tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87707862133492707162024-03-13T19:45:45.049+00:00A Write PanicWriting through the pandemic... A collaboration of bloggers from across the globe writing a continuous yarn, post by post.Ms Scarlethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449626572478125088noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-58419218284384350452021-12-05T12:57:00.000+00:002021-12-05T12:57:03.729+00:00Christmas adverts 2021<div style="text-align: center;">My favourite Christmas adverts this year.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0P7QSCLtRwI" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe> </div><div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/R-CM_yPJDD0" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Any other favourites?</div>LL Cool Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13916666100971008775noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-24979195012679535972021-10-13T15:01:00.000+01:002021-10-13T15:01:16.901+01:00About time<p style="text-align: center;"> <b style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">British Airways tells pilots and cabin crew not to refer to passengers as 'ladies and gentlemen' in favour of gender-neutral terms to celebrate 'diversity and inclusion'</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial;">I know this has pissed off a great many people, but for me, as a transman, it's wonderful news. Misgendering a person, especially a trans person, is like a knife to the heart.</span></p>LL Cool Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13916666100971008775noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-1439037463244705622021-10-09T20:10:00.002+01:002021-10-09T20:10:22.261+01:00Words of wisdom<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrZ3ewym0559bW4-RejdAXSTDG30qkK4eZWpYxqkNhHPr9u-9pXUWeDeIIfDkmSdSsFoKyHt3JrR3itrwt9RC9gUqv5vvxdyQx-u-HvbeodpYMANiSD4Vu-9AzvrF3HCjpzjDybsxJxcIiVTEEwDyL-nxpfna7Aom4aJGV0sZJGV5zzzr0gvmDxSYY=s788" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="412" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrZ3ewym0559bW4-RejdAXSTDG30qkK4eZWpYxqkNhHPr9u-9pXUWeDeIIfDkmSdSsFoKyHt3JrR3itrwt9RC9gUqv5vvxdyQx-u-HvbeodpYMANiSD4Vu-9AzvrF3HCjpzjDybsxJxcIiVTEEwDyL-nxpfna7Aom4aJGV0sZJGV5zzzr0gvmDxSYY=w334-h640" width="334" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> Just don't wait until you're 70 to do it.</div><p></p>LL Cool Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13916666100971008775noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-39246362102795418252021-10-07T20:35:00.001+01:002021-10-08T00:36:46.390+01:00anonymous<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> "If I had a dollar for every time algebra has helped me, I'd have <i>X </i>dollars<i>."</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This was an anonymous quote I found in "Weirdest Maths" by David Darling, and Agnijo Banerjee. It made me laugh. Laughing is good.<br /></div>Bill Lislemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15187273560129198423noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-75554475048563654022021-10-02T12:30:00.000+01:002021-10-02T12:30:28.645+01:00More Thoughts....So who's up for using this blog as a thought dump? I am. <div><br /></div><div>Think of it as a place
to let off steam; or somewhere to share something that doesn't necessarily fit
in with your usual style of blogging; or somewhere a little more private to dump
thoughts, pictures, quotes, or something that's upset you.... or made you really
happy. Maybe you're worried about something, or someone, and don't know what to
do and would like some views on the problem. OR, maybe you've written a short
story, or made something, and want some feedback. Maybe you just need a plumber.
Maybe you just want to moan about the plumber? Maybe you want to chat about last
night's telly.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I'm proposing an 'anything goes' sort of blog. If people
want, I could make the whole blog private.</div><div><br /></div><div>What do'ya reckon? </div><div><br /></div><div>Sx</div>Ms Scarlethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449626572478125088noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-4194035696583655382021-10-01T19:28:00.000+01:002021-10-01T19:28:15.665+01:00Any thoughts?<p style="text-align: center;">Could this blog become a place where we just write about anything? Not just a continuous story but maybe just things that are on our minds. Fact or fiction. Story or no story? Just a creative place to add whatever we like? Just a thought. </p>LL Cool Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13916666100971008775noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-62530606267128379812020-10-05T18:26:00.004+01:002020-10-05T20:14:51.286+01:00Retrongrels<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GCBUlWu7k4M/X3tPMXiMutI/AAAAAAAARJo/JeACJMpCR_QfB1GvFoPJn6lD4tf9i0RVACLcBGAsYHQ/s606/Scarlet.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="606" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GCBUlWu7k4M/X3tPMXiMutI/AAAAAAAARJo/JeACJMpCR_QfB1GvFoPJn6lD4tf9i0RVACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Scarlet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Our stunning 7 year old golden retriever Scarlet, has given birth to her 24th litter, we are pleased to announce the safe arrival of 10 adorable puppies, 7 dogs and 3 bitches.<p></p><div><b>Born: </b>21/09/2020<b> Age</b>: 2 weeks <b>Ready</b>: Now</div><div>£2,000</div>Mitzi http://www.blogger.com/profile/01416789788174823493noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-36609171121980823822020-07-23T11:28:00.001+01:002020-07-23T11:28:39.096+01:00Banana song<div style="text-align: center;">A beautiful subtle musical interlude. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/WRh_mCxd3UY" width="560"></iframe></div>LL Cool Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13916666100971008775noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-42607355934210328542020-07-19T05:10:00.001+01:002020-07-19T05:10:35.339+01:00Banana crime<div>There could be a wave of banana crime coming your way!</div><div><br /></div><div>Peel them quickly for our safety.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KA38df0rqi8/XxPHgwPrEnI/AAAAAAAAZRU/Hvf2URKqwNklpGC-BcGxPARn6JP6w-zJQCLcBGAsYHQ/s393/banana360_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="242" data-original-width="393" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KA38df0rqi8/XxPHgwPrEnI/AAAAAAAAZRU/Hvf2URKqwNklpGC-BcGxPARn6JP6w-zJQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/banana360_400.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Bill Lislemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15187273560129198423noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-44705674460311408412020-06-28T01:52:00.000+01:002020-06-28T01:52:09.732+01:00Something To Tide Us Over Until the Next Post<img src="https://66.media.tumblr.com/04efec051708e9f25add4b6641c94c9c/tumblr_pnrg2lx82g1y3ob50o1_500.gifv" />Rimpy Rimpingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13017152542056998917noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-84964036349526354652020-06-24T15:00:00.000+01:002020-06-24T15:02:37.587+01:00A Brief Recap.....Iris woke up, she had forgotten the previous 3 months, either that or she had
been reprogrammed.<br />
<br />
"Damn it, not again", she muttered. Her head hurt.<br />
<br />
Thankfully she had made copious handwritten notes, so all she had to do was read
them. She pondered for a moment. Did she really want to know? Couldn't she just
make up something new? Would anyone notice?<br />
Maybe if she flicked through her notebook she could pick out pertinent clues,
and characters, and piece it all together. She sighed, it felt like a momentous
task, but it had to be done, and so she began to make short notes from her
extensive notes.<br />
<br />
<i>
In the beginning there is a man called Douglas Manning who Iris was spying on.
