Peter Nuttall
Bio
I love reading stories which contain elements that couldn't happen in real life. Ghosts, time travel, super heroes - so that's also what I write. That and various genres of humorous non-fiction.
I've got more going on at www.peternuttall.net
Stories (12)
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The 40 best singles of 1980
(40) Wednesday Week - Undertones I'm not a fan of songs with one dimension. You know, they start, do the same thing all the way through and then stop. You forget about it immediately. Wednesday Week isn't one of those - it comes straight in, the chorus is a pause and the guitar riff is a lead back into the main part. Stuff like this makes a song memorable. This is one of the first three singles my sister bought (that I used to sneak into her room to play when she was out). This song takes me right back to being five years old and having those first real feelings of excitement about music. Its construction. The words. The emotion. And, wondering what a 'Wednesday week' was - finally deciding it was a week where it was Wednesday for an entire week. These days, I feel really sad when I hear it because I know what it's about now. Back then I felt happy. This is the power of a song. It's both happy and sad, it can make you feel both so powerfully, which is what makes it a great single.
By Peter Nuttallabout a year ago in Beat
Three encounters of the absurd kind
My first week at university; I was away from friends in a strange city and I didn’t know anyone. I tried speaking to people, trying to make acquaintances, introducing myself, hoping that one of the people I spoke to was doing the same thing. I didn’t get anywhere. Everyone already seemed to be part of a group or too busy trying to work out where they were and what building their next lectures were in. There were no people like me, wandering around looking lost, looking for someone to hang out with and deal with those early university days with a like-minded lost soul. Whenever I spoke to someone, they’d look at me without smiling. They all seemed to have a darkness behind their eyes like I’d interrupted them when they were about to discover a cure for hangovers. It felt like nobody in that first few weeks smiled at me or even spoke to me of their own volition except to tell me to move out of their way or tell me I’m in the wrong queue for something. Those who did speak back to me with a modicum of courtesy would only manage a few strained words before leaving as quickly as it was possible to do so without looking impolite. It felt like a conspiracy. Don’t talk to the weird lad with no friends. I wondered if it was my craic; you know, my banter, my opening lines, my choice of conversational topics – but I’d had friends back in school – good, close ones. Friends who found me funny, engaging and interesting.
By Peter Nuttall3 years ago in Humans
Whatever Together
I used to go to a cafe in town. I'd order a coffee and sit in the window, make it last an hour. I'd look at the door when it opened. Eventually, I stopped hearing the bell. I stopped seeing the people on the street until I didn't know how long I'd been there. In there, days were all the same. How many, I couldn't say. Out there, things changed. Like memories; and they're all from my point of view. Then the time comes when time is the only thing you want. The thing you didn't know you had and tomorrow, today will be dead, forgotten. I've wasted time in ways less noble than this. When eventually I have no more to spend, I'll look back to these days and the pleasure I took from remaining suspended in a moment for all these uninterrupted moments of coffee clouds, rainy days and passers-by.
By Peter Nuttall3 years ago in Humans
Love is like a Corner Shop
Jean, from her settee, looked over at her husband Tony, circling a finger in his belly button, playfully. His threadbare jogging pants barely reached his swollen ankles, his purple face was pointed directly at the football match on the television and his other hand was clutching a can of Red Stripe. She sighed to herself before thinking about going into another room to do something, anything else. Before the thought reached her feet, she said, 'You know, my friend Emma's husband is like one of those big Tescos'.
By Peter Nuttall3 years ago in Humans
Apart Together
Donna sipped her chamomile tea, staring at the clock on the wall. The second hand crawled around the face as she drained her cup. Tony sat across the room in his armchair, staring at the large window through which he could see the empty street outside. Donna placed her china cup on a side-table, brushed biscuit crumbs from her jumper and looked at Tony for a moment. She took a deep breath, stood up, opened the living room door and stood in the hallway for a moment. She looked back into the living room, first at her husband and then at the clock. After watching the second hand click round for a few seconds she put on her coat, closed the door and left the house.
By Peter Nuttall4 years ago in Humans
An alternative guide to the history of pop music (Part 1)
The popular music charts began in 1940 when the popularity of a song was gauged by sales of sheet music. We can all agree there’s plenty of sheet music around these days but it all seems to get in the charts somehow. The music magazine Billboard had the idea of compiling a chart based on sales which was then updated in 1952 when someone decided the best way to listen to music was to get someone else to play it and sing it and put it on a kind of plastic disc so you could listen to it whenever you liked instead of having the band come round and perform the song in your front room.
By Peter Nuttall5 years ago in Beat
The greatest vocalist of the 80s
I don't know if you ever listen to music with the window open but it does test your faith in the songs you listen to. I was sitting happily in the bath, listening to a playlist of random 80s songs when on came 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight' by Tight Fit. Unable (or unwilling) to get out of the hot water to find my phone and skip the track, I listened through, half-hoping there was nobody passing outside who would judge my taste in music and half-loving the song which was a massive number 1 hit in 1982.
By Peter Nuttall5 years ago in Beat
CCTV
Alex tapped a clear plastic pen off the side of his white plastic coffee cup to the rhythm of The William Tell overture. It caused circular ripples to spread across the surface of the brown liquid within that had long gone cold. Entertainment at work was scarce save for the screens that flickered occasionally in front of him and the waste paper basket in the corner, around which were littered objects he’d failed to throw into it. Alex’s pen was the next item to follow the discarded pieces of screwed up paper and office bric-a-brac onto the floor as it ricocheted off the rim of the basket, cannoning off the wall and embedding itself in half a ham sandwich he’d tossed there a few hours ago. Glancing at the weary-looking wall clock every few minutes while leaning on the back two legs of his chair made the day pass more slowly than if he did what he was paid to do.
By Peter Nuttall5 years ago in Horror
The Followed
Between the intermittent scrape of the windscreen wipers was the mumbling drone of the radio and the rain hammering on the roof of the car. Against the black sky, Bill became mesmerised by the cascade of rain illuminated by the streetlights as he passed each one on his journey home. The meeting with his manager just before he’d left work for the day, the report he had to write before a 10am meeting tomorrow, the gift he still hadn’t had time to buy his wife for their anniversary and the flooded roads all occupied his thoughts as his car crawled through the city centre, hitting every red light. People fighting with umbrellas crossed the road as he waited at a set of traffic lights which seemed to have been red for hours. Bill tapped the steering wheel with irritation, then switched the radio off with a grunt of annoyance. He tapped the accelerator causing the car to rev in a passive aggressive manner, as if this would make clear his frustration to the lights, make them feel guilty and then change as an apology.
By Peter Nuttall5 years ago in Horror
Dream Date
After lying flat on the bed and closing his eyes, colours and shapes soon began to form in Sam’s mind. A dark room with blurred neon lights soon fizzled into view. The scene sharpened and a barstool with a purple velvet seat materialised in front of him. Beyond that, a silver counter top with a mirrored front panel in which Sam could see his legs reflected. He backed onto the stool and rested his elbows on the bar, staring at the wall which gradually became lined with various liquors and wine bottles.
By Peter Nuttall5 years ago in Futurism
Inherent
What you are about to read, you will not believe, but I can assure you that it’s absolutely true. I received a mysterious letter many years ago, and just like the one you received today, it instructed me to attend the office of Barker and Dean where you are now. They are the firm of solicitors who have dealt with our concerns for many years. They know of only three things; the money, the properties and the box.
By Peter Nuttall5 years ago in Futurism
