fiction

Friday Fiction Focus – Lottie’s Tale

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 10 Comments

Charlotte stared at the computer screen, her novel was not going well. Having ventured back to the Hambourne Happy Creatives writing group she had succeeded in confusing them with Lottie Lincoln’s latest mishaps in Puddleminster-on-Sea. There had been comments such as ‘So what happened to the head?’

She had made life too complicated for Lottie and hadn’t really settled on which event should set her hapless heroine on the path of reluctant crime investigator. Perhaps she could round off the body parts story on a lighter note, introduce a dog…

A week later Lottie decided she must get back to her morning beach walks. Puddleminster was returning to normal, the police had finished searching everywhere and locals were unlikely to learn what really happened until the trial started, which could be many months away.

As she took in the fresh sea air and observed the near empty beach, she was caught off guard by a large dog bounding up with a huge stick in its mouth. For a moment she did not recognise the owner as he stumbled over the sand to apologise.

‘So sorry, oh it’s you Lottie, er Mrs Lincoln.’

‘Sorry I didn’t recognise you with a dog.’

Once again she was face to face with Doctor Geoff Good, the pathologist now famous for losing a body from the hospital mortuary. What should she say?

‘Is he your dog?’

‘No, friends gone on holiday to Australia. I volunteered to look after him while I’m suspended, at least I’ll look less suspicious out with a dog next time I’m caught on CCTV.’

‘Oh dear, will you get your job back?’

‘Yes, otherwise the bodies will be mounting up! Just required procedure, our department under special measures…  Hey, clever you, right about there being no murder and my technician taking a body to create a forensic drama. Obviously completely insane, he had the head at his flat, kept as a souvenir!’

‘Goodness, they kept that out of the news.’

‘I only knew because I overheard them talking when I was on one of my many visits to the police station. Hmm, forget I told you that.’

Lottie felt a thrill at being entrusted with secret information and besides she didn’t know anyone to gossip with yet.

‘But the point is he passed all the usual checks, no criminal record, no record of anything untoward. He knew the entry codes because he worked there and had security clearance. No CCTV in the mortuary as we don’t expect bodies to try and escape. He must have slipped in during the night. Oh by the way, it turns out my wife loves your novels, read all of them, in fact she’s rereading them for gentle escapism after all this business. She wants to know if you are writing a new one.’

‘I have writers’ block, I thought a quiet life at the seaside would inspire a new story after my husband died suddenly.’

‘Oh sorry, I didn’t realise.’

‘No of course you couldn’t know. I was just reading in the newspaper an article on being widowed and it said don’t make hasty decisions such as moving house or getting a dog; I had just been wondering if I should get a puppy or a rescue dog…’

Charlotte wondered what could have caused Lottie’s husband’s sudden demise, something dramatic for a darkly humorous novel, a piece of space station crashing on him, had she read in the paper about a chunk of space debris plunging through someone’s roof? Or something closer to home, Lottie and Callum probably lived in London, he was trampled by bolting cavalry horses, that would be tragically unexpected.…

 Children or other family? No, that’s why Lottie and Callum were so close and now poor Lottie was truly on her own, except of course for all her writer and arty friends in London; she was after all a very successful author, well popular and best selling, not in the upper echelons of the literati, but certainly far more successful than Charlotte.

Now she just had to think what Lottie was going to do next…

Tuesday Tale – Strange Endings

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 19 Comments
Tuesday Tiny Tale -Mortuary Mystery
Today’s story is the final part of strange events in Puddleminster-on-Sea and follows on from Mortuary Mystery. Lottie Lincoln has returned to the police station.

‘It was the day before yesterday, or was it the day before that? I know it wasn’t raining. Anyway, the point is, I did not know the man in the CCTV photos at all, only to say hello to, nodding acquaintances, no idea what his name was. I always walk down to the sea past the Queen Victoria Memorial Park, early and he always walks past me on his way home with his newspaper, at least I assume that is what he is doing. Well we did before all those body parts were found.’

Lottie looked across the table at the young CID chap sent to interview her. She obviously wasn’t interesting enough to warrant two officers, good cop, bad cop and far from interrogating her, he had not asked her a single question yet.

DC Dan Berk looked across at the woman who had turned up at the police station and wondered how to get a word in edgeways.

‘Sorry, what did you say your name was?’

‘I didn’t, Lottie Lincoln, the author? You probably don’t read my novels, I expect you prefer dark crime.’

‘Okay Lottie, can we start again at the beginning. What is your real name?’

‘That is my real name.’

‘’Okay, so Lottie, Mrs Lincoln, you go for a walk every morning and say hello to complete strangers.’

‘Yes, I thought that’s what people did at the seaside, relaxed way of life, everything jolly, well perhaps not if you’re always finding body parts. Anyway the point is, I am innocent and so is the man.’

‘If he is a complete stranger, how would you know if he was a murderer or not?’

‘I am a writer, I observe people, I have an instinct.’

