tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36037689025664578652024-03-18T03:04:14.807+00:00The Scribbling Wrentales told in exactly 100 words...noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.comBlogger626125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-19726287858219342162024-01-16T13:45:00.000+00:002024-01-16T13:45:16.614+00:00Snitches get Stitches<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQuRciqT2Ib9Tl9tCL8y9nVfCrABYFL3dZ2k0EYPdh1Iysq-j68BE5FjM68nSVfKw_ZWnPi8JYIcLlGrNCyWTS6CH6DaqBL1QkXZ8jG3JqQsogLW4LETN75h4Iokf3oLI07siApkaufXBTASSJeOPFM6c1eDOBE1UcB55al8YevnUmX5tuij5IwQ7uVaRv/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202024-01-15%2008.59.21%20-%20a%20craft%20fair%20stall%20piled%20with%20money.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQuRciqT2Ib9Tl9tCL8y9nVfCrABYFL3dZ2k0EYPdh1Iysq-j68BE5FjM68nSVfKw_ZWnPi8JYIcLlGrNCyWTS6CH6DaqBL1QkXZ8jG3JqQsogLW4LETN75h4Iokf3oLI07siApkaufXBTASSJeOPFM6c1eDOBE1UcB55al8YevnUmX5tuij5IwQ7uVaRv/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202024-01-15%2008.59.21%20-%20a%20craft%20fair%20stall%20piled%20with%20money.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sally was a creative soul so it felt like she’d landed her
dream job – visiting Fairs and Markets chatting to stall holders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reality dawned on her first day in the office:
she was grilled on anyone that wasn’t also selling online specifically how much
she thought they were making.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She took a few leaflets to her next market explaining HMRC’s
side hustle rule. It wasn’t how she’d been asked to work but it felt a nicer
way of doing it. One cross sticher even gave her a little plaque. ‘Bend The
Rules’ stitched in pink and bordered with pretty flowers. </span></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-89252093884546873332024-01-06T06:01:00.008+00:002024-01-06T06:01:00.133+00:00The Green-eyed Monster thinks she Sees Green Fingers <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZWrtZIoOwzJn54aFGQVZAWdn08mPmtYV5xo0S4dZP_yr8drh0jYs3EaXmjBalxeZmh251-yOqJMq_9Ey27H7tpLMDHGWsR7rhQHIc3toFjhAL1J91zVfB4wfDP4TdIIaYSVj1MgoM3UeVmpD_QA8QiDRHXHJCFyIua2qgKa9_QP_d8vBen-56so-QjUiA/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202024-01-04%2008.49.35%20-%20a%20very%20large%20basil%20plant%20growing%20in%20a%20pot%20on%20a%20windowsill%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZWrtZIoOwzJn54aFGQVZAWdn08mPmtYV5xo0S4dZP_yr8drh0jYs3EaXmjBalxeZmh251-yOqJMq_9Ey27H7tpLMDHGWsR7rhQHIc3toFjhAL1J91zVfB4wfDP4TdIIaYSVj1MgoM3UeVmpD_QA8QiDRHXHJCFyIua2qgKa9_QP_d8vBen-56so-QjUiA/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202024-01-04%2008.49.35%20-%20a%20very%20large%20basil%20plant%20growing%20in%20a%20pot%20on%20a%20windowsill%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Watching the moving van empty and the house fill I was
jealous of my new neighbour before she’d even moved in. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I didn’t exactly spy on her but when I closed my bedroom
curtains I could see her kitchen. A basil plant on the windowsill, so big it almost
blocked my view. I could imagine her life – homemade pizza, pasta sauces and salads.
All with fresh leaves from that enviable plant.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A few months after moving in she invited me over for dinner.
Deliveroo arrived just after me. We ate in the kitchen – a plastic basil plant
hovering over us. </span></p><br /><p></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-56252962021106969112023-12-25T09:16:00.005+00:002023-12-25T09:16:00.248+00:00A Guardian Angel at the top of the Tree<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9Vfmw0GQTtiISyLA6fkW0AC6S_QLiDtF-jk5cWqfdhLX3pwhM5sNyW6AIKzf_WrtBbBYp2_WzCPibnL5BUdmdYqaZ9XuRtvqekwaxrBPw3zBgiATdlNOJ5MnSFxlgP6Dm7eKCDG4lnkJDfbCn9S5dyfKgZpyFmW8vphVuMVmNMYMkB0AfxypZ6HVa1A3/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-28%2009.18.01%20-%20an%20angel%20at%20the%20top%20of%20a%20christmas%20tree.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9Vfmw0GQTtiISyLA6fkW0AC6S_QLiDtF-jk5cWqfdhLX3pwhM5sNyW6AIKzf_WrtBbBYp2_WzCPibnL5BUdmdYqaZ9XuRtvqekwaxrBPw3zBgiATdlNOJ5MnSFxlgP6Dm7eKCDG4lnkJDfbCn9S5dyfKgZpyFmW8vphVuMVmNMYMkB0AfxypZ6HVa1A3/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-28%2009.18.01%20-%20an%20angel%20at%20the%20top%20of%20a%20christmas%20tree.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Last Christmas Paul had been in hospital having heart
surgery so the family were going all out this year and marking every single
Christmas tradition they possibly could. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was an odd December, peppered with power cuts, but by
Christmas Eve Paul was the last man standing in the family Whamageddon game. As
soon they got back from Midnight Mass “Last Christmas I gave you my Heart”
