Sunday, January 15, 2017


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.


Wednesday, January 11, 2017


Post 1424. Wednesday January 11 2017

For last week’s Friday Fictioneers I wrote a story in the words of a child. As it was so warmly received I thought I would do it again!

When I grow up I’ll drive a train and hoot the hooter when I come into the station and make people jump. That’ll be fun. If I don’t drive a train I suppose I could just fly an airplane like the one that took us to Spain on holiday last year where we stayed in a hotel and the waiter tripped over in the restaurant and spilled that horrible cold tomato soup all down a posh man at the next table who was very cross and went very very red and I thought he was going to explode. Do airplanes have hooters like trains? Toot toot!

Thanks to our host Rochelle and to C E Ayr for the picture prompt.

If you missed my story last week, it was called Flour Fairies and you can find it HERE


Post 1423. Wednesday January 11

Written for Three Word Wednesday where the given words are jockey, lopsided and kindred.

Something said no, but I had to take the risk.

Along the road, up the hill, round the bend. Over the bridge, through the gate, and across the park. Past the pub, by the church, and into the mall. 

 I stride into the betting shop, chest puffed out and with a confident air, approach the counter. 

“Everything I have on Nellie the Nag in the nine-nineteen at Newmarket,” I say pushing my cash across the counter. 

Everyone in the shop hears me and assume I know something they don't. A queue forms, and one by one the gamblers stake some money on Nellie. The bookie's eyes light up. Nellie is a rank outsider with odds of ninety-nine to nine. 

The race is about to start. I sit down and fix my gaze on the TV screen. They're off! 

Out of the stalls, down the straight, round the curve, jump the hedge. 

Nellie is last, dropping behind and looking tired. The jockey is perched lopsidedly on his saddle. Oh dear. I cover my eyes.

Then shouting and cheering. I part my fingers, peer at the screen and Nellie the Nag is coming up the outside. Three fences to jump before the home straight and victory. 

Clear over one, scraped over two and high over three. 

I'm on the edge of my seat, bouncing up and down in time with her galloping. Kindred spirits yell “Nellie, Nellie, Nellie” Then everything becomes a blur.

The race is over. The silence is deafening.  Nellie hasnt  made it. I've lost and so has everyone else. Someone asks the bookie how much I'd bet. “Everything he had” he replies. I stuff my hands in my pockets and with head bowed I walk out of the shop.

Out of the mall, by the church and past the pub. Across the park, through the gate, and over the bridge. Round the bend, down the hill and along the road. 

Thank goodness I only had two pounds on me when I put it all on Nellie the Nag.


Tuesday, January 10, 2017


Post 1422. Wednesday January 11

For Six Sentence Stories where our given word is Rank

With an upbringing such as his, it was inevitable that his rise through the ranks would be rapid.

Aways the smartest, his uniform is pristine from his highly polished footwear to the perfectly aligned stitches on his buttons and the razor sharp creases on his trousers.

He doffs his cap to ladies and gives up his seat to those more needy; his manners are impeccable.

Just yesterday I watched as he snapped his head first to the left and then to the right before marching across the road, his arms swinging, his head held high, his posture... perfect.

His colleagues are in awe of him, and this morning they will applaud as he receives the ultimate honour.

Yes, his rise from Book Monitor to Prefect, then House Captain and now Head Boy has been rapid and well-deserved.

Post script. I fear I may have left some of my overseas readers a little baffled by the references to positions in the final sentence. They are in fact all areas of responsibility in UK secondary schools - high schools as they are otherwise known, with Head Boy the highest. 


Sunday, January 08, 2017


Post 1421. Sunday January 8

A tale inspired by (though not relating to) the picture prompt at today's Mindlovemisery's Menagerie

I got a text from a mate on Monday. He thinks he’s like cool man. It just said ‘FAD 2MOZ’

I texted back ‘WHAT?’


Now, I understood that. He wanted a drink tomorrow, Tuesday. I wasn’t  free so I texted back HA WTF? trying to be clever, meaning ‘how about Wednesday Thursday or Friday?’

His reply was nonsensical.  It just said UCMU. Goodness knows what that means I thought.

Then I had an idea. I googled ‘text speak’ and found a sort of online texter's dictionary and suddenly I could read it. Apparently, he'd said ‘you crack me up’.

I didn’t understand what I’d said that had amused him, so I looked up WTF in my new dictionary and - well - I won't spell out what I'd inadvertently written!

I wrote out my free days in proper English, followed by IHA which I now understand to mean  ‘I hate acronyms’. What a strange thing to abbreviate! Anyway, we arranged to GAB (get a beer) Thursday.

A couple of friends joined us in the pub. Whilst sitting around the table, I got a bit vocal about my dislike of texting, only to notice that our two companions were actually texting each other whilst joining in our conversation. ‘Multi-tasking’ one explained. Then he stood up, said ‘G4AP’ to me and wandered off to the toilet!


Sms by bfaupin at deviantART 


Post 1420. Sunday January 8 2016

He had a little workshop at the bottom of his garden. As kids, we always wondered what went on inside. We’d clamber up his fence trying to see through the dusty window pane. We heard whirring noises and once saw him holding a piece of cream coloured cloth, but nothing more.

It was my fifth Christmas. Sitting atop my presents was a teddy bear. ‘Santa made it for you’ mother said. Every child in the village received one for their fifth Christmas. Of course, it never occurred to us that these lovely little bears came from the mystery workshop at the bottom of the gentleman’s garden. And so the tradition carried on when we had children of our own.

He continued making bears until he died. On the day of his funeral, many of us were invited to visit the little workshop and for the first time, we saw inside. On benches sat rolls of cream cloth, scissors, a sewing machine and buttons. In the centre,a coffin; on its lid a family of teddy bears. Each of us took the bear he had made for us all those years ago and touched the coffin with it. I looked out of the dusty window just a scrap of cream cloth blew up into the blue sky.

Sunday Photo Fiction


Saturday, January 07, 2017


Post1419  Saturday January 7

The given words at this week’s The Sunday Whirl are - reap, single, cheat, feeble, lean, siren, preen, leap, flee, seal, truth and climb.

‘You shall reap as you sow’ I said to my friend Rosey.

‘I what?' she asked ‘How can I reap the rip I’m repairing in my shirt?’

‘Not sew as in needle and cotton silly, sow as...’

Her sudden fit of giggles told me she was attempting a joke. You’d think I’d know when she’s joking by now wouldn't you? But as her one-liners are often a bit feeble I’m never quite sure and I have to tread carefully. Truth is, I once thought she was joking when she said something about a friend dying, only to discover he'd been run down by the number 126 bus.

The reason I’m telling you this is because we were playing cards at her flat and Rosey cheated. A pretty feeble cheat I have to say but cheat it was. I won’t bore you with the details but basically, she kept disguising two cards as a single one and also attempting to peep inside the envelope which held a mystery card along with the sought-after winner’s prize, a Terry's All Gold Chocolate. (What an exciting life you lead I hear you say!)

Anyway, it was all academic because just at that moment a  siren went off in the street scaring Fuzzeybutt (pussycat 1) who stopped preening herself and leapt onto the table scattering the cards all over Scruff (pussycat 2) who climbed to her feet and fled the scene.

I wonder where the chocolate went? My lips are sealed!

To find out all about My Friend Rosey and read 74 more tales about her, click HERE!