Song of Salome’ was shortlisted for the Fish Publishing Short Fiction Prize, 2004.

The companionable silence of old age lies between us. This is my thinking time, I choose something different each day. Today it is your eating. Do you know how much I hate the sound of your eating? Sometimes I dream of you falling dead on the plate when you are eating. Your head on a plate. Now would you credit that? Salome, me.

I have worked out the details. First, your eyes roll upwards. Then, with one last, rasping breath the cutlery falls from your hands and your head pitches forwards into the potatoes. Splat, your carbohydrate resting place.

I, meanwhile, observe the shower of gravy in your hair, the brown amongst the grey, and I relish the mess on the tablecloth. You always liked a tablecloth...standards, don't you know.

I do absolutely nothing to clean it up. Gloriously and absolutely nothing. And just for a while, before I call the ambulance, I take a deckchair into the garden and I eat chocolate and drink shandy (I keep some in, just in case). Then , as the gas rises, I belch loudly....... and smile.

Tomorrow I will choose a different subject and mull over the possible consequences of towel-straightening, fluff-picking, the meticulous sorting of fish-bones on the side of the plate or the regimental positioning of your fecking slippers.