Author Archives: mickbloor3

Michael Bloor (first published in The Drabble, Sept 18 2020) I’ve been making green tomato chutney. Outside in the street, I see a woman and a small boy. He’s walking unevenly, avoiding cracks in the pavement. His mum gives his hand a mighty tug: mother and son, out-of-step. Then, I can’t remember what weight ofContinue reading “Making Chutney”

Michael Bloor (first published in The Drabble, Aug 29th, 2020) Prime Minister Chamberlain was told that German troops were invading Austria while attending a farewell dinner for von Ribbentrop, the Nazi ambassador in London. Chamberlain stayed on for after-dinner drinks and conversation. George W. Bush was visiting a Florida elementary school when an aide whispered:Continue reading “Timing”

Michael Bloor (first published in The Drabble, Aug 5th 2020) Let me recall the names, ringing down the fifty years – The Sherwood Forester, The Dolphin, The Old Bell Hotel, The Seven Stars, The Noah’s Ark, The Fountain (aka The Squirt), The Dutch Mill, The Kirkgate Bar, The Prince of Wales, The Perth Arms, Hastie’sContinue reading “Taproom Memories”

Michael Bloor (first published in The Cabinet of Heed, Issue 36,July 2020, and not to be confused with A Cloud Forest Tale, also archived here and first published in The Fiction Pool Sept 22nd 2017) Two days after our landing party left the ship, we entered the clouds that we had seen from the shore.Continue reading “The Cloud Forest”

Michael Bloor (first published in Scribble, No. 86, June 2020) White walls, white floor, white light… Fully awake now, I realise I’m wearing a white suit and white shoes. Just like John Lennon in the ‘Imagine’ video, except there’s no white piano. Baffling. It’s been two years now since I washed up on the emptyContinue reading “Working Title”

Michael Bloor (first published in Every Day Fiction, MAY 22, 2020) That evening, we sat either side of my neighbour Goronwy’s kitchen range. He pronounced my latest batch of scrumpy cider — mysteriously cloudy, both sharp and sweet, with the smell of autumn — almost as good as the scrumpy his father used to make.Continue reading “THE OWL WOMAN”

Michael Bloor (first published in Spelk Fiction, March 30th 2020) In the snaking queue for passport inspection at Heathrow, I watched the Asian family gathered around the neighbouring passport booth to my left: the tired, sullen children, the downcast mother, the desperate, gesticulating father. I knew how they felt. These days, I sail through passportContinue reading “Crossing the Border, Long Ago”

Michael Bloor (first published in The Cabinet of Heed, Issue 28, January 2020) The reason maggot-racing was so exciting was because maggots have absolutely no sense of direction. Your maggot might be wiggling along strongly – well clear of the rest of the field, with a nice, clean, economical action, and plenty of fuel leftContinue reading “Maggot-Racing: the Sport of Kings”

Michael Bloor (first published in Moonpark Review, Issue 10, Dec 21st 2019) We set off up the mountain on a clear, cold, crisp day, a week before Christmas. We needed to quiet our minds through the rhythmic rustle of the beechwood leaves under our marching feet. So many looming problems: the burnt-out clutch; the ChristmasContinue reading “Mistletoe”

Michael Bloor (first published in The Cabinet of Heed, Issue 26, Nov 2019) First of all, it’s his voice I hear – holding forth in the next room. A shock (a nasty shock, if I’m honest) after fifty years, but instantly recognisable: if you’re going to adopt the received pronunciation of the British ruling class,Continue reading “William Blake’s Question”