With real humans visiting I have not spent much time in the blogosphere, but luckily I have an extra hour this weekend… and time for a tiny tale…
Back in Time
It was Edward’s second favourite night of the year, staying up till 2am to watch the changes and do the alterations. An ancient ceremony to be revered, conducted for over one hundred years.
Edward’s home was analogue and digital, flashing on the cooker, ticking on the wall; a grandfather clock and his grandfather’s pocket watch he used to joke and promised he would leave his grandson the first digital watch he saved up £50 to buy…
Watching the time on his iPhone change, alert to see if this time it would change at 01.59 or 02.01 but it never let him down. Clambering up the folding steps in several rooms… adieu BST welcome back GMT. His son said he did not need a clock at all, let alone his horology collection. After all, he had the time on his smart phone and Fitbit, so he did not need to risk life and limb, especially to reach the grandmother clock high up in the stair well.
The night the clocks went back, changing from British Summer Time to Greenwich Mean Time, would be no fun without his beloved clocks. He was never ready for sleep after all the excitement and anyway, everyone was getting an extra hour in bed. He would go on the computer and check the time in other European countries changing their clocks.
He could not lie in for long in the morning as he always went round to his sister’s house for breakfast; more clambering on wobbly steps to change her clocks and the all important reconfiguring in her bedroom. He had bought her one of the first digital radio alarm clocks and after all these years she still had not figured out how to change the time.
Of course Edward’s favourite night of the year was when the clocks went forward in spring.
Facetiming is tricky at this time of year when you are talking to other countries, even other states, let alone other hemispheres. Some change, some don’t, not all choose the same weekend. If and when are you changing your clocks? More importantly, are you gruntled or disgruntled with the whole procedure?
Flora and Jim had reached a high point in the valley and looked down to see just a glimpse of the red roof of their cottage. The rain was even heavier, if that was possible. They could hardly see the screens of their phones to check if they had any signal or any text messages.
‘It’s certainly exhilarating up here’ said Jim.
‘And so quiet, we haven’t seen a soul’ Flora struggled to make her voice heard above the wind and rain.
‘No one else is mad enough to come out in this rain. I think we’ll have to try our phones tomorrow when the weather has cleared. Best thing we can do is go back and get that fire lit.’
‘Whaaat, I can’t hear you.’
Jim signed to Flora to head back down the narrow steep track, clinging to her as he nearly slipped. The foot path had turned into a muddy stream, but they were still in good spirits enjoying their adventure. The sound of rushing water guided them back to the river, though it was hard to recognise how far they were from their cottage as they were on a part of the river that had no path beside it. Talking was impossible with the wind and rushing water and they could not see the river properly with the rain driving in their faces. The white shape of the cottage suddenly loomed out of the gloom, nearer to the river than they recalled.
‘Have you got the key Flora?’ Jim yelled.
‘No you put it in your anorak pocket.’
Flora paddled through puddles to grab at the front door in the hope they had forgotten to lock it, then remembered putting the key in her back pack. She could hardly undo the zip with her cold wet hands.
‘Unlock the door while I start fetching the wood.’
Jim slithered round the corner to where logs were stacked against the wall and was disconcerted to see water pouring down the hillside and swirling round the bottom of the wood pile. He thought of the cosy pub in the nearest town where they had enjoyed a hearty meal after first viewing the cottage. The best thing they could do was walk along the river the other way and take the gravel track that led up to the road and the bus stop. Was it quarter to or quarter past the hour that the hourly bus came along? Well they could always hitch hike.
The rain showed no sign of easing up and they were glad to get to the road.
‘Oh that’s funny, wonder why they have barriers across the road?’
‘Jim, it will be getting dark soon.’
‘When a car comes along it will have to stop at the barrier and we can ask for a lift.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coordinating with the fire brigade and the Coastguard and RAF. It was turning out to be an even worse evening than with last year’s flood.
‘As far as we know most locals heeded the red weather warnings, they are checking names at the community centre now. We can’t account for any visitors staying or hiking in the area. The coastguard helicopter was only flying for fifteen minutes before it was grounded at 17.00 hours due to dangerous flying conditions. With the poor visibility they could not be certain there were no persons clinging to roofs or needing rescuing. We got the road blocks up early, so there should be no vehicles in the flood area.’
Rain lashed the windows of their little cottage, but Flora and Jim did not mind.
‘It’s lovely being all cosy inside. What weather does your phone say Jim?’