He has a wife called Annie, who is blonde. A short man with a large gun wearing
a pink rabbit onesie kidnaps Annie.<br />
<br />
Douglas Manning tries to make off with a suitcase of used banknotes to
rendezvous with the mysterious Mr Short [who is not the man with the large gun]
in Harwich.<br />
<br />
Rennie Hightower lives in a mid-sized city in the Pacific Northwest, he is a
janitor at a strip club and is a little bit in love with Iris, although they
have only met online via a Facebook group for fans of author P.G. Wodehouse.
Iris sends Rennie an email asking for his help.</i><br />
<div>
<i><br />
Iris was once a Go-Go dancer in London and has links with espionage. She
believes Douglas Manning is watching her. Have they met before?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Douglas tries to wake Iris. They are in her bedroom. Douglas discovers Iris's notebooks under her
bed. Douglas and Iris confirmed to have a historical connection. Iris is wide
eyed yet unconscious.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Rennie recieves an email from Iris, which activates a
dormant area of his brain. Yes! Rennie is also some kind of spy! Or is he? He
recovers a lock-box from beneath his floorboards that contains an array of
passports and credit cards so that he can assume a variety of identities. The
box also contains a genuinely smart Smart-phone that connects to an exclusive
network, operated by a super-computer. He heads to the airport.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Douglas is with
Iris. He is deciding how best to wake her from her open-eyed coma. He also
really fancies a banana. Douglas notices a faint, blinking light behind Iris's
right ear - a light that was flashing under her skin! Douglas discovers that
Iris was made in Taiwan.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Rennie has a microscopic speaker implanted in his ear
canal and the voice of SpodeChode69 notifies him that the Iris unit has been
compromised. Rennie uses a banana to stun an Uber driver by using the tip of the
banana on a pressure point behind the driver's left ear. Rennie drives to the
airport and then takes a super-stealth plane to England. Rennie reminisces on
how he met Iris in London when she was a go-go dancer. He lied to her about
being a spy. Iris was a robot even then, but she didn't know it. He recalls how
his body and mind were modified and enhanced to serve a powerful master. He eats
a banana.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Annie overpowers the short man with the large gun who wears a pink
rabbit onesie. Annie was not kidnapped! She takes the gun from the short man and
locks him in her attic with a plate of fish fingers and a large colouring book.
Annie is furious for a variety of reasons, but mainly because she is not the
central character in this fiction. Annie has a plan and a loaded gun.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Recently
widowed Tina Cruet visits her neighbours Aubrey and Martharine Stoad in Frigwell
Crescent. She has ideas above her station. Cheryl Stoad, 28, is the daughter of
Aubrey and Matherine. Cheryl hopes to find fame on Britain's got Talent by
playing Go and Tell Aunt Nancy on the recorder. The Stoads have a Golden
Retriever called Scarlet [ahem]. Tina has designs on Aubrey - It was Aubrey who
helped Tina cope with the isolation and despair the complex feelings that grief
brings, after a while they found themselves being drawn together and by the time
the police and forensics had been to take away Percy's body, Aubrey had already
given her one over the arm of the chair. Did Tina murder her husband, Percy?</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Cheryl has an inner ear problem. What could this mean? Iris sneaks up on Cheryl
in the Stoads back garden. There appears to be a real Iris, and an Irisbot. The
real Iris asks Cheryl for her help. Cheryl eventually agrees to help the real
Iris. They go to Douglas and Annie's house with the intention of rescuing Annie
from the large gun with a small man. Annie has saved herself. They then go to
Iris's house. Iris wants her boxes but Douglas is still in the bedroom with the
Irisbot. As they hear Douglas descend the stairs, Iris leads Cheryl into the
Inglenook fireplace, which conceals a secret entrance to a long corridor lined
with ornately carved wooden chairs - a row on either side facing inwards, with a
gap of about three metres between each chair - every chair had something on it -
most contained books.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Meanwhile, on a back road near Harwich... Douglas is
preparing to take a ferry to Hoek. On arrival he travels to small, nondescript
shop on a back street and asks the shopkeeper for some sticky-backed dildo. This
appears to be some sort of code.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>A time-jump back to Frigwell Crescent. Rennie
arrives outside Iris's house just as Douglas is leaving for Harwich. Rennie is
dressed as a woman having accidentally selected the wrong passport and credit
card from his lock-box. Douglas steals Rennie's car with all his documents; his
jacket; his phone; and most importantly, his connection to SpodeChode. Annie
'rescues' Rennie whilst holding the large gun.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Back in the Pacific Northwest,
Detective Lieutenant Milton Frobisher studies the autopsy report of an Uber
driver - the driver that Rennie had compromised with the tip of a banana.
Frobisher goes in pursuit of Rennie in connection with the death. At Rennie's
apartment block he meets the very disturbing Svetlana, who is probably Russian.
