Christmas is the only time of year when you regret not revealing yourself to your family members, by 'yourself' I mean your honest opinion of yourself not the one you pretend to have. Your real passions, Leisurely pursuits and Ideas of life. Maybe they could then know when to begin when shopping for the festive period.

 To paraphrase the above paragraph: If one told the truth more often one wouldn't have cupboards full of distasteful perfume and a year's supply of bath salts.

 I find it is only easy to buy for explicit people or someone with whom you have been trying to identify the personality of for years.

 Of course the 'obvious people' only benefit at present giving occasions. Defiantly not when seeking a husband/wife or, in the unlikely event, of receiving bad presents.

This is a short story about two chavs at a bus stop in Enfield that work themselves up over a wasp and a aggressive fight, to secure their pride takes place.
 

The art of being 'hard'

 "There's a fucking wasp on your back," he spits matter of factly (adding the fuck, of course, to stay 'hard')

 "Ahhh fuck (1), get the fucking (2) little bastard off!" He's panic stricken, his true persona emerging, but not enough to forget to reinforce his pride and stay 'hard'. Adding fuck number '1' to counter his mates and fuck number '2' to rise above his friends 'hard' status. And of course 'bastard' for a bit of class.

 This remark ignites a fury of hard slaps to his reasonably sized shoulders and, obviously, this was not doing much for his 'hard' status because, I suppose, that could be seen as moderately gay and, apparently, you can't be 'hard' and gay (HARK! That is awfully homophobic of him, probably, and defiantly not political correct, but I hope we can all find a place in our hearts to forgive, seeing as he is poor, weak-minded, unconfident, short-sited and, a probably cling-on to society and popularity looking to ease his insecurities.)

 "What are you doing you fucking cunt? (ohhhh a double whamming, very 'hard') Get your grubby mitts off me."

And although most of us at that bus stop, at that moment in time, were not taking much notice, he still needed to say this to: 1. Show he didn't take any nonsense, 2. Was not (at all) gay, 3. Pride, pride, pride.

 " Alright calm down man, I'm just getting it for you," and, I suspect, because he was so calm and, well, right. His friend still looked like a dick to the general public and so the fierce battle of pride and the right to be the 'hardest' raged.

 "You fucking wanker, (see what he did there) you're pulling a fast one. There weren't no fucking (language, again. Swearing can be a good thing and add texture to a conversation but be careful no to over do it) wasp!"   

Mockingmen

 At night the world empties, everything is swept away on a high tide of darkness,
And beckoned, and swallowed by the luminous beam of the moon.
Drenched in darkness, the vigor is renewed in me, life.
A life in darkness is a secret pursuit of poetry and vain romance,
I campaign and commit and the mockingmen can't ridicule,
The mockingmen are blind,
I am alone, rejoicing alone, infatuated alone,
In an untamed cave, unabashed, the heavy silence nourishes the socially destitute.

The dead old tree hangs over me; even it's smiling at the prospect of sun. When it's out hat in hand we're all melting into its perfection. Perfect for nuts.

 In this world I've learnt you've got to stand you're ground, take what you can and stash it. Especially form bastards like him.

 "Get your own," I said gruffly "you've got no business here."

"I am just admiring you beauty and graceful digging skills as you frolic amount the clean, cleansing mud," Sir Florence said raising his eyebrows and smirking wildly.

 Bitterly I narrowed my eyes but returned to work. Got to make a living. His dancing shadow leapt from branch to branch. Closer. Closer. Closer. I leapt, infuriated.Florence sprung up as if I were the ringmaster and he the performing peasant.

"Only the scum are aggressive," he pouted.

"Only the extravagant are arrogant," I replied head raised, chest out. "Go and preoccupy yourself with something shiny and valuable will you. Do as all a favour."

"I'd rather stare at your ugly mug for decades love," He said ruffling his feathers, provokingly mimicking my voice, perhaps adding a little spice.

 "If I wasn't so common I, perhaps might have noticed that you should save your persuasion skills for someone of your own species, possibly of the opposite sex but I've heard it is very fashionable now days to be classed as homosexual." I replied mimicking his own voice and thrusting out my hips obscenely. Silence. Silent as the grave. After standing my ground (of course rule number one remember) I pouted ferociously and continued, "Well I perhaps, using it on your neighbours isn't such a bad idea."

 He sighed casually, holding tight to his precious pride, and then hopped off with a look of pure disgust.

 I smiled, "bastard."