Mitchell's Mustard Blog

July 14, 2016

His Loving Touch

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 3:09 pm

“Fuck. . . I’m sorry” he yelled.

The words that echoed around the walls as she lay looking up at a crack in the ceiling, it wasn’t the only thing damaged in this house. His voice had changed so much over the years, it had lost it’s edge of calm, of love, and reassurance. It had become angry, just like him. Soon after it would turn to desperation while she cried nursing the new trophy of their altercation. The kind of trophy you didn’t want on show, hidden under her make up rather than proud on the mantle piece. This had become her life. Another day, another bruise. She was strong, had built up a tolerance to his knuckles. But this time was different, the type of knock that puts your world on it’s side, pulling you into a plume of darkness, the ones you have to wake up from.

“I didn’t mean it, darling. I didn’t. . . It was an accident” he pleaded.

She flinched from his skin, she could smell the alcohol seeping from his pores. This smell had become resident in their household, a long time gone were the scent of flowers and peace. She stay laid where she landed, he collapsed back onto the sofa. His presence of anger turned to adolescence, holding his troubled mind in his damaged hands.

“You have to forgive me, my love” he begged.

She had never feared him before, she knew the telltale signs as to when she should keep her distance, but never actually feared him. But she lay there fearing the next moment, the next day, and the next time his anger touched her skin. Her nausea could have been from concussion, realisation, or their unborn child.

“Help me, please help me” he sobbed.  

The thing she feared the most was that she didn’t want to be there, but she didn’t want to be anywhere else either.    


February 10, 2015


After just ending a phone call to my mother, wishing her and my father a happy 42nd wedding anniversary, I had asked her how they had managed 42 years? She had simply replied, “you work hard, and you make sure you laugh a lot”. With deep honesty, I hope I hit that milestone, but, this had got me thinking.

Do we work hard enough at our relationships? Or do we sometimes find that we simply quit at the first hurdle because we’ve forgotten what pulled us together in the first place?

Temptation is on every corner, on every page, there to shake you awake every morning. It has become part of our everyday life, but we all know that the grass isn’t always that much greener once you cross that bridge. In bad times, I think you have to sit back, look at your partner and remind yourself of the things that you cherish about your relationship. You’ve worked to get to where you are today, is it worth giving up, or are you afraid of a little hard work?
I can’t help but think that the problems we all have in our relationships are made by a lack of honesty, it can only be as complicated as we make it, right? Obviously, not all relationships are meant to work, but can you walk away knowing that you tried? None of us go into a relationship thinking that it isn’t going to work . . . What caused that first ignition of passion? What ties you together?
Yeah, I know it’s easy for me to put a couple of words on a page to try and sum up relationships, I know all relationships are different due to different circumstances . . But, the one thing that ties them all together, they all start the same . . . with two people attracted to each other, willing to push all boundaries to make it work.
I’ve walked away from a relationship without a second thought, and I know that I’ve also been on the receiving end of that too. The older I’ve become, I’ve realised that I could have tried harder.

If you’re in the midst, or you’ve just managed to shake off a nutter, then please ignore all of the above. We’ve all been there, good luck with that.

As I said, I hope I hit that milestone. Sometimes it seems a little doubtful . . . But, that won’t stop me from trying!

February 4, 2015

The Grand Misconception.

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:49 pm

Ladies, there is, and probably always will be an unwritten rule – a man never chooses a woman, he can only show you that his interest and availability is there, and as much as most of us men would hate to admit it, the decision generally falls onto your lap. But with that, that doesn’t mean that the effort should only lay claim to the male. We all know that the instruction manual for the opposite sex will never be published in our lifetime, if I took a guess, the author is probably battling their sixth divorce and feeling quite like a fraud.
There is a grand misconception that us men do not discuss our likes, wants, and dislikes between each other, well, we do. Whether it’s in the gym changing room, the pub, or even a chance meeting in the magazine aisle in Tesco. We talk about you. From the women that have crossed our path, or the ones that are yet to do so. I’m not talking about the childlike ‘I’d do her!’ comment from the prepubescent jock, I mean the conversations that happen between like minded, early thirty somethings that have slayed their man mountain ego through their twenties and have come out the other side as a gent.
I thought I’d take this opportunity to give you a heads up, I’m not taking sides, I’m not selling out, just giving you something to think about.