She shows Frobisher Rennie's empty room. Frobisher gets a call from a lab
technician re the death of the Uber driver - it seems he was killed by a
substance from a banana. Frobisher is familiar with similar deaths.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Annie and
Rennie [now Nina] have a fight. The large gun goes off in Rennie's direction but
he is protected by the Dolly Parton bra. Iris and Cheryl appear from nowhere and
save Rennie from Annie.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Hazel????!! OH - Tina's sister Hazel!! Hazel is from
Blackpool and has gone to stay with her sister Tina in Frigwell Crescent. Aubrey
meets Hazel at Poobury station - they have a romantic interlude in the back of
the car. Hazel still hasn't told Tina that their mother is dead and rolled up in
an old carpet in the loft and that Hazel had been collecting their mother's
pension for the last 5 years.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Back in the chair lined corridor. Cheryl is bored
and takes a detour up a rusty ladder and pushes past a man cover to find herself
in a copse. She is hit on the head by a flying object, and then another, which
makes her fall back down into the endless corrider filled with chairs and more
ladders. Cheryl tries another ladder and pushes past another manhole cover, this
time she is hit by a banana. Cheryl gives up and follows Iris instead.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>An
interview with Matherine Stoad - where we discover that Cheryl has made two
appearances on The Undateables. Cheryl has a brother called Allardyce who
collects ornamental thimbles and mints his peas. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Flashback to 1990 - A reference
to a series of banana-tip deaths. Milton Frobisher was a humble patrolman. He
was partnered with a senior detective called Torvik. Sadly, Torvik was killed in
the line of duty by a shadowy figure wielding a banana. Frobisher had his mind
wiped by a mystery figure and told that if he wanted to make detective, he would
forget what he had seen the night of Torvik's death, and he shouldn’t pursue the
banana case any more. 30 years later and Frobisher is revisited by a wave of
memories whilst working on the case of the dead Uber driver. Finally, Frobisher
is arrested for the murder of the disturbing Svetlana [probably Russian]. She has
been found dead with Frobisher's pen sticking out of her neck.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
Iris sighed. It had only taken her 5 hours to write a brief recap of the last three months. She felt that she ought to be declared a hero. Anyhow, it was time to press publish and be damned. She hoped that blogger wouldn't mess her formatting up like it did five minutes ago....</div>
Ms Scarlethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449626572478125088noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-90535449025101412552020-06-22T17:42:00.000+01:002020-06-22T17:42:20.224+01:00Now, More Than Ever, the World Needs Frobisher<div><br /></div><div><span id="docs-internal-guid-80efd9db-7fff-04b1-b03a-e917123c6e61"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In 1990, a series of murders held Mid-Sized City in a grip of fear. Several victims had been found, with no outward clue as to cause of death, save for one minor detail: a small indentation behind their right ears, often with trace amounts of a substance that the forensics lab had determined came from the tip of an unpeeled banana.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First-year patrolman Milton Frobisher had graduated top of his class in the academy. He was smart and hardworking, and people in the right positions were already fast-tracking him for the coveted gold detective shield. He had been partnered with a senior detective named Torvick, who was in his last year before retirement.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Torvick and Frobisher were leaving the scene of the latest victim of the killer, when Frobisher noticed a dark figure lurking in a nearby alley. Frobisher jumped from the moving car and sprinted toward the character. Grumbling, Torvick turned the wheel and sped down the alley.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When Frobisher reached the dead end of the alley he could see no sign of the perp. Torvick pulled up and hefted his bulk out of the unmarked car. As Frobisher turned to his partner, a shadow separated itself from the darkness behind Torvick and moved with inhuman speed. An appendage holding a curved object lashed out, and Torvick went down without a sound. Before Frobisher could react, he was struck from behind, and fell into blackness.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next thing Frobisher knew, he was tied to a chair with a hood over his head. An electronically modified voice told him that if he wanted to make detective, he would forget what he had seen that night, and he shouldn’t pursue this case any more.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Frobisher tried to protest, but the voice said, “You’re going to sleep now, and when you awaken you’ll have forgotten all about this. I promise.” Frobisher felt a poke in the side of his neck and knew no more.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When he awoke in his bed, he had a vague sense of having forgotten something. When he reported for duty, there was no mention of a series of unsolved murders, but he hadn’t really thought there would be. He had a new partner. When he asked where Torvick was, he was told that he had gotten an early jump on his retirement, and that was that.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now, 30 years later, seated at his desk, a flood of memories were washing over Frobisher as he looked at the lab report of the substance found on the Uber driver. His musings were interrupted by the appearance of an investigator from Internal Affairs, accompanied by two beefy patrolmen. The IA dick said, “Milton Frobisher, you’re under arrest for the murder of…”, he paused to consult the warrant in his hand, “...a Mrs. Svetlana...Pre-oh-brah-zensky?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Frobisher said, “What the hell are you talking about? I just saw her an hour ago!”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The IA man said, “We know. Your pen was sticking out of her neck! Take him away boys!”</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span></div>Rimpy Rimpingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13017152542056998917noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-35120033789887812782020-05-13T17:41:00.002+01:002020-05-13T17:41:54.500+01:00Iris-bot in for repairs<div>I found a picture of Iris-bot being repaired.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pnzMl-JG1W0/XrwjKpUoKnI/AAAAAAAAYro/pMkr2jnIhdkkH1YJVF7cFZ75nDErYq7IwCK4BGAsYHg/0815161230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pnzMl-JG1W0/XrwjKpUoKnI/AAAAAAAAYro/pMkr2jnIhdkkH1YJVF7cFZ75nDErYq7IwCK4BGAsYHg/w225-h400/0815161230.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Bill Lislemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15187273560129198423noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-44462888865593838262020-05-11T14:48:00.001+01:002020-05-11T22:13:24.485+01:00It's Blue Bin Day On Frigwell Crescent<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FzF-c0WbZF0/XrlVgBX9ADI/AAAAAAAAQ_A/HaWohszLq3cSL-HDK7f0imItFXPHTU-FwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Hazel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="987" data-original-width="634" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FzF-c0WbZF0/XrlVgBX9ADI/AAAAAAAAQ_A/HaWohszLq3cSL-HDK7f0imItFXPHTU-FwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Hazel.jpg" width="409" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Hazel enjoying her weekly jaunt to the kerb. She is hoping to bag herself a binman. </b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Mitzi http://www.blogger.com/profile/01416789788174823493noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-82585547144092660262020-05-04T17:06:00.001+01:002020-05-04T23:15:53.398+01:00Star Interview Martharine Stoad<b><span style="font-size: large;">Frigwell Crescent star Martharine Stoad tells us her likes, her dislikes and what makes her tick.</span></b><br />