‘Still no reception, but I don’t need to look at my phone to see what the weather is.’
‘No weather forecast, but it is rather liberating not having a television. Dad says we can have his old laptop to stream stuff.’
‘Once we’re on the internet. In the meantime we can go exploring and find a spot where we can get reception, just in case of emergency.’
‘I can’t imagine us having any emergencies, except not being able to order pizza!’
‘Come on, walking in the rain will be fun and when we get back I’ll have a go at lighting the fire.’
‘Great idea, but won’t the firewood have got wet in the rain?’
‘I’ll just pull logs out from the bottom of the pile, like Jenga.’
‘Looks like a real river now Flora, don’t get too near the edge, it must be at least two foot deep, ha ha. Let’s see how far along the river this little path goes.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coming on duty.
‘There is an amber alert coming into force at 15.00.’
‘Not like last year surely Sir, not after the dry summer we’ve had.’
‘We’re not taking any chances after what happened last year.’
‘At least the survivors moved out of that cottage down in the valley, can’t imagine they would have managed to sell it.’
‘Well it’s still standing, we hiked that way in the summer.’
‘Why are you playing with your phone Evans?’
‘Just looking it up on Rightmove Sir… Believe it or not it was bought last month, knock down price.’
‘Let’s hope they have been following the weather reports then. Right, we have got other problems to sort out in town, so let’s hope this rain eases off.’
Flora and Jim loved their new riverside cottage and could not believe their luck getting such an ideal spot in their price range. Even the name was quaint, Little Nile. Jim joked that it was just as well it had not been named Little Amazon.
‘People would think we were living in a warehouse!’
The little river that trickled past their tiny garden was actually called ‘The Seven’, not to be confused with The Severn, the longest river in Great Britain.
As they sat in the cosy sitting room enjoying a leisurely Sunday morning Flora sighed with delight
‘…and we did not even have to do any work on it. All newly decorated.’
‘Hmm, I don’t think I could live with that dreadful wallpaper for long’ replied Jim.
‘But it would be a waste to rip it off.’
‘What’s that mark on the wall?’
‘Just part of the pattern.’
‘No, it’s some sort of stain, bigger than yesterday. Perhaps there is a body hidden behind there, it is a very old cottage.’
‘You’re giving me the creeps.’
‘There is a corner peeling off by the ceiling, I could just have a peep…’
To their surprise the paper fell off in one strip revealing writing on the wall.
‘Oh how sweet, a height chart, we could keep that as a feature’ trilled Flora. ‘Five feet ten inches, 2024, some lanky teenager, we don’t know who was last to live here do we, the estate agent didn’t say.’
‘2022, five foot one inch, he must have had a growth spurt.’
‘2019, four foot six inches, a child back then.’
‘2010, four foot 2 inches, must have been very young then, how tall is your nephew?’
‘Doesn’t make sense, in nine years they must have grown more than that, unless that was a different child, pity they did not write their names. We must write their names when we do that with ours.’
‘Our what?’
‘Babies of course.’
‘1995 must have been a baby, two foot one inch, 1980 one foot six inches, must have been the seven dwarves living here, of course, hence the name of the river.’
‘Look down the bottom, can hardly read the writing, 1895, one foot one inch, The Great Flood. What’s that all about, look it up.’
‘I can’t find any great flood for that year and can’t imagine our tiny river flooding, what a hoot.’
‘We certainly would not want a foot of water in here.’
I was idly scrolling through Facebook on my phone when I was surprised to see a picture of myself. I never post pictures of myself on holiday, well I never go on holiday, nor do I socialise enough to appear in other people’s photos. I peered closer. It was definitely me, in that fleece I got from Mountain Warehouse, but I had never been to the Royal Albert Hall. There I was standing outside the famous round building in summer sunshine. Had I been photoshopped in?
I dashed upstairs and put my desk top computer on, I needed to look at this properly, but knowing Facebook that post could disappear any second. Even as I climbed the stairs my phone pinged with a WhatsAp message.
Hi Claire, have a good time, which Prom are you going to?
I wasn’t the only person to have seen my picture, the picture that could not be me. I would love to have got down to London and gone to The Proms, but my budget did not stretch to a city break.
I don’t take much interest in Facebook, occasionally I put a link to my blog or my website when I have a new book published. My followers are a select bunch, but it’s surprising how many readers love my series about Bunny Bunting, a private detective who solves crimes in the cut throat world of pedigree rabbit shows.
