Jonathan

Episode from  long-running tale ‘The Blacksmith’s wife’

Kick a corpse to life and you’ll inevitably disturb carrion.

Tao knew this but only recalled it on attempting to leave his inn-room. The body that had earlier impeded his exit messenger for the man whose name Tao had evoked in hope of boosting his financial standing, believing those who…[Read more]

Thanks Libby for the prompt and your kind words. Only as I finished writing my entry did I recall the only holiday spent with my parents was in 1973 , after chld#3 born. It was NOT a success (and Dovercourt still feels like home)

Great blog as usual Richard. It’s a fascinating story. One of those that has so much promise of what might have been, yet also so typical of the often shambolic British way of going about things that one feels it could only ever have ended up this way. Look at the contemporary British aviation industry – much brilliance and yet so much avoidable c…[Read more]

Orientation

In July 1953 we  – Dad, mum. brother and me, left  our  now-echoing  and curtainless home on the edge of Dovercourt Bay – an Essex seaside town dominated by a pair of cast iron  lighthouses whose clean, and well-protected sands were sectioned by sea-slimy black wooden groynes within which squatted large black crabs. There was  also a…[Read more]

Thank TOY Ath foc comp and commentryand well done to all of us for so vividly  evoking childhoods now past, I  particularly enjoyed Ath’s reference to radio – ours was a brown 18″B Bakelite cube which was only allowed into our bedrooms when we were sick (and often. it seemed. Luxembourg sicker. Looking forward to Libby’s comp for August.

Don’t mind at all; hope fulfilling demands not too onerous.

There’s a word for it!

The much faded five inch Quality Street tin I inherited from my mother is near-filled with  buttons, their variety in part due to them having been donated by my aunt Muriel, who was a dressmaker and her mother Dora who was a tailoress. Needless to say, had there been such, I would’ve won ‘best-dressed child’ many a time had…[Read more]

Well done, Jill – the only inspiration I’d had so far, came from my mother’s mincer (of which I’ve a 1960’s version in a cupboard. Back to the drawing board for me  🙂

Hooray!! Well done Ath for your last minute, colourful Teabreak entry thus rescuing me from having to devise July’s competition  and thank you Jill. for your kind words re ‘Snap is not a Children’s Game’, adding impetus to my getting on with it.

<h3>Prior to the magic going black</h3>
<h3>June 23rd, Caithness</h3>
 

Pre-dawn on a midsummer morning, Tait Duncan, drove  south-east along an A1 empty of all but Highlands-bound supermarket wagons, conscience similarly uncluttered by the lie he’d last night told his wife as to the reason for his early morning departure. (In what had become th…[Read more]

A fascinating quartet of music-generated memories resulting in stories that couldn’t help but provide  their own soundtracks.  Ath’s tale fully matched  the discordant challenging streetwise vibes  of the music chosen. Libby’s rich  musical pot-pourri connected brilliantly with the warmth of disparate family interactions. Terrie’s combining ne…[Read more]

MONTHLY COMP ALERT – I was hoping for earworms, from songs I remember but despite two excellent entries,  I feel a little disappointed so more Top Ten memories by Sunday night would be much appreciated.

Thank you for this Janette; as a Blurb self-publisher , (but not seller), I much appreciate this breakdown of your experiences .

I’ve always found the same, right up to last week with  the theatre nurse who held my hand while my eye was bring anatheasised for an op.  bless him. (all well post op.)

Crikey Moses, William, I’m heart-heartedly glad to hear you are home and hopefully on your way to some sort of recovery – what a torrid time you and your family must have gone through, and thank you for updating us so vividly.

Sendng love and the most healingest of good wishes

Sandra

Untitled

‘Gobsmacked’ the inelegant word that came to mind when I read the letter. What else would you expect , being told your three year-old daughter’s poem had been awarded first prize ?  A prize  which earned her up to three sittings with well-renowned portrait artist Bernard Broom. Especially when I’d not an inkling she’d  written any…[Read more]

Thank you Janette – you did us proud with thoughtful comments, and well done for every other entry, all of which fitted the remit  much more closely than my hastily-grabbed from a long-ago hidden in the drawer novel.