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<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Name: Martharine Stoad nee Thripp</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Age: 64</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Height: 5'2"</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Hair: Burnt Champagne</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Style: pudding bowl.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Job: Housewife and charity shop worker.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Favourite Colour: Puce</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Favourite Holiday Destination: Bognor</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Likes: Jam making, jigsaws, pub skittles, amigurumi and playing the ukulele.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Dislikes: Kidney beans</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Favourite Film: Holiday on the Buses</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Favourite Song: Chanson D'Amour by <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif;">The Manhattan Transfer</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Favourite painting: Wings of Love by Stephen Pearson</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">My children are my pride and joy, you never stop worrying about them do you? No matter how old they are. My daughter Cheryl is a great worry to me, she has made two appearances on The Undateables and on both dates they had been awkward silences, one young man during filming excused himself to go to the toilet and he never returned, filming continued and we saw Cheryl sitting alone in a cafe against a back drop of the Taj Mahal, wearing my old wedding dress and veil, it was quite moving, the other young man she met committed suicide soon after the programme aired, she's not fazed by it, in fact she's hopeful that Lydia will ring again soon to say another date has been found. Fingers crossed! My oldest, Allardyce lives in Cleveleys, he collects ornamental thimbles and mints his peas, I'll put it no stronger than that.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">First Job</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I worked as a waitress at a very posh hotel for £2 an hour, until I heard the cafe down the road was paying £2.10 plus tips and you get to take home yesterdays pastries, I left the hotel in a flash!</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Do you have any pets?</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Yes, I have a 7 year old Golden Retriever called Scarlet, she brings a lot of colour into our lives and to our living room carpet.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Have you ever been on television?</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Yes, I have performed on Top of the Pops in 1971 as a member of a quartet for the band The Congregation, you can see me on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pt2PnfdqzTg">Youtube</a> I'm the one wearing the green dress, NOT her with the ugly wart on her top lip... ugh! Why the camera was focused more on her when I'm so much prettier, I'll never know.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">How attractive do you think you are on a scale of 1-10?</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Definitely a 9, modesty forbids a 10. I remember asking my husband Aubrey the same question on our wedding night and he said he'll like to give me one, I thought he would have rated me higher than that, but I was 9 month pregnant with my first at the time, it didn't stop him from wetting the baby's head that night either, if you know what I mean!</span></b>Mitzi http://www.blogger.com/profile/01416789788174823493noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-61237339217572942492020-04-25T12:28:00.000+01:002020-04-25T12:28:10.006+01:00Interlude: Headache Cheryl was bored. They'd been trudging through the chair-lined
tunnel for what seemed like eternity, or at the very least fifteen
minutes. She was bored of walking, bored of all the songs on her
Walkman, bored of Iris's back and bum, bored of non-chocolate Easter
eggs masquerading as exquisite objets d'art on chairs. Bored, <i>bored</i>, BORED!<br />
As
the third ladder appeared out of the gloom ahead of her, Cheryl stopped
her trudging and looked up to see where it went. The rusty old metal
ladder disappeared into a dark tube in the curved ceiling of the tunnel.<br />
"What's up there?" she asked.<br />
"Nothing" Iris called back. "Come along, Cheryl."<br />
"There must be something" Cheryl mumbled and started to climb the ladder.<br />
"No good will come of it!" Iris called to Cheryl's sturdy legs as they disappeared above her.<br />
After
a minute of climbing, a metal manhole cover blocked any further
progress. Cheryl pushed on it and the cover creaked open, daylight
almost blinding her. With a grunt, Cheryl pushed it all the way back
and crawled halfway out into what appeared to be a <a href="https://write-panic.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-mystery-of-sticky-back-dildo.html">scruffy copse</a>
surrounded by an even scruffier hedge. Just as she was about to hawl
herself all the way out, something came flying over the hedge and
clonked her right in the head, cushioned slightly by her thick, bowl-cut hair.<br />
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"Oof!"
said Cheryl, her grip loosening. And then a second object hurtled
after it. "Ow!" she said as it too made painful contact with her skull.<br />
Cheryl half slid, half tumbled down the ladder, the manhole cover clanging shut above her.<br />
"Owch"
she grumbled as she landed heavily on the tunnel floor. Then, not
getting any sympathy from Iris, she struggled to her feet and lumbered
after her.<br />
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The fourth ladder appeared after another five
minutes or so. Cheryl climbed it as Iris tutted and shook her head. At
the top of the tube, Cheryl pushed open another manhole cover and was
summarily hit in the head by a half-eaten banana.<br />
Cheryl sighed and made her way back down again.<br />
"I
told you no good would come of it" Iris said matter-of-factly with her
hands on her hips, and then she turned and strode off down the tunnel.
