My Sunday Twosome

Of this week’s twelve words at Sunday’s Whirligig I have used these eleven. Despair, dreams, miracle, shining, happiness, greet, swagger, mysterious, bear, expulsion and wrists 

Rosey, behave!

I despair of my friend Rosey sometimes!

A few of us were enjoying a post bonfire night tincture in a pub in Lewes when in swaggered a beaming Malcolm with a beautiful blonde on his arm. They were both somehow shining with happiness if you know what I mean.

Before he had a chance to greet us, Rosey was up on her feet giving him a kiss and a bear hug. "Who are you then?" she asked as she released him, looking the mysterious young lady up and down. How embarrassing! I grabbed her arm a tugged her down onto her chair.

Malcolm introduced us to Suzanne. I have to say she was a lovely looking young lady. Rosey caught me gazing at her a little longer than I should have. "In your dreams" she said to me, a little too loudly.  "It would take a miracle for you to......" I placed my hand across her mouth.

‘Oh dear’ said Rosey to Suzanne taking her hand and looking closely at a little mark on her wrist. ‘Nasty bruise there Suzanne. Are your handcuffs not covered in fur?’

‘Expulsion time’ I thought to myself! I suggested I take Rosey for a burger and a strong coffee, and leave the others to it.

"As long as you are paying" she said, and with that, we wandered off into the night as fireworks soared and sparkled in the sky above. But I’d had more than enough fireworks for one night!

The given word at this week's Sunday Scribblings 2 is Passage

Passage to Upper Whistleton

Author E L Forster sent a schoolmistress and her friend on a passage to India. Many years ago, the British government granted willing emigrators a ten pound passage to Australia. I took a passage to France and stayed there for many a year before ‘passaging back’ to dear old Blighty.

Bill Brewster took a passage to his next village. Not quite the same thing you say. But to a man who had never strayed more than three miles from the cottage he was born in, it was like entering a different universe.

He never explained why he did it though stories abound. From ‘he fancied a change’ to ‘he fell out with old Mother Midgley from the corner shop’. Some speculate that he had a romantic liaison with a  lady from Upper Whistleton, but as a lifelong bachelor, it seemed highly unlikely.

His old cottage has remained empty since he left. Except that is for a  glossy black cat that is seen climbing through an open window several times a day, or sitting on the still manicured front lawn watching the locals going about their daily  business.

Funny thing is nobody recalls Bill Brewster ever owning a cat. And no one ever sees anybody tending the garden.

Strange lot, village folk.