flash fiction

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Not Again

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Isn’t it always the way, you don’t remember you were reincarnated until you die again. Each time I have been caught out. Assuring myself and others that there is NOTHING beyond, once you’re dead you’re dead. Telling everyone that ghosts do not exist, whatever Danny Robins seeks out in ‘Uncanny’. Exclaiming confidently that there is no such thing as reincarnation, thank goodness; what are the chances of landing a worse life than you had? If you look at the world you will guess that ninety nine per cent of humans are not having a good life.

Now it all came back to me, every life I’ve lived before. Once again I was in the debriefing room, waiting for the uncomfortable probing into how I had handled my latest life. All around me were strangers, busier than usual, all the people who had been killed alongside me. That was the only memory that was hazy.

No familiar faces this time. When I say faces I mean we were still wearing our earthly appearance, to be replaced soon with just our inner selves. Well, it had been a good life, shorter than I expected, but I had fitted a lot in. Most of the others were new souls, stands to reason when you think of the population explosion. I had to chuckle, that chap in total denial calling for the doctor, probably thinks he’s hallucinating in intensive care.

In terms of human history I’m quite new myself. My first life came to an abrupt end fighting for Henry V. But I haven’t always been English, turned up in all parts of the world. Pity I never remembered all the languages I have spoken.

‘Hey mate, the sooner you come to terms with what’s happened the easier it will be. You have been killed. Not actually dead, just waiting to be reincarnated.’

‘What rubbish, I’m just waiting for my wife to visit, they must have phoned her by now.’

‘Yes, they would have phoned to tell her about the plane crash, if she hadn’t already heard it on the news.’

 It was all coming back to me now, no wonder it was so busy here…

‘Mathew Frobisher, Frobisher?’

That’s me, they always use your most recent name.

‘So did you enjoy your latest life?’

‘Yes thanks, wonderful. It didn’t sound promising, but my physical body inherited brains and good looks. Makes you wonder how much DNA has to do with it. Do souls have an equivalent?’

‘You are a long way from learning about that, a very long way from understanding the higher realms.’

‘But I’m doing well, I’ve lived lots of good lives.’

‘I’m afraid it appears you learned nothing from your previous good lives. In this latest one you have contributed nothing to society, treated your loved ones abominably…’

‘You should have let me be a woman again. Last time you promised I would be reunited with my beloved husband.’

‘You were, that was the wonderful wife you so casually dumped.’

‘I can explain… ‘

No I couldn’t really, but I hadn’t been that bad had I?

‘What about all the happy passengers I flew round the world, reuniting them with their families, making their holiday dreams come true. I was an excellent airline pilot.’

‘You were to start with, but your dissolute life style caught up with you, hiding your drug habit resulted in you killing 387 passengers on your last flight. You must start again in the lower realms, you are going to be born in the Gaza Strip. We’re ready for you now, no point in you hanging around here.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Meaningless

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Sean sat staring at the blank screen. This week’s challenge for the Poison Pen Writers was to write a story without meaning. Now he was regretting being the one to suggest it. There had been much philosophical discussion at last week’s meeting, could there ever be a story with no meaning at all?

He could write a story about himself; as far as he could tell, his life had no meaning, but that would be a very dull story.

Poison Pen Writers was a cutting edge group that met in a crumbling old hall the council were trying to demolish. They had been expelled from the library before Sean’s time when Jago had forgotten to take his medication. Sean  could well imagine that some members could be easily misunderstood, most of them were rather odd, but they were all very interesting and amusing. Sean was the only boring one and he took a vicarious pleasure from their chaotic and adventurous lives, past and present.

The screen was still empty as his mind wandered over the past year with the group. He forced himself to type.

John woke up to another day, at least he assumed it was another day as he was in his bed and sunlight streamed through the curtains.

As he dipped his toast into the soft fried egg, it reminded him of nothing at all.

On the bus to work he looked at the other passengers, they did not look at him.

As he walked into the large office building he heard a voice call ‘Hey John’ but it was a woman hailing someone else called John.

At his desk he logged on to the computer.

As he logged off the computer he wondered where the day had gone.

‘What are you doing this evening?’ asked a colleague.

‘Nothing’ he replied.

‘Nor me.’

On the way home he looked out of the bus window, but it was raining hard so he couldn’t see anything. He looked at his phone, it was Tuesday, so he would stop off at the fish and chip shop.

As he walked into Harry’s Plaice Harry greeted him. ‘Evening, usual?’

‘Yup.’

‘Good day at work?’

‘Same as usual.’

That night John got into bed, another day over.

Sean glanced through what he had written, then added the title Meaningless. Hopefully it was, he pressed Print.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – White Feather

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Sam was looking forward to a peaceful Friday evening after a busy week at the lab. The house was quiet, Jill was bound to be in the garden as it was her day off and the weather fine.