played on the radio before the lights flickered and the power went off again. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Paul’s heart gave a flutter and he wondered if, this year, he’d
had some help to win the game.</span></p></div><p><br /> </p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-2992497715605725612023-12-18T09:31:00.002+00:002023-12-18T09:31:00.137+00:00A Very Early Christmas<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq9pL4HEOUvOTyU-7XOx_kDvzziZXAkQ4YylCIrShCglBtJ6aQ9aEam0JuG9XaNiKVYWep_88OTcVEVvLKBgmkxRfGq7h2x874zIJIrIxYntR9TbjzE3F1UQ48JI4YYM3UNe-p9MN3uQltee9necxozjBHpMHzN-ZTmttxf0jVwAyaaA6bVNSM0AWm5_p7/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-28%2009.32.36%20-%20an%20artificial%20christmas%20tree.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq9pL4HEOUvOTyU-7XOx_kDvzziZXAkQ4YylCIrShCglBtJ6aQ9aEam0JuG9XaNiKVYWep_88OTcVEVvLKBgmkxRfGq7h2x874zIJIrIxYntR9TbjzE3F1UQ48JI4YYM3UNe-p9MN3uQltee9necxozjBHpMHzN-ZTmttxf0jVwAyaaA6bVNSM0AWm5_p7/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-28%2009.32.36%20-%20an%20artificial%20christmas%20tree.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Picture the scene, it’s October 1<sup>st</sup> and Nanna has
gathered us round to say she probably won’t be alive at Christmas. She wants to
‘do’ Christmas early.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The farm understands and lets us chose a tree, they cut it down
and we take it home and decorate it. It’s October 5<sup>th</sup>. On the 13<sup>th</sup>
we celebrate Christmas.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">By November we’re hoovering up needles twice a day. By
December the inevitable happens. The tree is dead: just a bare skeleton in the
corner. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now, three years on, we still trim up early. But we’ve
talked Nanna into having an artificial tree.</span></p></div><p><br /> </p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-64700343249659511072023-12-11T11:46:00.001+00:002023-12-11T11:46:00.127+00:00Dave & the Cake Stall<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6odNbjUUjoVty9I-vQSWaxEUFloARMZulQkYRX3mLIp5Z2Fsim-YijOxyY5_y8lp8wG-WZfubLPgtSBgMiFmz9ayZz3Xzs1AIlTU295gvbsL7SwErF22mk7s8DX-6cyi2HqjUVocl7HbcIWVFbliYnx7S5MwNCGeLCMRT3WxVeXAiXc0PONCxiidwwEB6/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-19%2011.30.15%20-%20a%20selection%20of%20doughnuts.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6odNbjUUjoVty9I-vQSWaxEUFloARMZulQkYRX3mLIp5Z2Fsim-YijOxyY5_y8lp8wG-WZfubLPgtSBgMiFmz9ayZz3Xzs1AIlTU295gvbsL7SwErF22mk7s8DX-6cyi2HqjUVocl7HbcIWVFbliYnx7S5MwNCGeLCMRT3WxVeXAiXc0PONCxiidwwEB6/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-19%2011.30.15%20-%20a%20selection%20of%20doughnuts.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Dave watched the doughnuts decrease in numbers. Just one
left. One was all he wanted.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The lady before him bought it then last minute changed her
mind and chose an éclair. The doughnut was his! </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Unfortunately he only had a card and it was cash only. The baker
said she’d save it but when he returned with cash they discovered it had been accidentally
sold by the other helper.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Dave was despondent until the raffle ticket seller said his
daughter didn’t want her doughnut! Dave ate his doughnut while the numbers were
called.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He won first prize: a dozen doughnuts. </span></p></div><p><br /> </p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-30720472021333192022023-12-04T11:31:00.009+00:002023-12-04T11:31:00.140+00:00Same Old Me<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWS9ljSPUV7NI1iZSo3kU3qb3IQX-gfhLlij1d5Y7jOc1bwGtOTMJeetEenE5mI1Z9Bk0LftGb4gw0AvqZl8EqaCtJdHh9NC_O5G4ksIgqUMYa-WoX6CIRY9LVSOEv2jTpRNee2dlZRRwwm4ygwQAVSryqI2GHhN5eQfsLDapjPGPHWyY_mXPESDZx2iN/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-19%2011.31.00%20-%20a%20cigarette.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWS9ljSPUV7NI1iZSo3kU3qb3IQX-gfhLlij1d5Y7jOc1bwGtOTMJeetEenE5mI1Z9Bk0LftGb4gw0AvqZl8EqaCtJdHh9NC_O5G4ksIgqUMYa-WoX6CIRY9LVSOEv2jTpRNee2dlZRRwwm4ygwQAVSryqI2GHhN5eQfsLDapjPGPHWyY_mXPESDZx2iN/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-19%2011.31.00%20-%20a%20cigarette.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was a January morning when I first discovered them. I was on my way home from a night out. The 'Fitness Boot Campers' all full of New Year, New Me excitement. They run across the park then drop before their leader and do push ups. I wanted a new body instead of my wine weary one. I needed discipline in my life.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">They meet, whatever the weather, every Saturday.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I've not missed a session this year since.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As they push themselves to their limits I sit on a bench and watch. I smoke. And sometimes take a bacon cob.