Bella

Oh wow! That brings back memories. I heard Pete Atkin (without Clive James) at a soaking wet Bristol Folk Festival sometime in the early 70s, and again in Cardiff Student Union. And I loved his music. I had a Clive James/Pete Atkin LP from that time, but it is one of the many that I sold when I moved to a single room in Scotland in 1980.

As for…[Read more]

Fabulous blog, Richard. Chanson is so little known outside of France. People think they know it because they’ve heard a recording of Non, je ne regrette rien or maybe they know that Seasons in the Sun is a translation (sort of) of a Jacques Brel number. It’s hugely popular in France. Travel to any town and go out and about on market-day. Every…[Read more]

Perhaps I should make it clear this is just one line intended as a prompt to build a story on, from a collection of poetical, random lines, in a pocketbook entitled ‘Distance and Proximity’.

Wow, Libby, and thank you, a big surprise, especially as I’d already identified winners 1,2 and 3 and, my laptop having died and been taken away, and only having my ancient, over-full and steaming one, I wasn’t checking as often as I have been. I’ll try and come up with something as interestingly challenging as the last few have been.

Brutal

Graham was beside himself. Furious, speechless, incandescent with rage. They had demolished the ancient well in his garden, thrown the centuries old stonework down inside, and constructed a former which showed their intention to pour footings a full twenty metres from where the summerhouse should be. He leaned forward and peered down. All…[Read more]

Hi Janette – as discussed, it’s gone. Feel free to post again when ready.

Ath.

Right man for the job!

Half eight, overnight ice on the inside of the windows, me already double Aran-wrapped, my phone rang:
‘Missus Blake? Morpeth Builders. We’ve a cancellation. Can come and have a look at your chimney today.’
‘That’d be great. There’s some sort of, of … blockage. The boiler’s broke, so lighting a fire the only way to kee…[Read more]

Congratulations, Libby, and thank you Seagreen for such an enticing theme – I had a dozen possibilities in my head, and it was obvious others did too, strong voices all and I was glad not to have to do the judging.

Car

Look at that bloke. Arm out of the window, cigarette in hand. Marks and Sparks polo shirt that his wife bought him. Revving the engine every five seconds; counting down the time until death. And he got the silver car, the GT model. He chose that. He calls it “my car”. But if anybody asks, “We chose it. Me and my lady.”

How old do you reckon?…[Read more]

‘O dolce mano’ another opera

Coming out of the theatre, in the carpark, beeping the car unlocked, you say ‘If we’re dropping Judy off, she’d be best in the front –‘
Because it’s SO difficult to get out of the back seat? Nevertheless, I say nothing. It was Judy – a work colleague –that offered him the tickets. I bought the third on seeing the…[Read more]

Wow! They were all classy little pieces of writing. Seagreen, I really enjoyed that. Well done.

Well done Sea, for an intriguing tale, and thank you Kate for a topic that had me seeking a tale I KNEW I’d written on this theme, then, not finding it, having to concoct something else. Thanks also for all the other entries; I still haven’t solved the anagram.

The Unmarked Letter

It’s a circular, sitting there on the mat. Or is it? It doesn’t look like the sort of envelope they use. And they usually say To the Householder or something like that. When Arthur was alive, he’d say, ‘That’s me. The householder,’ as though I didn’t count. This one has nothing on it.

Right, that’s Edith at the door. I’d b…[Read more]

There’ll be kites [497 words]

It isn’t often that seeing an envelope on one’s doormat transports one back some forty years through time.
Took me long enough – the wrestling of the key in the lock ever more painful thanks to the curse of arthritis; the nudging open of the door with my shoulder just enough to know I’d be able to push it wide en…[Read more]