TAKE SOME ENVIRONMENTALLY FRIENDLY TRANSPORT
DOESN’T LOOK TOO HOPEFUL
DEFINITELY LOST
NEED A DACHSHUND TO JOIN THAT MOB
GET THE TAPE MEASURE OUT
WONDER WHO LIVES HERE?
LET’S SEE IF WE CAN FIT THROUGH THIS GATE
WONDER IF ANYONE IS HOME?
TAKE A PICTURE BEFORE YOU GO
He didn’t even know her name, but there they were on the local news as the couple sought after by police to help with their enquiries. Geoff wondered if his wife had seen an earlier bulletin before she went to work. Who said the camera never lies. As the presenter moved on to the topic of pot holes the picture faded from the screen, but not from his mind’s eye. The body language suggested they knew each other well. When was the picture taken? He always wore the same coat, but it must have been one of the few mornings when it wasn’t raining.
With his job, Geoff was not a familiar figure locally, but friends and a few dog walkers would recognise him. Perhaps their brains would not register it was him linked to a totally different woman.
The woman was new in Puddleminster, he was sure of that. Only newcomers strode enthusiastically down to the beach every morning whatever the weather. Geoff would be on his way back from what his daughter would call a power walk, stopping at the little beach shop to get his newspaper. They would merely smile or say good morning.
He needed that fresh air and exercise before setting off to commute to work in the county hospital. Now nobody would be walking that way for a while with Queen Victoria Memorial Park cordoned off. It had been a shock to hear body parts were found in the park, quiet little Puddleminster-on-Sea. He had certainly not seen any body parts when he went for his lap round the park yesterday morning. Maybe if he had a dog it would have come bounding out of the undergrowth with a hand in its mouth, probably how the grim discovery was made. He chuckled to himself, his career had given him a dark sense of humour, but the police weren’t giving any details.
Then reality resurfaced in his mind. Was there CCTV in the park as well as on the road next to it? Did they also have pictures of him walking early in the park, looking suspicious without a dog? Here was a right dilemma. Should he call the police to explain, no he had missed the special phone number. He could drop in at the little Puddleminster police station, if it was actually open. What would one say. He had no idea who the woman was or where she lived. If she was new in the area it was unlikely anyone else would have recognised her.
There was no time to do anything, he had to leave for work. He could phone his wife from the car, better than keeping quiet and her maybe thinking he was hiding an affair with another woman.
But as he opened the front door he was confronted by two police officers on the front path.
He couldn’t believe this had happened, handcuffed and sitting in the back of a police car. What did they actually say to him? Geoff was so bewildered he sat quietly, to struggle would have suggested guilt. This could be sorted out at the police station, hopefully no one he knew would be strolling by.
It was amazing how much harder it was to get out of a vehicle when you were handcuffed. He just wanted to get inside the building, by the back door if there was one, but they led him straight up the front steps, just in time to see the woman from the photo dash inside. All would be well, she would explain.
Geoff did not get a chance to even exchange a glance with her, he was ushered through a side door and into the interview room, soon joined by a man and woman in plain clothes who introduced themselves as a constable and sergeant. They did not look as if they had ever dealt with a murder, their tactics owed more to television drama than proper procedure. Photos were laid on the table, Geoff striding through the park.
‘This is ridiculous and how did you know where I lived?’
The cocky young DC answered with a smirk.
‘Your wife called the hot line, anxious to explain she was not the woman in the photo, but keen to assure us you always walked that way and were totally innocent.’
The tight lipped woman sergeant leaned in closer.
‘The wives are always the last to have any inkling.’
‘Can you confirm your job and where you work?’
This was not going to look good. When people found out what his work was they would get excited and remark ’Like on that television series.’
‘I’m a pathologist at the hospital and no I don’t chop bodies up, I just find out what disease your great uncle died of.’
The two officers looked at each other and Geoff realised they didn’t appreciate his sense of humour.
‘We have not released any details of the crime scene.’
She didn’t even know his name, but there they were on the local news as the couple sought after by police to help with their enquiries. Lottie Lincoln, new in Puddleminster-on-Sea, hadn’t imagined the little town even had CCTV. The recently widowed writer had moved here for peace and quiet and anonymity.
Lottie walked past Queen Victoria Memorial Park every morning on her way to the beach. The locals were friendly and the man was one of several regulars who passed her and smiled or said good morning. She had no idea when the picture might have been taken, most mornings she had the same coat on. Though the picture had now faded from the television screen it was imprinted on her mind, two strangers exchanging a smile on a sunny morning looked like a couple exchanging intimate words.
