The Eaghams Weekly: Short Story No.21: Samuel The Philosopher by The Eaghams



Samuel The Philosopher

Some cool East London slang features in this one. It's about Samuel The Philospher, a character you come across in London, that's a beguiling combination of being cool, and knowledgable that you get with the hip hop folks, who don't put on the air of being in the know or particularly intellectual.The Eaghams.   
 
He was an absent-minded fellow when he was young but his word was good as gold, who picked up information around him first before what was said, that got in the way of what he was hearing from a given person, at times, especially, girls, whose emotions were all over the shop, or aggressive men who were too emotional, it made his eyes glaze over.



Source: http://allthe2048.com
 
There was more information in all the clairvoyant like detail around him, so he would naturally take more time for a given task, dismissed by most as ignorant and vague, by the go getters...oh, they only rushed but never paused to consider any subtleties of a given situation to enlighten to. This slowed them down in the long run, and led to a lack of knowledge on their part. It was only a decade after they tired themselves out and wasted resources, that they saw the error of their multitasking ways of greed and excessive gossip.

He seemed like he was zoned out, and would stay stuff like he didn't know where in the universe he was from whilst peering down at his Reeboks. He wore an Akademiks top Some people thought it was because he was lazy, leisurely dressed with baggy jeans, some people thought he smoked weed because he was never serious, joking in his deep baritone voice. He thought deeply to the point that he lacked common sense to the bespectacled  (double glazing) crime bosses of Beckton, who were impeccably pragmatic and practical in their directives, who were calm and collected but with a fire that could be unleashed. They knew how to control themselves, it was too bait to be otherwise, they would have got caught by feds.

One of them was at a restaurant talking in a low voice and greeting the middle class customers who dressed in strict neatness and had tennis wear (including sporting tennis shoes, they were never lazy wearing trainers) for their friendly tennis tournaments on Saturday mornings, with discreet courtesy and a surprising kind of respect, as if on the watch for any coppers. Samuel didn't find out his name over the course of the dishes time.
 
When he did get his act together in a life where there are no dress rehearsals, he forged his way. It was so superb the stuff he came out with, that people wondered in amazement. He knew exactly how to phrase a given particular, and he knew the principles of things without even appearing at the scene. People thought he was clueless, but he obviously knew what he knew. That's why he didn't bother with a lot of people, he had been there, done that, had that conversation, acquired that lesson, done that degree listening to poised lecturers, traveled to that domain on the internet, or had visited the region on his travels simply by train and plane and contemplation of the peoples there. He would often hang out with Jake, that is, when Jake had an opportunity, he would ring Samuel. 
 
If you enjoyed this post, you can check out further short stories in this series by clicking the following titles:
  1.  Anish
  2.  Agnieska
  3. Catherine
  4. Mustapha
  5. Boy from Bath
  6. Actor Dude
  7. Imtiaz
  8. © Zubyre Parvez 2017 All Rights Reserved
  9. WRITER BIO: Zubyre Parvez (BA hons) studied English Literature at Hertfordshire University. He writes song lyrics, poetry, short stories, reviews, and articles for The Eaghams.  His poetry won runners up in a competition judged by Simon Armitage and Margaret Atwood. His poetry has been published in Kobita. His articles have appeared in The Epoch Times as a journalist for the newspaper. He has worked for New Tang Dynasty Television as a journalist. You can catch up with his tweets @TheEaghams

The Eaghams Weekly: Short Story No.22: Little John by The Eaghams

Little John
Blogpost written by The Eaghams 



Little John is a classic story about a memorable character making great use of the motif travel imagery that runs throughout his work. There are some wonderful poetic and lyrical turns of phrase in this one.

To continue reading the interconnected short stories click on the characters included in this short story with a hyperlink.Timothy. Enjoy!
 
Little John, younger brother of Timothy, was in a relationship with a women in her thirties, he was age twenty eighteen. She hadn't disclosed the exact figure, her age, although he got to know all about her when they were spending time together. Little John wasn't as athletic as the other boys and was a sensitive intellectual. They talked about romantic trips to Venice and the yearning Qawalli music of the Middle East. She was animated he was imaginative using witty asides as part of his speech - that was their conversational styles, in fact.

