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Post 1550. Saturday June 17

Sunday's Whirligig

I saw an angel yesterday – don’t laugh, I did!  Where? On top of the church tower of course. She sat with her legs dangling down. Why are you grinning? I didn’t imagine her.

I was out running....now what?  I need to run now and again because it’s good for my knees and if you don’t take me seriously I’ll bend you over one and give you a good spanking! That’s better, thank you.

As I was saying before you rudely interrupted….what was I saying? Oh yes this girl, no, this angel was smiling at me and….what do you mean ‘how do you know she was an angel?’ Because she had a label on her back saying made in heaven - duh. Of course she was a bloody angel.

So I waved to her....what? Yes, I had been to the pub.....oh I give up.

My Whirligiggle uses all but one of this week's words -  running, again, knee, girl, bends, way, legs, angel, where, smiling, thank and father.

I can use the remaining one to remind my kids that it's 'Fathers' Day today!

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Post 1546 . Sunday June 11

Sunday's Whirligig

*The UK government is currently considering bringing in a bill to make the barbaric hunting of foxes with hounds legal once again.

A shimmering pool of sunlight greets a new day’s dawn. The vulgar extravagance and scintillating spectacle of last night’s opulent Hunt Ball was but a precursor to today’s savage pursuit of an unsuspecting fox. Yesterday spilled wine, today spilled blood.

Dressed in pristine crimson and black they sit astride magnificent horses and toast the day with a measure of port wine. An impatient pack of hounds mills and roams twixt the steed's clattering hooves. A bunch of angry protesters, each of whom carries a scribbled placard, earns nothing but flagrant disregard from the eager huntsmen and women.

Then, with a wail from a gleaming brass hunting horn, and a yelled tally-ho, the posse led by the Master moves forward then surges, leaping a fence and galloping 'cross the open field with nonchalant dispassion for the hapless objectors who dejectedly slump away.

Another day, another hunt, another fox. Another victim.

The 12 given words at this week's Whirligig are:-

Scintillating, leap, carries, each, flagrant, nonchalant, end, late, nights, spill, way and dawns. 

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Post1474. Saturday March 11

Sunday's Whiligig

Here he comes again, wandering around the market.

‘Woe are we’ he cries. ‘We are cursed, doomed. We are to be cast aside like hapless harlots.  Spat upon by those that disown us. We will be drained of our precious royal blood'.

He has a different campaign each week. Sometimes environmental things like smoking chimneys, others matters religious. He blasts anything that offends him.

‘Hear me my friends, heed my warnings. Soon we will be holding out our begging bowls to those we once considered our family. We will forever more be blighted. We will fall from strength to weakness’

‘He does go on doesn’t he?’ chuckled my mate. ‘Anyone would think we’re all off to hell in a hand-cart not just leaving Europe!’

This week's words at Sunday's Whirligig are wander, weakness, woe, cry, curse, chimney, hear, hapless, harlots and blasts. 


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Post 1461. Saturday February 25

Sunday's Whirligig

I ambled across the moonlit hillock, a book of verse clutched in my hand.

         Above, the man in the moon bathed in a sea of alabaster clouds.

Then I sat on a stile, alone, just my melancholic poems for company.

           The man in the moon stuffed another sugar coated star into his salivating mouth.

I clutched a silver locket in my palm, her locket.

          The man in the moon stroked his bloated belly.

I missed her so. Why oh why was she taken from me so cruelly.

         The man in the moon was feeling a little queasy.

My love, my reason for living, where are you now? I cried.

         The man in the moon kicked a passing golden angel aside as she fluttered ...........earthward.

For a moment, a short moment, I saw her looking down at me. Then she was gone. Again. Why?  

         The man I the moon leaned across his cumulus cushion and spewed violently in my ...........direction.

I wandered home and took a shower.

For Sunday's Whirligig where the 12 given words are -  ambled, alabaster, noon, bathed, bloated, bellies, moon, poems, lockets, leaned, kicked and stuffed

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Post 1454. Saturday February 18

Sunday's Whirligig

Some experiences defy explanation. Do you actually remember them? Could they be nothing more than dreams, or the creations of an overactive imagination?

I am certain I was there. I’m sure I walked along that corridor. I can still see the twisted cord lying on the floor. I had to follow it. Why? I don’t know, but follow it I did. Flickering candles sent my shadow darting this way and that; the corridor went on and on and on, until it suddenly ended and I found myself facing a solid wall. The twisted cord was tied to a rusty loop. I turned and started my journey back, but I suddenly tripped on the cord and crashed to the ground. Blood gushed from a cut on my cheek.

That is where my recollections cease. I can’t recall anything else. But I still have a scar on my cheek.

I’m walking in the forest. A twisted cord lies on the rotting leaves. I’m following it. There are shafts of sunlight flickering through the swaying trees........

This week’s given words at Sunday’s Whirligig are cords, could corridor, anymore, are, anarchy, tie, twisted, there, experiences, explanations and else. I used all but one.

