Published 'Purple Patch' 1995

YOUNG BETH DECIDED THAT IF SHE WROTE EVERYTHING DOWN IN TINY LITTLE LETTERS, WHICH ONLY AN INSECT COULD READ, THEN SHE COULD FEEL CONFIDENT OF HER SECRETS BEING SAFEGUARDED AGAINST THOSE WITH BIGGER PRYING EYES. 

HER MIND WAS A MYSTERY ALL IN ITSELF, SHE DECIDED, ONE TO WHICH GOD HAD FORGOTTEN THE SOLUTION.  SO, SHE THREW HER PEN INTO THE NETTLES TOGETHER WITH THE GLOSSY RED EXERCISE BOOK SHE HAD BOUGHT WITH HER LAST THREEPENNY BIT AND, HAVING TUCKED THE SKIRT INTO HER NAVV BLUE KNICKERS, CHASED THE BOY WHO HAD SNITCHED THE CORONA BOTTLE, FIZZING UP ITS CONTENTS TO EXPLOSIVE PROPORTIONS AGAINST THE METAL SUSPENDER-BELT OF ITS COLLAR.

MUMMY HAD PACKED DOORSTOPS OF CRUSTY BREAD THINLY SPREAD WITH BUTTER AND MARMITE INTO HER SADDLEBAG, SO, DECIDING THAT HER LITERARV ENDEAVOURS FOR THE DAY MUST BE OVER,  BETH PROMISED TO BE CAREFUL. SHE POUNCED ON HER STEED, LIKE A BOY (SINCE IT HAD A CROSSBAR), ONLY TO COMMENCE FREEWHEELING DOWN THE LONGEST HILL IN HER NECK OF THE WOODS. THE WIND IN HER HAIR DISLODGED THE BUTTERFLY-CLIPS, AS SHE RAISED HER THIN BUT SHAPELY LEGS EITHER SIDE OF THE BIKE, LIKE WINGS. THE CHAIN SLIPPED SPEEDILY THROUGH THE RATCHETS, THE PEDALS SPINNING ROUND IN A CATHERINE-WHEEL OF SUNLIGHT.

THE HILL'S DESCENT GREW STEEPER AND STEEPER. THE LITTLE BOY HAD FLED WITH THE CORONA BOTTLE INTO A DITCH, HALFWAY DOWN THE SLOPE, SO AS TO WITNESS BETH'S UNSTOPPABLE FLIGHT. SHE HERSELF, IN HER EXTREMITY, KNEW HE MUST BE VIEWING HER THIGHS FLASHING BY.

SHE CRASHED INTO THE SIDE OF A LORRY THAT, TO ALL ACCOUNTS, SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE,  SINCE IT WAS UNLOADING ON A SUNDAY: SUPPLIES OF PENCIL-SHARPENERS, MULTI-COLOURED RUBBERS, BLOTTING PAPER, PERFUMED LETTER PAPER TOGETHER WITH TOY POST-OFFICE SETS WITH FORGED STAMPS AND PRETEND DELIVERIES AND FICTITIOUS COLLECTIONS.

THE LITTLE BOY SUCKED AT A PRISMATIC RASPBERRY ICE-LOLLY, DREAMING OF WHEN HE WOULD BE OLD ENOUGH TO RIDE A TWO-WHEELER AS BRAVELY AS THE GIRL WITH PARCELLED SKIRTS. AND WHEN HE DID BECOME A MAN, HE YEARNED FOR THE BUZZ WATER WITH THE UNMANAGEABLE BOTTLE FASTENING AND THE THRILL OF BUBBLES AT THE BACK OF THE THROAT.

BETH MOVED HER TONGUE RUMINATIVELY OVER THE END OF THE BALLPOINT WITH ITS TALL PIG-TAILED WITCH'S HAT CAP, TRYING TO WRITE SMALLER AND SMALLER, UNTIL EVEN SHE COULD NOT READ IT WITH HER BLOODSHOT EYES OR, MORE LIKELY, UNTIL IT DID NOT EXIST AT ALL.