"Not far now."<br />
"Hummph" said Cheryl.Inexplicable DeVicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04187364843729214996noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-40561279910254742512020-04-14T16:47:00.002+01:002020-04-15T12:20:42.462+01:00Frigwell Crescent - The Musical<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Well you're dirty and sweet</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Clad in black</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Don't look back</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And I love you</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>You're dirty and sweet oh yeah</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;">T.Rex. Get It On</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">H</span><span style="font-size: large;">azel finally reached her destination, stepping off the number 69 bus into Poobury </span><span style="font-size: large;">Station on the outskirts of London, still wearing the black ensemble she bought from the Sue Ryder shop over a week ago in Blackpool, her amazing haggling skills meant she bought the ensemble for next to nothing and the sales assistant even threw in a half bottle of Timeless by Avon.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Hazel used her late mother's bus pass to travel for free on a journey that took 8 days and 7 hours, she boarded 26 buses, used 20 bus companies, crossed 11 counties and cruised through 12 cities, she also saved money by offering herself to men at the back of the bus depot in exchange for free accommodation and for something hot inside her of a morning.</b></span><br />
<br />
Cuts to music <span style="background-color: white; color: lime; font-family: "roboto" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ixlC0BU_bY4">♫</a></span><br />
Hazel plying her trade, back of bus depot. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The summer season had just ended and Hazel was happy to accept her sister Tina's invite to stay for a couple of months, that is until Mother Goose at the Winter Gardens beckoned her return to the bright lights of Blackpool.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Hazel was met at Poobury station by a thickset man with mutton-chops and greasy lips, "I've no money for a taxi" said Hazel with twitching lips (facial) "but I can pay with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2cgfPUEP6lg">nature's credit card</a>, if need be," the man quickly and eagerly ushered Hazel into his green Citroen Dyane. "I'm afraid it's my unclean week, it'll have to be backdoors" continued Hazel. "Even better, said the man and added "I hope you're not a vegetarian cause I've got 4 inches of prime in my trousers for starters" growled Aubrey. Hazel's nipples hardened. "Good, I haven't eaten all day!"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Hazel arrived at Frigwell Crescent and was greeted at the door by Tina. "Eh Hazel! lovely to see you again, said Tina reverting back to her old Lancashire accent, her eyes brimmed with tears. "Aye it is, our lass" said Hazel wiping her nose on the back of her hand. The two sisters embraced on the doorstep "Come in! I'm sorry I couldn't pick you up from the station, I was expecting a delivery, go on through to the kitchen I'll make us some tea or would you prefer coffee? Hazel went through and gasped at the opulence of Tina's kitchen, there on the kitchen window sill stood a Robert's radio, it was playing a long forgotten tune from the <span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nZthPs8NpU">80s</a></span> "ehh she's got it all," thought Hazel "Swan kettle and matching toaster and I bet she didn't get much change from 30 notes for that peddle bin in the corner and she's offering me a choice of tea or coffee, oh, how the other half live".</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"How's mam?" asked Tina</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Still spry as a sparrer" lied Hazel, looking up from her cup, she spied on the wall an Audrey Dallas Simpson print of a street urchin and inhaled her tea, causing her to cough and splutter, she didn't have the nerve to tell her eldest sister that their mother is dead and unreported to the authorities and rolled up in an old carpet in the loft and that Hazel had been collecting their mother's pension for the last 5 years.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
</div>
Mitzi http://www.blogger.com/profile/01416789788174823493noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-36289085695501544472020-04-11T05:49:00.000+01:002020-04-11T05:49:08.532+01:00floccinaucinihilipilification<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Rennie tried to understand, were his dreams just shit hitting the fan. He staggered toward the doorway. The tight skirt resisting his movement.</span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">As he reached the door, the buxom blonde’s long nails violently seized his arm and thrusted him against the wall. The cold metal gun barrel pushed on the back of his ear.</span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“Hand over your passport Nina” demanded Annie.</span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Momentarily confused Rennie thought, who the fuck is Nina. The pressure of the gun quickly cleared his thoughts. “Back off, it’s in the travel pouch tucked in the skirt.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">As Annie released her hold, Rennie kicked out her legs and lunged for the gun.</span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Rennie’s quick action failed much like his whole day.</span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">A round exploded as he tumbled on top of Annie.</span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">A burning flash across his chest stunned him. He was shocked but ok. The Dolly Parton bra and padding lie shredded across the floor. He looked up. Annie stood with the gun pointing down at him. “Now you know it’s loaded,” she shouted.</span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Iris ran to Rennie and pulled him to his feet. “Don’t shoot,” she pleaded.</span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“Yes Iris this will go easier without a dead body to dump. Just open his passport. It has information in it to decipher the code.”</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Another odd thought floated in Rennie mind. Why do I smell dog shit?<br /></span></div>Bill Lislemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15187273560129198423noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-23573038964610642242020-04-07T17:37:00.002+01:002020-04-07T18:40:55.592+01:00Frobisher<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Meanwhile, in the mid-sized city in the Pacific Northwest, Detective Lieutenant Milton Frobisher studied the autopsy report of an Uber driver who had been run over by a light rail vehicle. The cause of death was about what you would expect: run over by a train. The ME had, however, found one curious fact that didn’t fit with the other injuries - a small indentation behind the vic’s left ear, containing trace amounts of a blackish substance. The incongruously attractive science nerds of the Mid-Size City crime lab were currently trying to identify the substance.</span><br />
<pre style="overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;">
Frobisher had checked with Uber to see who the driver’s last passenger had been - the one who had apparently shoved him out of his car and sped away. That’s when things got weird. The last trip the driver had logged was a routine trip - a regular customer had been taken from her home to her place of work. Then...nothing. All records of his work after that moment had simply vanished, along with the OnStar data for the car.
The phone on Frobisher’s desk rang. The patrolman on the switchboard said, “Lieutenant, I have a missing person’s report. I think it might be related to your Uber case.” Frobisher took the address of the reporting party. It was near the scene of the “accident”.
When he arrived at the address - a cheap apartment building - he was greeted at the door by a dowdy middle-aged woman with a thick, unidentifiable eastern European accent. She was decked out in a frowsy bathrobe of indeterminate color, and pink bunny slippers. She had curlers on her head, but her flaming red “hair” was obviously a wig. Frobisher could see her wispy, grey real hair sticking out from under the edges of the scarlet nightmare.
The woman identified herself as Svetlana...something. He asked her several times to repeat it, but couldn’t understand her. Finally he handed her his notepad and pen and asked her to write it herself. When she handed back the pad (but not his pen, he realized later), she had written it in Cyrillic letters. Oh, well, he thought. I’ll just get it translated later.