We’re not as shallow as you think we are. Bold statement, I know. Nothing ever just comes down to looks. Yes, the way you look will always be our first impression, but if we’ve made that effort to open a conversation with you, that means we want to know who you are. Please don’t ever think that the way you look on that particular evening holds precedence over confidence and the ability to hold a good conversation. It’s always nice to have someone attractive on your arm but if your social skills are as strong as a chocolate teapot . . you’ll only ever be an attractive someone on the arm, nothing more. We want to be able to take you to a friend’s wedding and be in sound mind that if we nip to the mens room, or the bar, we don’t have to rush back to our ‘rabbit in headlights’ plus one.
If we’re dating you, amongst other things, we’re attracted to the way you look, so easy on the make up please, love. We all love a woman who takes care of her appearance, but there is a thick line between looking good, and looking like Boy George, yet you sometimes still try to cross it. Waking up next to your natural self, shows that you are confident around us, your confidence gives us confidence. . . . We want to get to know all of you, and we won’t judge. Please don’t misconstrue the point I’m trying to make, I’m not saying don’t wear any make up, as I said before, we all love a woman who takes care of her appearance. I’m saying, the less make up, the better. And don’t be coy about us seeing you without.
A high majority of us men find women that train attractive, whether you’re the woman in the gym on the cross trainer in the morning, or out pounding the pavement at night. Yes, you might be all red faced and sweaty, to us, we see the confidence, the discipline, the motivation to get up and make that personal effort to better yourself, or to keep in shape. This shows us that you are willing to go out and put effort behind making a difference, and while having that attitude with training, in most cases means that you also have that attitude with all aspects of your life. Next time he asks you to train together, run together, go to a class together, don’t over think it. Just do it. He’s not going to think about your level of fitness, whether you look red and out of breath. He just wants to share that motivation with you.
If you’re on a night out with the girls, on a work lunch, or just popping to the shops, and you see someone who interests you, don’t wait for them to come and chat you up, act on it. There’s a chance they haven’t spotted you so don’t automatically think they’re not interested. That confidence will speak volumes. We are the same as you, we all fear rejection, we all have our own insecurities, and because of this we all have missed opportunities. The fact that you have approached us is attractive in itself. The idea that a woman should never approach a man is outdated. Also, if you are approached by someone and you’re not interested, don’t be a dick about it. Just think of the courage that person has had to build just to come over and talk. Put yourself in their shoes. Being polite costs you nothing.

Above all, just be yourself. You don’t want someone to fall for the person you’re trying to be. We’re pretty simple beings, be honest, be open, and if you have any sense . . never sleep on an argument, a man full of doubts is a dangerous man.

June 30, 2014

No one seems to write letters any more . .

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 10:34 am

For you . .

Love, the word itself, seems too short, too minuscule, to explain its true meaning. The way this single word holds you in an alien state, a whirlwind of emotion, hand in hand with the silence of a lonesome night. Big enough to take over one’s existence, yet small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. Your biggest strength, your weakest attribute, the most powerful weapon. I’d pick you up from your dusty knees, but only to ground you when you’re too high. Knowing that a personal goal comes in the form of this word, a sucker for a happy ending. Boy meets girl, boy loves girl, hand in hand, till the last light. Sunsets into full moons, morning rain to afternoon sun. Imprints on pillows and messages on mirrors, they’re not a myth, not just a scene from a movie, they’re a life experience that comes with a choice. A choice to let go, understand, to appreciate those little things we seem to neglect. I’m lucky enough to have an existence around you, but fall short as you’re not here to fulfill my existence. At times we all bend, we buckle, but we smile, and we all live to fight the good fight for another dawn. All I’m trying to say is, you make it easier, tougher, seem longer, feel shorter, more colourful, yet still black and white.
And after all, after all of this. . . . I love you.
But you will never know, my darlin’, because the words themselves couldn’t hold the weight that you deserve, unspeakable.


June 29, 2014

We Will Never Change

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 2:29 pm

Do I help you pass the time,
and fill the gaps you made,
extinguish the loneliness,
help build a bridge a day.
We will never change.
My insecurities believe,
I’m only a passing whim,
distracting your mind,
just while you wait for the next best thing.

Lying, and crying,
you will never change,
bad nights, and fights,
I will never change,
my fears, and your tears,
It will never change,
we will never change.

A huge space to fill,
becoming like a stone in my shoe,
the bad things we put each other through,
we could both name a few.
We will never change.
Treading on eggshells,
when seen together,
you shrug and smile,
I’m at the end of my tether.

