A walk in an autumn garden

I hope you enjoy these photos which I took in a garden in Bexhill a few hours ago........

Click on pic once to enlarge and again to make larger

      

 .......with a little help from my Picnik image studio!

Whimsical love

Cobbled together for Sunday Scribblings prompt 'Love' and Writers Island prompt 'Whimsy'

Autumn blooms

Click once on pictures to enlarge and once again to make larger!

Mud mud glorious mud!

This weeks prompt on Sunday Scribblings is the word Clean


I don’t know why she married me. The only thing we have in common is that we got married on the same day. The wedding was such a miserable affair, that even the cake was in tiers.


Thing is she’s got this obsession with cleaning. Hoovering here, scrubbing there, she even polishes the parrots beak! I ask you! She washes the garden path and shampoos the cat. The other day she was on her knees with her head in the washing machine. What are you doing I said. I’m washing the washing machine she said, it's had dirty clothes in it.  Last week she complained that the garden borders looked dirty! They are made of dirt I said. No she said, they are filled with soil. Okay I said, they are soiled. She gave me a filthy look.

She even accuses me of being dirty! Me...dirty! She says that even my laugh is dirty. I was watching an old Rachel Welch film the other night. Wipe that filthy grin off your face she said, she’s 70 years old. Not then she wasn't I said. You’ve got a mind like a cess pit, why didn’t I marry a clean living guy she cried. Do you see what I mean? See what I have to put up with?

I swore the other day. You should have seen her face! Wash your mouth out with soap she yelled. Turn that frown upside down  I said. Last week she suddenly said - I want a fun guy.  A fungi? I asked. You mean you want a mushroom?  If looks could kill...!

Wash your grimy hands, take those mucky clothes off, get your muddy shoes off the upholstery, when did you last change your underwear, have a shower. I said I’d rather take a bath. She said - typical, you’d rather sit in a tub full of your own dirty water.

And so it goes on. If I see her out I’m determined that one song simply has to played at her funeral. Mud, mud, glorious mud! Wallow in it with me, do!

The lucky fishermen and the surprised duck!

This weeks prompt on Writers Island is Fisherman. I offer you a little piece of nonsense - with apologies to Edward Lear!

Two weatherworn fishermen went to sea

In a battered old sea-blue boat

One wore a pullie and a hat that was woolie

The other a waterproof coat

One looked up at the clouds in the sky

The other looked down at the net

It started to rain and the waves rose up high

And they both got terribly wet.

Fisherman one said to fisherman two

I’ll think we’ll head for the shore

We’ve had a good catch, let’s batten the hatch

I doubt that we’ll land any more.

The wind it did blow and the sea it did swell

The boat was about to capsize

A vision of hell, they were feeling unwell

And then they were dealt a surprise!

A huge hand came down and scooped up the boat

They couldn’t believe their good luck

It plonked them plop down in a pond in the town

And startled the swans and a duck!

The sea-blue boat in calmer waters! Actually its a photo I took on a Greek island a few weeks ago and I thought this was a good chance to use it!

Click on pic to enlarge

Breaking News - Tooth Fairies to Strike

An angry fairy after yesterdays meeting between the Fairy Godmother and the union officials

Today the fairy’s newspaper Flutter is carrying a report about looming industrial action by one of their largest groups, the Tooth Fairies. Their official trade body, the Union of Fairies also known as UNFAIR said this morning that the Fairy Godmother is planning to cut the number of fairies that are deployed in tooth collecting duties. A spokesfairy for the tooth collectors told the paper that the proposed cuts would not only put many of their group out of a job, but the workload of those remaining would be unreasonably increased.

              

They are also concerned that a gap in the tooth market would be created which would give the Bad Fairies a chance to fly into this lucrative market and undercut the amount that is currently paid for children’s teeth.

UNFAIR is making a series of demands which if not met will result in a withdrawal of labour. They include a proposal to keep the number of Tooth Fairies the same as at present whilst accepting a reduction in the number of working hours. The union says that the Fairy Godmother’s plan would leave the service operating on a wing and a prayer

The Tooth Fairies also have the support of the Fairy Dust Sprinklers who are concerned that a similar plan will shortly be announced for them. The Flower Fairies however declined to comment although the Flutter understands that they are about to whisper their concerns about the increasing number of workers suffering from hay fever and other pollen related conditions. 

My contribution to this weeks prompt at (Fiction)Friday - 'Why did the Tooth Fairy fail to deliver coins one evening?'