‘Well thank you for coming forward to help us with our enquiries. I just need to ask you a few questions about yourself. How long have you lived in Puddleminster?’

‘A few weeks.’

‘Do you live alone?’

‘I was widowed.’

‘I see.’

‘Very recently.’

‘Oh sorry.’

‘Very suddenly.’

‘I am sorry for your loss, did you and your late husband have a connection with this area?’

‘None at all, I wanted to go somewhere quiet where I wasn’t known, a little place rather like the villages in my cosy novels.’

‘So if you could give me your current and previous address and a few other details. We will do a few checks, but it is unlikely we will need to see you again. Thank you for coming and I hope we haven’t put you to too much trouble, goodbye.’

‘Wait, wait, there’s something I have to confess, just in case I have been caught on CCTV again. I bumped into him just now, the man, when he was leaving the police station. So you think the body was kept in a fridge and he works at the mortuary, but that doesn’t make him guilty. Others work there, in fact it might not even be a murder, a theft of a corpse, he’s got that assistant that’s obsessed with forensics…’

Lottie did not like the frown on his face, perhaps she was talking too much. How long since she had had a good natter in her new life? She was beginning to realise what it must have been like during Covid for people living by themselves. Lottie and Callum had been self contained, they missed going out, but they were not lonely. Now she not only missed him, but her busy life and her friends; perhaps peaceful and quiet was not such a good idea… she realised the chap was talking to her.

‘Mrs Lincoln, this is out of order. We have not released any more information yet or talked to anybody else. I trust you won’t go on social media or start speculating in the local community.’

Late that night Doctor Geoff Good was back inside the police station for questioning and a detective inspector from head office had arrived, he frowned at the small team gathered in the tiny office.

‘To summarise so far, the body of John James Smith is missing from his drawer at the hospital mortuary. Doctor Geoff Good the pathologist claims to be astonished and cannot offer any explanation as to how a body could escape his well run mortuary. His new assistant has just gone on annual leave and we have no idea where, but he doesn’t appear to be at his flat in Puddleminster. John Smith died of natural causes, a post mortem was not planned and no DNA samples had been taken, as his large loving family knew who he was. He was awaiting collection by the undertaker tomorrow who would be preparing for a family viewing. A situation that could not be worse. We have no proof that the remains in the park are his, if they are what do we tell the family. If they are not his, where the hell is his body? Oh yes it could be worse, your team has failed to find a head.’

The mortuary is locked and off limits to all hospital staff. We have no option, but to have the whole hospital searched in case the body has been hidden there. I will be going to speak to management. Sergeant, you will visit the undertaker first thing in the morning and explain why they will not be collecting the body yet. Constable Berk, it is your unenviable task to visit the family of Mr Smith and inform them with the briefest details what has happened. I suggest you imply he is still within the hospital, but you have to also persuade them to provide DNA samples. At first light a team of officers and the forensic team will carry out a methodical search of the whole of Puddleminster. I’m sure you appreciate the need to keep all details out of the press and off social media, but that won’t be easy.

A week later Lottie sat glued to the local news as she did several times a day. She had not been near the sea, Puddleminster was overrun with police search teams. At the shops she tried to glean local gossip and there was plenty of that; satanic rites, multiple bodies unearthed everywhere and a serial killer on the loose. She wondered about poor Doctor Good. Every news bulletin a police officer of increasingly high rank would be urging the public not to speculate and assuring them there was no danger to the public. Then at last that evening there was news. A serious looking policewoman with lots of badges on her epaulettes, was standing outside the hospital.

‘We have today arrested a mortuary technician from this hospital and charged him with preventing the lawful and decent burial of a body.  I can confirm no other individuals were involved and our enquiries are now complete. The family of the deceased have asked for privacy at this time.’

Of course that was not the end. On breakfast television the next day Lottie watched as the son and daughters of John Smith were interviewed.

‘We want to know how this happened to our Dad.’

They had obviously waived the right to privacy and Lottie guessed poor Doctor Good would be in for more vigorous investigation by the media. Would Puddleminster-on-Sea ever be the quiet place she had hoped for? But she couldn’t help smugly thinking she had been the first to guess what had happened.

Happy Birthday William Shakespeare – 1564

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 15 Comments

It is also Saint George’s Day, but a saint that doesn’t mean much to us. Whereas William, even with his imagination, could not have predicted how many millions of people would be seeing his plays, saying his sayings and coming to visit his home town. He would probably not have liked what we did to his wonderful language, but living languages change all the time. He was also not responsible for the ways in which English has been spread around the world, but with the negatives come the positives. Around the world bilingual and multilingual folk can communicate with a common language and if we only speak English we must applaud them for learning and talking to us. No doubt Shakespeare would have his own blog and smart phone if they had been around then.

Tuesday Tiny Tale -Mortuary Mystery

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 10 Comments
Tuesday Tiny Tale – Closed Circuit
This evening’s tiny tale follows on from last week when Geoff was arrested as a murder suspect.

