Friday, July 15, 2016


Friday Fictioneers

Posted Friday July 15

A little bit of nonsense before I set off on my camping trip around England and Scotland. Thanks Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and Sandra for supplying the photo that set me off!






Sheep baa
Birds sing
Bees buzz
Wasps sting

Pigs grunt
Cows moo
Frogs croak
Doves coo

 Ducks quack
Cocks crow
Mice squeak
Winds blow

Branches wave
Streams run
Clouds float
In the sun

Swans glide
Fishes dart
Ponies canter...


Bulls fart!





Monday, July 11, 2016

Wordless Wednesday

Posted Monday July 11

Once again I am staying close to my home and taking you for a walk from Eastbourne to Seaford, England.



Click on pictures to enlarge














Wordless Wednesday


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Sunday, July 10, 2016

Sunday Scribblings 2

Posted Saturday July 9
This week's given word is cunning.


 
My friend Rosey was rushing to the railway station yesterday when she somehow snagged her flowing cotton skirt on a rose bush and ripped it. Once seated on the train she delved into her voluminous bag and produced a needle and thread. (Rosey has every conceivable misadventure catered for within that bag from a broken finger nail to a punctured tyre!) Just as she started sewing a very fanciable young man plonked himself down in the next seat. Apparently, they got on very well indeed. As we all know Rosey has a habit of becoming attached to beaus on a regular basis, so what happened next came as no surprise to me. The train arrived at its destination and they stood to leave, only to discover that they were indeed attached - literally. Somehow, Rosey had sewn her skirt to his jacket.
Of course, she claims it was accidental, but as we all know she can be a cunning vixen, so I for one am not so sure.

To discover more about My Friend Rosey click HERE!


Saturday, July 09, 2016

Sunday's Whirligig



 Posted Saturday July 9


This week’s 12 given words are:-  have, reason, filled, when, room, child, love, irrational, blooms, wild, season, bright



"I’d love to come with you but I can’t right now" He didn’t give me a reason, but the estate agent bore an anxious expression as he handed me the keys to number 8.

Struggling with my umbrella I fought my way down the footpath against the unseasonably wild wind and torrential rain. When I eventually persuaded the key to turn in the rusty lock, I tumbled my way inside. It was dim, gloomy. A rancid musty odour assaulted my senses. I gagged. As I slowly edged my way along the hall a door creaked and opened a fraction as if inviting me to enter. I found myself in a vast room devoid of furniture. Wallpaper hung limply from stained walls and a shattered chandelier lay on the floor. In the stillness, the only sound I heard was my pounding heart and the foul weather taunting me from outside. 

I dragged open a curtain, and as it fell to the floor I was dazzled by bright sunlight. Before me, a cloudless sky and a picture book garden of colourful blooms wrapped around a carpet of manicured grass. On a stone beside a shimmering pond sat a small child, his back turned to me. In his hand, a little fishing rod fashioned from a twisted branch and a length of twine. He slowly turned his head to face me. I can’t describe his eyes. They burned into mine, and I fell backwards writhing with a searing pain.

My phone rang. It startled me. I was sitting in my favourite armchair and I smiled as I realised it had been nothing more than an irrational dream; the agent, the house, the boy. I pressed answer. 

"My colleague went round to the property earlier and found your umbrella on the floor" the caller said. "So, what did you think of number 8?"






Thursday, July 07, 2016

Skywatch Friday

Posted Thursday July 7


Click on pic to enlarge!
 
To view more Skywatch Friday pictures click here


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Wednesday, July 06, 2016

Friday Fictioneers

Posted July 6



Whilst walking down a breezy back-alley I met Stuart, leaning into the wind with his hand on his head. “Hi Stu” I said sticking out my hand to give his a shake. He took his hand from his head in order to respond, and suddenly his hair took flight. I turned to see where it had gone and  saw it darting back in our direction with four scampering legs poking out of it!  An old fellow was tottering behind shouting “Tinkerbelle, heel girl, heel”. Stu joined the chase in pursuit of his crowning glory. I wonder if he got it back!

Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Jan Marler Morrill for the photo. 








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