Written for Mr and Mrs Meanie, sometime ago, whilst signing in Comic Guru.
“So, how does it work again?” asked Helena, nervously sipping her latte.
The technician didn’t look up from the machine, a Victorian nightmare of cogs, gears, sprokets and springs.
“I mean … biologically …” Helena continued, “Is it even possible?”
“No,” grunted the technician, “I spend eight hours before every shoot tuning this thing for it NOT to work.”
Helena shuffled her feet. She had done it all, so she thought, seen it all, and had it done to her again. Somehow …