photo of the bar at burgh island

Who’s looking at you kid?

Location, location, location. That’s the tile of a TV series about moving house. But it equally applies to writing. The location of a whole book, poem or even just a scene can make or break a readers experience of your writing.

All the photo’s this month come from Burgh Island. This is the bar as it was when I was there back in 2012. It may have changed, I haven’t been back since to check it out so don’t know. But it seems to me that interesting conversations often happen in bars when patrons have often had a bit too much to drink and their guard is lowered.

What conversation does this picture of a classic 1930’s bar spark in you? Who would you like to converse with? What would you talk about? And how might the conversation end?

Please feel free to leave your first line, paragraph, or even title in the comments below. You could even use this as a starting point for a complete piece of flash fiction, a poem, or a short story for this year’s Hysteria Writing Competition.

bar burgh island


And here’s my effort .. please be kind 🙂

“Here’s looking at you kid”
I turned my head, it had clearly been meant for me, there was no one else in the bar.
He smiled and raised his glass. “How did you like my Humphrey take?”
I smiled back, “I’ve heard better”.
An eyebrow raised. “Really? I’m not sure how it could be better”.
I look at him carefully, there is a certain look about him I’ve seen somewhere before.
I must look confused.
He holds his hand out. “Humphrey DeForest Bogart at your service ma’am”
I laugh. “Lauren Bacall at yours”.



    She didn’t walk into the bar, she slithered,
    her dress rippling like snakeskin.

    A hand light on the rail, as curved as her,
    she smiled at the rainbow of poison

    reflected in polished glass, beautiful
    bottles of temptation.

    “Does anyone drink that stuff?” she asked.
    There was that hint of an insult

    in “The “ladies” like it,” but the barman
    smiled & continued, “Dames”, he said,

    “they like it more pure, they drink only
    Daquiris or Gimlets”

    and he reached for a glass, frosted
    the rim, and poured.

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