There I was again looking up at the Prince Albert Memorial, carrying my jade fleece. I had on my blue polo shirt from Edinburgh Woollen Mill. Did I have a long lost twin? Now I was sitting and looking properly I read what the post said.
Have you seen Claire? Her family are desperately worried. She went on a day trip to London with work friends, but became separated. Claire is believed to be vulnerable and does not know her way around London.
Thanks a lot, not only has someone stolen my identity, now they are calling me vulnerable?
Claire Smith is forty three years old, five foot four inches and well built.
That is me exactly, though what is well built supposed to mean? At least she has not got the same surname.
We know it’s a long shot, but if you are a Londoner, especially a music lover, perhaps you may have seen Claire at Thursday evening’s prom. She is believed to have struggled with depression lately after the end of a relationship.
That is certainly not me, unless Claire Smith has just lost her pet rabbit. Give me a Flemish Giant any day over a man… there were comments already…
Is this Claire from Carlisle, I follow her on Facebook.
Oh no, that is me, I live in Carlisle, so wonder where this other Claire comes from? Please answer and tell us Claire Smith comes from Saint Ives…shall I add a comment…
No, I am Claire Lapin from Carlisle.
Hang on, that post has disappeared.
A hospital room, now what has happened? That looks just like the picture my brother took of me after I had my tonsils out.
Claire Darling we all love you and beg you to get in touch, you are due for dialysis tomorrow at Glasgow Royal Infirmary, but if you cannot get back here in time, please call at any hospital Casualty Department.
Oh dear it gets worse and worse…
My phone rang, my brother.
‘Sis, turn on the evening news, it’s you, are you in London, lost?
‘No Sam, of course I am not, nor am I on Facebook, someone has stolen my identity.’
He laughed ‘You have got a Doppleganger!’
‘A what?’
‘Your exact double, doesn’t even have to be a relative, just someone who looks exactly like you, everyone is supposed to have a Doppleganger somewhere in the world. But I know how you can find out if she is a relative, they are calling for kidney donors, searching for a good match before its’s too late, someone to give her hope…’
‘How can you call for dead people?’
‘No, live donors, you have two kidneys. I’ve taken the number, I’ll text it over to you.’
‘But Sam, I don’t like hospitals…’
I called the number, it was one way to find out who this Claire was. The kidney business caught people’s interest and a chap spotted her at sunset on Waterloo Bridge, staring into the Thames. He called out to her, rather prematurely ‘Hey, they found you a kidney.’
Claire Smith had a kidney transplant thanks to me. No it wasn’t my kidney. We are not related at all, but I somehow found myself in the swapping chain. My kidney went to an anonymous patient whose relative was a good match for Claire. I wasn’t in the news as I had not actually given her my kidney and I certainly did not post pictures of myself in hospital on Facebook.
The delightful scent of roast chicken wafted out from the kitchen. Grace liked visiting her cousins, Aunty was a great cook. Playing in the garden with the others, Grace kept an eye on the back door that led into the kitchen. No one was allowed in the kitchen when Aunty was cooking, she had been in there for ages, surely lunch would be ready soon…
‘Grace, come on, your turn.’
She grabbed the ball just in time, despite being weak with hunger.
At last the back door opened.
‘Everybody to the table, not through the kitchen, come in through the patio door, go and wash your hands then get yourselves sat at the table.’
Grace was first in, there was a scrabble to get to the table, handwashing forgotten about. She tried to squeeze in, but couldn’t find a space.
‘Millie, back out in the garden and take Grace with you, you’ve had your lunch.’
Somehow she and Millie found themselves on the wrong side of the patio doors. Grace was too polite to say anything as it wasn’t her home, but Millie did not hold back from voicing her opinion of her family.
‘Call that lunch, call that a meal, same old pile of biscuits I always get, not even a chocolate digestive or some Jaffa cakes.’
‘Oh I love Jaffa cakes,’ said Grace ‘I sometimes have them as a treat, well only one…’
‘Precisely, they eat a whole packet. Hey look, they left the back door open, come on.’
Grace didn’t think they were allowed in the kitchen, even when Aunty had finished cooking, but if Millie said it was okay…’
‘Come on Grace, we’re going to get the leftovers anyway, so why wait, I’m starving.’
