'Swansong' by 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'

'Ringbinder: Reactive: Rest Up Through' by Jack Burston and Murray Somervile aka 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'

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'Spogg' by Jack Burston and Murray Somerville aka 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'

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'Every-dahdah People' by Jack Burstona and Murray Somerville aka 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'.

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15% von cvi. ix. AKA 'Cameron Durswith ii' by Jack Burston

"Generosity excursion is fruitful for minutes and the hours slopping from your escaping dirt bringing filth love is not very personable, it is however very
excitable for this time of Autumn. Not particularly Autumnal, but, yet, still reasonably coppered leaves and a sense of sentimental tinkering with the clocks and the push towards an erstwhile hour; of course the burgeoning after strokes are just falling out: save, save, save, building up the mother load -- for quite, no reason. More likely: dropped off on the train. Variable weather tempers the contrast between and over the potential in the pairing that is not preempted but pre-emptied in preparation, the tone of the build up is clearly anticipatory but it is also content with a happy remain of the already gained, of course the margin is tighter, arguably flexing under the weight of its perfectly eatable balance. Pining for an apple, originally supposed for a mouth -- now just all over the carpet, not needlessly though; an endless flow of deliciously pineless juice rushing down through the fibres and fiborous, naturally."

"Flex Mex, wrap it in a burrito, exposition expedition, wrapped in a burrito, ya dig?"

"Exposito. Brilliant, tune even, tune."

"Are you Cameron Durswith?"

"Gee, shucks, am I?"

"Sure."

"Classified."

"Ah?"

"Classified."

Extract from 'Vexations' by Jack Burston

ii.

Sal stood at the kitchen table; the bars that guarded the window were seconded by the surrounding red brick wall of the courtyard. The black bars angled out at the top in order to create room for the opening of the two sections at the top. On the table, four bags of pre-made salad stood — Sal began to sort through the first bag. The purple and green leaves were crispy here and she emptied the packet in to the large wooden bowl to her left. The second bag was entirely green, the wetness of the leaves indicated that they had being rinsed, ready for use and then placed back in the bag, this batch was binned. The Third bag bore the plain whiteness of a budget piece of shopping, the phrase that qualified the dip in quality was forgettable but the predominant presence of sharp, iceberg lettuce allowed the entire contents in to the bowl. The fourth bag was verging on exotic; Sal regretted this and balanced this bag on top of the second.
Sal took some olive oil and some dressing and covered the salad. She tossed and turned the green lunch until she was satisfied. She made use of the newly bought tongs that sat on the side of the room and created two heaps of leaf on two white plates. The first plate was dressed with mayonnaise and pepper, the second with a pinch of salt and a dollop of tomato sauce.
Sal’s fluffy skirt dragged up her thigh, the numbing effect of her woollen tights prevented her from noticing the itch of the coarse material along her leg. Sec delved in to the salad, salt and ketchup. Sal lent forward and consequently covered up the thigh that the rising skirt had revealed.
“Sec, why do you still require this ketchup/salt combination with everything?”
“Well, it’s a reminder. Like a drum beat without a swinging tune.”
“You said before.”
“But, seriously, the ketchup/salt is the drum beat of a meal such as fish and chips. The kind of meal I used to eat often. More accurately the ketchup is the kick drum and the salt is the snare. And sometimes it’s pleasant to remember what I used to eat, the nice things, the fried and the filled, the puffed, etcetera. So, as a reminder I leave the ketchup and salt in my meals.” Sal turned back to her salad and dipped a leaf into the yellowing mayonnaise.