“Aliens on Your Sofa”

Today, we’re off to the Vet’s and it’s the turn of Ms Muppet and General Montgomery … Aiming for nonchalance, I set out the two carriers in a separate room.  These are minutely explored, inspected and then inhabited by every cat except my two targets so that guerrilla tactics have finally to be employed. Nabbing Ms Muppet, who is essentially a two-cat-cat-in-a-one-cat-pack, I go for the cooperative approach, pointing her at the entrance to the carrier and shoving gently from behind. So she does what cats uniquely do under those circumstances and morphs into a star shape, grabs the sides of the carrier and hangs there like a gigantic Garfield. I regroup.  Pulling backwards, I haul cat and carrier across the room, narrowly avoiding a backward somersault into the litter trays. Ms Muppet lets go to huff off into a corner and sits with her face up against the wall. I sneak up, apply an arm lock and propel her bum first into the box.  Door shut, cat contained, job done. Now for the General.

From ‘Aliens on Your Sofa’, a Not Being First Fish diary drama. Find on Amazon UK and US. 

Corroboration – Simon’s Cat, in Box CleverWe’ve all been there, haven’t we?

“Lawn Dogs & Budgerigars in the Cress”

For us, High Tea was a Highly Mannered ritual to be performed for the purposes of demonstrating one’s capacity to set out the cutlery in the right order and on this one particular occasion we were being visited by some rather puffed up relatives who, at their own home, had a front room into which riff raff like us were never invited, but from whom my parents hoped to cop the odd bob or two when they passed on. When the time came we only got a pair of curtains from the rellies and I buried a cat in one of them.

Excerpt from Not Being First Fish. Find on Amazon UK & Amazon US.


Unattended men were never seen in the underwear department of Messrs Marks and Spencer unless in the company of formidable matrons whose capacity to wither a frisky thought at birth had been practised under their mother’s tutelage.  In fact even a somewhat tottery thought asking vague questions about whether it was tea time yet would have been hard pressed to survive and would most likely have gone home for a sit down with an iced fancy instead.

Extract from Fundamentals, one of the several ‘diary dramas’ recounted in Not Being First Fish by P. Spencer Beck. Find on Amazon UK & Amazon US.

‘Here the Magic Must Be’ – dedicated to Shoreham

This story was a finalist in Flash Fiction Chronicles’ 2014 String-o-Ten and, like many stories, it has a history. This meant very little at the time, beyond personal awe at the way the cosmic forces of gravity and the motion of the moon and planets become crystallised at the turning of a tide on a river. Finding a bunch of roses lodged in a shrub on the river bank where they would not be  swept out to sea or blown away sparked the theme – a woman investiRoses tree 1ng hope in those forces following a deep tragic loss. If magic exists anywhere in the universe, she wants to believe it will be here.

The river is the Adur in Sussex and the shrub just a few hundred yards from the A27 which, this last week, has been the focus of world attention after a jet ploughed into traffic lights there*. Eleven people died, many more were direct witnesses waiting at the lights just behind those who were hit, or travelling on the eastbound carriageway. Others saw the ball of flame from the airport where they were spectators, and thousands sat in shock at home as social media and TV put out video, photos, and stunned analysis throughout that day and the several that followed.

The road is partially opened today (August 30th) and on Tuesday I will be on it taking kittens for their vaccinations. I will be feeling simultaneously selfish and grateful that I was not there on that day and nor was anyone I know**.

This is the story:

Here the Magic Must Be

The river was almost at its zenith, that tipping point between the heaving press of the sea from the coast and the thundering weight of dark, fresh water draining from the hills. It glittered and sparkled along its banks as if strung with fairy lights.

The woman twiddled her handkerchief until it knotted and then pushed it into her pocket. Twice a day, every day, all of heaven and earth balanced here on this point, she thought. For reassurance, she felt for the handle of the knife that sat quiet next to the handkerchief and watched a pair of terns shrieking and wheeling overhead. They landed on the river, drifting up-stream at opposing angles until the tidal cusp caught them, held them, suspended them in the moment.

The woman saw it. With sudden urgency, she pulled out the knife and reached to one side where a small regiment of roses lay swaddled in cellophane. She lifted the pale tag to her mouth and breathed her warm breath into the name written there, pressed it between her palms to remind him of her flesh, and pierced her finger on a thorn to give him her blood.

Then she stood, cut the flowers free of their wrapping, and approached the water’s edge. If magic existed anywhere it had to be here at the turning of tides, in the repeated drowning and birthing of land. She crouched down, touched the petals to the water and wished.


*Approach video clips with caution

**Eight victims have been named so far; one is the son of a friend’s close friend. Like me, many will be waiting and hoping not to recognise the last three names when they come but some will not be so fortunate.

‘Not Being First Fish – and other diary dramas’

fish and titleThe truth, the half truth, or nothing like the truth? It depends, says the pseudonymous author, on whether you recognise yourself. But if you didn’t leave the gate open to cavorting cattle on a rural bridge, or become unsettlingly aroused at the sight of a Saab, you’re probably ok. You can find it on Amazon (UK and US) Barnes and Noble, and also eBayChildishly grown up.

Dragon Loyalty Award

I am a fraud because I don’t think I’ve actually written about dragons. Much of the time though, I’m not too far removed from the fantastically speculative sphere in which they might be found, and I do have several. They spend their observable time in static states – metadragonawardl, ceramic and the like – transforming to wreak havoc at times only cats can see and who are mostly complicit in the resultant wreckage. Also, if it hadn’t been for the raining thread, I would have moved to Pern and got myself a flock of fire lizards. So I am accepting this award, kindly conferred by Sarah Higbee, on those spurious grounds, and to be consistent with my roundabout qualification for it, I’m going to mess with the rest of the rules too.

Let’s get the fifteen onward nominees out of the way first: as I know of very few (my problem, not theirs) and Sarah is one of them I’m going to risk setting up a perpetual loop in which WordPress continually refers to itself by citing the ones on her list – minus me, of course because that would be proper silly, wouldn’t it?



Mhairi Simpson – Crazy Creative

Lizzie Baldwin – My Little Book Blog

Sara Letourneau’s Official Website & Blog

Michael D. Griffiths – Yig Prime

Joanna Maciejewska – Melfka

Sophie E. Tallis

Leiah Cooper – So I Read This Book Today

From Couch to Moon

Anastasia – Read and Survive

Zeke Teflon – Rip-roaring reviews

D. Parker – yadadarcyyada

Ionia Martin – Readful Things Blog

Siamese Mayhem – Musings on YA novels and pop culture

Humanity’s Darker Side – A book review blog

And Sarah, of course.

I’m going to add some favourite stories too, in case you haven’t come across them or their authors. First up, Sara Maitland’s Moss Witch and Other Stories. Sara often injects real science into her stories but so expertly woven that you’d never guess. Then there’s Margo Lanagan’s Black Juice collection the first of which, Singing My Sister Down, demonstrates the sideslip of Lanagan’s imagination. And what about Catherynne M Valente’s Thirteen Ways of Looking at Space/Time? This is an extraordinary mix of SF, fantasy, and philosophy – and it’s in audio too so you can sit back and listen instead of taxing your eyeballs. Another mind-grabber is Aliette de Bodard’s 2013 Hugo nominated Immersion which is about wearable avatars. Finally, Ken Liu’s The Paper Menagerie which swept the board of SF awards in 2012.

So now the facts-about-me thing.




Ok, here’s one: I was a Captain in the Territorial Army for a short while and was put on standby for the first Gulf war. They sent the other field hospital which was fortunate as no one had shown me how to wear all the various hats in the manner befitting.