No one was walking past Queen Victoria Memorial Park now, the whole area cordoned off by police tape, including the adjoining sea front. Lottie had been shocked to hear on the local news that a murder had been committed in the lovely park full of daffodils. Or at least body parts had been found, presumably the murder could have been committed anywhere. Police were not revealing how many or what sort of body parts. Surely they did not think she had been carrying a foot or hand in her back pack? The man never carried anything except a newspaper. Men were lucky with all their pockets and these days the chaps probably only carried a phone and door keys. If this man was married he might not even need his keys. Married… if his wife saw that picture she might assume the worst, an affair… an affair with a younger woman. Lottie guessed he was older than her and was rather insulted to have it assumed they were a couple.
None of this was like one of her novels; crime and forensics were avoided, though she did fancy writing a psychological drama. How would the lives of innocent people be affected by a terrible crime? But this was real life and what should she do now? Would the man go to the police station, did they mention a number to ring?
Time for her walk, she needed to get out in the fresh air to think, walking was her therapy for any stressful situation. Lottie set off to the little parade of shops and cafes that passed for a town centre; she could at least see if the weekly local paper had caught the news in time. Somehow her feet led her to the quaint old police station. She wasn’t even sure if it would be open to the public with all those cut backs, but now she was here she must try. The feisty heroines in her novels would not hesitate, though they usually only had romantic problems to deal with.
As she mounted the stone steps to the door she heard a car and turned to see a police vehicle draw up at the roadside. Two officers emerged and extracted a person from the back seat; it was the man from the picture and he was handcuffed. Any idea that prisoners were taken in the back door was quashed when he was led towards her. She could not retreat and in panic pushed open the door and rushed inside to get out of their way.
Inside, the front desk was unattended. Lottie edged into the corner and pretended to be totally absorbed in the posters about safety at cash machines and zipping up your shopping bags. When she risked turning to look they were already disappearing through a door. Lottie fled back outside, feeling as guilty as if she had committed a crime.
She was soon back in her little cottage, the door firmly closed behind her. Had someone dobbed that man in or had he confessed? He could be innocent, dobbed in by an enemy, or perhaps his wife recalled him coming home in blood stained clothes… No one knew her and even fans of her books were unlikely to recognise the windswept CCTV picture; the Lottie Lincoln author photo on the back of her novels was very different.
The lunchtime news merely showed lots of forensic suits trampling over the daffodils in the park. But the evening news headlined with the arrest of a man who was being kept in custody for further questioning.
‘Police believe a woman caught on CCTV at Puddleminster Police Station is the woman caught on camera with the arrested man. Chief Inspector MacDonald has urged her to come forward to help with their enquiries and stressed that there is no suggestion she was involved in any way with the crime.’
Did he mean that or was it a trick to catch her?
And now we visit another viewer’s garden, someone who has created an interesting garden around his self built home on a brownfield site.
‘This is a small, unusually shaped piece of land surrounded by a main line railway, a motorway and a huge Amazon Warehouse. The house itself is certainly unique. Did the house inspire the garden or the garden dictate the house design?’
‘I created the garden first while we lived in the tiny caravan that is now my potting shed.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Two years.’
‘That is amazing, the luxuriant feel, the fact we are unaware of the outside world, shielded by mature trees and interesting boulders and you did all this by yourself?’
‘Yes, never done any gardening before, just went on instinct, buying plants and searching scrap yards to create unusual features. It’s been so good for my mental health, creating a garden that would bring joy.’
Two Weeks Earlier
Marcia peered out from the grim unfinished interior of Harry’s unfinished self build house, wondering how she ever got involved with him. The continuous rain had made his so called garden a quagmire; the new plants had given up the struggle to survive amidst the rubble. At least she had insisted on keeping her cosy flat. Marcia had no intention of staying in the squalid caravan he called a park home. As a high speed train raced by she missed half of what Harry was telling her.
‘Camera crew in two weeks’ time, what are you on about?’
‘Don’t you remember Marcy, I told you I had applied to feature on Gardeners’ World?’
‘But you haven’t got a garden, what on earth possessed you…?’
‘I couldn’t get on Grand Designs so I thought I’d show him, Kevin Grand McCloud. Just needs a bit of tidying up, didn’t know all the plants were going to die, a bit of topsoil should do the trick.’
‘Just cancel it Harry and concentrate on finishing the bloody house. I’m going back to my flat right now.’
‘I’m not going to cancel, they do those Flower Show gardens in a couple of weeks. Rick’s mate does Chelsea, or at least he drives the huge trucks that deliver trees. Don’t you worry your pretty head Marcy, I’ve got a plan. A bit of disruption, but we haven’t got any neighbours to annoy.’