He thought she was his prize. He was at an age where eating chicken shawarmas at the upmarket Moroccan restaurant and other grilled foods were more important to him than any other delicacies. He was earnest, untainted by disappointment, he always showed up on time. So when she went AWOL on his ass, there was no time to spell it out to him, the reasons why, on a scheduled date for the Saturday, he was at a loss as to how to respond. Her phone he left wailing messages, that were absurd in their melodramatic tone, that he used up all her recording space for messages, it should be noted. He decided he liked her slick antics and vowed never to be innocent again. He was on the phone to his friend Greg, he had the phone on his shoulder gazing out his window at the traffic lights. 



Source: www.mercedes-benz.co.uk

He took a girl for a ride with his cerebral games, she drove a Mercedez Benz. She let him drive it sometimes around the city, sometimes at night when there was an open and free road, or in the early hours. One day he took the car for a spin, turning the car round, a 180...as they call it and sped off to make a new life in the city. His new friend awaited him, he was single, shrewd, and he was not looking to settle for anything, haste drove him. Caroline ate at the restaurant, a steaming dish, fine and proper, was brought out by the waiter, and her company? Her own. She was moving up in her new job, a new world, that Little John could only wantonly be in envy of. Little John had a terrible temper that shook up their relationship, so she looked the other way, they were not seeing eye to eye, such was the state of things. He was chewing the fat of a bitter ambition, to be a lucrative young buck, a big shot, making an untold fortune, he was already at the executive level in a New York company, he was in Big Business, when he was with Caroline, a native New Yorker who was a bit crass.  
 
What John really wanted was to be like Caroline: He never imagined someone who was so kind, could suddenly change their tune. Before, it seemed like she was the only dude she would treat nicely, because he seemed trustworthy, and he saw her other side only play out with all the other men, never with him before. It was the combination of tact and severity that overthrew him and created a jealous admiration of her personal power and her wealth she didn't disclose to him.

He didn't drive home his manly sense of desire, he only vainly coaxed her coquettishly. It wasn't good enough for her. However, he decided he needed his authority back to even the urban landscape of his life by repeating in kind the behaviour that was so slickly done onto him. To know power, was to misuse it. Perhaps, in the long run, he would be a better man for it. After he betrayed someone, finding the right moment all of a sudden in the easy relationship, as an excuse -- he accepted that no one was perfect but by then he was never caught with his guard down, a smooth talker. He seemed more accepting of who Caroline was, and now had a more realistic view of himself. They had gone their separate ways. 

© Zubyre Parvez 2017 All Rights Reserved

If you enjoyed this post, please check out further short stories in the series:
  1. Anish
  2. Agnieska
  3. Caroline
  4. Mustapha
  5. Boy from Bath
  6. Actor Dude
  7. Imtiaz
The EaghamsWRITER BIO: Zubyre Parvez (BA hons) studied English Literature at Hertfordshire University. He writes song lyrics, poetry, short stories, reviews, and articles for The Eaghams Blog.  His poetry won runners up in a competition judged by Simon Armitage and Margaret Atwood. His poetry has been published in Kobita. His articles have appeared in The Epoch Times as a journalist for the newspaper. He has worked for New Tang Dynasty Television as a journalist. You can catch up with his tweets @TheEaghams



ARTIST BIO:The Eaghams aka Zubyre Parvez is an Urban Indie singer songwriter from London. His song The Roots was played on BBC 1Xtra by DJ Excalibuh. He has collaborated with artists such as Mr Hectic and Jason Air formerly of Island records. He has played at The Garage, and various open mics.

The Eaghams Weekly: Short Story No.25: Timothy

Timothy

By The Eaghams

The realism with which she calmly talked about her life, despite it’s fullness, the spirit of her attitude and outlook that made it depressing to listen to her. It wasn’t that she didn’t have an interesting life, it was how she’d managed to make it monotonous that was questionable. He was fortunate so far as he was always had active ideas he could connect up – it was her inner emptiness that made him think he was being excessive but it was just enthusiasm, nor was it some vanity or falsity. To oneself or others or foolish whimsy, but just less subdued by the familiarity of her routine. The bar was busy, Rupert and Greg had already gone off to chat at a nearby table, (they always paired off together, anyway) whenever they hung out with anyone, to leave Timothy to it.

