The Story of Stick the Gecko (Part 1)

Stick the Gecko liked his home. He lived with his friend Munch the Goat in a cabin somewhere in Yosemite National Park and woke up each morning to watch the sun rise across a beautiful mountain called Half Dome. Stick and Munch had just been on an adventure together, and Stick had enjoyed himself so much that he thought he would like to visit his cousin who lived in a house in Thailand.

So, one morning, after watching the sun rise across Half Dome one final time, Stick said goodbye to Munch and started to scurry on his way towards the road. When he reached the road Stick climbed the trunk of a young redwood tree. One of the branches of the young redwood tree hung right over the road and so Stick climbed right to the very tip of this branch and waited. Very soon a pick-up truck turned the corner and came up to the branch Stick was sticking to. Just as the the pick-up truck passed right beneath him, Stick let go of the branch and landed feet first in the back. His new adventure had begun!

The truck was headed for San Francisco, to pick up a crate of batteries that had just come into the port. The captain of the ship that the crate had come on had given passage to one of Stick's cousins earlier that year and so Stick arranged to hop on board for the journey back to Thailand.

Now once in Thailand, the boat travelled up the Mae Ping river to Chiang Mai where it picked up a new cargo and where Stick jumped overboard and made his way to his cousin's house.

Now Stick's cousin was called Gao which means glue in Thai and Gao lived in a apartment just off the south gate of Chiang Mai's moat. When Stick arrived at Gao's apartment, he loved it because outside in the driveway it was full of the biggest, fattest, juiciest mosquitoes Stick had ever seen.

The Story of Stick the Gecko (Part 1) by Adam Combie is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

On the difficulty of creative thinking.

Planning=boring
Boring=a reflexive french verb
French=a foreign language
foreign language= abroad
abroad=Spain
Spain=ham
ham=hamlet
hamlet=acting
acting=inspiring
inspiring=running
running=exercise
exercise=invigorating
invigorating=pretentious
pretentious=myself
myself=?

"A First Possession" and "A Bike's Eye View (or Life After Owner)"

A First Possession

Looking back I've had many possessions, but not many that I can claim are mine, bought with my own money. Perhaps the realisation of how important these expensive articles are is hammered home when you lose them or they are stolen. My bike, for example, mine no longer in all senses that matter - I can't touch it, I can't ride it, fold it up or carry it over the threshold to leave greasy marks on the door mat as I put it down to check the post. It's not there; the place where it stood is empty. It's not the money, although I'd rather I'd busted it than someone else has made money out of it. It's worse this way thinking, hoping that itmight turn up just as it was, complete with the scratches and scrapes I gave it, that I'm responsible for. The fact that someone else, someone less gentle than me no doubt is giving it new scratches, new scrapes that I will never see, never be a part of is shocking and feels on some level like a personal violation. This story is about coming to terms with the loss of a personal belonging and an expression of the wish that somehow something good will result in the theft of my first bike paid for from my own wages.


A First Possession by Adam Combie is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.

A Bike's Eye View (or Life After Owner)

Owner has left me by another bike, this one lying down. I am standing because I can - Owner likes this and thinks he is looking after me. Trouble is Thief likes this too, sees his opportunity, kicks my kickstand up and rides me away at fill pelt down the hill Owner just pushed me up before stopping off at shop for "quick" snack.

It has been three days now and I'm pleased to say Thief has treated me well, even give me one or two cautious rides around estate at night, although Thief doesn't use my lights and doesn't have helmet of Thief's own. Remember Owner read study done with concealed camera, bike thieves always male. Owner probably suspects two young men who went into shop just before him, one owner of other bike. In fact Thief is overweight sixty year old lady. Just kidding - it was the second of the two young men.

It's Monday afternoon now, still lying low, but can just make out road Owner would cycle me down to get to work. Well he didn't grieve long did he? No mistaking that hi-vis flash of safety green. Has bought a clone of me I see. Still shows taste and I suppose it will remind him to take better care of his bike next time.


A Bike's Eye View (or Life After Owner) by Adam Combie is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.

A Happy Little Bus Poem

"Drum, drum, drum," went the driver's fingers on the wheel as he waited for the traffic to clear. "Drum, drum, drum," went the rain against the windshield.
Thoughts of a sympathetic nature go through the driver's head at the delay to his passengers' journey, some going home to their teas and families, some going on adventures unknown.
"I hope no-one's in a hurry," he shouts out, "I'll share out my sandwiches if this takes much longer!"
One more roundabout and then the traffic clears. The rain continues for a while and so does the driver's melancholy.
But then, as mile by mile is eaten up and the weather clears, he begins to relax. And, just as the sun begins to shine, he remembers how much he loves to drive. The bus responds to his change in mood and his passengers begin to relax and once again look forward to their next journey.


A Happy Little Bus Poem by Adam Combie is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.

Once upon a time

At the top of the forest’s last remaining tree, there sat a bird of modest proportions. Surveying the land around its perch, it waited for something – an insect to fly by, or the call of its mate to pierce the silence – Archaeoptyryx, fossilised on the petrified forest’s last remaining tree.


Once upon a time by Adam Combie is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.