</span></div></div><p><br /> </p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-11931885049575293062023-11-27T10:58:00.007+00:002023-11-27T10:58:00.140+00:00The Star<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD1BjE1pfN2NukvJR4F4Vy9GQl9VQxuiwMmnVJZ26QEM6L825Uxdhyphenhyphenh8JLueniiVcYH5xfJYk0e_hF95Fb7TiPB5iYLS6oGSUjYptgvpMuHECd4GUhzsY6v4TdRgrSkrg4zuACeGRgWZdyksfPMSGiLtYCQA0yNCGdWYsMok207Jv1VNPx_6PfR5SvePI8/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-19%2011.20.18%20-%20a%20collection%20of%20photographic%20cameras%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD1BjE1pfN2NukvJR4F4Vy9GQl9VQxuiwMmnVJZ26QEM6L825Uxdhyphenhyphenh8JLueniiVcYH5xfJYk0e_hF95Fb7TiPB5iYLS6oGSUjYptgvpMuHECd4GUhzsY6v4TdRgrSkrg4zuACeGRgWZdyksfPMSGiLtYCQA0yNCGdWYsMok207Jv1VNPx_6PfR5SvePI8/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-19%2011.20.18%20-%20a%20collection%20of%20photographic%20cameras%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px 0px 11px;">It's not the first night we’ve spent together. About five years ago when he played my hometown we hooked up. He didn’t recognise me, I didn’t expect him to. I’d be surprised if he recognised himself. That half decade hadn't been kind. He was bloated: his body by drugs and his ego by fame.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px 0px 11px;">I knew exactly what to expect. It’s an odd experience: you know it’s only ever going to be about an hour’s peek into that celebrity world. He was so out of it he’s almost on a different planet.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px 0px 11px;">The Sun prints my story the next week.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Sun prints my story the next week.</span></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-5373357765412309432023-11-20T09:50:00.004+00:002023-11-20T09:50:00.135+00:00 How Vincent the Cat got his Name<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJgjA7mymDSwIbTOyLTKeA4ma2LMGiJg5YXnmj1cC8cadMskDpRhswkBMM2bs7mJrBMNBcWwhMuP-1L5pO355j0_ZcI_Lc4YrPyFaGUmhh4daFWyIaTwMFagMZRHnP66T3v8w0QLaQS1-3h9yZXyX513sVkGUpn-fJBMuBpzrPcH1E__jQEPhpkSsPt9z/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-05%2009.45.32%20-%20a%20framed%20painting%20of%20a%20one%20eared%20cat%20in%20the%20style%20of%20a%20portrait%20by%20van%20gogh%20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJgjA7mymDSwIbTOyLTKeA4ma2LMGiJg5YXnmj1cC8cadMskDpRhswkBMM2bs7mJrBMNBcWwhMuP-1L5pO355j0_ZcI_Lc4YrPyFaGUmhh4daFWyIaTwMFagMZRHnP66T3v8w0QLaQS1-3h9yZXyX513sVkGUpn-fJBMuBpzrPcH1E__jQEPhpkSsPt9z/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-05%2009.45.32%20-%20a%20framed%20painting%20of%20a%20one%20eared%20cat%20in%20the%20style%20of%20a%20portrait%20by%20van%20gogh%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ruth’s new cat had been in a fight and the vet bandaged his
head. He needed constant cuddles and when Ruth left for school the next day he
secretly followed her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was an art day: the teacher had set out paper and
trays of paints in yellow and orange. As the lesson started the cat ran in,
right through the paint leaving little sunflower paw prints on every page. They
tried to catch him, but knocked off his bandage to reveal he’d lost an ear. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ruth explained about the accident and the teacher taught
a lesson on Van Gogh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></p><div><br /></div>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-8318238382432688852023-11-13T15:41:00.001+00:002023-11-13T15:41:00.138+00:00Rat Stew<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3IzWC3L-WdA2N0eD38TWRb0VK45qzz1zdoXeS8fcIQJpoaDlnBac4Vjmy2f_QIXzXS6PnRkhpI8QZtRUakEREykx6layO9pAWhiEAcev9gamDe7-SS-e4SUOnYbH50aQjBw0lb9HzMotFApS-NoJOB9LFMKeeGp7HeciXdwbB3kqSvywURNcE1cBxC58I/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-10-28%2015.36.53%20-%20unattractive%20cat%20with%20three%20legs,%20old%20cat,%20not%20much%20fur%20like%20a%20klimt%20painting%20.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3IzWC3L-WdA2N0eD38TWRb0VK45qzz1zdoXeS8fcIQJpoaDlnBac4Vjmy2f_QIXzXS6PnRkhpI8QZtRUakEREykx6layO9pAWhiEAcev9gamDe7-SS-e4SUOnYbH50aQjBw0lb9HzMotFApS-NoJOB9LFMKeeGp7HeciXdwbB3kqSvywURNcE1cBxC58I/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-10-28%2015.36.53%20-%20unattractive%20cat%20with%20three%20legs,%20old%20cat,%20not%20much%20fur%20like%20a%20klimt%20painting%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Meals were haphazard. Life was haphazard really, we’d pretty
much moved into the basement by November. The summer had been full of dandelion
salads. Blackberries and apples warmed by the autumn sun had just run out. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Our cat, Lucky, saw to herself and always had. Our
neighbours, long gone now, had eaten their pets. We hadn’t: she brought us the
occasional rat and was another warm thing to snuggle up next to at night.