She thought he was an intellectual, who enjoyed his own company, who didn’t care for alcohol and had made his mind his best friend. She kept herself to herself, whereas he had always anticipated more from life in his exploration and experimenting on his own. Maybe adulthood had taken her sense of expectation and optimism from the separations, the desolation, and the sense of the workplace, that kept her there and didn’t allow her imagination to flourish, beyond what she used to know having a good time at college, she was busy these days.

Maybe he had read an out-of-the-way book, she could borrow, she was eager to learn more, she wanted to try something new, he had left with his books, and she resumed her work duty, Rupert and Greg joined him, to leave the place together. He wrote in his journal, of the new town he wrote, with all it’s characters. He was a habit he had picked up from his father, who was a Professor of English at Manchester University, who used to be a Glastonbury going hippy in his hey day. Timothy was from the same town as the Boy from Bath.

Source: http://www.blueskypapers.com

She didn’t want to think, just to have a good time. the less she could think, the better, she hated to be on her own. She was a person who required a kind of man who could chase her through the house, who would surprise her with animated gestures and carouse in drunken merriment shouting over dance music where the bass boomed.He was an easy going man, not the liveliest of the pack, a man who sit amongst others, watch others and take notes. He was suited to someone who made more of what he had thought, someone who was impressed by the intellect, and by cultural knowledge, and worldly turns of phrase,verbose with wit and sarcasm.

He was easily influenced by negative moods and would make much of a vibe of a place – so that it was hard to say anything to him that didn’t feel buoyant to him, he was a literate middle class guy who could not face reality and talked endlessly like at a tea party, all the time, and ran at the sight of anything personable and affecting, or left him to consider a given thing by himself,an expression of mediocrity that wouldn’t harm anyone was the only way you could get through to him, which was precisely not to get through to him and who he was, actually was.

1. Mustapha
2. Actor Dude
3. Boy from Bath
4. David
5. Imitiaz
6. Agnieska
7. The Workplace
8. Jack and Joseph
9. On Motivation
10. Angela
11. The Deep Sea Diver
12 After The War
13. Nigel, Samantha and Luke
14 James Changzhu
15. Ali and Some Books
16. Joe Bloggs
17. Naveed and Rupesh
18. Lionel
19. Abdul
20. Ajaz
21. Mr Jameson
22. Little John
23. Adventures of Zhi Xin
24. Dave and ‘Jim’
25. Timothy
26. Wayne
27. Rupert and Greg

The Eaghams Weekly: Short Story: Ajaz

Note from the author: This short story is about Ajaz, a perceptive young man who encounters an older woman in her forties who feels slighted by Ajaz’s perceived intelligence. It’s a true-to-life story, that many readers will certainly relate to.

To continue reading the interconnecting short stories of the characters by clicking the title links embedded in the text of this blogpost. Little John, Timothy, Joe Bloggs. Enjoy! 

A kind woman by the name of Loretta was in the reading group that the two brothers Little John and Timothy, Joe Bloggs and Ajaz had attended. Whenever Ajaz came into the room, she suspected the cunning wiles in him, something his intelligence included, she had sold people on who she was as being kind, whilst simultaneously sneering and nonchalant. She had to get by in the world. It wasn’t that Ajaz was cunning – just more intelligent. He didn’t choose to play it that way, so they both didn’t get on, both distrustful of each one for trustfulness, other for the usual wiles. Most people she interacted with were just a little less smarter, it so happened to be. She wasn’t out meeting everyone like a savvy entrepreneur, she was in her forties, and sticked to the pubs she knew best.

She looked at him like a rabbit in his headlights, but he didn’t care to catch her out, no more than she thought she might be found out. He averted eye contact just because, he knew her wiles though they were not strictly his own.