After considerable difficulty, Frobisher was able to gather that Ms. Whatever had called because one of her tenants - known to her as Rennington Hightower - had vanished without a trace, owing rent money. When she showed him the apartment, it was completely bare. Frobisher said, “You say he was here just this morning? How could he move all his stuff out so quickly? He must have had stuff, right?” Ms. Whatever replied indignantly, “Of course he was having stuffs! You are the police man - you figure it out!”
Frobisher was about to call for a lab team to come go over the unit, when the lab called him. The head lab technician said, “Frobisher, we identified the substance in the Uber driver’s indentation. It’s from a banana.”
Frobisher felt his stomach churn. “Oh, no...not again”, he thought.</pre>
Rimpy Rimpingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13017152542056998917noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-62597694090756778322020-04-07T12:31:00.000+01:002020-04-07T12:31:52.525+01:00NinaDouglas flew out of the front door nearly knocking Rennie off his feet.<br />
<br />
"RUDE." Said Rennie, trying to regain his poise in the unfamiliar kitten heels that were pinching his toes; he then looked on in horror as Douglas stole his car, which had been idling on Iris's gravel driveway.<br />
<br />
"STOP!!" Shouted Rennie, but Douglas was already speeding out of Frigwell Crescent.<br />
<br />
Rennie slumped down on Iris's doorstep, put his head in his hands, and then slowly pulled off the Dolly Parton wig. Why oh why had he decided to come to England disguised as Nina Mishsochlopovkovni? Why hadn't he checked the passport before blindly selecting it from his collection? He could have been anyone. He could have been John Brown - business man and candle maker, or Chuck Hudson - a salesman with a penchant for liquorice allsorts, but no, he was now saddled with being Nina Mishsochlopovkovni.<br />
<br />
Rennie had never been to England before, and he was finding it all rather grey and squashed. How did the Brits live in these tiny little houses built so close together? He was used to wide open spaces; mountains; big trees; volcanic activity; a large bed; and driving on the right side of the road. Rennie wished he'd stayed home and felt very sorry for himself. Douglas had driven off with all his documents; his jacket; his phone; and most importantly, his connection to SpodeChode. And where was Iris? Either Iris would do right now, even the Iris-bot would be useful.<br />
<br />
Rennie kicked off the kitten heels, and without the wig he simply looked like a man in a dress who was rather upset and lost.<br />
<br />
"PPSSSSSSTTTTTT, over here....... are you deaf or what??"<br />
<br />
Rennie looked up and saw a blonde woman holding a large gun beckoning him towards her house..... <br />
<br />
Ms Scarlethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00449626572478125088noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-39357638664106229282020-04-06T22:02:00.001+01:002020-04-07T07:50:37.063+01:00The Mystery of the Sticky-back Dildo.Meanwhile, on a back road near Harwich...<br />
<br />
The man formerly known as "Douglas Manning," husband of Annie, pulled his car off the road and took out his Swiss Army knife.<br />
<br />
Using the thing-for -taking-stones-out-of-horses'- hooves, he prised the bulldog clips from his car's UK licence plates, revealing NL plates. (He wondered, briefly, if he should keep them...then decided that it was unlikely he would ever be sent back to England so he frisbee'd both plates over a hedge into a scruffy copse.)<br />
<br />
He glanced at his watch.So far, so good. He'd make his 9am ferry and be in Holland mid-afternoon. Ish. He always allowed for an "ish" eventuality. Being caught up in a particularly nasty football crowd once that involved police from three countries had taught him to plan for such exigencies. But with no matches scheduled for today, he should be fine...<br />
<br />
He drove onto the ferry, parked his car on the car deck and went up to the lounge for some breakfast.<br />
<br />
Like all others in his "trade" he was a people-watcher. An essential in the craft, his trainers had always impressed upon him the importance of noticing and noting the small, silly details.<br />
<br />
And what he was noticing today was the mother with two unruly children, stuffing sugary cakes into their fat faces. Manning's eyes searched the room for a First Aid station. Someone might need that today...<br />
<br />
He finished his coffee and walked across to the book stall. Six hours to fill and he didn't want to appear too different from other passengers so he idly browsed the titles on the book stand. A strange volume about the origins of Tarot cards caught his eye. Its cover was bordered with a triangular device that reminded him of that Swiss confectionary ...he flicked through the pages and was tempted to buy it, but his training had taught him never to carry something that might attract unwanted attention. The last thing he needed was some daffy old woman engaging him in a lengthy discussion of horoscopic predictions. He bought a Telegraph and settled with the crossword.<br />
<br />
The crossing uneventful, they docked at Hoek on time and cleared customs and Manning drove away from the dock, heading for a small, nondescript shop on a back street. Parking around a corner, he donned a pair of dark-framed glasses and a worn, dark blue beret and a gaberdine coat.<br />
<br />
The man at the counter was reading a newspaper and barely looked up when the shop bell rang.<br />
<br />
Manning said, glancing left and right, and leaning across the counter," I'd like some sticky-backed dildo, please."<br />
<br />
The shop man sighed, put his paper aside and reached under the counter for a tray of items...<br />
<br />
"No! Sorry! I mean, um, Velcro."<br />
<br />
<br />
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dinahmowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00052642938090553088noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-88925757035664220052020-04-04T11:36:00.002+01:002020-04-25T12:30:59.121+01:00Things on Chairs Cheryl cut some half-hearted shapes on the patio as she listened to
"Smooth Criminal" for the umpteenth time on her ancient Walkman.
