“You need to clap your cheeks together – hard.”
“What like this?”
“Move your buttocks a little further up the saddle. Pronounce them a bit more”
“I’m not sure if this is the point of the exercise Dad.”
“We want to make you look like a champion Phillipa, don’t question me.”
“Dad, I feel a little like a porn star.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Well for starters this isn’t how you ride a horse.”
“Yes it is.”
“How do you know that?”
“Oh, I... I’ve seen some films.”
“So you’ve never actually ridden one then?”
“Phillipa, I’m in a wheelchair, it’s a little hard.”
“It’s a mobility scooter dad, it’s a chair with wheels, and you can walk fine.”
“Right well, that may be, I’ve never ridden a horse, but I’ve seen horse riders ride.”
“You mean jockeys, and this isn’t it. I’ll catch you later Dad.”
Showing posts with label Rodeo Drive. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rodeo Drive. Show all posts
Monday, 7 May 2012
Rodeo Drive by Meg Burrows
Rodeo Drive. A place where we went as kids. It was never that big at the time, we seemed to complain about it a lot. But still, we’d go. They’d be Jim, always in his polo shirt and jeans, always sitting at the base of the tree. Boy, would you move if you sat in his place too long. Penny, Jim’s girlfriend had a tendency to stick her chin out when she laughed. I think it was to get Jim’s attention. She would always sit to his left, her well toned legs leaning into him. Josh, who Jim would always tease, would be sitting in his pa’s fold out, drinking from a thermos. Sammy would be closely by, sprawled out on the ground, completely at ease with everything, watching the world go by behind his glasses.. Tom would be first in the river, or up the tree. One year he made a rope swing, how us girls screamed on that thing. Sandra was the worst, she’d dilly dally for so long, deciding whether to swing or not. Jim would get annoyed at her but I don’t think the other boys minded her squealing, in fact, I think Tom liked it. And then there was me, Bumble.
Sunday, 6 May 2012
Rodeo Drive by Alison Wink
‘So, what colour’s this then?’
‘Rodeo Drive.’
‘Do what, mate?’
‘S’Rodeo Drive, innit.’
‘And what colour’s that when it’s at home?’
‘A sort of lilac mauve light purple.’
‘Rodeo Drive! Utter bollocks.’
‘Rodeo Drive.’
‘Do what, mate?’
‘S’Rodeo Drive, innit.’
‘And what colour’s that when it’s at home?’
‘A sort of lilac mauve light purple.’
‘Rodeo Drive! Utter bollocks.’
Rodeo Drive by Sam Smith
"Can we turn the radio off?" he asked, fidgeting in his seat.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reach for the silver dial on the dashboard. She took her hand off the wheel and lightly slapping his wrist.
"What was that for?" he whined.
"Did I say you could you could turn it off? You asked, but I never agreed." she said as she changed from second to third gear.
"Yeah, but I hate this song. It's really dumb."
She turned the radio up a little louder and pushed down on the accelerator. "It's not that bad. You just have to get into it."
He sunk low in the uncomfortable seat and crossed his arms. "No."
The car swerved around a corner at high speed. Turning the steering wheel roughly, she hummed along to the pop song. "My rodeo Romeo, a cowboy god from head to toe."
"Stop it."
"Gotta make you mine, gotta get in line."
"Stop it."
"Five, six, seven eight!"
"Stop it!"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reach for the silver dial on the dashboard. She took her hand off the wheel and lightly slapping his wrist.
"What was that for?" he whined.
"Did I say you could you could turn it off? You asked, but I never agreed." she said as she changed from second to third gear.
"Yeah, but I hate this song. It's really dumb."
She turned the radio up a little louder and pushed down on the accelerator. "It's not that bad. You just have to get into it."
He sunk low in the uncomfortable seat and crossed his arms. "No."
The car swerved around a corner at high speed. Turning the steering wheel roughly, she hummed along to the pop song. "My rodeo Romeo, a cowboy god from head to toe."
"Stop it."
"Gotta make you mine, gotta get in line."
"Stop it."
"Five, six, seven eight!"
"Stop it!"
Rodeo Drive by Lesley Whyte
I read once that Los Angeles is a thirty-minute-town. Everything you want to go to, everywhere you need to be, is always half an hour away.
