Lady M Endures

Lady M has started to phase back to work this week, despite being in near constant pain. We’re waiting to hear back from an oncologist and hoping for an all clear. That would mean that the cysts are reducing on their own and won’t need surgery.

I’m pretty sure that the heat and stress aren’t helping with the pain, and we could have done without the gang that came round the estate in the early hours of the morning stealing catalytic converters off any Prius they could find. Its all go here.

Feeling hot, hot, hot…

What has been productive has of course been new additions to the redbubble site at and helping myr s with graphics for their Twitch gaming setup. I’m particularly proud of myr s for managing to attain Twitch affiliate status so quickly under the name MorganRileyGaming. They’re working incredibly hard and making it look easy.

Things the Cub Says: Will He Be Safe?

It’s very easy to forget that the cub is both eight years old, and quite young with it. He adopts language and mannerisms from YouTubers as a bolshy disguise, and can come across quite abrasively at times – but the real cub is closer to the surface than we remember sometimes.

One such reminder came last weekend while he and Lady S were staying with us. Reports came in of a man being murdered in a train not far from us, and the cub was distraught at the thought of it.

He’s generally quite wary of public transport anyway as a high-stimulus mode of transport to unfamiliar territory, and he knew that I would be travelling back from work by bus. He was, I’m told, very concerned that I would be okay – and the Ladies M and S spent a lot of time reassuring him.

Then he remembered that I’m due to visit Portsmouth shortly, and will be travelling by train. As Lady S tried to get him to settle to sleep, he remembered that we use the Glympse app to let each other know how our journeys and estimated arrival times are going.

So I have a specific request as I travel down, to use the app so that he and Lady S can see that I’m still moving and travelling. He has also been repeatedly reassured that I am careful as I travel and how and where I travel and so far he seems to be only slightly twitchy.

He’s too young to be reassured by statistics in the safety of travelling by trian, or by comparisons of the danger of crossing the road on the way to school. I’m certainly not opening the can of worms that some people may even see me as a danger while they travel: lone white male with shaven head and leather jacket? I do get looks.

So yes cub, I will be safe, and I will be there soon.

Short Story: Command Control

You stand there, and watch the figures scrolling as the results come in. The cascade of reported statistics suggests a deluge of events overunning normal operating parameters, and yet you can do nothing but stand there. The post-hypnotic commands I have carefully laced through the entire command centre crew’s consciousnesses have all overwritten your ability to do more than await your next orders.

You desperately try to twitch even a finger, but it’s no use, you can’t even crook it slightly. Worse you’re becoming aware that you are starting to feel warmer. If you could even remember what the trigger words were, let alone what the commands were you might feel less worried, more in control – despite how ironic that would be under the circumstances.

You can’t even turn to track where I am. All you can make out is the sound of my typing on a keyboard somewhere nearby, and occasional less identifiable sounds as if I’m moving things, or people around. You’re not sure which you find the less disconcerting option

You can’t even remember what I look like – no doubt a result of the commands – just a memory of someone, saying something, and then a blank and here you are. The screen is trying to tell you something, but it’s hard to focus on the details when you can barely move your eyes voluntarily.

At least the involuntary stuff isn’t affected. You can breathe, and blink. Excess saliva is beginning to drool. You hope that’s not an indication of some form of kink. That would be the worst, surely? But then are these your thoughts or something implanted along with the commands?

Before I leave, you feel my touch on your shoulder. A simple rest of the hand for a moment and then I’m gone. You feel volition return moments later and the sounds of alarm rise from all quarters. You turn to assess the damage but just see people milling in confusion. Whatever I was doing on the computer, nobody knows, or can’t remember at the very least. It’s another successful heist, but nobody can tell what was actually taken.