Michael Jackson she most definitely was not. Neil Armstrong could have
done better on the actual Moon in his full astronaut get-up! But after
squeezing Scarlet's glands, she wasn't convinced she could execute a
proper Moonwalk without throwing up. Besides, the tape was crinkled and
distorted after having to be painstakingly unravelled from the
Walkman's innards on more than one occasion, and the resulting sound
distortion played havok with her inner ear which only made things worse.<br />
So
intent was she on not vomming as she awkwardly stumbled around on the
faux Yorkstone slabs, all the while trying to avoid the stinkeye from
Scarlet at the far end of the garden, that she didn't notice the figure
sidling up to her from behind the laurel...<br />
<br />
Iris took
off her glasses with one hand, unpinned her severe bun with the other,
then shook her head to release her long, dark hair. It tumbled in waves
around her shoulders and halfway down her back as, almost in slow
motion, she stepped forward towards the lurching, zombie-like figure.<br />
"Oof!" she grunted as she recoiled from the impact with the whirligig washing line. Iris put her glasses back on and flinched.<br />
"Hullo,
Iris." Cheryl had turned around and was facing Iris with a look on her
face that, despite her slightly narrowed eyes, could only be described
as gormless. "Why are there two of you?"<br />
"What?" Iris was momentarily flummoxed. Had Cheryl been at Martharine's cooking sherry again? The girl was so weird.<br />
"You're so weird, Iris" Cheryl said matter-of-factly. "Are you the robot one?"<br />
"I...
Well... You see..." How did she know about the Irisbot? No one knew
about the Irisbot. Well, except for all the people who knew about it,
that is. And Cheryl was most definitely not people! Although, the fact
that she did know made what Iris was about to say next easier.
"Cheryl, I need your help."<br />
"Um, no."<br />
"No? What?" The flummox came back to taunt Iris.<br />
"I've got to show Auntie Tina out. Bye" Cheryl said, then turned and lumbered across the patio and back into the house.<br />
"But..."
Iris stood in the middle of the patio for a while before realising that
she was on full view should Aubrey or Martharine look out of their
dining room window. Or if Douglas Manning decided to stop doing
whatever it was he was doing with the Irisbot and look out of her
bedroom window which overlooked the Stoads back garden. She moved to
the side of the house and lurked near the rubbish bins while she
pondered her next move. Who else could she get to help her who was
weird enough not to be believed if they blabbed about it? Her train of
thought was derailed by Cheryl's voice coming from the front. She was
saying something about cat biscuits before the front door was slammed
and Tina Cruet's distinctive harsh laugh rang out.<br />
"Hullo, Iris."<br />
"Eeep!"
Iris jumped, her heart in her mouth, along with a kidney and part of
her small intestines. How had Cheryl managed to sneak up on her?<br />
"I can help you now."<br />
<br />
Ten
minutes later Iris and Cheryl stood in Douglas and Annie Manning's
small but spotless study. Well, it was spotless before Cheryl had
walked flakes of dried mud - and possibly dog shit - from her green,
frog-eyed Wellington boots into the pale carpet.<br />
"She's not here" Cheryl pointed out.<br />
"She
must have rescued herself" Iris muttered, mainly to herself. Annie
Manning had always struck her as a resourceful, if brassy, woman. "She's
not long gone though, as her computer is still warm to the touch."<br />
"Is
it?" Cheryl reached out impulsively for the computer and knocked over a
small vase of past-their-prime flowers with her inelegant
sausage-fingers instead. "Oops."<br />
"Come on. Let's go" urged Iris. "I need to get something from my house before we can move to stage two."<br />
"Okay."<br />
Cheryl
slammed the door shut after them as they left the Mannings' house.
Neither of them heard the Geordie-accented male voice pleading for HP
sauce and a new red felt-tip pen floating down from the attic...<br />
<br />
Five
minutes after that in Iris's spacious but dark living room, made darker
and more oppressive by the heavy wood beams that crossed the ceiling,
Cheryl picked her nose as she slowly turned on the spot as if in a
trance.<br />
"He's still upstairs!" Iris hissed appearing from the hall.<br />
"Huh?" Cheryl continued to turn with her finger up her lightly freckled, round nose.<br />
"I can't get to my boxes - Douglas Manning is still in my bedroom with the Irisbot!"<br />
"Huh?"
Cheryl finally withdrew her finger and, after examining the blob on the
end, rolled it between her finger and thumb then flicked it off into
the darkness. Iris winced.<br />
Suddenly, the sound of car tyres
aggressively driven on gravel cut through their whispering. Iris
narrowed her eyes in annoyance - Whoever they were had better not be
churning up her driveway! Then rapid footsteps filtered down from above
their heads. Douglas Manning was on the move. And he was coming down
the stairs!<br />
"Cheryl! We've got to go!" Iris bundled Cheryl
towards the inglenook fireplace at the far end of the room. A dull
glint of gold amongst the dust on the wine-red carpet in the corner
caught Iris's eye as she made a complicated gesture with her right
hand. At the side of the inglenook, an opening appeared.<br />
"Huh?" said Cheryl.<br />
"Go!"