Luckily for Harry there were major works going on at the motorway junction and nobody took any notice of the succession of trucks, cranes and pantechnicons making there way to the patch of wasteland that motorists and train passengers thought was part of the creation of a new slip road.
Harry got some of the blokes from work over to help and Rick got some blokes from goodness knows where to help with deliveries. The endless rain at least meant new trees and plants did not need watering in.
Two Days Earlier
‘There we are Marcia, all we need now is an adorable dog to complete the cosy scene.’
‘We haven’t got a dog.’
‘That’s okay, Rick knows where to get one.’
Two Days Later
Police are investigating a series of reports of audacious burglaries from country estates, professional gardeners and quarries. It is not known if they are connected. The thieves took mature trees, plants, sculptures and a Great Dane. One theory is that professional gardeners preparing for the garden show season have been targeted.
Scientists now believe that carrots DO help you see in the dark, probably because carrots themselves can actually see in the dark when they are underground.
Do you worry about what you read in the newspaper?
Do you worry who is watching you when you are out shopping?
So you should, it is all true, so why not just turn to the puzzle pages…
…and get even more fraught,
or you could relax by counting plastic.
Bored with shopping, your favourite shops closing down? Go and play the piano instead.
And on a lighter note, not a piano note, wildlife experts are worried about the demise of the common rat, which may not be as common as previously thought. Householders and gardeners can help by providing the environment that rats need and also putting out food for them.
It slipped out of my hands and onto the tiled floor, silver splinters slithered in all directions. I was devastated, in its frozen state it had cracked, my favourite. I closed the freezer door, my plastic box collection was dwindling rapidly.
I posted a picture with a sad emoji on our Facebook page Post Plastic. Comments were mixed.
‘First World problems, I wish I had any left overs to put in the freezer.’
‘Why don’t you try those waxed cloth wraps, they are a life saver.’
‘But not much good for a litre of homemade soup’ I retorted.
‘Just make what you need.’
‘I am trying to save gas by batch cooking.’
Later I was battling to get the children ready for the shopping expedition.
‘Kids, have you all got your containers?’
They grumbled all the way up the road, especially when they saw the long queues outside ‘Weigh and Save’ and ‘Tap and Top Up’.
‘Muum, why can’t we have shower gel?’
‘Nothing wrong with a bar of soap, we haven’t got enough containers for non essentials.’
There was a cry of horror from one of the vats, it looked like a battle scene, someone had dropped their glass jug of tomato sauce, a luxury most of us were doing without. My neighbour joined us in the queue.
‘How are you getting on with the milkman?’
‘We’re 759th on the waiting list.’
‘I hate to say it, but my mother was right, I should have registered with a milkman months ago, at the time he seemed too expensive. Now even the loyal customers are being rationed, so Mum can’t get a spare bottle for us.’
The total ban on plastic had repercussions most of us had not imagined. There was a chronic shortage of glass bottles and jars as they were requisitioned and a shortage of milk as cows had to be milked by hand, or so we were told. I had no idea how milking parlours worked or why they needed plastic.
‘What are you getting Robby for his birthday?’
‘Edible Lego and tin soldiers.’
‘It’s a nightmare at the hospital, I dropped a glass syringe and it shattered. I was not popular. Such a shortage they are talking about reusing them.’
‘Tell me about it. I went to blood donors, the only stuff I can afford to give away and the nurse dropped the bottle, blood and broken glass everywhere and my precious fluids wasted. ‘
‘Are you going to wickerwork this evening?’
‘You bet, I’ve got to get that shopping basket finished before my last carrier bag disintegrates.’
‘Oh, here’s Carrie, did you hear about her poor mother?’
‘Carrie, so sorry to hear about your Mum, was it a shock?’
‘It was rather, but a blessing in a way, I’ll inherit her Tupperware collection.’
SOME ARE JUST WRITERS
This blackbird does not like being on the outside and has been tapping on the door, tapping on our windows and kamikaze diving windows. He either identifies as human or has been watching too many science fiction films.
This cow also has an identity crisis; unsure whether she is an Appaloosa or a human having a pyjama day. The dairy farmer is worried she may be offended if he tries to milk her.
Scientists have released pictures of what it is actually like living in the fifth dimension...
…and have warned members of the public not to try this at home.
And finally in breakfast news a surprising hit. Slow Radio slots have become popular as calming moments of bird song or rowing boats. The latest is a continuous live broadcast 24/7 from a quiet little road somewhere. The location remains secret to protect the inhabitants, human and otherwise. Listeners have been tuning in to hear everyday sounds of hum drum life, dogs barking, people chatting. In the dark watches of the night insomniacs and night workers say there is still plenty to hear, the haunting cry of foxes and the whisper of the milkman’s float.