Grace was bigger than Millie so she was proud she could help her cousin by reaching the counter top. In seconds they were sharing what was left of the chicken. Tender slivers of meat, crunchy legs, crispy skin and the most divine roast potatoes.
‘Hey Grace, see if you can reach the last two potatoes.’
It was a stretch and a bit of a jump and as she touched the potatoes Grace knocked the heavy carving tray that was already teetering on the edge. There was a deafening crash and Grace jumped in fright. She turned to Millie to ask if they should go back in the garden, but Millie had disappeared. Before she could slip out of the door she heard an awful scream and turned to see Aunty. The strange noise was coming out of Aunty’s mouth and her friendly face had been replaced by a red angry one. Grace thought it might be wise to get in the garden as quickly as possible, but the door had blown shut. Other grownups appeared in the kitchen and Aunty was now saying words.
I always wanted to be famous, an actress probably, but then I had a better idea, I would become a newsreader. Just as famous, in people’s homes every night, regular work, short hours and best of all, I would be able to sit behind a big desk. Nobody would see my legs and hips, not my best feature and I certainly would not have to do any nude scenes. And I would not have to learn any lines, just read from the autocue.
I practised in front of the mirror… and in tonight’s news… serious face, serious tragedy face, reassuring expression, Royalty voice, lighten up with cheerful final item…
‘As many as three thousand people are feared dead in… the King and Queen met a 117 year old veteran today when they visited… the Coastguard and lifeboats are still searching for three people missing after their… A Jack Russell terrier named Lucky had a lucky escape when he fell over five hundred feet off Beachy Head and landed in an RNLI lifeboat searching for three missing people…’
It transpired that there is more to being a newsreader than I thought, but I made it… local news, national lunchtime news, main evening news! Someone to do my hair and makeup, different smart jacket or blouse every evening and I was soon a well known name. Under the desk I could wear my bunny slippers and what my husband called my pyjama trousers, but what I called lounge wear. Then one day the producer called a meeting.
The evening news was going to be revamped, the desk would be no more. We would walk around pausing now and then to look commanding. How would I walk, read the autocue and look intelligent all at the same time… and what on earth would I wear?
Luckily my brother is a drag queen, not a profession I or my parents ever thought would be useful, but he came round to offer advice. Picking out a couple of pairs, my only pairs, of smart trousers and a dress and two skirts, he put his hands on his hips and said ‘Now all you need is a decent pair of high heels.’
‘I don’t wear heels, I don’t possess any high heels.’
‘No problem, you can borrow a pair of mine.’
‘Won’t they be too big?’
‘Just stuff some tissues in the toes, it’s only for half an hour.’
Monday evening launch and I’m at the studio back door waiting for my brother who had promised to bring the shoes on his way to his show. He had assured me he would choose his most conservative pair with the shortest heels. With minutes to spare I rushed to my dressing room and opened the shoe box. Black, good, four inch heels oh dear. I stared at them, I was unused to wearing such shoes, but even I could tell something was not right, what was odd about them? Something was right, both shoes were right! He had so many pairs of shoes, presumably lots of similar pairs and rushing around getting his dresses ready he did not notice his mistake.
I had no choice but to wear them, I was expecting them to be uncomfortable anyway, so what difference would it make. Out in the corridor I steadied myself against the wall. My producer said ‘You look lovely, whoops, politically incorrect, you look very professional. Oh by the way, we have got breaking news, no idea what or where, keep your eyes on the autocue and listen on your earpiece for updates.’
I tottered over to the prearranged starting point, my feet in agony already and my earpiece buzzing with the producer’s mumblings and urgent hissings. I peered at the autocue, but I was not used to this angle.
‘…and we start tonight with breaking news from … how on earth is that pronounced…
‘Start walking across’ hissed my producer.
I couldn’t even think which foot to put forward first and they hadn’t told me I had to walk up steps…
Aero had waited eons since he put in his application, or so it seemed. Had it been thrown straight in the bin, were the Upper Council laughing at his ideas? He had been naively pleased with himself for thinking of an original project for his thesis. If his idea worked, few would be interested in an experiment in an outer sector hardly anyone had heard of, but the upside of that was that failure, even accidental destruction, would not bother many. Still, he must be positive, if his idea worked perfectly he could apply for bigger projects in one of the inner sectors. Aero did not want to be stuck forever like his parents, caretakers for this remote part. For generations his family had cherished their responsibility for the growing community, the only surviving community in this sector. Experiments had been carried out, there had been the demise of an early community, followed by the extinction of another, but new life always followed.