Besides, we had hope for Christmas. Hope was essential in these unprecedented
times. We were looking forward to having her as part of our feast then.</span></p></div><p><br /></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-18511194770159275842023-11-06T15:45:00.000+00:002023-11-06T15:45:00.133+00:00October 27th 1978<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhepPl1XsidQg0YbwthKJPErN0Re1-f_tCD1iY0pMqKbJ31uvvMNU_gr80QcXPVTY2Vpq2lY_5glQFzUXj3hDex6pH0ggvB57LBgY9nlUmxMdKUrqTRLL9Pf4ML9RkgDQmla1gar-P1VB0pV7819jT4bsyHRqsgrGlijYsTIGoCfXtqZ0CAOepz5jxnIWMi/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-10-28%2015.33.27%20-%20a%20police%20incident%20room,%20a%20map%20on%20the%20wall,%20headshots%20of%20women%20around%20the%20map.%20Make%20it%20look%20like%201970!.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhepPl1XsidQg0YbwthKJPErN0Re1-f_tCD1iY0pMqKbJ31uvvMNU_gr80QcXPVTY2Vpq2lY_5glQFzUXj3hDex6pH0ggvB57LBgY9nlUmxMdKUrqTRLL9Pf4ML9RkgDQmla1gar-P1VB0pV7819jT4bsyHRqsgrGlijYsTIGoCfXtqZ0CAOepz5jxnIWMi/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-10-28%2015.33.27%20-%20a%20police%20incident%20room,%20a%20map%20on%20the%20wall,%20headshots%20of%20women%20around%20the%20map.%20Make%20it%20look%20like%201970!.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">October 27<sup>th</sup> 1978</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The incident room smells of men. The incident room smells of
men with creased shirts. The incident room smells of men with creased shirts
and creased faces. It’s been a long monotonous day and is far from finishing. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A squealing wheel heralds the arrival of the tea trolley. The
missing girls watch the tea being poured from their photos pinned around a
local map. Pippa hastily swallows her digestive. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Is there a Petrol Station on the B28?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Yup. Texaco.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“It’s a pattern... Look!”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She points around the map explaining her reasoning feeling
like, perhaps, today some progress has been made. </span></p></div><p><br /></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-56518403848023359852023-10-09T16:34:00.009+01:002023-10-09T16:34:00.153+01:00A Mustard Yellow Hoodie in the Charity Shop<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaPcGFMWYtwXr2OMAEIh5qcQ_9Asu55h1frVKQSEvTkWyvry_ujRXRE-IO-Mk6T0tME7osmgBOHPHvkpMJBOH7kt06p4jBNGhZHx8FemzCwdwFO8iwT7ahDRIky8CmbXAOsGaK_Sh9D-zGfhgR2dLaOkGdpsB5qGzWmxqL3-oEl6pqB3OwR-qVut14D7wY/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-09-04%2016.22.58%20-%20a%20mustard%20yellow%20coloured%20hoodie.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaPcGFMWYtwXr2OMAEIh5qcQ_9Asu55h1frVKQSEvTkWyvry_ujRXRE-IO-Mk6T0tME7osmgBOHPHvkpMJBOH7kt06p4jBNGhZHx8FemzCwdwFO8iwT7ahDRIky8CmbXAOsGaK_Sh9D-zGfhgR2dLaOkGdpsB5qGzWmxqL3-oEl6pqB3OwR-qVut14D7wY/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-09-04%2016.22.58%20-%20a%20mustard%20yellow%20coloured%20hoodie.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He was just an ordinary man dropping a bag of clothes off at
the Charity Shop. Sally, the student volunteer on the till, sniffed the air
trying to identify a familiar smell. Realisation made her retch before she
opened the bag. It was tied tight. Her fingers frantically worked the double
knot loose. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She recognised the clothes with a plummeting heart, felt
about in the pockets, then shrieked as she pulled out her pal’s student ID. One
trembling hand still clutched the hoodie as she called the police.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“...Yeah! It’s definitely the one she was wearing the night
she disappeared...”</span></p></div><p><br /></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-37889177978488512502023-10-02T15:54:00.006+01:002023-10-02T15:54:00.147+01:00Taking my Cats to the Beach <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNEY12HacJvcn6_O_wrq8Dihx4TfccGXSoxTd0Kz6y3tvBSmTtKPJmMgbOuB4gDMwtJAKB-io1x73ZlWmXvwjy4lIrkBlCyfFi9ujNRxnMrPcTbJuLPpevOV1j1qGnx3iWjYdmW3rV7ybwxoWWHdTQHa4zb0ImuTvWwdXSCPjgyDaiDxgmJyF_k-_ZvJ23/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-09-04%2015.31.58%20-%20cats%20playing%20football%20on%20a%20beach%20-%20photographic%20.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNEY12HacJvcn6_O_wrq8Dihx4TfccGXSoxTd0Kz6y3tvBSmTtKPJmMgbOuB4gDMwtJAKB-io1x73ZlWmXvwjy4lIrkBlCyfFi9ujNRxnMrPcTbJuLPpevOV1j1qGnx3iWjYdmW3rV7ybwxoWWHdTQHa4zb0ImuTvWwdXSCPjgyDaiDxgmJyF_k-_ZvJ23/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-09-04%2015.31.58%20-%20cats%20playing%20football%20on%20a%20beach%20-%20photographic%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I went to get lollies and returned to find two children in
tears, three burst balls and the cats claiming football was rubbish anyway.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“They play dirty, and she ignored a red card!” shouted an
angry looking boy. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I’m colour blind aren’t I?” smiled Lucy, then pretended to
be asleep.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I got them a new ball. “O.K. Show me how you play...” They really
were rough players: spitting and scratching. I soon saw why the ball kept
bursting. “You need to play nicely, with less claws.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I just don’t think football’s for us.” Lucy said without even
opening her eyes.</span></p></div><p><br /> </p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-2026545489014390162023-09-22T15:46:00.007+01:002023-09-22T15:46:00.151+01:00Harvest Moon <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDP-GnnKdQVSWL-PC-qUW5LuxJkN6sfXFSkBsI6ykbz1s_uAjmB8SWBM36oGC1IG3yChSNWxjsJoLlM41gppE6V9OOEN3xnSShs40H3-PCmsZ6yt5Zwzz-uNQhZar1hK6rlwtzbUv7Jkat5Aj4SxGW7Qdffed894GIVfCsMgsOV0rCMhNwbrtdpekZIvrz/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-09-04%2015.50.19%20-%20a%20school%20assembly%20with%20an%20assortment%20of%20vegetables%20on%20a%20table%20in%20the%20background.%20.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDP-GnnKdQVSWL-PC-qUW5LuxJkN6sfXFSkBsI6ykbz1s_uAjmB8SWBM36oGC1IG3yChSNWxjsJoLlM41gppE6V9OOEN3xnSShs40H3-PCmsZ6yt5Zwzz-uNQhZar1hK6rlwtzbUv7Jkat5Aj4SxGW7Qdffed894GIVfCsMgsOV0rCMhNwbrtdpekZIvrz/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-09-04%2015.50.19%20-%20a%20school%20assembly%20with%20an%20assortment%20of%20vegetables%20on%20a%20table%20in%20the%20background.%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There was an excited buzz around the school hall. The
headmistress was pleased- the harvest festival assembly was in full swing and
wasn’t usually enjoyed this much.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> The children that had
remembered had all brought in some baked beans for the local food bank.