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Post 1447. Saturday February 11

The Sunday Whirl and Sunday’s Whirligig.

It was Friday night at The Crossroad Inn. I sat on a bar stool,  my foot tapping to the pounding beat. My beer quivered, battered by the ferocious volume. The melody dived and soared, twisted and tumbled. The unrelenting rhythm resounded from the rafters. Nothing unusual there!

It was Saturday morning outside The Crossroad Inn. A croaky voice sang a song. There, leaning against the wall was a frail fellow, wrapped in ragged burlap and struggling to remain upright. His grained face was half hidden by a tangle of unkempt grey hair. He plucked a battered ukelele. It only had one string. There were a few coins in a tin at his feet but hardly enough to feed him. ‘No home’ said the words on the torn scrap of cardboard.

It was Sunday morning at the Holy Cross church. I sat with the sparse congregation, bathed in the holiness of the sacred building. A statue stared down at me, its hands stretched toward me offering succour; forgiveness. I took bread and drank wine. I felt blessed.

It was Monday morning and as I buttered my toast my thoughts returned to that frail fellow. It was wrong. Everything that weekend suddenly seemed wrong. I'd reached a crossroad and I knew I should head in a new direction. Can one person put things right?  Maybe not but I’m going to have a jolly good try!

The given words at The Sunday Whirl are song, rhythms, melody, unusual, face, half, rag, upright, stool, root and resound.

At Sunday's Whirligig we have burlap, butter, bread, gutted, grey, grained, feed, ferocity, forgiven, holiness, home and hidden.

I used twenty-two of the twenty-four provided. 


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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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Posted Saturday December 31

This week’s words at Sunday's Whirligig are - bottom, breath, blue, dressed, drowning, discovered, match, mirror, mine, losing, love and lap .

The first thoughts that sprang into my mind when I read the prompt words were ‘does my bottom look big in this’ and standing before a mirror breathing in! I never go for first thoughts you’ll be relieved to hear!

Typical. I queue for a bus for ages and two arrive together. Most of them crowd onto the blue bus, so I jump on the white one. The doors hiss closed, and we glide off. An elderly fellow sits staring at the floor gripping a white walking stick. I think he’s asleep. And there’s a lady dressed in white. She bears a fixed grin and gently strokes a white cat on her lap. Odd. I get my Kindle from my pocket and start to read. It’s a love story. I don't like love stories. Why did I buy it?

The bus stops and I look up. Where on earth am I? The other two shuffle off so I follow. I’m met by a woman in white carrying a clipboard and she indicates that I should follow her. We walk into a building and down some steps. At the bottom everything is white. The floor, the ceiling, the walls, the glass in a mirror, my breath. It all matches. She pushes open a white door and I wander in. The door closes behind me. I come over tired so I climb into bed and pull the white sheets over my head. In seconds I'm asleep.

*

Often I wake in the early hours of the morning with a story running through my mind. It always has a start and a middle but no end. I have to jump out of bed, rush to my computer and type it out as quickly as I can to prevent losing it. It’s just happened again, hence what you’ve just read. Now I need an ending.

Hang on; this keyboard isn't mine. This isn’t my room. Everything’s white. Where am I?

Sunday's Whirligig

Posted Saturday September 24

It was a scorching day and several of us where attempting to chill in the Bicycle Arms’ garden.

‘Did you hear what Katy did?’ panted a breathless Rosey as he rushed up to us. By the excited look on her face I guessed she was busily spreading the hottest news of the day.

‘Who’s Katy?’ asked Jim.

‘You know’ said Rosey ‘Katy the former’.

‘Former?’ I said.

‘Yes’ said Rosey ‘She used to be a farmer but she’s not any more’

We all groaned and grinned assuming it to be a joke. The confused look on Rosey’s face suggested it wasn’t.

 ‘So, what did Katy do?’ someone asked.

‘Shoplifted..err...you know...err...stole something from the supermarket’ said Rosey hopping from foot to foot.

‘Oh my gourd!’ muttered Posh Poppy.

‘Katy?’  intervened a chap slouched at the next table. ‘Surely not’

Rosey started rummaging through her bag scattering its contents all over the place.

‘What are looking for Rosey’ asked Jim.

‘My hay fever capsules’ she said‘ ‘I’ve had a pollen overload’ 

'An excitement overload more like' chuckled Charlie.

'Aaa...chooo! Ewww, sorry Sam. Oh dear, you can't drink that. I'd better  get you fresh one' 

That was a week ago. It seems that Katy inadvertently failed to pay for one item in her basket at the self service checkout. Rosey was there at the time and watched from a distance as a security guard approached Katy. Needless to say, my friend Rosey jumped to the wrong conclusion. Apparently it was all sorted out amicably and Rosey bought Katy a large Chardonnay and a packet of salt and vinegar crisps by way of apology!

For Sunday's Whirligig where this week's given words are - spreading, hops, gourd, capsules, pollen, hottest, crooked, former, intervene, shoplifting, katydids and scorched.


To read 66 more tales about My Friend Rosey click HERE!

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