Aero was nervous in front of the great board.
‘I have read your application, but I want to hear you summarise it in plain language.’
‘Our humble little sector is due to be demolished because of numerous failures in its past history, but while I know my voice cannot stop its destruction, I think we should take advantage of the opportunity to conduct an experiment which could then be applied to more important sectors.
My plan would be to shuffle the planets around and expand the solar system at the same time. The attempts by the colony to escape from the solar system have become more frequent and if they ever succeeded it would cause chaos in other galaxies.’
‘Which is precisely why we have scheduled the solar system for urgent demolition. However, some members of the board find your ideas rather amusing, so we will retire for a few eons to consider our decision.’
It’s the sort of article you read in the tabloids or the rabbit hole you fall into when you are tempted to scroll down on the internet. There was a boy at junior school who always had ghoulish ‘true stories’ to tell. I was never sure whether to believe him, but we wanted to and it was a bit dull in class after he moved away.
When I became a sardonic teenager I realised how ridiculous his tales had been, though I would have given him credit for his imagination if we ever met again.
As I turned into a sensible adult a strange thing happened; television documentaries, tiny cameras in operating theatres and Wikipedia provided real true stories. It turned out that there were girls with two heads and boys with four legs. The stuffed two headed lamb we saw in a glass case at the ‘House of Horrors’ on holiday had nothing on real two headed people who talked on television and went to school. Yes, real life could be truly bizarre and nature played jokes.
When I started getting mystery pains, or rather when I could no longer ignore mystery pains and the strange lump I could feel, I went to the doctor. An appointment came through for my scan, can’t remember which machine it was, but it made lots of noise and I did not like being in it. Of course the operator is not allowed to tell you anything and just mumbled something about a report going to my GP. I was just glad to get dressed and get out of there down to the hospital Costa Coffee. I was beginning to relax with my strong coffee and a lemon tart poised towards my mouth when my mobile rang.
‘This is Doctor Jekyll, are you still in the hospital grounds? Good. Have you eaten anything in the past couple of hours?’
Puzzled I put my lemon tart down.
‘Good, now there’s nothing to worry about, but I would like to examine you and possibly do an exploratory operation. As soon as possible. Now. No you don’t need to know where to go, I’m sending someone down to fetch you.’
I didn’t even get a chance to finish my coffee before someone in a uniform appeared and guided me into the depths of the hospital. It was not long before I was undressed and lying on a couch, being prodded and monitors applied. One good thing, I knew I was in good health, heart and everything working properly and fit for surgery. I was just about to ask when the operation was going to take place when the next thing I knew I was waking up in the recovery room with all sorts of tubes attached to me.
Doctor Jekyll was at my side promptly.
‘The good news is, it was not a malignant tumour. The bad news, it was a very complicated operation and the surgery was invasive.’
‘I don’t understand, what did you find?’
‘A baby.’
This would be a shock for most people. It was certainly a shock for me as I am a man.
‘How on earth…are you trying to tell me I’m a hermaphrodite?’
‘We don’t use that term these days, but you are not. Now you have heard of conjoined twins? Yes of course, but have you heard of parasitic twins? So you have seen old drawings and photos of people with partially formed bodies appended to themselves on Beetleypete’s blog… who or what is that? No I’m not a blogger, never heard of WordPress. Now I need you to pay attention. Your parasitic twin just happened to be completely inside you, very unusual and it… he seems to have been having a development spurt, otherwise you would not have noticed.’
‘This is a bit hard to take in, but at least I’m rid of it. How soon can I go home, I’m feeling okay.’
‘That’s all the pain killers, you have had a very serious operation and you will be monitored in intensive care. But we also have an ethical problem. We managed to save the baby.’
‘WHAT! Um what are you going to do with it?’
‘Him… well at the moment he is still attached to you by his, for want of a better word, his umbilical cord. Now do you want to see him before we discuss how to proceed? ‘
I thought of that boy at school, he would have wanted me to look, ready to relate the story to anyone who would listen. Somehow my schoolboy morbid curiosity took over and as instructed by the doctor I turned my head to the other side of the bed and there in an incubator was my baby brother. Or more accurately, if you put a pair of glasses on him he would be an exact miniature replica of me.
