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Post 1425. Sunday January 15

The twelve given words at this week’s Sunday Whirligig are slip, well, grief, turning, place, breathe, source, glimmering, coins, thrown, something and still. 

Sunday’s Whirl’s twelve are water, sense, peak, draw, blue, wake, circle, singe, ribbon, stitch, shrill and become.

Good grief, what ‘appened ‘ere then? asked a red-faced PC Creasey. He was out of breath and suffering from a severe case of stitch after running from the village. 

‘You OK Creasey old chap?’ asked Dave the Diver. 

‘I'm er, well thanks’ he puffed grabbing the peak of his helmet and straightening it.

‘He’s very wet’ said Creasey.

Dave turned, pointed to the river and said nothing.

‘Oh yea’ said Creasey ‘Daisy Duck’s ‘ad chics’. Daisy quacked ‘hello’ whilst her little ones swam frantically in her wake as she pointlessly paddled round in circles.

‘Creasey!’ bellowed Forensics Freda.  ‘We’ve got a corpse down here!’

‘His lips are blue' said Creasey. My daughter's got some blue lipstick. Looks stoopid on 'er if you ask me’. 

Freda ignored him. ‘Question is, did John Doe slip into the water or was he thrown?’

‘Oh, we’ve got a name then’ said Creasey.

‘No! That’s what we call unidentif.....oh forget it.’ shrieked Freda her voice become more shrill by the word. She slowly drew breath and composed herself. ‘We are still trying to identify him’. She pulled something from his pocket; a  piece of soggy paper, then a few coins. She photographed the pink ribbon around his wrist and the nasty red singe on his cheek. ‘None of this makes sense’ she said.

‘Ahem’ said Creasey. Freda looked up and saw a glimmer in his eyes. Perhaps he had something useful to add.

‘I’ve got to go back my place’ he said. ‘Mary's makin' a beef pudd'n for lunch and I promised I wouldn't be late’. With that PC Creasey plodded off.

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The Sunday Whirl

Posted Sunday September 18

We are not fooled by your guise sir. ‘Tis you, as certain as 'tis day. Try as you might sir, we have your number. For ‘twas you that laid the straw; that set the fire this Spring past.

Poor Ned still bears the scars of that dreadful day. Though smitten by your jagged rock then gagged and bound, he writhed free. Champion though he be, he had not the means to quench the terpsichorous flames that cruelly robbed him of his dwelling place, his wife, his beloved family.

You imagined we would not discern you sir. Did you not? How wrong could you have been? For you, deplorable sir, the die was cast that fateful day. And now, the nethermost depths of your repugnant basket are reached. ‘Tis us who will strike the final blow; 'tis us.

Take this.....sir!

The Sunday Whirl. This week's given words are basket, deplorable, fire, spring, straw, us,writhe, smite, try, guise, champion and dye

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Rosey steals the show - again!

The words provided by The Sunday Whirl this week are  laughing, silent, holy, arrival, sigh, chime, alone, scar, ingest, stray, plain and pale of which I've used all but one!

      You may remember a couple of years ago I told you about My Friend Rosey taking part in her school’s nativity play. Although adults do not normally appear in the Eastbourne C of E Primary School production, the mini-thespians of Year 2 threatened strike action if their teaching assistant Miss Rosey Pinkerton did not join them on stage. And so it was she got the role of Principal Tree, mainly because of her height as she made the other palms look like ‘pups’(that she assures me is the correct term for baby palm trees) Well, despite her chaotic performance from which she still bears the  scars (literally) history repeated itself this year when her fan club insisted she take part again, this time as one of the Three Wise People; political correctness now prevents them being referred to as Wise Men!