He became the source of her interest until she sorted out what she kept from herself and others, from a kind of coquettishness, not as brazenly stoicin a defiant look at her own qualities. He was on an even keel, whilst she was stirred by the slightest interruption. Although she was very attentive, the pint sized character.

She always considered what she liked from her sizing up of others where the criteria and measurement didn’t work for the whole world, her people. She was thirty years his senior.

She got it right about people but there was a kind of deferral to others that wasn’t always necessary in creating her own style and mood, she would need to pay attention to what she was thinking and writing in her diary, not others’ perceived thinking.

When she got imbalanced she would completely forget herself and read into others to the less of her own sense of self, in a phrase she was easily influenced by others by her perception of others, it was still all very subjective though her thought she was looking and sizing things up, it wasn’t objective. She would blow things out of proportion.

There were intelligent people in all walks of life, but no one knew this woman like Ajaz – they hadn’t met her.

He would peer from his glasses he wore, half way down his nose, wearing an honest silver chain bracelet and ring, thick in it’s earthiness and plainness.

Ajaz in his youth had been notoriously jealous of Michael, a middle aged man who was pleased with himself, or perhaps it was the joyous equanimity that he sought in his tumultuous youth, where he was emotionally out at sea and dissatisfied with himself more than his lot in life.

He wanted to futher himself without really positioning himself in what he currently was. So he leaned inside a dream of Michael’s life, his footing in life steadfast, deliberate over deliberating, with patience and and quickness of wit and a certain poetry of meaning.

1. Mustapha
2. Actor Dude
3. Boy from Bath
4. David
5. Imitiaz
6. Agnieska
7. The Workplace
8. Jack and Joseph
9. On Motivation
10. Angela
11. The Deep Sea Diver
12 After The War
13. Nigel, Samantha and Luke
14 James Changzhu
15. Ali and Some Books
16. Joe Bloggs
17. Naveed and Rupesh
18. Lionel
19. Abdul
20. Ajaz
21. Mr Jameson
22. Little John
23. Adventures of Zhi Xin
24. Dave and ‘Jim’
25. Timothy

The EaghamsWRITER BIO: Zubyre Parvez (BA hons) studied English Literature at Hertfordshire University. He writes song lyrics, poetry, short stories, reviews, and articles for The Eaghams Blog. His poetry won runners up in a competition judged by Simon Armitage and Margaret Atwood. His poetry has been published in Kobita. His articles have appeared in The Epoch Times as a journalist for the newspaper. He has worked for New Tang Dynasty Television as a journalist. You can catch up with his tweets @theeaghams

© Zubyre Parvez 2017. All Rights Reserved.

Prospect Calendar

ARTIST BIO:The Eaghams aka Zubyre Parvez is an Urban Indie singer songwriter from London. His song The Roots was played on BBC 1Xtra by DJ Excalibuh. He has collaborated with artists such as Mr Hectic and Jason Air formerly of Island records. He has played at The Garage, and various open mics.

The Eaghams Weekly: Short Story No.23 Mr Jameson

Mr Jameson

By The Eaghams

Note from the author: Two friends,  Mr Lawrence was born and raised and originally from Forest gate, Mr Jameson from West Hampsted, hang out in Central London. The themes of class, career, and manners are explored in this short story.

To continue reading the interconnected short stories simply click on the characters hypertext in the body of the blogpost. Agnieska. Enjoy!

Mr Jameson was sparring with his best friend Mr Lawrence, and as it happened, they were out at an independent cafe drinking great coffee. It was near their workplace in the City, where they worked as paid interns. They were friendly with the waitress there, who introduced herself as Agnieska. There was a statue holding a balancing scale entitled ‘Science’.

Source: http://www.alondoninheritance.com

Greg passed by the window, carrying a newspaper in hand. He peered in briefly to wave hello, before resuming his morning walk to the papershop on Saturdays. Both Mr Jameson and Mr Lawrence wore casual blazers seen in Esquire magazine, designer label jeans, and boots. Mr Lawrence would say things to him that would make sense in the years to come, he had known him for hers to come,  he had known him for hers and it was such. There was a gap in their ages, Mr Lawrence, aged 25, Mr Jameson, aged 20. Their pay brackets correlated with their age and experience Mr Lawrence earned per year, and Mr Jameson. Mr Jameson was on 20 grand, and Mr Lawrence 25 grand.