Lying, and crying,
you will never change,
bad nights, and fights,
I will never change,
my fears, and your tears,
It will never change,
we will never change.

You need more of me,
I think of you less,
a corner is turned,
we’re rolling down from the crest.
We will never change.
Back to square one,
We’ve been here before,
we break up, then make up,
but we know what’s in store.
We will never change.

You will never change,
and I will never change.

June 3, 2014

Skint and Sober

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 6:22 pm

He sat, pondering on the things in front of him. The way things flowed past without his involvement. He could step forward and be part of the movement, the intimidating movement. It was the intimidating part that kept him in his seat, his weighted body, carrying the thoughts of yesterday and fears of tomorrow. His pint was sour. Before it had reached him, it was poured by beauty, a golden glow that enticed the many. In his hand, it was a weapon for his thoughts, a reason to sway in and out of a path he once stumbled. The days he was unstoppable, uncontrollable, invincible. It’s when the crowds stop cheering, your audience stops following, your band stops playing. It all changed, it all stopped, it was only his addictions that carried on. It had taken him years to conquer heroin, the substance that drained him of his money, his fame, his friends, but worst of all, his marriage. The rock that held him together walked out and left him with the only other rock he knew, the narcotic kind. He hadn’t seen his wife and children in nearly three years, he didn’t even know how to contact them. He feared she would one day see his name in the obituaries, and then keep turning the pages without a blink. His pride wished she knew that he was clean now. In the Hollywood life style in which he had been sold, she would come back to him, hold him and tell him all was ok. But he knew the Hollywood lifestyle was a farce, a rabbit hole he had tumbled down, with every bump, he had lost a little of him and gained a little of them. The ones that love and surround you until you’re skint and sober, dropped like a hat in a coastal wind.
The beauty that poured his last pint asked if he’d like another. Not realising he had finished the last, he had been rolling the empty glass between his palms, his wedding ring making a rhythmic chime. This is probably what caught her attention.
The new golden glow of the glass stared into his eyes, the cold on his hands, he thought of her.
He needed to pull his life together, find his family, recreate his existence. He told himself this everyday, but as always, the beauty behind the bar kept working, the stool he sat on stayed warm, and the golden glass kept staring into his soul. Once an addict, always an addict she had said. As always, she was right, wherever she was.

June 1, 2014

In Bloom

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 4:16 pm

As his heart started to bloom, he was always fond of her company. she sat opposite him, across the pub garden table. Her smile paving his next thought, enticing him down the old dusty road of love. Her sunglasses hindering his ability to view her true intentions. he couldn’t read her, but he could feel her, under his skin, gnawing at his bones. She will probably chew him up and spit him out, he was sure of this. But this didn’t change the rhythm in his chest, the bloom of his heart.
The day was warming up, the rays of sunshine curved around her form, as if they were in fear of disturbing such beauty. Like the sun, she became an eyesore if you were to stare for long. Her imperfections complimented her radiance. She started to laugh, a laugh that held his attention yet also caused him to want to drift off, grab the sound by the tail and let it drag him into the future, a sound he wanted in his life.
She is everything that he had never looked for before, an unlikely surprise, a pleasant outcome to being proved wrong, wrong for all these years while looking in the other direction.
He wasn’t looking forward to her departure, the goodbyes. He was comfortable where he sat, he had all he needed, but the goodbyes were inevitable. whether it was for a day, a week, or even months. He embraced these moments with her, he longed for them. He felt encased in the now, the moments where she sat opposite him, smiled, laughed, and whipped his life out from under his feet. He was punch drunk, his heart in full bloom. He didn’t need to say goodbye just yet.

May 20, 2014

A little teaser of a love story called ‘Max and Lola’ Continued . . .