      The big day arrived, last Monday actually. All was going pretty well. It was quite a strident production. The holy night was anything but silent with traditional carols interspersed with reverential rapping and enthusiastic clapping. But the highlight was Rosey’s arrival on the scene, mainly because she came on for Act Two far too soon and totally alone having left the other two tea-towel-clad wise folk in the wings along with Mary, Joseph and farm animals various. The Star in the East who had stayed on stage during the interval started making hissing noises hoping to attract Rosey's attention but to no avail. The headmaster in his role as prompter let out an audible sigh as the audience started laughing. Rosey just peered blankly outwards for a few silent moments then broke into a smile. She took a bow, and then still staring at her audience, started shuffling off stage to a round of applause just as a big bell was heard to chime and the other cast members trooped on. The second sheep had somewhat restricted vision thanks to his costume and head butted Rosey in the tummy causing her to double up and bang  her head on the manger.  Then, right beside the sound effects microphone she emitted an involuntary mild expletive followed by a rasping belch thanks to having recently ingested a couple of extremely rich mince pies backstage. The headmaster went pale.

      Anyway, after a bit of shuffling re-positioning and organising the play took off again with a straight faced Rosey performing her part with a degree of gravitas never before seen. The play was of course a triumph and enjoyed as much for the bits that went astray as for those which stayed on track. Rosey got a standing ovation during which the Third Angel from the Left presented her with a bunch of flowers on behalf of her appreciative class. Even the headmaster shook her hand when he came on to make his boring annual speech.

      I suspect she’ll appear again next year. After all, it wouldn't be nearly as much fun without her would it?
      Finally, Rosey asked me to wish you all a Happy New Year. As I'm sure you've noticed her blog and Facebook are currently dormant, but I'm hoping to get her writing again in 2015. Oh, and a Happy New Year from me too of course!

There are another 66 stories about My Friend Rosey right HERE!

Did you hear about Father Christmas's problem?

The words we are to use this week are eyes, always, snag, panic, sweat, talk, burn, thousand, help, choice, perform and high. I think I used them all! Happy Christmas fellow Wordlers!

     Being Father Christmas is not without its problems; especially as he is I’m told, acrophobic. No don’t laugh, it’s not funny. As occupational snags go it rates highly if you’ll excuse the pun!

     I remember that as a child I once opened my eyes very slightly just as he appeared boots first down the chimney into my bedroom fireplace. My first thought was to wonder how often he found himself standing in some glowing embers. He must burn himself now and again I thought. Then I noticed sweat running down his face and into his beard. He looks hot I thought, so I guess it must happen quite a bit.

     Now I'm grown up I understand the reason. Panic! Just imagine spending most of Christmas night high up in the sky if you don’t like heights. He didn't have a choice about taking the job of course. Like royalty he inherited it as did King George IV in that movie where he had a stammer.

     However he always manages to perform his duty every year. I expect he has a therapist to help him; someone to talk to. The only consolation is that he gets a few thousand glasses of sherry or whatever to drink along the way, plus the odd mince pie. Having said that, if my mince pies are anything to go by that’s not necessarily a suitable reward!

    Anyway, happy Christmas Father Christmas. At least you get the rest of the year off!   And by the way, I hope you've got my new address.

Rosey the poet!

 

My friend Rosey is a creature of habit. She has little habits, big habits, funny habits and irritating habits! The only habit she doesn’t have is a nun’s habit! For instance, she has a habit of discreetly burping after eating spicy food. And that is always followed by another habit; she always says ‘Pardon me for being rude; it was not me it was my food’. Recently she was meeting her mate Jodie for an Indian meal. Apparently after a particularly hot curry she released a squeak from a different area! And according to Jodie, an impish smile crept across Rosey’s face and she said ‘Pardon me for passing wind; it was not me it was my vind…..aloo’!

She does like to treat us to silly rhymes. For instance, ‘Rabbits mate and pigeons flutter, cows like grass and bread likes butter’. And ‘North south east and west, but for me the south is best’. She often rhymes unintentionally. For instance, she recently saw me after I’d been to the dentist and said ‘Hi Keith, how’s your teeth?’ I couldn't help but laugh!