Maybe if you're driving there, it is. We got waylaid by the Black Friday sales on Hollywood Boulevard and never made it to Rodeo Drive. Just as well really. We're not exactly Rodeo Drive people.
Maybe if you're driving there, it is. We got waylaid by the Black Friday sales on Hollywood Boulevard and never made it to Rodeo Drive. Just as well really. We're not exactly Rodeo Drive people.
Rodeo Drive by Emily Chadwick
The truck turned down the bumpy dirt lane.
“Hold onto your hat, Jack,” Chase said, with a flash of white teeth. “It’s always looked too big for you.”
Jack tried to ignore the way his stomach fizzed when Chase smiled, and scowled.
“I’ll have you know I had it professionally fitted.”
“Uh huh… was the sales guy drunk?”
“Oh, shut up.”
Jack turned his head to stare out of the window at the rolling green fields, raising a hand unconsciously to make sure his hat hadn’t fallen off.
He and Chase were on their way to the State Rodeo, to test their mettle against some of the biggest, meanest and feistiest bulls in America. Jack hated rodeo riding; he never lasted very long and he always woke up the next day with the biggest bruises mankind has ever seen. At least, they felt that way. The only reason he was doing this was because Chase had asked him to, though he would never admit that out loud.
“What are you thinking?” Chase asked, after a few minutes of silence.
About you. Always about you.
“Nothing much. Just wondering how long we’ll last.”
Even though he didn’t look at him, Jack knew that Chase was grinning. His stomach twisted at the thought and he could feel his cheeks beginning to burn.
It was going to be a hell of a long ride.
“Hold onto your hat, Jack,” Chase said, with a flash of white teeth. “It’s always looked too big for you.”
Jack tried to ignore the way his stomach fizzed when Chase smiled, and scowled.
“I’ll have you know I had it professionally fitted.”
“Uh huh… was the sales guy drunk?”
“Oh, shut up.”
Jack turned his head to stare out of the window at the rolling green fields, raising a hand unconsciously to make sure his hat hadn’t fallen off.
He and Chase were on their way to the State Rodeo, to test their mettle against some of the biggest, meanest and feistiest bulls in America. Jack hated rodeo riding; he never lasted very long and he always woke up the next day with the biggest bruises mankind has ever seen. At least, they felt that way. The only reason he was doing this was because Chase had asked him to, though he would never admit that out loud.
“What are you thinking?” Chase asked, after a few minutes of silence.
About you. Always about you.
“Nothing much. Just wondering how long we’ll last.”
Even though he didn’t look at him, Jack knew that Chase was grinning. His stomach twisted at the thought and he could feel his cheeks beginning to burn.
It was going to be a hell of a long ride.
Rodeo Drive by Matthew Tomlin
“Fancy a trip to Rodeo Drive?”
That’s how it all started. We look back and laugh now, but that day was the death of Tom Lewis, and the birth of ‘Tom Lewis’. Mum just wanted to go and spend her Christmas bonus, and Dad was away on a business trip. As the oldest son, I was designated bag carrier. With the enticing promise of a three course lunch, I went along.
I wasn’t a particular fan of Rodeo Drive. All those massive stores seemed so unnecessary, but maybe that’s why it was such a hit with the rich and famous. I always though celebrities were unnecessary. Weren’t we all people at the end of the day? That’s not what the media wants us to think though. People don’t make headlines, top the music charts and star in the latest blockbuster. Stars do.
Mum had just bought herself a set of garden ornaments, making the shopping bags lining my arms total eight. I was just beginning to lose interest, to resign the thought-processing part of my brain so that maybe the weight of the shopping wouldn’t ache so much.
“Oh my god. Look, look Tom!” Mum squealed, backhanding my shoulder in order to secure my attention. “Nicola Tennyson… I’ve got to call the girls at work!”
The glam model. The untouchable. The goddess among women. As fake as fake could be with her bleach-blonde hair and ‘sun-kissed’ skin. She was hot, but fake nonetheless. I thought for a moment my mix of boyish fantasizing and disgust for high society women had been noticed as Nicola looked my way. Dad said that Celebrities don’t see ordinary people though, not really.
My heart stopped when she started walking this way, her well-practised strut leaving her bodyguards milling after her. Despite myself I couldn’t stop staring. When I saw that smile on her face, shivers were dancing all along my back.
“Hello there stranger.” She said, her refined, soft voice washing over me. There was a casual crowd now.