The back door was open and Jill jumped up from a flower bed and rushed up to the patio to greet him.

‘What’s the excitement, have you found a rare butterfly?’

‘Mother’s been!’

Sam was taken aback. His mother-in-law had died three weeks ago, peacefully, in her 98th year. He thought Jill was coping well.

‘Jill, what do you mean?’

‘I found a white feather.’

‘You surely didn’t believe all that stuff your mother used to talk about?’

‘You didn’t believe, I kept an open mind. Mum said she would send a sign if she could.’

‘A feather left by some moth eaten pigeon…’

‘A perfect pure white feather floated down just as I was tidying round that shrub Mother gave us. At least let me show you.’

Jill moved across to the kitchen door, reached in for the lop sided jug her mother had made at U3A pottery class and pulled out a very large snowy white feather.

‘Okay, not a pigeon but a handsome swan. Did you see any flying overhead?’

‘No, we’re miles from any river.’

‘Well, all sorts of things get blown in the wind. If she wanted to send a message why not something useful or tangible.’

 ‘I imagine its not easy being dead, especially if you’re new at it. Besides, there must be rules, otherwise we would all be inundated with messages from the other side.’

‘Jill, we don’t get messages from the dead because they are no more. It’s the Twenty First Century, we’ve grown out of all that stuff.’

‘You scientists don’t know everything, I felt so peaceful out there in the garden, knowing Mother was happy.’

‘That’s your serotonin kicking in. A sunny day in the garden always makes you happy and you were also thinking about your mother. I’m a physicalist what you see is what there is, that’s it. Your mother is still with you, but in your memories.’

‘We can both see this feather, how do you explain that?’

‘Your guardian angel flew over, ha, ha, dropped in to help with the weeding.’

‘Why don’t you test its DNA in your lab?’

‘I will, might even contribute to our current bird studies. Right, I’m going up to check my emails before dinner.’

Sam looked out of his office window at the patchwork of little back gardens below. He told himself he was appreciating the colourful display Jill had created in their back garden, not looking for swans or angels. He noticed something new in next door’s garden, a large colourful playhouse. The new young couple had only just moved in and already Jill had discovered they were expecting their first baby, a bit early to be buying expensive Wendy houses… then he noticed movement on the overgrown lawn. Chickens, so that must be a modern state of the art hen house, hopefully fox proof. Shouldn’t be any trouble unless there was a cockerel to wake them up. At that moment there was a fluttering amongst the drab brown and speckled hens as a proud rooster strutted out. A dashing snow white rooster with a scarlet cockscomb. Sam dashed downstairs to tell Jill the mystery was solved.

Jill was excited to see the new livestock, but held the long straight flat feather aloft triumphantly.

‘This did not come from a rooster, magnificent as his curling tail feathers are.’

Sam arrived at the lab early on Monday morning; frivolous use of the facilities was frowned upon and he did not fancy telling the others he was checking for angel DNA. But the quicker he could identify the feather as belonging to a swan or an albino peacock the better.

The results made no sense, the feather was apparently freshly shed, clean and undamaged so the results could not be corrupted.  The DNA looked like none he had ever seen before, certainly not belonging to any bird. If anything it was closer to homo sapiens, yet different, not to mention the fact that there were forty six pairs of chromosomes. He had already started from scratch again and achieved exactly the same results. Far more study would be needed to venture any theory as to what sort of creature this feather came from. He could be holding unique scientific information, but how could he tell his colleagues, what should he tell Jill?

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Closed Circuit

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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

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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

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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.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Plastic

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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.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale 566 – Happy Febmas

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Happy Febmas everyone, how long is it since we were all together? Are you glad to be back in the country Danny, back to civilisation?

Is that what you call it? Thank goodness I renewed my contract.

But I thought…

I don’t know how you live with your conscience, raking in all that money in a repressive regime while their citizens suffer.

Ahhem how was your holiday Lydia?

Remind me not to listen to Charles next time he suggests an adventure holiday. I’ve never been so cold in my life.

What did you expect at base camp darling?

For the money we paid, a lot more than a frozen solid tent.

Some of us can’t even afford a holiday to Bognor, mortgage and buying food…

You’ll be glad in the long run son, your mother and I never had a penny to spend on ourselves.

But you were happy ha ha…

Yes we were, we had fun with you all when you were young and you never went hungry like those poor families on television.

Humm, they just need to get a job and learn to cook proper meals like Mum did.

Not that simple Danny.

Let’s dwell on more cheerful things. Isn’t Jodie’s news wonderful.

What news?

The baby of course.

 BABY!

I thought you knew, Danny.

Obviously not. How on earth did that happen? I thought you were with Annya?

I am.

Baby? I thought Jodie was a, you know, is she better now, got herself married?

Oh are you awake Aunty?