As residents fetch their bins in on Monday morning there is plenty to hear so let’s drop in.
I found your food bin in the middle of the road.
Oh thanks, did you hear the wind last night?
Yes, my lid blew open, cardboard and paper all over next door’s lawn.
There’s a nurse going in over the road, she was there yesterday.
Is it him or her?
Goodness knows, haven’t seen either of them for ages.
You never know what’s going on with that high hedge.
Do you mind taking a parcel for next door?
Sure, certainly won’t fit through the letterbox ha ha.
I’m not carrying your scooter Dryden, I’ve got the buggy to push, you wanted to ride it to school. BRANDON, stop at the corner. BRAANDON WAAIT. Dryden get on that scooter and catch up with your brother.
Yes of course, I’m not using it today, still not fixed then?
Not coming till Friday now and I‘ve got to get their PE things washed, thanks so much.
Those strange people are across the road again. I call them the creepy couple, coming this way since lockdown. At first I thought they were trying to steal Truffles when I saw them squatting down poking their hands through the fence.
Pity they didn’t steal him, we would have been saved all that barking.
He ran straight in my house the other day, nearly caught the cat.
Aren’t your daffodils looking good.
Yes, despite being battered by the wind and rain.
So what do you want at the greengrocers today?
Some of those grapes as long as they don’t have pips, one banana, not too big, not green, but not too ripe. Can you manage potatoes a well… oh look he’s on the roof again.
I don’t believe it, she must be away, surely she wouldn’t let him, what if the ladder blows down while he’s up there.
I reckon you’re right, he is rebuilding that chimney stack.
How old do you reckon he is?
Well he was retired when we moved here.
I can’t see him, hope he didn’t fall down the other side…
Truffles, Truffles, come here at once… sorry, sorry, are you okay?
I can’t talk now, I’m out in the street, no it isn’t a good time, how did you get my number anyway?
Truffles, come out of the lady’s nice garden. Sorry, sorry, yes I can see what he’s done I’ll just pop home and get a bag to clear it up, once I’ve caught him…
Oh here he is coming round to the front, he must have a ladder at the back as well. Was that Truffles running by?
The producer of Slow Street 24 is in the studio with us. Why do you think this has become so popular?
People need a break from their frantic lives, they just love to hear from somewhere where nothing is happening.
And do the residents mind being recorded, doesn’t that mean they are guarded in what they say?
Not at all, they don’t know they are being live streamed.
Yes it’s here again. Less stressful than the no plastics challenge, this is a way of counting how much plastic packaging is being produced, started by a chap who saved his plastic waste for a year, was shocked and created an art work with his collection.
This morning was recycling bin collection, we have alternate weeks for Big Bin and the Small Bin for rubbish we can’t recycle or compost. Into Big Bin goes glass, paper, tins, plastics… except soft plastic. But not to worry, our local Co Op stores have a bin for soft plastic, clean dry soft plastic. What an opportunity for dedicated obsessive recyclers, carefully washing out the film they peeled off the fish package… There is also a little brown bin for all food waste, but we are not counting that!
The count is for every piece of plastic, whether thrown away or carefully recycled. I did this last year so I was ready for action, but what category is the tiny tube that the flower food came in with the Mothering Sunday roses?
Has anyone else joined in this or done a similar thing or do you think it’s a load of rubbish?
If you don’t follow Royal stories you might view the following thoughts as rubbish, or perhaps like many of us you can’t resist a good medical tale.
Amidst the awful things going on in the world there has been fraught discussion about the health of the Princess of Wales, coming along at the same time as King Charles’ medical story. Catherine went in for planned abdominal surgery and had a long stay in hospital followed by resting at home. Like all good husbands the Prince of Wales took time off to look after her when she returned home. Nothing was disclosed about what her condition might be, except it is not cancer. Who would want their insides discussed endlessly in public, or their children hearing their mother’s medical history discussed?
On Woman’s Hour this morning the presenter said she was not interested in knowing. Really? Lots of us are, but don’t go blabbing on social media, just may have chatted in private with our friends or sisters who happen to be doctors! Just harmless wondering… Anyone who has been in and out of hospital in a day or two will naturally wonder what could possibly take such a long recovery. Perhaps we want to check if it’s a condition we haven’t heard of, but need to worry about. Women the same age or with daughters in that age group could be concerned…
Now the medical story has been turned into a ridiculous frenzy because of the digital altering conspiracy. The pleasant family photo taken by Prince William for Mothering Sunday may not be ‘true’, though today Catherine admitted that she did a bit of digital altering, like millions of people do with their cameras and smart phones.
WARNING, THIS MAY NOT BE A GENUINE PICTURE OF THE ROYAL FAMILY
How has your Monday been?
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 