Whenever they met up Mr Jameson would come away with some new ideas making his mind his own, he would reiterate what Mr Lawrence had said as if he hadn’t acknowledged what Mr Lawrence related in the previous week’s chat over coffee. Mr Lawrence was obliged to nod approvingly, ‘yes…I see what you mean…’ He had added the words ‘know what I mean?’  to his words: Mr Jameson was not the same class as Mr Lawrence, or else, his turn of phrase was a touch more elegant. He related to his friend in his fairly acceptable manner, and the two mainly got on.

Occasionally, Mr Jameson would be slightly sly but Mr Lawrence looked at him knowingly and let it pass. However, one day, Mr Jameson crossed the line, and Mr Lawrence asserted in his usual brutally direct ways which once in a while.

Mr Jameson when he was young used to not assert himself, and smile more often than not. Running over what was said. He even ascribed anger deferring over to others, blacks, whoever, anyone but himself. Now he learned when to let it go and hen to speak his mind. He was brutally honest only occasionally. He had learned to accept that he was not the perfect nice guy, just like anybody, the perfect manners required honesty, self control and poise in measure.

They were professional, that is they were calm and benevolent and they were enterprising. They ran through the crowds, at a speed, bolted through the doors. They were in business, precise with people, so they all know where they stood, their objectives so clear, so defined. They had strategy and ingenuity. They had philosophy. They had wit and they had a strong though intimate circle of good friends. Who they corresponded with everything comes together, birds of a feather flock together, they were Londoners, where they were born and raised since the good old days, looking back and rounding up in the conversations, all they used to know.

1. Mustapha
2. Actor Dude
3. Boy from Bath
4. David
5. Imitiaz
6. Agnieska
7. The Workplace
8. Jack and Joseph
9. On Motivation
10. Angela
11. The Deep Sea Diver
12 After The War
13. Nigel, Samantha and Luke
14 James Changzhu
15. Ali and Some Books
16. Joe Bloggs
17. Naveed and Rupesh
18. Lionel
19. Abdul
20. Ajaz
21. Mr Jameson
22. Little John
23. Adventures of Zhi Xin
24. Dave and ‘Jim’
25. Timothy

The Eaghams Weekly: Short Story No.24: Dave and ‘Jim’

Dave and ‘Jim’

By The Eaghams

Note from the author: This short story is about a cool, suave restaurant owner, affectionately known as ‘Jim’, aka Jamal, who runs the restaurant in full style and panache in Central London. A few points of interest regarding his approach and manner is noted in the short story. 

To continue reading the interconnected short story series simply click on the character’s link embedded in the body of the text. Samantha, Nigel and Luke.

The lively white guy came in to do the carpet cleaning. He was working class but cleaned carpets for all classes, his services were genuine quality. He assumed a tender tone talking to the Asian boss of the restaurant, as if it was his wife, ever so slightly, you wouldn’t’ve guessed. They were vegetarian, and more sensible with their drink. The Asian boss he referred to frequently as ‘man’, as one does to Asian’s throughout London. Asians were cool and debonair without trying, they were true Londoners! They emphasised style over the mighty cheer he had known on nights out on the town. The white folks from the local area called the boss ‘Jim’, short for his real name ‘Jamal.’

The previous carpet cleaner, was a bit quiet, who needed to stand has ground, as it was unravelled – he did his work and that was it. The Asian boss asked him asked him ‘How the hell are ya?’ in a cheerful tone. He needed to be talked to a bit to offset his mood.

The boss found it a bit laborious, so he rang up Dave, eventually. ‘Chop, chop’ he added politely, as it was furiously busy -A new booking was just made by the senior waiter, under the name Samantha. She was bringing two guests: Her husband Nigel, and his brother, Luke – The boss was adding the sauces to two starter plates with one hand.

Dave came in the time of the new year and as the boss was now doing his accounts at one of his tables saved for customers of up to four, who would wait with pints served from the bar area. He was effortlessly nimble with his figures, the large, simple to use calculator, he tapped through in seconds.