Teachers had brought vegetables to give the display a more traditional feel. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Amongst the veg was an unfortunate looking potato. Naturally
enough children spotted it and passed on ‘Bum Spud’ quick enough for the whole
school to be giggling: it was this that was making the children smile rather
than the bountiful harvest of tinned beans. </span></p></div><p><br /> </p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-73305961727321562562023-09-18T16:05:00.003+01:002023-09-18T16:05:00.143+01:00Mass <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkHzylZxts6Lb47jr-cCokgNRNR9iI9aKkf3Js3X2IwXlROmL9RHObVSlYCdSvhN66mWx24zf7Dv2lkzbbUVcunSCy98O8zWvnBBGOdHlaLZWQohGhQNbrEnSk_QgzVdFz9Osa-0C3_OUBgE9t9amjxabOVUT_umBhY436OshTp1Sel_l1vA9h5-_npxvz/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-08-31%2016.06.13%20-%20a%20mug%20of%20coffee%20next%20to%20a%20vase%20of%20flowers%20like%20a%20gauguin%20painting%20%20.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkHzylZxts6Lb47jr-cCokgNRNR9iI9aKkf3Js3X2IwXlROmL9RHObVSlYCdSvhN66mWx24zf7Dv2lkzbbUVcunSCy98O8zWvnBBGOdHlaLZWQohGhQNbrEnSk_QgzVdFz9Osa-0C3_OUBgE9t9amjxabOVUT_umBhY436OshTp1Sel_l1vA9h5-_npxvz/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-08-31%2016.06.13%20-%20a%20mug%20of%20coffee%20next%20to%20a%20vase%20of%20flowers%20like%20a%20gauguin%20painting%20%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal ContentPasted0" style="background-color: white; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It’s a small unassuming word by itself.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal ContentPasted0" style="background-color: white; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">One I’d not thought much about before.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal ContentPasted0" style="background-color: white; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now it’s all I can think about. It’s taken over my life. It’s taken over my family’s life. I no longer have a work life. My son’s future potentially no longer features me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal ContentPasted0" style="background-color: white; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I’m getting letters again, all from the hospital, all about this bloody mass: the arrival of the post man doesn’t thrill me like it used to. A short walk in the woods does. Coffee. Family. The sound of laughter- everyone’s very thoughtful around me but I wish they’d laugh more.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal ContentPasted0" style="background-color: white; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I miss normal.</span></p></div><p><br /> </p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-45268285663940735832023-09-11T19:18:00.001+01:002023-09-11T19:18:00.156+01:00A Fulfilling way to Earn a Crust<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhuhw1n4YlDQyiYDNSA4XGnXfIESDs9jl_JaaDUODls7xADqNw_fTuSXSaq1oXXOhuWRyUplC2U0syNoOFaxR21V4EMs5H1LDCaj5cNokc59SJiT5VMiwKIsUJgnwXvQkd9guimPFpxsyPU5ywzQpnFaRNG5krhzNDC9rIX-vf3s-fjC3J8VdPIe9fTLgG/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-08-24%2019.16.46%20-%20a%20pie%20eating%20competition%20photographic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhuhw1n4YlDQyiYDNSA4XGnXfIESDs9jl_JaaDUODls7xADqNw_fTuSXSaq1oXXOhuWRyUplC2U0syNoOFaxR21V4EMs5H1LDCaj5cNokc59SJiT5VMiwKIsUJgnwXvQkd9guimPFpxsyPU5ywzQpnFaRNG5krhzNDC9rIX-vf3s-fjC3J8VdPIe9fTLgG/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-08-24%2019.16.46%20-%20a%20pie%20eating%20competition%20photographic.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Like most elite competitors in their field Michael had been
in training for the majority of his adult life: you could tell just by looking
at him. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Friends and family had grown used to his schedules but
sometimes struggled to understand his devotion. He’d been a big drinker but
replaced beer with copious pints of water. Work colleagues simply couldn’t
understand it; especially when they found out the cost of his weekly food shop.