A misty moisty morning

All around me is silent. I hear nothing but the swish of my feet in the dew laden grass. Then suddenly the clapping of flapping wings echoes all around of as a bird bursts from the skeletal branches of a leafless tree. A copper coloured fox stands staring, motionless, one paw raised as if I were an intruder in his private world. Then a splash and a flash as a silver fish frolics in the glassy water of the reed edged lake sending shimmering ripples  in ever increasing circles across its surface.

The world around me sleeps as the sun’s glistening orb begins it daily accent into bright white sky. This misty moisty morning, the air I breathe is damp and cold and pure. The heady scent of a new dawn is intense, and as yet untainted by the flurry of human activity soon to begin. For now at least, this is my world. A world unseen by most. A world I keep to myself.

Written for Carry On Tuesday   Photo by Nitroc at deviantArt

This week’s prompt at (Friday)Fiction is, to say the least, a little unusual. We have been given three obscure words and asked to use one or more in our piece without first looking up their meanings! I’d never heard any of them before, but I used all three.

1. Periapt. I decided it came from the same root as periscope.

2. Vilipend. Perhaps from vilify, to denigrate or speak ill of.

3. Embrangle. This sounded like a battle to me!

So, here is what I came up with!

He was born with a God given gift. Solomon Hollibon was a periapt. He was often to be seen standing in the middle of a field, head tilted back and his eyes focused on the heavens above. His periaptitude allowed him to see over the distant hills and into the Kingdom of Bolcanion.

Solomon Hollibon was employed by the ruler of the Realm of Casticania to keep a look out for the marauding menaces of Bolcanion who regularly crossed the hills and crept into Casticania with the intention of plundering the poor folk in the outlying settlements. With his rare talent he was able to see them from on high, long before they entered the Realm, thereby allowing the warriors of Casticania sufficient time to thwart their foes' dastardly deeds.

Over time the situation became somewhat more sinister. Messengers were sent to and fro between the nations carrying communications of an increasingly unfriendly nature. The Ruler of the Realm of Casticania decided enough was enough. The malicious and abusive taunts coming from across the hills had become totally unacceptable, and as a result he accused the King of Bolcanion of being a vilipend. He was to cease his emissary activities forthwith , or face the consequences. He refused to comply, and the resulting embrangle between the Warriors of Casticania and the Bolcanion Militia was bloody and hard-fought.

Solomon Hollibon, being a periapt , had a bird’s eye view of what was happening and managed to make his escape in time not to have become embroiled in the hostilities. He made for the Principality of Santigonia. His arrival was timely as it was the first nation in the known world to be piloting a form of air travel. Today he can be found standing in the middle of Santigonia Airport, a megaphone in one hand, head tilted back and his eyes staring skyward. From there he sees high above the clouds, performing his job as the Principalities’ first Air Traffic Controller.

     

Ok, I’ve now looked them up in the OED!

1. Perpiapt. a charm worn to protect the wearer from harm.

2. Vilipend. I was spot on! To treat someone with contempt.

3. Embrangle. Not recognised! Nearest I found was Embryonal, in the process of development!

   

You don't know about me - a short story

Professor Sanders had waited  three years for today. Today the wait would be over.

Emily had seen John Sanders around and about the university. Although he had not been her tutor, they were on nodding terms when passing each other in the buildings. But she always felt a little uncomfortable about the way he looked into her eyes as they passed. So why was it, she wondered, that he had asked to see her in his study just hours before she was to walk out of St James’ college for the final time?

“Enter” called a voice from beyond the oak panelled door. Emily pushed it gently open and peered into the room. John Sanders rose from his chair and walked over to greet her.

“Thanks for coming Emily. I suppose you are wondering why I asked to see you, especially on your last day at Jimmy’s”.

Emily half sat on the chair whilst John Sanders perched himself on the edge of his desk. She said nothing, but just watched as he appeared to be gathering his thoughts. It was clear from his expression that what he was about to say would be somewhat difficult.

“Emily, you know me, that is, you’ve seen me about the place, but you don’t know about me”

“I’m sorry?” said Emily “What do you mean? Why would I want to know about you? I'm sorry, I've shouldn't have agreed to meet you. I need to go”

"Wait" pleaded John Sanders. "Please wait, just for a few moments" He slid of the desk and sat in his leather chair as if wishing to use the desk as a barrier between them. He sat for a moment with his hand over his mouth, sighed then leaned back.

“Emily, twenty one years ago my wife and I were expecting our first child. We’d been trying for years. I had a good job. I was a professor of Russian and Eurasian Studies at Charterhouse. But I stupidly got myself mixed up in something, something seriously bad. There were threats made to me against my wife and then unborn child if I didn’t carry out an illegal assignment in Russia. Things didn’t go as planned and for reasons I needn’t go into now, I was unable to return home, and I was denied contact with my family. To all intents, I disappeared. It was several years before I returned to the UK, and when I did I was given a new identity, a new name, John Sanders. Emily, my name when I was married was Ian Cartwright. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“Cartwright” said Emily staring into her lap. She looked up and said “my Mother’s name used to be Cartwright before she re-married”

“Joanna Cartwright” said John Sanders. Emily wondered what was coming next.