He and Dave talked about how he was redoing up the place, which he did periodically. They chatted about the wallpaper, the seats and the tables and the napkin designs and rings. He used a variety of storage items for the various ingredients they used. The wine merchant had arrived with his van of casement and papers, receipts, and so forth, that required signatures. He twirled the pen, flamboyantly. He had ordered several cases of French wine that went into their wine cellar.

The bar area was a place where the five drivers were contacted via phone, the orders ready to dispatch, they joked and jived, and came in and out through the entrance doors.
He signalled for the waiter to bring him a cup of coffee, as he worked through the night, doing the business’s stats. He was an unassuming kind of man, and he employed staff who were quite lively and raucous. He was almost shy, and his stuff were here, there, everywhere in the staff house, he remembered that one of his staff wanted his annual holiday, and he worked around that and rang the catering staff company, asking if they had staff available, his staff frequently argued about which days they would have free, and which days they were to cover for the working week ahead…

His listening rather than his professional authority, seemed to calm the team and brought them back to their senses, he seemed at once composed, and decisively open to what the colleagues said. It was difficult to work out what he quietly worked out but that was why he was the boss, he took everything in his stride, in flow, and many things worked out, in the clear and strategic way he had anticipated, eventually.

1. Mustapha
2. Actor Dude
3. Boy from Bath
4. David
5. Imitiaz
6. Agnieska
7. The Workplace
8. Jack and Joseph
9. On Motivation
10. Angela
11. The Deep Sea Diver
12 After The War
13. Nigel, Samantha and Luke
14 James Changzhu
15. Ali and Some Books
16. Joe Bloggs
17. Naveed and Rupesh
18. Lionel
19. Abdul
20. Ajaz
21. Mr Jameson
22. Little John
23. Adventures of Zhi Xin
24. Dave and ‘Jim’
25. Timothy

The Eaghams Weekly: Short Story No.19: Abdul

Abdul

By The Eaghams

Note from the author: This realistic piece conveys multicultural London characters in all it’s richness and beauty. The imagery of the vehicle is employed, so that the car is used to denote a kind of ‘cosmic intelligence’.  

To continue reading the interconnected short stories series click on the character link. Timothy.  Enjoy! 

Abdul had a habit of repeating every sentence someone said to him in a slightly lower tone, as if to compute and agree all at the same time. He was an agreeable guy, but you’d have to lead the conversation. Although he was clairvoyant in empathy, ahead of what was being said to him.

He would read out loud the shop names when he drove to his brother’s house in Birmingham. It was a long drive so he would fill the silence by announcing the shop names. Abdul had a hard time spelling out his name, through his strong accent, to his friends who were English. What Abdul did was speak two languages, one at home, another in social situations Abdul was learning English although he could read people like a book. Behind his lack of fluency, people believed there was a kind of ignorance there at work. His IQ would have been over a hundred miles per hour, with a multifarious expressivity, obviously he had a glee about it, but he didn’t always smile about it in that sense. He took English lessons from an accredited instructor Timothy, who as a second career, taught English on a one-to-one basis, as a part of his great love of the language, he was an experienced writer.

His mind registered the details, he was a British citizen with a driver’s licence and a British passport. He was home in East London. He qualified from college where he used to play cards, and pose in front of the girls, but never speak to them. He would stop and look, but that was all, his local area asked of him this custom. He was looking for an arranged marriage, so he came on a bit too strong in his initial approaches which created reproaches.

1. Mustapha
2. Actor Dude
3. Boy from Bath
4. David
5. Imitiaz
6. Agnieska
7. The Workplace
8. Jack and Joseph
9. On Motivation
10. Angela
11. The Deep Sea Diver
12 After The War
13. Nigel, Samantha and Luke
14 James Changzhu
15. Ali and Some Books
16. Joe Bloggs
17. Naveed and Rupesh
18. Lionel
19. Abdul
20. Ajaz
21. Mr Jameson
22. Little John
23. Adventures of Zhi Xin
24. Dave and ‘Jim’
25. Timothy