Iris pushed Cheryl into the door-sized hole and followed her through,
the hole closing behind them. "And wipe your feet."<br />
Inside, a
long corridor stretched off into the distance - far too long to fit
within the confines of the mansion, even though it was the largest house
on Frigwell Crescent. Iris began to walk briskly down it.<br />
Cheryl
absentmindedly wiped her wellies on the roughly bristled doormat that
lay beneath her as she looked at her surroundings. The low-lit corridor
was lined with ornately carved wooden chairs - a row on either side
facing inwards, with a gap of about three metres between each chair. As
Cheryl slowly followed Iris, she noticed that every chair had something
on it. Most contained books of various descriptions: <i>The Visitors</i> by Sally Beauman, <i>neue möbel 6</i> by Gerd Hatje, <i>The Days Are Just Packed</i> by Bill Watterson, <i>Fucked-up Fondues</i>
by Delilah Smythe, to name but a few. However, as she progessed, she
also saw things other than books: a neatly folded towel, a small
collection of sea glass, a spindle-shaped vial of irridescent
blue liquid impossibly balanced on its tip, a pink fondant fancy, an old clay pot with mould growing inside it, a universe,
a bottle of greed, and the most perfect, golden Ferrero Rocher she had ever seen. Cheryl
stopped to gawp at it. It glimmered and sparkled with every slight turn
of her head. In fact, it practically glowed.<br />
"Come on, Cheryl!" Iris sounded quite stern.<br />
The Rocher spell broken, Cheryl trudged after Iris.Inexplicable DeVicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04187364843729214996noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-92093211433046569822020-04-03T12:46:00.000+01:002020-04-03T12:46:09.645+01:00Breaking New!<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b>Body of local man found in Frigwell Wood. Father and daughter helping police with their enquiries.</b></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="310" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/sLD0SNCFtyA" width="500"></iframe>Mitzi http://www.blogger.com/profile/01416789788174823493noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-56561787991237712412020-04-01T17:03:00.001+01:002020-05-04T23:06:18.579+01:00Life After Percy<b><span style="font-size: large;">Tina Cruet tottered up the garden path of her neighbours Aubrey and Martharine Stoad, her red high heel shoes scraping on the block paving as she went along. She stopped midway to admire the beautiful old laburnum tree that has graced the Stoads garden for many a year, with it's drooping clusters of yellow flowers billowing in the gentle summer breeze, the sight of it made Tina's heart leap with gay abandon. It was the only tree in the vicinity of the small cul-de-sac of semi detached houses, built in the 1920's by builders Burke and Hare.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Tina lives at the bottom of the bag but now thanks to her new status of widow comes ambition, to move to the very top of the cul-de-sac and by hook or by crook she was going to succeed or die trying. Whilst she was admiring it's lovely branches she happened to look pass the tree at the mock Tudor mansion opposite, the only detached property in the neighbourhood, 'If I lived there' thought Tina 'I could really Queen it over everyone' In the bedroom window of the mock Tudor mansion almost hidden by a secret veil stood the profile of Iris Green the moral watch dog of Frigwell Crescent looking directly at Tina. Iris pulled back the net and locked eyes with the fleshpot trollop. Tina gasped as she saw to her horror two flashing blue lights emitting from Iris's eyes, than laughed remembering that the old bag wore jam jar glasses and was just the sun light reflecting off them. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Tina turned her back on the nosy cow and continued her walk up the Stoads path, plucking her knickers out from between her arse cheeks, she rang the door bell. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">She was greeted at the door by Martharine, a rabbity faced woman in her late 50s with a pudding bowl haircut. "Come in and go on through to the sitting room, Cheryl's in there with daddy, as you can hear by the noise, ha-ha! she's practising for Britain's Got Talent." Martharine had a peculiar and some might say unhealthy way of addressing her husband Aubrey as 'daddy'. Tina went through to the sitting room and sat down, father and daughter together facing the bay window playing to an imaginary audience, they didn't see Tina enter. Cheryl on the recorder was playing Go and Tell Aunt Nancy accompanied by her father on the armpit. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Stoads dog, Scarlet, a golden retriever came bounding up to Tina for a friendly pat on the head then quickly moved away to drag it's arse back and forth along the carpet and then began to yacht in a big circle, leaving her mark behind her. "Oh Cheryl love" said Martharine. "Take Scarlet to the kitchen, she needs her glands squeezing again, better still, take her outside, be gentle, you remember what happened last time? Martharine turned to her friend Tina and mouthed "There was shit everywhere" always eager to please her parents Cheryl with the same rabbity face as her mother and the same pudding bowl haircut trudged out of the room clutching Scarlet by the collar. "and when you finished you can make us all a nice cup of tea and a slice of that chocolate cake but before you go, what do you say to Tina?" Cheryl! whispered Martharine "Say something nice to Tina she has just cremated her husband". Cheryl looked at Tina, smiled and in a drone like voice said "Hello Auntie Tina, do you want to see my knickers?" Tina wondered why Cheryl always acted so weird, she never knew what she was going to do or come out with next, it's not as if she is still a child, she 28 for fucks sake.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Aubrey lifted up his brewer's goiter with one hand and scratched the purple hued skin beneath with his other and casually sniffed his fingers. He was a short, fat man with oily looking lips, black hair combed back and held in place with Brylcreem, he wore segs on the soles of his shoes. Tina stared intently at him, her eyes bored into his like tungsten carbide cylinder drill bits and he looked genuinely surprised when she broke into a seductive mien. Was it Martharine's imagination did her husband's usually dormant bulge just give a slight twitch?</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Five days ago.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Aubrey was out in his front garden taking cuttings from his unruly bush, his intention was to give everyone in Frigwell Crescent a Fallopia Japonica of their very own, an ear piercing scream coming from The Cruet's house broke Aubrey free from his day dream, he dashed immediately to Tina's assistance and was met with a teary eyed Tina "My Percy.. he's dead" was all she said before she slumped into Aubrey's masculine arms. It was Aubrey who helped Tina cope with the isolation and despair the complex feelings that grief brings, after a while they found themselves being drawn together and by the time the police and forensics had been to take away the body he had already given her one over the arm of the chair.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Did forensics find out what killed him? Martharine asked proffering a slice of chocolate cake under Tina's nose. "It was an underlying illness, his heart, it couldn't have been predicted or prevented" said Tina biting into her chocolate cake and licking her lips in Aubrey's direction. Tina stayed another 10 minutes then said her goodbyes and thanked everyone especially Aubrey for everything he had done during her difficult time. Martharine beamed with pride at her husband and noticed yet again another twitch in Aubrey's trouser department. It was Cheryl who showed Tina out and gave her some sound advice en route "A cat can have kittens in an oven, but it doesn't make them biscuits" and slammed the door in Tina's face.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Tina burst out laughing.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<br />Mitzi http://www.blogger.com/profile/01416789788174823493noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8770786213349270716.post-20636343160945208442020-04-01T11:08:00.000+01:002020-04-01T12:15:35.919+01:00<div style="text-align: center;">Annie are you okay?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/h_D3VFfhvs4" width="560"></iframe></div>LL Cool Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13916666100971008775noreply@blogger.com5