Monday, May 29, 2017


Post 1536. Monday May 29

Sunday Photo Fiction

I was summoned to a dinner party at Posh Paula’s opulent new pad and told to invite a friend, so I invited my friend Rosey. ‘Meet me there around eight’ I said.

At about eight-twenty whilst sipping my glass of Bollinger Premier Cruz ’97 and engaging in semi-intellectual chit-chat, the doorbell played a pretty tune. At last; I thought Rosey had forgotten.

Paula tottered doorwards in her eight-inch-high Jimmy Choos to greet her final guest not expecting to be confronted by a creature from a horror movie. She let out a blood-curdling scream and dropped to her luxurious hand-woven carpeted floor.

If you know Rosey it will come as no surprise to you that she misunderstood my instructions regarding her attire. I said ‘dress in something fancy’. She thought I’d said ‘wear fancy dress’.

Due to the restricted vision afforded by her costume, Rosey was unaware of the obstacle at her feet and promptly tripped over Paula, then charged into Father Frederick who was in the process of extolling the virtues of his communion over those of the ridiculously expensive Chateau something-or-other he was downing. He went red in the face, literally!

After we’d fanned Paula for a while she regained her composure and carried on as if nothing had happened, as did Rosey after removing her grotesque headpiece.

To read 70 more stories about My Friend Rosey click HERE!

Written in response the picture prompt at this week's Sunday Photo Fiction


Sunday, May 28, 2017


Post 1535. Sunday May 28

Yesterday I returned from a visit to Scotland where I  stayed with my daughter and son in law in their beautiful stone cottage near Loch Lomond. The weather was exceptionally warm, but in order to employ this week’s words, I’ve pretended it was winter!

As I clambered up the slippery slope, sticks and stones snapped and crackled beneath my feet. Around me, grey granite glistened as sparkling water seeped from cracks and overlapping rocks and tumbled downward and into the watery blue mirror of the loch below. The season was cold, my breath white, but a blanket of contentment warmed me and eased my aching limbs. Heaven can wait. More pleasurable it surely cannot be.


The twelve given words at this week’s The Sunday Whirl are - snapped, crimped, limb, blue, breathe, season, cold, overlapping, seep, stones, crack and grass. I have used all but one.


Saturday, May 20, 2017


Post 1534. Sunday May 21
Sunday’s Whirligig

 'Forgive me, Father' he mutters in hushed tones not certain he wishes the priest to hear his confession. 
The weary padre in his moth-eaten cassock slouches beyond the wooden lattice fidgeting with a worn wooden cross.

Two lonely creatures together. Each is the closest thing to a friend the other has.

One, a habitual thief, an insomniac who does wrong whilst sometimes wishing to be caught if only to commune with other people, albethey behind bars.

The other, a college educated defender of the faith. Once a cleanser of soiled souls, but now confused. What happened to his faith? When did it desert him? Why?

They both remember happier times.

'Ten hail Marys' mutters one as the other meanders from the confessional. Ten hail Marys.

The twelve given words at this week's Sunday’s Whirligig are - confused, insomniac, wrong, dial, remember, lonely, soul, college, cleanses, thief, defender and hear. I employed eleven.



Post 1533. Sunday May 21

The Sunday Whirl

I'm laying on soft green grass on a hillside, bathing in the warmth of a smiling shining sun. I point and trace a line in the sky above me. White on blue. Bold and billowing, then flimsy and scattered. There’s another, and another. Three white lines running this way and that. 

There are people up there. Hundreds of people. I wonder where they are going, where they've been. I wonder what they are doing. Watching movies perhaps. Some drinking, some eating, laughing; wide awake, excited by a trip of a lifetime. Some tired, weary. Deals done, business dealt with. Dozing, sleeping, dreaming of home.

‘Come fly with me’ I sing. Not very well. I write a message with my finger. ‘Hey, it’s me down here. Wave to me!’ I want my finger to leave a white trail of words, but it doesn’t. Oh well.

I'm burning. Where's my sun tan lotion?

Today's given words at The SundayWhirl are - flimsy, shine, trace, line, run, stilted, tire, three, trips, message, wonder and sing. I used all but one.


Wednesday, May 17, 2017


Post 1531. Wednesday May 17

Friday Fictioneers

“We have vanilla, chocolate, or coffee flavours today,” said the waitress to Martha.

Martha was at the café with two friends, Joan and Harriet who were both hard of hearing. She attempted to relay the various ice creams on offer whilst the waitress patiently awaited a decision.

“Oh, lovely,” said Joan "I'll have toffee today.”

“The same for me,” said Harriet,” I like toffee ice cream"

"No ladies, C for coffee, not T for toffee!" shouted Martha. “Have coffee flavour.”

"No, perhaps I won't have toffee,” said Joan, “I think I'll have raspberry for a change"

“Good choice Joan, I’ll have strawberry too,” said Harriet.

Oh dear!

Thanks to Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers for hosting, and Roger Bultot for the photo. Such diners are very rare in the UK and at first glance, I thought it was the food counter on a train! 


Tuesday, May 16, 2017


Post 1530. Tuesday May 16

My window was covered with ice this morning. I scraped some off and peered outside. Everything in my little garden was frozen stiff.  The sky was very grey. The weatherman on the radio said it was going to snow later.  Excellent!

I put on lots and lots of clothes, I polished the bottom of a tea tray, I strapped tennis rackets to my feet, I put a tea cosy on my head, I stuck my hands in some oven gloves, I got a couple of bamboo canes from the shed  and I climbed to the top of a hill.  Then I stood on my tea tray and waited for it to snow. And I waited...and waited…and waited...

...and it started to rain.

This week's photo prompt is provided by loniangraphics. Thank you. 



Wednesday, May 10, 2017


Post 1529. Wednesday May 10

Friday Fictioneers

I was fixing my new mirror to the wall. A lovely mirror. It made me look more handsome than ever.
Screw one,  two, three - then screw four jammed.  One very angry face stared back at me. Push, twist. The screwdriver slipped banging into the glass right in the middle of my nose. I leapt backwards forgetting it was just my reflection. My beautiful mirror, smashed to smithereens.

Breaking a mirror’s bad luck. That was bad luck enough, surely nothing worse could happen.

I’d buy another one.

I trudged to my car. Guess what  – a side mirror was smashed.

I slouched back indoors, climbed the stairs and crawled into bed.

Thanks Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and for your photograph.