Rugby Park, May 2026
Drinking a pint of Pepsi max.
Changed days now.
Plate of ham and chips,
A fried egg and HP sauce.
Cup of tea,
I’m done.
Pull on my hat and scarf.
Two pairs of socks,
big coat.
Going to the football in May.
Hugill got the double,
Lowery hit a rocket.
We are staying up
We are staying up.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
This is Chapter 12 of my book “Follow the Light”
And we are off, bleary-eyed, into the Ayrshire morning. Emmy looks gorgeous, her short blonde hair and a smile that I would never tire of seeing.
My car sitting on the street coughs up a cloud of exhaust fumes as I turn the key. A few commuters on their way to the station do a double-take, but we breeze past them, leaving them choking in our wake.
We get a good run of lights as we hit the dual carriageway.
I light up a smoke, and she flicks through the radio until she finds something she likes. The radio crackles to life with one of those old songs you know but can’t quite place.
For a moment, it’s like we aren’t ghosts at all.
We sing along to the chorus.
She looks at me, and I look straight back.
The engine opens up on the dual carriageway and we are cutting through the Ayrshire morning.
We’re analogue in a digital age; we’re radio in the streaming age.
We are the words written on the page.
And we don’t give a fuck if that’s good enough for you.
She laughs.
Welcome to the moment.
Thanks for reading, you can read the full book on Kindle unlimited here.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
I was dreaming last night.
About you.
And me.
We were walking to our house, under the Scottish sun.
Its warmth.
Light.
Ayrshire light.
Leading us home.
We walked hand in hand.
The house sat on its own.
In a clear, empty field.
An endless sky above, clouds rolling across its deep blue.
A gravel path.
A garden alive with colours.
Up the step.
The door open, we crossed the threshold together.
The house is warm.
A fire burning.
I poured us a drink.
We sat together.
Smiles, Laughter.
The music played.
You ran your hands through my hair.
We kissed.
Your lips.
Your touch.
Your heart.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
This is some of the writing from my story ‘Follow the Light’
And we are off, bleary-eyed, into the Ayrshire morning. Emmy
looks gorgeous, her short blonde hair and a smile that I would
never tire of seeing.
My car sitting on the street coughs up a cloud of exhaust fumes
as I turn the key. A few commuters on their way to the station do
a double-take, but we breeze past them, leaving them choking
in our wake.
We get a good run of lights as we hit the dual carriageway.
I light up a smoke, and she flicks through the radio until she
finds something she likes. The radio crackles to life with one of
those old songs you know but can’t quite place.
For a moment, it’s like we aren’t ghosts at all.
We sing along to the chorus. She looks at me, and I look straight back.
The engine opens up on the dual carriageway and we are cutting
through the Ayrshire morning.
We’re analogue in a digital age; we’re radio in the streaming
age.
We are the words written on the page.
And we don’t give a fuck if that’s good enough for you.
She laughs.
Welcome to the moment.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
Paul Andrew Sneddon 