I thought you said Aunty Mable had no idea what’s been going on for the last five years.

Ssh, she has moments of lucidity.

Usually at the worst moment.

Annya and I really wanted to have a baby.

 Don’t you need a chap for that, or did you get an anonymous donor?

Remember Joseph at school? He’s been wonderful and so thrilled to get the chance to be a father.

At last we get to be grandparents.

Not actually biological grandparents, but it will be just like the real thing.

What do you mean?

We used Annya’ egg, she couldn’t mess around being pregnant with her work.

My Arthur wasn’t up to it, that’s why we didn’t have children.

Oh Aunty that’s sad, did you want them?

Always used to blame the woman in those days, no such thing as low sperm count then. Though in our case Arthur just wasn’t interested in that sort of thing.

Wel, well family secrets coming out. Was he gay?

How should I know, we didn’t talk about that stuff.

Anyway, nothing wrong with my sperm count, but Avril and I have made a conscious decision not to have brats and I can’t think why Jodie would go to all that trouble to have one.

I didn’t expect any support from you Danny, after all, you did break the leg off my baby doll, that’s why I didn’t bother telling you.

You always bring that up, it was an accident.

No it wasn’t, you were always breaking our toys.

And stealing my Lego.

What about you Scot, are you still seeing Kamala, we thought you might have invited her here.

No, yes, I mean yes Kamala and I are an item and no I didn’t invite her as I didn’t want to put her through this. I knew exactly what it would be like.

Tuesday Tiny Tale 300 – Phone Call

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Hello Mum.

Felicity?

Yes, who else would it be, why didn’t you answer before?

When?

Half an hour ago and several times before that.

I did get some caller unknown calls so of course I ignored them. I only answered this time accidentally. Why aren’t you calling from your phone?

Because I lost my phone, didn’t you get my text messages?

Was that really you, I thought it was one of those scams, I’m not daft. I’m certainly not going to be like those old people on You and Yours who lose all their money.

I wasn’t asking you for any money.

Good, because I’m certainly not sending any money to Morrocco. So are you enjoying your holiday?

I was till I Iost my phone.

Where did you lose it?

If I knew that I would probably have found it by now.

Where are you calling from?

I’m borrowing someone else’s phone so I can’t be long.

Whose?

A new friend.

Where’s Caroline?

Gone off on a trip with some bloke.

What, so you’re all on your own?

Mother, I’m 39, you don’t have to worry about me.

I obviously do if you’ve managed to lose your phone.

I just need you to go on line and get hold of my bank.

Can’t you phone them?

No, all that security stuff is on my phone.

I told you it’s not safe to do all your banking on your phone. How am I going to contact your bank, they closed my branch.

You just go on line.

But I don’t do on line banking for myself, let alone for anyone else and they would be suspicious. Come to think of it, how do I know this is you?

Of course it’s me, I’m your daughter.

But it could be one of those AI thingys cloning your voice…

Tuesday Tiny Tale 369 -Whatever The Weather

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And in tonight’s news Storm Zelda has arrived. Red warnings remain in place for the whole of the British Isles. Experts say it is unprecedented to have had twenty six named storms in the first month of the year. Travel plans have already been thrown into chaos. All flights are being diverted to Reykjavik and many train journeys have been cancelled after landslides on several mainlines. The M1, M3, M6 and other motorways have experienced flooding and the RAC is advising drivers not to travel, even if it is absolutely necessary.

The RNLI is warning people to stay away from coastal areas. Mandy Mariner is speaking to us from Cornwall.

‘We are a volunteer organisation and no crew will be volunteering to go out tonight in this weather. People don’t realise that you can be sucked out to sea in seconds by wind and waves, so please do not go sightseeing, Instagram and Facebook are not worth risking your life for.’

His Majesty’s Coastguard has reinforced this warning, especially as all their helicopters are now grounded. In an emergency call 999 Coastguard, better still, avoid emergencies.

And in a dramatic move Deliveroo have suspended all deliveries.

For more details on tonight’s weather we go over to Gail Macleod who is on the end of the pier at Easton-super-Mare.

‘Wind speeds of up to 150 miles an hour have been recorded here this a…ft..er…noon an~~ emr~~~gen~~ ser~~~ ha~~ wa~~~

We seem to have lost Gail for a moment and we apologise for the sound quality of that report. So let’s go back to Sonny Dai in the studio and take a closer look at the weather map.

Welcome to Point of View and we start with your views on coverage of Storm Zelda. Delia Baxter sent us this email

‘How reckless of the BBC to send reporters out in Storm Zelda. Gail Macleod was out in the elements and not even wearing a hat, what sort of example is that?’

We managed to contact Gail, at present sheltering on an oil rig in the North Sea. She sent us this message.

‘I was wearing a nice warm hat, but unfortunately it blew away, along with my umbrella.’