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">That special diet paid off though, at the next competition,
when Michael was crowned the World Champion Pie Eater for the tenth time on the
trot. </span></p></div><p><br /> </p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-20489886915898199802023-09-04T19:10:00.005+01:002023-09-04T19:10:00.133+01:00Shopping for school shoes<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihDT7XFZlFYYb9vLS21b4iERbJr-Cies6EfXXX1DkA7RnVnB1CRxwkonT2MtT6wKYDT49U1dJ0JO4d6u1FSuoFN0OPuU1eskIDnnR0gHANJnQfwKn_77VS5WAT_IZrJTbERqaBJYxypChE-k4ejjN3s7jZybY2-J42EVbrT1sPVbV1w6kCUmJ97yclOdrE/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-08-24%2019.10.09%20-%20a%20shoe%20shop%20digital%20image.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihDT7XFZlFYYb9vLS21b4iERbJr-Cies6EfXXX1DkA7RnVnB1CRxwkonT2MtT6wKYDT49U1dJ0JO4d6u1FSuoFN0OPuU1eskIDnnR0gHANJnQfwKn_77VS5WAT_IZrJTbERqaBJYxypChE-k4ejjN3s7jZybY2-J42EVbrT1sPVbV1w6kCUmJ97yclOdrE/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-08-24%2019.10.09%20-%20a%20shoe%20shop%20digital%20image.png" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We take a ticket showing the largest number known to man: every
school child in Leicester is currently in Clarks with us. Whilst squeezed next
to a display of patent leather shoes with dolls in the heel we discuss what’s
allowed.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">No, no dolls. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Not patent. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We’re told the internet’s down so the digital foot measurer
won’t work. Doll and Patent are mentioned twenty times. After what feels like
three days we choose sensible shoes.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The till won’t work without the internet- we can buy them
online.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We head home; I feel broken.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Our chosen shoes are out of stock.</span></p></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-45028459119836976212023-08-28T10:57:00.009+01:002023-08-28T10:57:00.133+01:00John<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBY6vjhNLDv4S37U5pf87fYDpp5_6A_NXyC3RSzfEdnX-qXSAUbKpStLnWg3BZrc1QEpJOKefplhs41sXWLZOYGcZLEab08z4zvRpT3FiOqR1kJNBa8gnbunoPHdDu6w3Y8BPiOaIXqldLgyUCx2jEqXezM87Kt7ghK4EpBs-_gqUIoVrjWxtIMRe5-aSN/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-08-12%2010.57.12%20-%20a%20big%20display%20of%20yellow%20Chrysanthemums%20in%20a%20church%20like%20an%20oil%20painting%20by%20gauguin.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBY6vjhNLDv4S37U5pf87fYDpp5_6A_NXyC3RSzfEdnX-qXSAUbKpStLnWg3BZrc1QEpJOKefplhs41sXWLZOYGcZLEab08z4zvRpT3FiOqR1kJNBa8gnbunoPHdDu6w3Y8BPiOaIXqldLgyUCx2jEqXezM87Kt7ghK4EpBs-_gqUIoVrjWxtIMRe5-aSN/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-08-12%2010.57.12%20-%20a%20big%20display%20of%20yellow%20Chrysanthemums%20in%20a%20church%20like%20an%20oil%20painting%20by%20gauguin.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The first thing I notice in the room next to him is
Chrysanthemums. I didn’t want flowers but forgot to say. It’s hard to think of
everything. Maybe someone asked me. Maybe I’m on autopilot just nodding and
telling everyone I’m fine. I’m tired of having ‘sorry for your loss’ thrown at
me, then that awkward bit where we stand in silence.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I leave half way through his funeral.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Those fucking Chrysanthemums.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I feel like I can smell them from outside.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I’ve had enough. I don’t want to be alone but I need to be by
myself for a bit.</span></p></div><p><br /> </p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-32908774539919385062023-08-21T08:58:00.000+01:002023-08-21T08:58:00.132+01:00Carnival Queens<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiojvBcBzH5NfltmRR8MU3WC09lqhiRR463l9pi6-djyiP3iMv-9olykq5jm9-vPsMJQoZ08skz9ZuVlFrjKTzb9DI36ptIMmCVYkX-hjSWRPjqWXL7lGrPhdV3ov2_mxCi1zj3jdOtlHmBn5WjCF_dxv9qbs89D3JDEG4gRL2XwVUTGBATKiE5NQa2AEEK/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-08-12%2008.57.36%20-%20A%20painting%20of%20a%20Caribbean%20carnival%20procession%20like%20a%20klimt%20picture.%20%20.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiojvBcBzH5NfltmRR8MU3WC09lqhiRR463l9pi6-djyiP3iMv-9olykq5jm9-vPsMJQoZ08skz9ZuVlFrjKTzb9DI36ptIMmCVYkX-hjSWRPjqWXL7lGrPhdV3ov2_mxCi1zj3jdOtlHmBn5WjCF_dxv9qbs89D3JDEG4gRL2XwVUTGBATKiE5NQa2AEEK/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-08-12%2008.57.36%20-%20A%20painting%20of%20a%20Caribbean%20carnival%20procession%20like%20a%20klimt%20picture.%20%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Grandma started sewing sequins last September. We lost her
this February. Mum got a discount on the feather boas, because she had to buy
three.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The thud from the speakers pounds in my heart, as the Tinsel
strewn truck eases up Granby Street.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I clasp my Sister’s hands tight: we’ve practised this dance
since we were barely able to walk. We dance for Grandma. We dance for Mum. We
