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George Harrison wrote ‘Taxman’ in 1966 as a protest against the tax rate being set at 90%. HMRC has learnt since those days, so now they only -generally- go after the poorer folks. It has been well documented online that more people are employed to fight benefit fraud than tax evasion. It has been reported that tax fraud is 23 times less likely to be prosecuted than benefit fraud. I’ve had a run-in with HMRC, one that I could have possibly fought were it not for the legal aid cuts. …

My life was emptied overnight. I went from a man who had everything I could ever ask to having nothing of value. If you value money and wealth, then this may not be for you. I valued my family, and when I lost them, I very nearly lost myself.

I shall gloss over the boring bits. My wife and I had an argument, and she walked out. This was, for all intents and purposes, the last time I saw my children. I’ve seen them three times since, and not once in the previous four years.

I was in no state…

I have woken before dawn once more. That could be the start to everything I write. I could just set up a template that includes that line, and it would save me time. It means that I start the day feeling rough. I don’t wake up refreshed and alive. I wake up feeling like a wretched version of Douglas Adam’s Marvin the robot. ‘Oh, god not another one’, is often the first thought that crosses my mind. I’ll often crawl up into the fetal position and debate if I want to crawl from bed today, can’t I stay here? But…

The Aged Traveller got published in a mag. Here is how it came about.

I recently had “The Aged Traveller” published in a small magazine. I wanted to write how it came to life as a story as people seem to like it. I should note that I am never particularly happy about my writing. ’Tis just who I am. I am also going to explain that the clues are there to if he is a traveller or not.

I would recommend reading it — here — so give it a read, if you enjoy it, then read on.


A story from greed.


He looked over the paperwork. What the hell do I do with this one he thought. He was fine with sorting souls, but every now and again one would pop up like this. The file started easily enough.

Serial adulterer. Three, yes, three divorces and four marriages. If at first you don’t succeed try, try, try and finally try again, he mused. I mean really, surely after two times the women in his life cottoned on to the fact he would not be sticking around. Then there were the children, seven. Just left, discarded like…

A story from fraud.


Good day to you kind soul! It is I, the Devil! Do not turn away just yet, I have changed. I have a story to tell. You have been gaslit for years; I am not what you believe.

You have been told over the years I am evil. I am the evil that lurks in the darkness, ready to prey on the weak and exploit the unfaithful. I won’t lie, I can’t lie. I have done bad things in the past. I am no angel, well I am, but they don’t like me anymore! Hah…

A story from violence.


Circle. What goes around comes around.

I can feel him. This is not someone walking over my grave, this is someone jumping up and down upon it, taking a piss on it and then bouncing around the edge of the grave while mocking my corpse. The hairs on the back of my neck tingled and stood on end. More erect that a group of teenage boys at a strip club. I am being hunted.

There is something unnatural about him. Something, and I hesitate to use the phrase, supernatural. I threw a brick at him…

A story from heresy.


He looked into the demon’s eyes; the demon looked right back into his. He had been an atheist all his life, from the moment he was aware of religion his mind had just rejected the idea. Sky fairies, gods, angels, demons! Hah bollocks to all that, he knew better. He realised as he sat with this demon that maybe, just maybe, he had been wrong. “I am not a demon” the not-demon said. He looked her over. Her being a relative term. It was a demon, not-demon. Boobs, check. Legs, check, sexual allure, check. “So…

A story from gluttony


“Do you ever get bored with it though?” he asked as he shovelled the pile of meat into the funnel. The tube that flows between funnel and mincer is just big enough for the chunks of meat to flow through easily. The mincer, well, minces the meat, and then it gets pushed down another tube into the victim. From the other end of the victim is a tube that removes the waste and pumps into the void, the gap between circles, to float forever in a never-ending uninhabited darkness of shite. “Look at me” the…

Lee Wilson

Just a drunk, raging against the machine. < Fictional (mostly) ramblings |

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