Tag: ayrshire

New Collection

Jul 26th, 2026

Sitting on the front step, enjoying some unseasonal sunshine.

A crow flies down and lands on the lamp post. I’m thinking that would be a great picture for those stories I’m writing.

Yeah, I know. Who calls their collection, even a short collection, “Death”? It’s hardly one for the impulse buyer. Nobody’s sitting on the couch on a Saturday morning thinking, I fancy a wee book called Death. Nobody’s browsing the library shelves or gets handed one by a pal saying, “saw this and thought of you.”

I like the title, there’s life, love, humour and passion in the collection too and some of my favourite writing including “Ten Pounds.”

You can read it on the blog here: https://paulandrewsneddon.com/2026/07/16/ten-pounds/

And the full collection is on Kindle here:
Walking

Jun 9th, 2026

Walking is good for anxiety. So, I walk.

Last night I walked 20 km. I just started, and I kept going.

Through the streets, across the park, sun breaking through. Down to the river, few people fishing. Said hello. Kept walking.

Through the woods, into town. Past the pubs, bands playing, or karaoke, people everywhere.

Three police getting Chinese takeaway. Karaoke on the corner.

Get home, I’m knackered. And still a fat bastard.

But hey ho, let’s go.

© Paul Andrew Sneddon
Blue Sky

Jun 9th, 2026

Me and her under an endless blue sky.

The clouds racing across it as we turn the radio off and pick our course.

Through the city till the concrete turns to grass.
The miles passing like minutes.

Pick a tune.

One singer. One song.

Your choice, my choice, and then around again.
Laughing like a pair of dafties when we forget the words.

Window down in the Scottish summer, we stop somewhere by the shore.

The water is cold, but we build a fire and eat the food we brought from home.

The forecast says the weather’s changing.

Not yet, I whisper, as we find the little Bluetooth speaker and dance like fools.

The beach deserted, we kiss as the sky grows dark above us.

© Paul Andrew Sneddon
Out of Habit

Jun 1st, 2026

Life is a firecracker sometimes, and sometimes it’s a little bar like this. This just suits me down to the ground.

The Harbour Pub, it never stops surprising me just how many people it fits when it looks like someone’s front room. The library round the corner, quiet on a Tuesday afternoon. Get a book and come in here for a pint or two.

The river rolling on like it knows better than to stick around, door open in the summer with the sunshine fading out. In winter, the door’s closed and if you hold it open too long when you go outside for a smoke you’ll be sure to know about it.

Maisey behind the bar is my kind of woman, a little bit grumpy but honest, you know. Doesn’t have to be the centre of attention all the time so I get peace to read.

Friday lunchtime I go and get her and me a ticket for the lottery, £5 each and if we win we split it between us. We used to just go for it when the winnings went above £100 million. High rollers, eh. But now we just do it out of habit.

She says she wouldn’t change a thing if she won. Not a thing. I like that. I think we have that in common, though I would like to travel, visit a few places.

Until then I’ve got my books.

© Paul Andrew Sneddon
Mobile Home

May 26th, 2026

The summer nights get cold here. Seems counterintuitive, but that’s just how it is. I spent the last of my retirement money on this mobile home. We’ll just drive around, sleep where we stop. We’ve been bumping around inside it like two feral cats, and it’s turning into a blood sport.

I drink straight from the bottle. Another argument. I can’t remember what we were arguing about. She was meant to go into town to get some medicine. I was meant to go into town to get some food.

So we sit outside in silence.

As the sun starts to sink, I pick up some wood and we start a fire. I throw on my licence, my passport. She throws hers down too, and we watch them burn. I pour some petrol on. She dances by the fire and I join her, close, together, my arm round her waist and hers on my shoulder.

I swig from the bottle and we stumble into the mobile home, dishes flying, TV broken, her need and mine together. I pull her hair and she bites my chest, and then we sleep.

In the morning, I wake up and hear gunshots.

I grab the gun from the safe and go outside.

She’s standing out there shooting.

Two revolvers, twelve rounds between them, and she has fired all hers.

I load one round and spin the chamber. She reloads one of hers and does the same.

We pull the triggers.

Both guns fire.

Then the credits roll.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5 stars: gorgeous commentary

⭐ 1 star: two drunks shoot each other

Tag: ayrshire

New Collection

Walking

Blue Sky

Out of Habit

Mobile Home