dance for Dad who couldn’t get the day off work.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We see the crowd point, we triplets are used to that. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The rain doesn’t really matter.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Today, we are the Sunshine. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Written for Leicester Community Radio</i></span></p></div><p><br /></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-37311586069183957942023-08-14T09:03:00.004+01:002023-08-14T09:03:00.152+01:00Lost and Found<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfY92dkXgHRVaMKyKbSJs7dakbyX1C4njbL-wExdsFcZI3k74DsdccGdiw_YtgZHqOLNvuP5FrtVFcPZQ7-rum5A_6W2vuicvk3-cwVuFdyuJSHI_D-8Xyk3G5gME3aWEtk4cF4ziv5f5l9rzNnjkIf1YQIs_DPKadn6RgtOcmLG6NCY-l2cJu80OnJBDK/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-07-28%2009.02.49%20-%20a%20mobile%20phone%20showing%20a%20map%20going%20through%20a%20domestic%20letterbox%20in%20a%20UK%20door.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfY92dkXgHRVaMKyKbSJs7dakbyX1C4njbL-wExdsFcZI3k74DsdccGdiw_YtgZHqOLNvuP5FrtVFcPZQ7-rum5A_6W2vuicvk3-cwVuFdyuJSHI_D-8Xyk3G5gME3aWEtk4cF4ziv5f5l9rzNnjkIf1YQIs_DPKadn6RgtOcmLG6NCY-l2cJu80OnJBDK/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-07-28%2009.02.49%20-%20a%20mobile%20phone%20showing%20a%20map%20going%20through%20a%20domestic%20letterbox%20in%20a%20UK%20door.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Half a century I’ve been married to Jim! He’s been good to me;
he sorted ‘find my phone’ in case I ever mislaid my mobile. It’s been
invaluable really. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Quite accidentally, five years ago, I found out through the
app that he was having an affair. Since then, at every weekly shop, I’ve taken twenty
pounds out on his card and bought myself premium bonds. I’ve been quite lucky.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I’m leaving him today: I’m going to post my phone at his
lover’s house then just disappear. Shame I won’t be around to see his face when
he works it out. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-59127174490743500032023-08-07T07:42:00.010+01:002023-08-07T07:42:00.134+01:00Breadline<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggiGOg72UX9Fl21LBYklZHw315IxWmgj_GFwHZx9DWpBgbmioKokEx9EcPc38OsgP6Sk3mn6pkyc0Wg2ASNdS1bT5cFbis710Y0wBZAeNXJBv8VA-rtYeuctcXT6E_wH4pZe6RkewNuMdQS_AfLUhXv7ooD9SGyMJjGkks0yqcShB441nJGGyyi4VYFHRI/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-07-21%2007.38.26%20-%20A%20portrait%20only%20made%20with%20different%20dried%20pasta%20shapes%20.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggiGOg72UX9Fl21LBYklZHw315IxWmgj_GFwHZx9DWpBgbmioKokEx9EcPc38OsgP6Sk3mn6pkyc0Wg2ASNdS1bT5cFbis710Y0wBZAeNXJBv8VA-rtYeuctcXT6E_wH4pZe6RkewNuMdQS_AfLUhXv7ooD9SGyMJjGkks0yqcShB441nJGGyyi4VYFHRI/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-07-21%2007.38.26%20-%20A%20portrait%20only%20made%20with%20different%20dried%20pasta%20shapes%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We’re lucky. We live in a shared house on a posh street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The teacher’s strikes have been tricky
though. I’ve not been able to get any time off work, but a lady down the road has
been looking after my youngest, Louise. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Estelle never had telly. They just did playing.” Louise
said excitedly thrusting a picture towards me. The picture was a face made out
of a meal’s worth of dried pasta. “Tomorrow we’re going to do printing with
potatoes.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We put the picture on
the fridge. It watched us while they ate, and I pretended I’d eaten at work.</span></p><br /><p></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-58450223505990854752023-07-31T18:23:00.001+01:002023-07-31T18:23:00.155+01:00the Promise<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAbXDLUKauWQm14hwWEJZ26E9j5i6rTOc-W0J4FO05WnwsbvJpWntG1cjTVLxjgF2lMEDYNcyMZgVGZlER8YJTVnbGRVmEkNnD5_9vZGukOTYtKJB2QpOBf0Qe-8uy_7WNGXdlyRmA8maS28eu_OIhHRUhwFJH_ILEmYQz452xJWMzJ2hsUFDSTUxM3nWw/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-07-11%2018.16.00%20-%20A%20banana%20split,%20the%20dessert,%20with%20a%20red%20cherry%20on%20the%20top%20like%20an%20oil%20painting.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAbXDLUKauWQm14hwWEJZ26E9j5i6rTOc-W0J4FO05WnwsbvJpWntG1cjTVLxjgF2lMEDYNcyMZgVGZlER8YJTVnbGRVmEkNnD5_9vZGukOTYtKJB2QpOBf0Qe-8uy_7WNGXdlyRmA8maS28eu_OIhHRUhwFJH_ILEmYQz452xJWMzJ2hsUFDSTUxM3nWw/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-07-11%2018.16.00%20-%20A%20banana%20split,%20the%20dessert,%20with%20a%20red%20cherry%20on%20the%20top%20like%20an%20oil%20painting.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He wore the pointiest shoes that I had ever seen; I couldn’t
work out where his toes would go, and soon suspected he didn’t have any. I
stared whilst scuffing the toes of my own brown buckled school shoes. I hated
them. Mum wouldn’t let me have slip-ons. She’d said that I wouldn’t be able to
run in them, remembering made me scuff even harder. I realised he wasn’t a
normal adult when he didn’t stop me. I didn’t linger on that thought though.
Just anticipated the bright red cherry on top of the Banana Split he’d promised
me earlier. </span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-3220577665446276282023-07-24T08:56:00.001+01:002023-07-24T08:56:00.138+01:00The Bully<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlkSjyREw7cEzbwY0NxaeKLY72vESblQVQjWGo9-sae029zrCaMGGfmpISjcT7134hiBlO_-uqHlq-OZ265enl2MCtkOtdpetVTF1WrlHP8RJVOEDhPWIn3FZ60zVmg9jl5CheLy0-CGd6g98IIz0nLW9WObjjJzY1PTmkBBJsNy6k0H7DZHMVRyfa8Uqc/s1396/IMG_7197.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1396" data-original-width="806" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlkSjyREw7cEzbwY0NxaeKLY72vESblQVQjWGo9-sae029zrCaMGGfmpISjcT7134hiBlO_-uqHlq-OZ265enl2MCtkOtdpetVTF1WrlHP8RJVOEDhPWIn3FZ60zVmg9jl5CheLy0-CGd6g98IIz0nLW9WObjjJzY1PTmkBBJsNy6k0H7DZHMVRyfa8Uqc/s320/IMG_7197.jpg" width="185" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Her bruises bloomed with a riot of colour across her face.