The Ham Hub writers had decided to have something new to focus on, an exercise for fun, creating a fictional community. Each writer to bring along two or three characters and let them interact with each other. The setting to be remote and rural, between the wars so they would have no mobile phones or ready means of communicating with the outside world.
Charlotte enjoyed the task, a break from writing her novel about Lottie. She tried not to make it anything like Hambourne, though she couldn’t resist adding water. When it was suggested she go first she thought that would be easy, her plot could not clash with anyone else’s if they had not been revealed.
Ellie decided to take the towpath back to the farm, relishing the peace and freedom before returning to all her chores at home. Ellie was happy to volunteer to take newly laid eggs and milk to old Widow Brown in her tumbledown cottage. Mother said they had to be nice to her as she had lost both her sons in the war. It had been a busy morning as she had also taken a hearty breakfast to Tommy One Arm in the barn. Her father took pity on any tramps who had been soldiers in the war, especially those maimed or disfigured and unlikely to find work. Father called them all Tommy; there had been One-Eyed Tommy, he was a bit scary till you got used to him. Tommy One Leg had been a joker and popular locally as he could fix anything. Tommy One Arm was very quiet except when he was having a funny turn, which Father said was shell shock. He wore a hat and scarf all the time, only Mother and Father had seen his face properly as Tommy was very good at reading the difficult dusty old books that had been great grandfather’s. He read to their parents after the children were all in bed. Ellie hoped this Tommy would stay. Father never made them move on, but they often got restless and there would come a morning when the barn was empty. Ellie felt sorry for this Tommy, he wouldn’t be able to get married if he had to keep his face covered all the time and he didn’t seem to have any relatives to go and live with.
It was such a lovely morning Ellie skipped along the tow path…
‘Hang on, is that by the river or a canal?’
I don’t know, that’s why I just put tow path.
…thinking how good it was to be fourteen and never have to go to school again. She had not thought beyond leaving, though of course her parents had. Going to work as a maid at a big house far away
‘Hang on, in mine, it’s The Big House nearby so the characters can be tenant farmers.’
‘and have somewhere to work’ added someone else.
Okay, no problem, at the Big House nearby or to be a shop girl in town…
‘What town, thought they were isolated.’
That’s why she doesn’t want to work in town, too far away.
…were suggested, but she did not want to leave home and why should she when her big brother stayed on the farm. She had quickly found out that working at home was a lot harder than school. Helping her mother with the endless cooking and looking after the little ones, feeding the pigs and hens and milking the cows. But Father had promised her she could take the pony and trap to market. She loved Lucky the best in the family. He was called Lucky because he had been a colt when the war came and was not taken away to go to France. Ellie and Lucky had grown up together.
As Ellie wandered along picking spring flowers and watching out for the Kingfisher she was startled to hear a man’s voice.
‘I thought we were setting it in winter?’
‘No, it was autumn.’
‘It was definitely spring as it is spring now, we’ll be in the right mood’ Charlotte decided to be a bit assertive for a change.
‘Morning Miss.’
She looked up to see a young man standing on the bow of a colourful narrow boat. A new boat at the old mooring that hadn’t been used for years. Ellie knew all the river folk and he was definitely a stranger, so she was not sure if she should talk to him.
‘Thought you didn’t know if it was a river or canal?’
Well spotted, easy to change and we have to hear everyone’s story before we set details.
His smile crinkled up to his dark eyes and he had gleaming white teeth. If her father saw that mop of curly black hair he would have him sent off to the barbers or got her mother to get her clippers out, like she did with her brothers. He was taller than her big brother.
‘Oh I like him, watch out Ellie, my girl will be after him.’
‘This is a pretty sight on a spring morning.’
Ellie looked around to see what the pretty sight was.
‘Oh yes, this is the prettiest part of the river.’
‘That’s why I decided to moor up here yesterday evening and what a surprise to meet a pretty local girl so soon.’
Ellie looked around to see if a pretty girl had appeared
‘May I ask your name? I’m Jack, Jack of all trades.’
‘Hey, I’ve got a Jack.’
‘So have I, head gardener at the big house.’
‘And I’ve got a Tommy, who seduces the scullery maid.’
‘How long since the First World War War then, still got old soldiers wandering? ‘
‘Great War, they didn’t know there was going to be a second one.’
‘1928 I thought we said last week.‘
‘No, it’s going to be in the middle of the Great Depression’
‘When was that then?’
Do you go to a writing group? Do you enjoy doing exercises?
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 