Last Friday several of us met for our weekly get together at the Bicycle Arms and I asked Rosey, tongue in cheek if she’d ever considered publishing any of her poems and she took the wind out my sails when she said she already had! Apparently she entered a competition a few years ago and came in the top ten and the winners had their efforts printed in a book. I had no idea. We all started muttering among ourselves about our own literary efforts and we suddenly realised that Rosey was quietly reciting her poem.

Silence!

'Summer sunshine rides the breeze
as sunrays weave their way through trees
A dappled carpet paints the ground
With shades of gold and green and brown
and …..’

Realising all ears were on her, she suddenly stopped, got up and walked outside. Helen followed her. A couple of minutes later they retuned. Rosey was looking down at the floor. I have no idea what happened. The poem clearly meant something to her that she’s keeping to herself. The look on her face told us that it was time to change the subject.’

‘I need to do a survey for work and I’m a bit stuck as to how to go about it’ chirped Helen. ‘It’s a sort of report and I thought that I ought…’

With that Rosey started giggling. ‘Hey, you’re a poet and you didn’t know it!’ she said.

The Rosey we know and love was back!

To read about 50 more of My Friend Rosey's adventures just click HERE! 

Rosey, a bird and a bench!

So there we were in the Bicycle Arms, my friend Rosey, Jonni, Helen and me, enjoying a beverage as you do. We were gathered around the fireplace. Not sure why because it was a lovely spring evening and the fire hadn’t been lit for weeks. Suddenly there was a flapping sound accompanied by a bit of squawking, then a large bird made an unceremonial entrance into the grate with its wings outstretched, accompanied by copious amounts of soot. Jonni squeaked, Helen let out a miniature scream, Rosey looked stunned and I had a quiet chuckle to myself. Rosey was the first to take a closer look at the poor little creature lying belly up in the basket. ‘I think it’s dead’ Rosey said ‘I can’t see any signs of life. Poor little blackbird’. Jonni then chirped up. ‘It’s not a blackbird Rosey, it’s a pigeon covered in soot’ I suggested she might practice her first aid on it.; a good chance to put her qualification into use. It was met with a stony silence.
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Rosey continued to study it at very close quarters for a while then starting bouncing up and down on her knees. ‘Its eyes - they blinked, they blinked!’ she yelled. I suggested that birds don’t blink, and resident geek Jonni immediately Googled my remark; any excuse to fire up the i Pad!  With obvious delight he said ‘Wrong .They blink very quickly. It says so on Wikipedia so it must be right'. We all looked but said nothing.  ‘Now I can see it breathing‘ said Rosey. By now the excitement was too much for Helen who sighed and strolled off to the bar for a top up. ‘Arise little blackbird’ said Rosey in her sweetest voice which she saves for such occasions. ‘Pigeon, it’s a bloody pigeon’ shouted Jonni. Rosey slowly turned her head and glared. No words necessary!

She turned back to her patient, her nose just inches away from it. Then suddenly it started to flutter in a somewhat frantic fashion sending a cloud of soot into Rosey’s face. She shot upright and turned to look at us. She was not amused. ‘Ha ha ha’ chortled Jonni. ‘Now there really is a black bi…’ ’Jonni’ yelled Rosey ‘That’s bordering on racism’.
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Anyway, the sad creature calmed down again and Rosey who was unfazed by her newly applied makeup carefully lifted it, cradling it her in hands. 'I’m going to free it into the night’ she said. I followed her out into the beer garden. She sat on a bench and gently lowered it onto the ground. With that it waddled off into the long grass. ‘It will probably wait until it’s light to fly away’ she said.

Then a moment later in the way only Rosey does, she suddenly changed the subject. ‘When I’m dead and gone’ she said ‘I want to have a bench placed in front of the public toilets and it will have a sign on it saying ‘In Memory of Rosey Anne Pinkerton who loved this place’ 'But you don’t love that place’ I said. ‘I will’ she said, ‘because I’m going to have some little nails pointing up from the seat, and I’ll be watching whilst anyone who sits there will feel a bit of a prick’. With that she stood up and headed back inside leaving me to ponder on what I'd just heard.

To read loads more stories about My Friend Rosey click HERE