Ex gangster James ‘Strangler’ Jones is trapped in a dimension called The Twilight Zone


I NEED TO GET OUT! I need to escape from this house.

Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a huge kitchen flooded with high tech domestic appliances that I don’t know how to operate. A heated indoor swimming Pool, the wafer thin TV set with endless channels and perfect decor that would make any guest gasp in awe.

Sounds perfect to you?



I’ve lost track of what day it is. I don’t know how I arrived here. I’ve tried to escape on numerous occasions but the front door won’t budge – same with the back door and the windows. The combination of the huge windows and the loud ticking clock reveals sunrise at at 6.42am and sunset at 7.27pm every day. My observation during my time here is that the Spring, Autumn and Winter seasons don’t exist.
I need to get out!

I can’t get my head around the aroma of freshly baked bread creeping into the bedroom at the crack of dawn. Breakfast all laid out on the kitchen table. The rumbling of the washing machine. The hissing of the steam iron in the utility room. The bedrooms laundered every day- the endless supply of toiletries in the bathroom – it’s like a 5-star hotel with invisible housekeepers. I hear footsteps and a dialect I don’t understand. I see dishes being put away, freshly ironed shirts floating into the wardrobe and the vacuum cleaner roaring back and forth in the hallway. Still I see no people.

I crave for company  – just one person who I can talk to – someone who I can help me understand why I’m here. I just need someone. I want to see a face – a man, a woman, a cheeky teenager – anyone!



The cellar – maybe that’s worth another try. I open the door and head down the steep dark steps. I stand in total darkness at the bottom of the cellar. This is the point where I chickened out last time but I need to take a leap of faith to escape. One step, two steps … three … four … more steps into the depths of blackness. It’s so hot down here. The heat intensifies as I feel beads of sweat soak my entire body. Still I persist and take a few more hesitant steps. The heat is unbearable. I turn around in defeat and head back in the direction that I’d entered. I slowly climb the cellar stairs and re-enter the kitchen. I slump on a chair and start beating myself up over my failed attempt to escape.

‘What did you do on the outside?’

Who said that? Where are you?

I saw him briefly in front of me. Before I could reply, he’d gone … poof!

I sit and consider. The outside? It’s slowly coming back to me – every single violent detail. The final piece of the jigsaw falls into place as I climb off the chair and head upstairs to bed. I know what to expect tomorrow and the day after, and the day after that. I lay my head on the pillow knowing there is no escape whilst holding up the imaginary white flag.

I’m existing in a different dimension. A dimension of submission and loneliness. A dimension of predictability, regrets and mental torture. I feel his stone cold hands around my neck squeezing tight. This time I don’t resist and allow the him to finish me off. Just as I’m about to breathe my last breath he releases. Like a rag doll he drags me down to the cellar. The heat is now bearable and I see it – a man with features like a rodent. I walk purposely towards it hoping that this is finally the end.




A nostalgic collection of blogs featuring a fun and factual look back at British advertising, leisure and entertainment from the 70s and 80s are featured in the new hardback book, Section N Underpass. Get your copy here:

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