Sunday Scriblings followed by (Fiction) Friday

This week at Sunday Scribblings we were given a one word prompt - Foul. Not the easiest, but I had a go! (Fiction) Friday follows on, and the comments section for both is down the bottom!
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Foul!
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I had some mates round for dinner the other evening. Needless to say my friend Rosey was late. She came via my old address which I left a year ago!

Anyway, she rushed into my lounge, sniffed and said ‘I smell foul’. Actually she smelt very sweet! Maybe a bit heavy on the Eau d’ Fleurs Sauvages, but nice. We all assured her she was wrong.

She wiggled her nose and said ‘It’s not a fishy smell is it?’

‘No’ we all said as one. ‘It’s a lovely smell’

Then she said ‘So what are you cooking then?’

I told her it was roasted chicken and she said ‘Then I was right!’ I said I smelt fowl’
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I hesitate to post this next bit - especially as so many of my friends are accomplished poets. But hey-ho, here we go!
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Sea still
Water calm
The calm before the storm
Captain frowns
Trawler drifts
Drifts toward the dawn.

Black clouds
Heavy sky
A sky of leaden grey
Eerie silence
Deathly quiet
Quiet starts the day

Then sheeting rain
A blinding light
The blinding lightning’s flash
A sudden wind
A roaring noise
The noise of thunder’s crash

A sudden fall
A dizzy rise
Tipping left then right
Atop a wave
Deep in a trough
God save us from our plight

The storm abates
The gale subsides
The gale, the waves, the rain
So back to work
They’ll work until
Foul weather strikes again.
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On (Fiction )Friday this week Lissa set this challenge
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'Your character was lost in her own thoughts. When she snapped back to reality, she realised she was singing out loud. Unfortunately, she wasn't somewhere private. How embarrassing...'
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My regular readers are getting to know my friend Rosey quite well, so it will come as no suprise when I tell you that she did something like this just before Christmas. This is what happened.

Frère Jacque







It was pouring with rain. Or as Rosey put it, it was ‘hissing down’. She never understood why we laughed at her when she said that! She heard someone say it in the pub and didn’t realise that it was actually the polite version of an impolite expression!

Anyway, she was walking past the cathedral, soaking wet, and thought it would be the perfect opportunity to find out what secrets hid within that enormous grey building. The door creaked as she pushed it open. It closed itself behind her with a loud clonk which reverberated around the gloomy open space.


Her footstep clattered as she walked up the south aisle, and the glow of pastel coloured light flooded the areas around the ancient stained glass windows.
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She let out a sudden little sneeze. She only did little sneezes, but this one came back at her again and again and again! Her pretty face lit up. Then she clapped. Just a gentle clap, and a second later she heard it repeated from behind, then in front and then from above.

She wandered into the quire and sat down in the candlelit wooden stalls. There were sheets of music in neat little piles in front of each seat.

Suddenly Rosey had an overwhelming desire to sing! After all she always sounded reasonable on the karaoke at the pub – although she never really understood why they turned the echo up high when she got up to sing! And the echo here was just amazing!

‘All things bright and beautiful....’ then she stopped sharply and listened to her voice travelling around and around and around.


Then she got more adventurous.
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‘Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah- hallelujah- halal-ey-ey-ey-oo-u-lah! ‘Wow this was great.

It occurred to her that she might be able to sing a ‘round’ with herself using her echo as her fellow singers.

'Frère Jacques,Frère Jacques,Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?'

Wonderful! As she sung the third line the first one came back and harmonised with her!

Suddenly she became aware of another voice. This couldn’t be hers, it was far too deep! Then in swished a man in a flowing black cassock singing -

'Sonnez les matines.Sonnez les matines. Din, din, don.Din, din, don'

Rosey wished the ground would open up beneath her!

‘That was lovely young lady’ said the priest. How about we sing this one together?

'Row, row, row your boat.
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily.
Life is but a dream'.

I don’t how long they sang rounds for, but I know she had a jolly good time!

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For all of Roseys adventures to date drop by her own site here!