Joe Young

Joined June 2022

0 stories

Bio

Blogger and freelance writer from the north-east coast of England

Stories (108/0)

How My Bad Luck Turned Into Good Fortune
Life under the parental roof was miserable. I was out of work and broke, an unfortunate pair of circumstances that tested my parents' patience. To make the situation worse, on the morning this tale begins, I received a letter from my friend Gustav, who, you may recall, had moved to France. In it, he reminded me that I owe him thirty pounds reimbursement for a carpet repair he'd paid for.
By Joe Young3 months ago in Fiction
The Explosion Seekers
My elder brother, Tom, and I share a bedroom at the rear of our parents’ house in a suburb of a northern city. He recently celebrated his eighteenth birthday, and as he goes through life you’ll find me hanging on to his shirt tails, always two years behind. I’ve occasionally worn those shirt tails as hand-me-downs, as we’re not an affluent family.
By Joe Young3 months ago in Fiction
I'm a Shameless Plagiarist
I’d better explain that attention-grabbing headline because plagiarists are universally frowned upon within writing circles, and rightly so. By way of a disclaimer, everything I post begins as an idea in my mind, which I pump down my sleeves to my fingertips and via those onto a screen. I never steal the work of others.
By Joe Young4 months ago in Confessions
Do You Use a Tap or a Faucet?
Britain and America are two nations divided by a common language. While there is some uncertainty as to the originator of the above observation, George Bernard Shaw is the chief suspect. The plant-munching playwright supposedly said it in 1942, although the evidence is scant. But differences there are, and I’m following in the footsteps of many a column writer by broaching the US/UK language barrier, a subject forked over more times than Shaw’s vegetable garden.
By Joe Young4 months ago in Humor
The Snow Globe
Part 1 Sixty-year-old Henry sang along with Bing Crosby as White Christmas blared from the jukebox in the bar of the Three Crowns. When the song reached the part that mentions glistening treetops and listening children, the inebriated accompanist left Bing to manage on his own momentarily as he licked the paper of a cigarette he’d rolled.
By Joe Young4 months ago in Fiction
The Witch's Familiar
In these times of everyone having a video camera, the Internet is awash with clips of pets doing remarkable things. Yet I defy anyone to tell a tale more uncanny than that I am about to relate.
By Joe Young4 months ago in Fiction
Top Story - November 2023
Familiarity Breeds ContemptTop Story - November 2023
The relationship between Gustav Jensen and your humble narrator, his lodger these past six months, had been strained for some time. One Tuesday afternoon the dam burst.
By Joe Young5 months ago in Fiction
Bentley Driver, Puppy Thief
Tuesday When I opened the front door to see the beaming fizzog of my old friend Bentley Driver on the other side — a face I’d not seen in half a year — my immediate instinct was to pat my trouser pockets to ensure my wallet was in situ. Bentley gives off such an aura of shiftiness those in his company are on high alert over their possessions.
By Joe Young5 months ago in Fiction
My Night at a TV Studio Live Show
Aged sixteen, I had been a guest at the children’s home where I'd been sent for persistent truancy for exactly two months. when an unexpected night out presented itself. At breakfast one morning, a buzz of excitement ran through the dining room at the news that two female residents had been rushed to hospital the previous night following an incident which, if memory serves, involved nail polish remover.
By Joe Young6 months ago in Confessions
A Reactionary Dad Humbled
They say that as we get older, our views become more conservative. That accusation can certainly be levelled at my father, who morphed from rebel to reactionary.
By Joe Young6 months ago in Humor
Snogging at Sixty
It is many years since I outgrew the bravado of youth, at which age I had no qualms about approaching young ladies on the dance floors of what were then called discotheques. If I got lucky, I might have enjoyed a spin with a stranger to the strains of I Feel Love by Donna Summer under the glare of a UV light that made the dandruff on my shoulders glow. If it wasn't to be my night, I'd walk home alone, carrying enough cold shoulder to cater the Cheltenham Festival. But it didn't matter; I knew I'd be back the following weekend as eager and thick-skinned as ever.
By Joe Young7 months ago in Fiction
TV Hell
The modern television viewer is, it is safe to say, spoiled for choice. Hundreds of channels beam all kinds of programmes into homes to be viewed on giant screens in high-definition colour and with surround sound 24/7/365.
By Joe Young7 months ago in Geeks