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 3:11 pm

“Are you ok Max?” said one of his regular female customers
“I’m good thanks, is there anything else I can get for you?” Max replied with a smile.
He was too proud to let anyone see his discomfort, the distraction he had found in her.
“Women trouble? I recognise the look of a distracted man” She said
“Me, distracted?. . . . Can I be honest with you? He asked
“Of course, we’ve known each other for long enough now Max”
“I see women as a disposable pleasure rather than a meaningful pursuit” he said
“Ohh . . . maybe I shouldn’t have turned back” Lola said standing behind him, a frown across her face.
She started to turn and leave feeling like an idiot, why would he be any different to the rest of the boys she had dated. Feeling her heart in her mouth and a swirling in her stomach, she knew she had made a mistake to come back.
“Wait . . . Lola please wait. You didn’t give me chance to finish what I was saying” he said to her back as she walked away.
“Go after her Max” the customer said.
“Wait . . Lola” Max shouted down the street after her.
She stopped, but didn’t turn around. He caught up to her, faced her, placed his hands on her arms. She looked angrily into his eyes, a look that bore into his soul, a look that he quickly learnt to fear.
“Let me finish what I was saying”
She didn’t answer, she just looked at him.
“I see women as a disposable pleasure rather than a meaningful pursuit, but she is different. I can’t stop thinking about her, she’s under my skin, I want to see her everyday, I want to smell her on my pillow, on my clothes. I’ve relived that morning over and over in my head, wondered why we didn’t exchange numbers. That smile, that contagious smile that makes me smile, smile for no reason. I’ve known her for less than twenty four hours but I miss her, I can’t explain it, I knew I would bump into her at some point and I have rehearsed what I would say over and over, but it means nothing now because the words seem unspeakably lame when face to face with her. I miss her and I don’t even know her. . . . I want to change this, I want to get to know you Lola.”
He was shocked that his feelings had come to the surface, his pride thrown to the wind. But he felt completely vulnerable as her facial expression didn’t change, he knew he had to walk away before he said something else that might ruin it.
“I’ll leave you with that thought” he said letting go of her arms, he smiled and walked back to the restaurant.
“You did good” said the female customer as Max walked up.
“You think? She looked pretty angry”
“You’ll hear from her, I think every women that just heard that speech fell in love with you a little. Even me and I’ve been happily married for years” she smiled.
“Thank you” Max smiled.

Her brain was buzzing, her heart pounding against her ribcage, her hands were shaking. It had started out as anger, furious with herself for thinking that he was different from all the others, a man, not a boy. She didn’t want to stop and give him the chance to explain, she wanted to walk away, walk him out of her life, but something made her stop, there was something different about him. She felt her heart in her throat as he spoke, those kind and wonderful words, but sometimes words are just not enough.

He felt sick to the stomach, his hands shaking, he didn’t regret a word he said, he wished he had said more. He could still see her angry eyes digging into his, he was to blame for her beauty to slip into anger. He looked around in a daze, all his customers had gone, only the messy tables they had left witnessed him slowly falling apart.
“Can I sit anywhere?” Came a voice from behind him
“Lola” he smiled, “Errr . . yeah, sit where you like. What can I get you?”
“A cup of tea and a conversation?” she smiled
“Right, both coming up, back in a minute.”
She took a seat, put her bag on the chair next to her and pulled out packet of Marlboro menthol. He returned holding two cups of tea, sat down and looked at the packet of cigarettes in surprise.
“I didn’t have you down as a smoker?”
“Only when I’m stressed, I used to smoke and I always revert back to them when stressed or angry” she looked at him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to piss you off” he pointed at the cigarettes “Can I?”
“Oh yeah, knock yourself out. You’re not going to get in trouble are you?” She said lighting their cigarettes.
“Na, I took a break so you have me for a good fifteen minutes” he laughed.
She liked his laugh, he had a smile she could sink into, embrace and never get bored with. A smile that suited his face, a smile that looked like it was used a lot.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again, if I’m honest, it scared me a little” he said
“A little?” she said playfully.
“I meant everything I said, you need to know that.”
“It isn’t what you said that made me come back”
“Ohh, then what?”
“It was the look in your eyes as you spoke to me, the fight, the emotion. It was the look in your eyes that made everything real, captivated me. Right there and then I had the feeling you’d fight for me, you believed everything you said which in turn made me believe it”
He smiled, he was tumbling fast. He was excited, nervous, his stomach swirled.
“Yes I’m mad, I know . . . It’s the little things” she laughed.
They sat and talked through his break, the swirling smoke from their cigarettes circled them and bound them together in a cocoon of conversation and laughter. Not once were either of them distracted by what was going on around them. Max had been reminded twice already that his break was over but each goodbye started another conversation.
“Right, I have to go back before they come and remove you” he winked
“Okay, so . . .”
“I want to see you again, All cards on the table, I want to see you again. Here’s my number, use it” he said while writing on a serviette.
“Thank you for the tea” she took his number, picked up her bag, leant in and kissed him on the cheek. He watched her as she walked away, she took a moment to look over her shoulder, smiled and disappeared into the crowds of people.
“Excuse me, can I get a coffee”
“Of course sir, I’ll be right with you” Max replied.