Purple and blue blended with a jaundice tinge beneath her eyeball. What a night:
it was the first time the neighbours had
intervened. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The police said they didn’t get involved in domestic
disputes, and left when no one needed hospital attention. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She didn’t know where they’d go from here. Changing the
locks hadn’t helped previously. She wondered about leaving, but would miss the
children. She looked in the mirror at her beaten up face; he’d never retaliated
before. At least she only hit him where
the bruises didn’t show. </span></p></div><p><br /></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-479849508583159702023-07-17T09:42:00.002+01:002023-07-17T09:42:00.143+01:00Something Nasty in the Woodshed<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBasu-9UgFs7om_3hN2jc9ey5SUEBzfgvOS8f96d9kTu8jq6DBIfgEYzIOamHTKlR3TavkdpqyT2paS1qotInYRi3fgrB2tvZQzWjc7yKxq5KEyo-QGxIbc33PgyLtqHmviMk1MY-SgI9JHUVv7vAuaLlueQ2ZLwV9IqaWT5u79PqGJsAetkP28PnO56A/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-06-29%2009.47.25%20-%20old%20fashioned%20VHS%20VIDEO%20Cassette%20Tape%20digital%20art%20.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBasu-9UgFs7om_3hN2jc9ey5SUEBzfgvOS8f96d9kTu8jq6DBIfgEYzIOamHTKlR3TavkdpqyT2paS1qotInYRi3fgrB2tvZQzWjc7yKxq5KEyo-QGxIbc33PgyLtqHmviMk1MY-SgI9JHUVv7vAuaLlueQ2ZLwV9IqaWT5u79PqGJsAetkP28PnO56A/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-06-29%2009.47.25%20-%20old%20fashioned%20VHS%20VIDEO%20Cassette%20Tape%20digital%20art%20.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Me and Simon had only gone round to help Fay next door clear
the attic. Her husband had died a month ago, him and Dad had been as thick as
thieves. She was moving somewhere smaller. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There were boxes of old video tapes up there with dates and
girls names on. We’d seen the documentaries so joked about our serial killer neighbour.
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">After unearthing an old player we stopped for lunch and
watched a video. It was much worse than we suspected. And it looked like he buried
them in their garden.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Fuck!” said Simon “is that your
Dad digging?” </span></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-57257604731066210532023-07-10T12:41:00.001+01:002023-07-10T12:41:00.137+01:00A Proud Murid Mother of Seven<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmFMwyP4aXP2yZkmcnV5gwY7cmkNfIHKHFzpBIViVS40UHEaT2S5Cuf0vSNZo4yLqwVDs4uE8qc00xCsfmPzztCyeDkADvaGTwwdVazNow7w7uimXHXU45g8c0UioVXeh-ETHLCA2qEKCT7bYGmH14qUr-lBMBrInllaS6Cg1JO3YPEqNUMaQz_GUgbHiH/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-06-21%2012.27.21%20-%20a%20rat%20pushing%20a%20babies%20pram.%20digital%20art.%20macro.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmFMwyP4aXP2yZkmcnV5gwY7cmkNfIHKHFzpBIViVS40UHEaT2S5Cuf0vSNZo4yLqwVDs4uE8qc00xCsfmPzztCyeDkADvaGTwwdVazNow7w7uimXHXU45g8c0UioVXeh-ETHLCA2qEKCT7bYGmH14qUr-lBMBrInllaS6Cg1JO3YPEqNUMaQz_GUgbHiH/s320/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-06-21%2012.27.21%20-%20a%20rat%20pushing%20a%20babies%20pram.%20digital%20art.%20macro.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <span class="ContentPasted0" style="border: 0px; color: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 11pt;">Her babies were born during a summer thunderstorm. She nurtured them in a disused ventilation shaft whilst secretly dreading the day they’d leave the nest.</span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal ContentPasted0" style="background-color: white; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She prepared them well though – taught them about hawks, owls, cats and foxes even racoons although there weren’t many of those to be found around Digbeth Coach Station. She warned them of the temptation of poison bait boxes, and the dangers of eating cold kebab meat straight from the bin.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal ContentPasted0" style="background-color: white; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">They first ventured out at the crack of dawn. They stuck closely together but went straight under the wheels of the overnight coach from Aberdeen.</span></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603768902566457865.post-83180251815808716812023-07-03T12:48:00.002+01:002023-07-03T12:48:00.141+01:00Some Unsettling News<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7mEd939VH1HD7jikbN1mVnxLY3ymSIIVzhOBVeiL8EuD1zSKyOnxJX-yde78hDux0usAIaKpYoW18zM8PFB3bZohdUpUQDht6s0zbsNmU5MRX1xFgmEoF0zuXMv_Ed_4jluBRmGBR-v3qxzFMmHI3i9os6Sg5OVjMM6DrfeOoVejPrpKI26PQFsTCpJNB/s1152/IMG_6797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="1125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7mEd939VH1HD7jikbN1mVnxLY3ymSIIVzhOBVeiL8EuD1zSKyOnxJX-yde78hDux0usAIaKpYoW18zM8PFB3bZohdUpUQDht6s0zbsNmU5MRX1xFgmEoF0zuXMv_Ed_4jluBRmGBR-v3qxzFMmHI3i9os6Sg5OVjMM6DrfeOoVejPrpKI26PQFsTCpJNB/s320/IMG_6797.jpg" width="313" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I’m flying, I’ve never flown well but it’s my wedding day.
It’s turbulent, the pilot is struggling and I’m expecting to wake up any
minute. But I don’t. I’m falling, falling from the plane into a canyon and I’ve
not saved my future wife...</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then, I wake. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Next to her.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The woman, I found out yesterday, that slept with my best
mate on our wedding night. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The woman that said his daughter was mine; my wife of thirty
six years. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I roll over on blood soaked sheets and try to get back to
sleep wondering when to report her death.</span></p></div><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /> </span></p>noodleBubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10778460571126123694noreply@blogger.com0