Geoff Good was alone in the interview room at Puddleminster Police Station. It had been on the local news about body parts being found in Queen Victoria Memorial Park, that’s why he had joked that as a pathologist at the hospital he did post mortems on deceased patients and did not chop up bodies. He did not expect them to use that as evidence of guilt.

The two CID officers came back in with a cup of tea, he assumed they were going to apologise for wrongful arrest and give him a lift home.

‘Doctor Good, we have some important questions to ask you with regard to your work, now new evidence has come to light.’

What on earth could they mean, had they found mortuary instruments lying in the park, no they were all present and correct when he left work yesterday. Was the victim someone he knew? Unlikely they would have identified the body so soon, you couldn’t even tell by tattoos these days, everyone had them.

‘You must have spoken to the woman in the CCTV picture, I saw her coming into the police station.’

‘No one has come forward to help with our enquiries.’

‘We know the victim was already dead when he was dismembered,’ chipped in the smug DC chap ‘very dead.’

‘That’s a relief, I mean for the victim.’

‘Dead for a while, but not decomposed, our forensic team have established the corpse had been kept somewhere cold.’

Geoff remained silent, he did not like where this was leading, but surely they did not think he regularly murdered people and kept them at the mortuary? Every body arrived or left the mortuary properly identified and recorded.

They stared at him, he tried to look them in the eye and not appear nervous or guilty. A thought came to him which he tried to dismiss. His new assistant did not disguise his ambition to get involved in proper forensics, not the boring bodies they dealt with at the hospital. He watched all the CSI programmes Geoff’s wife loved, but being fascinated with murder did not make him a murderer. Besides, he could not have hidden a spare body, all the drawers were occupied at present.

‘Did you wish to call your solicitor Doctor Good?’

How did things get to this stage already. He did not have a solicitor, only the school boy who had dealt with his great uncle’s will, or the local chap who had done the conveyancing for their house twenty years ago, probably retired by now.

‘No, I do not need a solicitor.’

Suddenly the DS brightened up. ‘We will be getting a warrant to search the mortuary, accompanied by your good self. In the meantime you are free to leave now as a person of interest. You may go home, but do not go to work and make sure we can contact you at any time.’

Geoff walked down the road in a daze, years of clinical and logical thinking did not help him process what was happening. He almost bumped into her, the woman from the picture. She recoiled and he automatically put his hands in the air. They both started to speak at once.

‘Sorry, sorry, I’m not a murderer.’

‘Sorry, nor am I didn’t mean to react like that.’

‘I don’t even know your name.’

‘I’m on my way to the police station to explain, I chickened out the first time. This is a nightmare.’

‘I’m so sorry you got involved.’

‘No I’m sorry, Lottie, Lottie Lincoln the novelist.’

‘Erm, I don’t read novels, Geoff Good, pathologist.’

‘Goodness, how interesting, life is stranger than fiction for sure.’

They both automatically looked around for hidden CCTV cameras.

‘Are we allowed to talk to each other?’

‘We both have a reason for walking down this road, I’ll be quick and tell you my situation. They seem to think I could have murdered and hidden the body in the mortuary, because it had been kept somewhere very cold, ridiculous of course, but at least they can’t possibly think you were involved.’

‘Do you have assistants?’

‘They are not murderers either, though the new one’s totally obsessed with forensics and CSI dramas. Oh, do you write dark crime novels, they’re all women writers.’

‘Indeed not, life affirming stories, family dramas, but I can see a story in this situation.’ Her eyes lit up.  ‘Perhaps no murder was committed, your assistant wanted to see a bit of drama so borrowed a body, chopped it up and created a fake crime scene. He would not be suspected, no blood soaked clothing and all that. Anyway, I had better get to the police station, good luck.’

The mortuary was empty of live persons when Geoff was escorted in by a team of plain clothed and uniformed officers. The person they had to show the warrant to was Geoff himself. It seemed the rest of the hospital was unaware of the mortuary drama. Had anyone even noticed Geoff’s absence? There obviously had been no deaths at the hospital in the past twenty four hours and he recalled the new assistant was starting some annual leave.

 No bodies on the slabs, pity, Geoff would have enjoyed making them feel queasy. He showed them all the computer and written records, then opened each labelled drawer one by one, assuring them it was a full house this week.

‘Everyone sleeping peacefully’ he joked nervously as they reached the last drawer.

The last drawer was empty, the name still on the front of the drawer, John James Smith.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Closed Circuit

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 17 Comments
Tuesday Tiny Tale 800 – CCTV
Today’s story follows on from ‘CCTV’.

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.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale 800 – CCTV

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 23 Comments

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?

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Gardeners’ World

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 20 Comments

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.

Fun Friday – Spring into Spring

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 39 Comments

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.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Plastic

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 14 Comments

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.’

Strange Sunday – Inside Out

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 19 Comments

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.