May 15, 2014

To Whom it May Concern

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 6:54 pm

To whom it may concern,

To gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

I crave your attention to cure my loneliness,
to fill the gaping hole that resides in my chest,
a decision made on impulse,
rather than a future to invest,
a hand to hold, but I don’t love you,
I shrug and confess.

I become tired of being grounded,
so I unwrap myself from your arms,
saying things that pierce your skin,
punch drunk from your angry palms,
selfish greed floats to the surface,
swallowing my good intentions and charms.

I will hurt you, its nothing personal,
to crave a love, It’s not intentional,
to gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

A restlessness that will always prevail,
love that mimics the weather,
I smiled, and nodded along,
but it was only you who said forever,
I hold my head high as I bleed from the inside,
when did together really mean together?

The grass will never be greener,
on the other side it’s just the same,
it starts with a similar breathtaking feeling,
but it just ends as a different face and name,
I’m sorry to cause confusion,
but I’m still glad you came.

I will hurt you, its nothing personal,
to crave a love, It’s not intentional,
to gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

I’m sorry, its nothing personal,
I did crave your love, but not any more
to gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

March 29, 2014

Masturbation is a sin . .

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 2:55 pm

Warning: sometimes I write like an arsehole!!

1. Rose Water

Rose tinted lenses hinder the light from pulling this almighty hangover forward, under this pale young surface resides a lapping wave of nausea, a hangover that was well worth the previous evenings entertainment. As he sat in the back of a taxi, the sun was intermittently shooting rays in his direction, playing peekaboo with the buildings as they passed. He could still smell the rose water of her love, on his clothes, his hands, and his beard. He had never in person witnessed the art of female ejaculation before, now it stained his aura, a good stain that will always hold a memory, the one you don’t wash off. It’s funny how the male mind works. He could remember that she had a cute little mole above her right nipple, and a circular birthmark on her inner thigh. But could he remember her name? ‘It may have begun with a T?’ he thought to himself. Anyway, he wanted to get home so he could have a wank before her scent wore off and his girlfriend got home.

2. Souvenir

Work was always boring on a Tuesday, he sat behind his cubicle desk wondering if anyone would notice if he had a wank. He could easily get up and walk to the office toilet down the corridor, but that meant he had to move. He considered typing Redtube into his computer and ejaculating into a tissue.
The new temp receptionist sat across from him, she hadn’t been with the company long, he watched her as she worked. At a guess she was early twenties, long brunette hair, slim athletic body. Her tits were massive, out of proportion to the rest of her body. He wondered what she would look like naked, he imagined fucking her from behind over the photocopier, as she moaned in pleasure he took photo copies of her tits for a souvenir to hang in his cubicle.
She turned and caught him staring at her, she smiled, he smiled in return and looked away. He found the motivation to move, standing up and checking that the receptionist couldn’t see his lob on through his trousers, he made his way to the office toilet.

3. Cum Judder

Sat at home, he watched another Victoria Secret catwalk he had recorded on a previous night. he wondered if these models actually wore this type of lingerie when at home with their partners. whether their partners would be bored with seeing them in lingerie by now? Something his father once told him had always stuck in his mind, “Behind every good looking girl, there’s a man bored of fucking her”. That was just another one of his fathers quick witted judgements on the world. He tried to picture his girlfriend in sexy lingerie, the style she used to wear when they first met, when she made an effort. He undone his jeans and tried to get an erection whilst thinking of his girlfriend in lingerie, what’s the time frame that’s acceptable to give up thinking of your girlfriend whilst having a wank if it’s just not getting you hard? He reached for his laptop, typed in Redtube. He watched a video of a young lesbian couple, he watched it all the way through while they took turns to top and tail until the cum judder. The judder that a female body does as she cums was what aroused him. As he was just about to cum he realised he hadn’t prepared well, he had nothing to cum into. Grabbing the closest thing to him from the coffee table, just happened to be one of his girlfriends scented candles that she used in the bathroom. After he had ejaculated into the top of the cup shaped candle he laughed to himself wondering if he should leave it and see if she noticed the next time she wanted a relaxing bath.

(To be continued . . .)

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