”Over the last three years I’ve watched your mother dropping you off and collecting you from Jimmy’s, but I never possessed the courage to reveal myself. Emily, what you don’t know about me is that, err, Emily,  I’m your father. Emily, I -”

“Stop!” shouted Emily. “Just stop, because there’s something you don’t know about me”

*

Emily stood, and sauntered over to the window. She could see her mother sitting in her car waiting to carry her and her cases away from St James’s for the last time. Without turning around Emily began to speak, quietly, slowly.

“I’m not your daughter Professor Sanders” She turned toward him and said ”I don’t know how to tell you this”

*

John Sanders sat in silence wondering what he was about to hear.

“Your wife had a difficult childbirth. In fact she lost your child soon after it was born”

“But..but I don’t understand” stammered John Sanders.

“Please don’t interrupt me” said Emily “I need you to listen to me”

”The lady in the next bed to your wife in the maternity hospital also had a difficult birth. But it was she that lost her  life, and her baby survived. You were missing and somehow her newly widowed husband and your wife found themselves able to comfort each other. They remained friends for many years, and when you were declared ‘missing presumed dead’ it was only natural that they should marry”.

“John, my mother lost her life giving birth to me. Your wife brought me up as her own. She's never forgiven you for what you did.”

Emily walked back across the room, tapped on the window pane and waved. She picked up her bag and started to leave the room. As she stood in the doorway she looked back at the stunned John Sanders and said "Goodbye Professor Cartwright. Please forget we had this conversation. I promise you I shall”

John watched from the window as Emily rushed across the forecourt and embraced her step mother. He wiped a tear from his eye as he watched them drive away for the last time.

Picture by Exemi at deviantART

Albert's dead!

John rushed across the pub. He flew towards the bar, his brow sweating. ‘A large brandy landlord – no, make it quadruple’

John’s friends gathered around each of them clutching an empty glass. What on earth could be wrong?

‘Albert’s dead’ said a breathless John.

‘Albert’s dead?’ cried his friends in near perfect harmony.

‘Yes’ said John as a tear formed in his eye then retreated again. ‘Albert is dead’.

‘That’s.....awful’ spluttered James. ‘Albert’s dead, how dreadful’. He upturned his empty glass and then rushed towards the gentlemen’s loo as fast as his quivering legs could carry him.

‘My goodness’ said Alan with a crack in his flailing voice, ‘please tell me it isn’t true’ He took a few tottering steps towards a chair in which he slumped in a pathetic heap.He placed his empty glass on the table and stared at it longingly.

‘But a few minutes ago he was standing here telling us a distasteful joke’ said Brian. ‘We all took a sharp intake of breath at the crudity of his tale, but surely it wasn’t so bad that the sword of Damoclese should have struck him down’.He dropped onto a bar stool and leaned his sorrowful head on his trembling hand. His empty glass lay on its side.

Gerald just stood there with, his brow furrowed, a frown on his face. ‘Why do all look so miserable?’ he yelled. The friends, as one, raised a finger to their mouths and shhh’d him. ‘Albert’s....DEAD....!’ enunciated Martin staring straight into Gerald’s popping eyes

Gerald fiddled with his deaf aid. It screeched loudly as he twisted the control. ‘So tell us’ he croaked. ‘Tell us what he said'

‘No’ they all shouted together ‘Albert SAID nothing’.

‘He can’t’ pleaded Simon ‘Albert is DEAD!’

Poor Gerald was overcome with shock. His mouth darted open, but his false teeth remained clamped together giving him the appearance of a startled shark. His hearing aid dropped to the floor and started whistling.

Just then James appeared from the men’s room and swaggered across the bar with a triumphant look on his face. His hand was held high clutching what appeared to be Albert’s wallet.

‘You’re right Jonny Boy, Albert’s brown bread alright, he’s well and truly snuffed it. I found him perched on the toilet, his trousers around his ankles, and this...’ He flung the wallet on the bar ‘This was on the floor!’

The friends all began to smile. They all stood, picked up their empty glasses and plonked them down on the bar. 'I knew we shouldn't have worried' chortled Gerald.


‘Landlord’ called Brian. 'Five pints of your finest frothing ale if you please. There's no way Albert would  let us down when it's his turn to buy a round!’

Written for (Fiction)Friday

There's a really great prompt waiting for you over at Carry On Tuesday!