“H-Hi” I stuttered back. She giggled and I turned very red.
“Well look at you.” Her eyelids lowered slightly. What was there to see? I was five foot ten, dressed in a Nike t-shirt and blue jeans. I had some muscle on my arms, no doubt because of all the shopping, and a decent face, if you were judging that sort of thing. “Nicely chiselled, such a handsome face, and a rugged voice.”
I heard a mobile phone smash on the ground behind me, and assumed my mum had noticed who I was talking to.
“I want him for the shoot.” She turned, speaking to one of her bodyguards. “You’ll come, right?”
What? What? A photo shoot with Nicola Tennyson? I heard my mum squealing.
“Uh… Sure?”
“Drop the bags, you’re coming with me.”
Mum was on me like a shot. The bags were stripped from my arms, one of which was now entwined with Nicola’s. Off I went.
Make up on and shirt off two hours later. On the front pages two days after that.
‘TENNYSON’S NEW MAN; TOM LEWIS’
I quickly became what I once hated. I buffed up and tanned up. I went home once a week to see my parents. The first time we had sex was a total blur; reality and fantasy became one. She’s still Nicola Tennyson on screen, but legally she’s Nicola Lewis. I’m her lover, her stud on shoot. Twelfth sexiest man in the USA. Mum’s so proud, but I didn’t really do anything.
I’m Tom Lewis.
That’s how it all started. We look back and laugh now, but that day was the death of Tom Lewis, and the birth of ‘Tom Lewis’. Mum just wanted to go and spend her Christmas bonus, and Dad was away on a business trip. As the oldest son, I was designated bag carrier. With the enticing promise of a three course lunch, I went along.
I wasn’t a particular fan of Rodeo Drive. All those massive stores seemed so unnecessary, but maybe that’s why it was such a hit with the rich and famous. I always though celebrities were unnecessary. Weren’t we all people at the end of the day? That’s not what the media wants us to think though. People don’t make headlines, top the music charts and star in the latest blockbuster. Stars do.
Mum had just bought herself a set of garden ornaments, making the shopping bags lining my arms total eight. I was just beginning to lose interest, to resign the thought-processing part of my brain so that maybe the weight of the shopping wouldn’t ache so much.
“Oh my god. Look, look Tom!” Mum squealed, backhanding my shoulder in order to secure my attention. “Nicola Tennyson… I’ve got to call the girls at work!”
The glam model. The untouchable. The goddess among women. As fake as fake could be with her bleach-blonde hair and ‘sun-kissed’ skin. She was hot, but fake nonetheless. I thought for a moment my mix of boyish fantasizing and disgust for high society women had been noticed as Nicola looked my way. Dad said that Celebrities don’t see ordinary people though, not really.
My heart stopped when she started walking this way, her well-practised strut leaving her bodyguards milling after her. Despite myself I couldn’t stop staring. When I saw that smile on her face, shivers were dancing all along my back.
“Hello there stranger.” She said, her refined, soft voice washing over me. There was a casual crowd now.
“H-Hi” I stuttered back. She giggled and I turned very red.
“Well look at you.” Her eyelids lowered slightly. What was there to see? I was five foot ten, dressed in a Nike t-shirt and blue jeans. I had some muscle on my arms, no doubt because of all the shopping, and a decent face, if you were judging that sort of thing. “Nicely chiselled, such a handsome face, and a rugged voice.”
I heard a mobile phone smash on the ground behind me, and assumed my mum had noticed who I was talking to.
“I want him for the shoot.” She turned, speaking to one of her bodyguards. “You’ll come, right?”
What? What? A photo shoot with Nicola Tennyson? I heard my mum squealing.
“Uh… Sure?”
“Drop the bags, you’re coming with me.”
Mum was on me like a shot. The bags were stripped from my arms, one of which was now entwined with Nicola’s. Off I went.
Make up on and shirt off two hours later. On the front pages two days after that.
‘TENNYSON’S NEW MAN; TOM LEWIS’
I quickly became what I once hated. I buffed up and tanned up. I went home once a week to see my parents. The first time we had sex was a total blur; reality and fantasy became one. She’s still Nicola Tennyson on screen, but legally she’s Nicola Lewis. I’m her lover, her stud on shoot. Twelfth sexiest man in the USA. Mum’s so proud, but I didn’t really do anything.
I’m Tom Lewis.
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