Browse Nourish Stories by Keyword

A is for Apple

George Roy

Act One.

Continue reading

Aidy's First Christmas

Heather Hughes

I heard the car door slam. Dad’s home.

Although, of course, he wasn’t. It was the noise that had plagued my subconscious for over a month now. The sound that had once been so comforting to me, was now like a punch in the gut. I wondered if the noise did the same thing to the rest of the family. We’d lost Dad a month earlier. Lost sounds somewhat trivial, doesn’t it? Lost as though I’d been careless and he’d turn up eventually if I tidied my room. No, Dad had passed away and now we were a family of four. Mum, Jen, Iain and me.

Continue reading

Curry and Dance

Zoe Sutherland

I love Wednesday's curry night. A group of us go to Tesco's to get our curry. Ciaran heats it up in the microwave and a lovely curry smell fills the air. I sit with my friends and when the curry arrives we tuck in. I like the chicken Korma best, especially when we have naan bread and I can dip it into the sauce. It is a nice time when everyone else, except us dancers, has gone home. It is like our own wee secret. Then, once we are stuffed full, we sit back and let it go down before going through to the big room to start our dance class. For me curry is friendship.

Continue reading

Five friends having lunch

Susan Mains

A soft warm sandwich
wrapped with care
a flask of tea
for you to share.

I saw you
as I walked the dogs
and something
made me pause.

Perhaps it was
the calming ease
with which you ate
the crumbling cheese
or watched the river reach the seas
and shared a knowing nod. 

As you observed
the view ahead
while feasting on
that simple bread
the friendship that sat easily
made postcards look mundane. 

Continue reading

Keywords: 
Poem, friendship

Let us celebrate Peggy Sexton

Anna Phillips

Talk about Peggy -
We want to feel her story,
fall under its spell,
get lost in her creations,
be impressed by her magic.

Tell us about her -
Let us feel part of her life.
Let us applaud it,
Let us see all the detail -
Celebrate Peggy Sexton.

Written by a Friend, with Love

Continue reading

Keywords: 
love, friendship, memories, Poem

My Glasgow Pizza Hound

I know he is reaching his last days now. His belly is stretched like a tribal drum – slatey pink, over-strained. His eyes, deep with love in their chestnut core, rimmed with redness, weeping down his bicolour nose. His nose that has been his life.

That nose has never missed a scent – a crisp bag; a paper poke that once contained roll and sausage; a chocolate wrapper – every car passenger seat and door checked on arrival for their smells.

Continue reading

One Potato Two Potato

Gerald Morgan

Through a mixture of naivety and mischief, my best friend Peter and I managed to get ourselves into a few sticky situations. Muddling tatties was pretty much common practice at the time – the early 1960's.

Muddling involved sneaking into the potato fields and pulling a few tattie shaws.

Continue reading

Shahi Haleeb

Archie Hunter

In my younger days I thought little about tea. True, I enjoyed a cuppa as much as the next person, and my wife persuaded me to drink it without sugar. But everything changed when we went to Yemen in the seventies. In my job as a vet in that wild, mountainous country in Arabia, my counterpart – Qassim – was a little older than me, short – even for a Yemeni – and reserved. Fiercely patriotic, he seemed to have friends and acquaintances in every village we visited and I quickly came to respect his judgment in all aspects of Yemen life.

Continue reading

Soup for Students

Margaret Clark

Andrew sat in his room looking forlornly out of the window at the view of concrete paths and blocks of flats. It was his third day at University, having gone to Glasgow for Fresher’s Week. Things hadn’t worked out as he had hoped. He had barely met his three flatmates in the Halls of Residence – Dave, Josh and Peter. They all seemed to have friends to meet to go to the various events. Andrew didn’t know anyone and was too shy to ask if he could go along with them.

Continue reading

The Day Amy Winehouse Died

David Cooney

“Jesus! Here, check this out…” I gesture towards the large TV screen levitating above the ornate furnishings of the bar, a full-size replica of Frankenstein’s monster lying in state only feet above.
“Bloody hell. It’s been coming though. Let’s be honest,” retorts my brother, punctuating his declaration with a sip of his freshly poured pint.
“Yeah. Not a surprise is it?” chimes Craig in agreement.
“Jesus. How old was she? 20-something? Can’t have been that old?” asks Colin.

Continue reading

Pages