Welcome to the official website for Orlando Gibson

•28 October, 2008 • Comments Off on Welcome to the official website for Orlando Gibson

‘Orlando Gibson speaks’ is a weekly magazine website

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This site offers a sometimes humorous, but always thought provoking look at the news of today, and the issues of tomorrow, across the world

The magazine, like myself, has relocated to Australia, where I will to give you an insight into the flavour of a life ‘down under’. However contributors to the magazine are worldwide giving this site a broad international prospective.

So grab a drink, settle back into your chair and enjoy this regularly updated site.

If any of the topics are of particular interest to you, bookmark my site and call again.

Feel free to sign the guest book

If you have an article, an essay, a rant, or even if you want to respond to any of the articles published in this magazine, then send it to me and I will publish it

Contact me at the usual email address

Enjoy

All articles, editorials, and commentary on this site are the copyright of Orlando Gibson.

Reproduction of any part of the website must first have the permission of Orlando Gibson.

Copyright ©

Chewie’s thoughts

•18 March, 2020 • Leave a Comment

Han always does this, he uses me as the butt of he jokes.

“I could arrange for you to kiss a Wookie”, what is wrong with my kissing? And why would I rip the arms off a Gundar, does he think that I am a psycho?

Critical of Facebook

•18 March, 2020 • Leave a Comment

….and then, like there is not enough going on in our world, someone has to post a pointless picture of their food, be it breakfast, lunch or something, like this meal is the main adventure in their lives, like this the life halting event that they though that I should take time out of my day to observe. Do these people have so little going on in their lives that they though that seeing what they put in their mouth would be top of the things that I wanted to know about their day?

Is this home?

•18 March, 2020 • Leave a Comment

I walk out of the heavy wooden door onto the bright sun lite balcony.

The cold white marble tiles under foot is in stark contrast to the heat of the sun and the humidity of the warn tropical air pressed against my skin.

I place my hands on the stone balcony warming in the sun

“Is this home?” I ask myself for the first time today, the same question I have asked myself for the last 50 years.

Whose line is it anyway?

•18 March, 2020 • Leave a Comment

I materialised in the 1930s, it was midnight and I was in my latest incarnation, which was an ostentatious 12 year old with an interest in Basketball, so it was unlikely that anyone was going to recognise me from this past life, unless they too had travelled back in time from the academic halls of Gallifrey to carry out this drug deal, a drug deal that would wipe my debts and help pay for those gold and latenam Air Jordan’s that I had my eye on back in 2025.

The Tardis materialised in the dimly lit halls of the Academy of Gallifrey.

He had hit is mark perfectly, arriving at midnight as expected, in time for the deal that was going to make him rich.

Nobody would expect a 12 year old boy dress ostentatiously dressed in his favourite basketball top and gold Jordans, to pull off the drug deal of the century.

Patrick

•18 March, 2020 • Leave a Comment

Perspective 1

My heart was pounding, as my legs moved faster and faster.

I was feeling fear, but yet I found myself smiling, as if I knew that this was going to be a story that I would retell throughout my lifetime.

I was good at running, Patrick knew it, and now the dog that was chasing us both down the street with its chain audibly scrapping along the pavement as it got closer to us, was about to know it too.

I was fast, but at this point I knew, I only needed to be faster than Patrick.

And that is when it hit me, the idea that was to come to me in a flash, and stay with me for a lifetime.

I looked to my right and saw the cars parked on the side of the road. Their headlight looked like eyes, surveying the unfolding situation, and consenting to my next unspoken move.

With the first jump, my right foot was firmly in the bonet of a car, and with the next leap, my left foot was on the roof.

I instantly knelt down into a crouched position, as if I was at the starting line of a 100m race, but this action was designed to stop me dead in my tracks on top of the green, nondescript car.

I looked down and to my left, just in time to see Patrick sail past me.

He looked up at me with a look on his face that was resigned to his fate. A look that screamed “You bastard”.

He knew that my move had set him up as bait, and as the dog sailed past the car upon which I was perched, I knew that the bait had been taken.

I do not know if I ever actually saw the dog take a bite out of Patrick’s arse, but in my mind’s eye it is the story that I tell to this day.

 

Perspective 2

“I can’t believe this is happening to me, I can’t believe we are being chased by that dog.

It is normally chained up.

That bastard garage owner must have known that we tease it on our way home from school, and left it unchained to teach ups a lesson.

Well, I definitely learning a few lessons here:

  1. Orlando is a lot quicker that I thought he was
  2. The dog really wants its revenge for all the times we have poked it with a stick.

All I need to do is catch Orlando and then…wait…what the…SON OF A BITCH, what is he doing on the top of a car.

But if he is on a car that means I am the only one running, the only one for the dog to chase

I am the bait, YOU BASTARD

This is not going to end well for me, this is not going to end well at all.

‘There. Take it’

•18 March, 2020 • Leave a Comment

‘There. Take it’

As I read the words from the post-it note, I could hear her voice, defiant and victorious.

I picked up the shattered pieces of the glass that I had drunk out of for the 20 years of our life together, the glass that we had bought together in a flee market in East London, a glass that she knew would devistate me to see discarded and shattered on the floor.

On the buses

•18 March, 2020 • Leave a Comment

Barrington waited for the bus, on his way to work, like he had done every day.

“Why are these buses never on time.” Barrington exclaimed  “Every day it is 10 minutes late. What happens 10 minutes up the road from here that makes this bus late every day”.

Just then the bus can around the corner and slowly came to a stop in front of him.

He listened as the bus’ hydraulics lowered the front of the bus until it was level with the pavement, and he could wheel himself on unassisted.

“What happens up the road that you are 10 minutes late every morning?”

The bus driver looked down at him. He had been asked this question many times on the route so far and none of the answers he have had satisfied the passenger asking the question.

Barrington looked up at the non-responsive face of the driver, and realising that he was not going to get an answer, rolled himself to his usual spot, reversing his wheelchair against the back, what he considered by now to be his own private designated area, marked out in yellow, especially for him.

Barrington looked up and the driver was looking back at him as he did every day.

He could not be sure whether he was seeing whether he got to his stop safely, or whether he was cursing Barrington, yet another person to ask him that dumb question this morning.