humour

Tuesday Tiny Tale -The Bottle

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 20 Comments

The window cleaner had been, the winter afternoon sun was shining through the front window; how long had it been since I had cleaned the diamond panes and dusted the window sill? I had always wanted a bay window and fell in love with the low deep sill when we viewed the house. Perfect for my collection of glass ornaments, at their best in sunlight. When my mother left me her favourite elegant green bottle my husband groaned ‘not more dust gatherers.’

He was right about them being dust gatherers and I vowed to myself I would dust them every week. I carefully picked up the delicate green bottle and polished it lovingly.

‘About time too.’

The rich baritone voice startled me, there was no one at home, the radio was switched off… I turned round to reassure myself I was hearing voices in my head, but there stood an elegant figure of a man, exotically dressed, bronze skin, neat beard and moustache and translucent…

After the initial shock I decided it must be an hallucination, then the dread that I might have a brain tumour replaced the primaeval fear that I was confronting a ghost.

‘Your wish is my command Madam.’

‘Oh don’t be so ridiculous, I know you’re not a genii’ I retorted nervously.

‘Do you have a better explanation as to how I have just emerged from the bottle?’

‘Noo.. so perhaps I should make a wish…’

‘Of course, that is why I am here, three wishes, think wisely.’

 ‘I certainly wish I had met you years ago, I could have done with your help.’

‘Your wish is granted.’

‘I haven’t made one yet.’

‘You just did. I granted your wish when you were a teenager, typical silly schoolgirl, you wished Lawrence would ask you out on a date.’

My stomach contracted, this was getting creepy or rather even creepier.

‘Yes, he did ask me out, you mean that was your doing and my life could have been different if he hadn’t… no that’s rubbish, he would have asked me out anyway, more’s the pity. Anyway, I would have remembered if I had seen a genii.’

‘You and your friend were so busy giggling at the thought of conjuring a genii you didn’t notice a real one. Did your friend become a champion ice skater?’

‘Oh my goodness yes she did, but that was because she had talent…?’

‘I haven’t got all day, you have two wishes left, what are they to be?

 ‘I must think carefully so I don’t end up using my third wish to undo the second.’

‘That’s another wish gone, one left.’

‘Hang on, that’s not fair, I wasn’t wishing then.’

‘You don’t get to make the rules, whatever you wish now will be undone so why not throw caution to the wind.’

‘Er um er I wish I had never married Lawrence.’

In a flash the genie disappeared and so did my front room and my house. I was standing in the middle of a jungle staring at a gorilla. A horrible realisation came to me. Among my many unrealised aspirations when I was at school was to be an adventurer, saving wild life. I certainly did not want to end up as a suburban housewife. Was this what would have happened if I hadn’t married Lawrence? With sweat pouring off me I looked down at the heavy boots encasing my feet and the trail of giant ants heading towards the top of those boots. Where was a genii when you needed one?

‘Rita, Rita I’m home.’

‘Is that you Larry?’

‘Who else are you expecting?’

‘Oh thank goodness.’

‘Why are you clutching that dreadful green bottle?’

I looked down to make sure I was wearing my normal clothes.

‘Just dusting, actually I think you’re right, let’s put this awful bottle with that stuff for the charity shop.’

Foolish Friday

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 21 Comments

You open a new page on your computer to go and visit your favourite bloggers or Facebook, but you never get there because you can’t resist clicking on to startling headlines about celebrities you have never heard of or, shocking events somewhere… you don’t know where till you click on to the item.

Why do you feel compelled to find out why the unknown celebrity, who appears on a programme you have not heard of, is so devastated with the news about …what? Obviously you can’t concentrate on writing your blog without finding out if that really is an alien ‘mummy’ or how someone choked to death on a marshmallow.

And where had that woman been for forty two years? Do not be tempted to go down rabbit holes as most of the dramatic headlines involve death sneaking up at the most unlikely times and places, under the strangest circumstances. Suffice to say anyone can be struck down by a mystery illness, the only symptom of which is sudden death. If you are amongst the lucky few to be in perfect health, do avoid alligators, bears, anything higher or deeper than two feet and best to avoid sleeping and eating as well.

Scroll down further and cheer yourself up by reading why you have ruined your joints and what you must never feed your dog. And look in the mirror and reassure yourself that you probably look better than the numerous famous stars whose appearance NOW will shock you, perhaps they were the Mexican mummies?

Tuesday Tale – High Energy

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 7 Comments

Charlotte Charlington had never heard of Hambourne, but an unknown riverside town in middle England appealed to her for her new life and she hoped it would inspire her novel about Lottie Lincoln. She had no idea of Hambourne’s strange history or that she might end up in a novel herself.

Charlotte soon found the High Energy Studio at the Hambourne Leisure Centre, though some of the people going in didn’t look as if they had any energy. The Zumbournetics class with Holly promised low impact, Pilates inspired, static circuits for all the community. ‘Bring your baby or your Zimmer frame.’

While Charlotte was still job hunting she thought she should make the most of her free time and any opportunity to get to know the locals. It took courage for her to walk into a room full of strangers. Young women in leotards with babies strapped to their chests and old chaps with walking sticks each positioned themselves by a chair. An older woman motioned Charlotte to an empty chair beside her, then led the way to a walk in cupboard where they collected an assortment of gear; long stretchy bands, mini dumbbells, squishy balls and foam blocks.

‘First time? It’s great fun.’

Charlotte had hoped to remain anonymous in the busy class, but Holly made a beeline for her.

‘Any problems?’

Not any that Holly could sort out she thought to herself, but smiled and said. ‘Well I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, but apart from that…’

‘No heart conditions, joint problems, operations…’

‘I had my wisdom teeth out ten years ago.’

‘Good, good and how do you like to be called?’

‘Charlotte.’

‘Okay Charlie, welcome to the class.’

As Holly went off to fiddle with the temperamental music equipment the other lady leaned in to whisper ‘They have to be careful with health problems, especially after Dennis keeled over last month.’

‘Oh dear, dose she work us that hard, was he okay?’

‘No, stone dead. That’s why we’re fund raising for a defibrillator.’

Charlotte hoped here would be no deaths in class today, though it did give her another idea for a Lottie Lincoln case. People don’t just drop dead in a low impact exercise class, there must be a more sinister explanation.

The music blared out.

‘Marching on the spot, shoulders back, shoulder blades in your pockets, deep breath in as you raise your arms… now zip up from your pubic bone to your chin and exhale… open up that pelvis… step forward… Lottie, right foot, right foot darling not left’

Charlotte felt a hot flush coming on as she realised Holly was talking to her. She was having enough trouble working out whether she was supposed to be inhaling or exhaling.

‘Okay take up your bands… Charlie, pink band for beginners not the black. Margaret, under your knee not over…

Pick up your babies or your dumbbells. No Eddy, sit this one out. Easy option shoulder height, harder option reach right up…’

Charlotte thought the real Lottie in her book would be good at this, as well as being an ex army PE instructor, a fact she had just thought of, she also had a very sharp brain.

‘Okay take a drink break. Charlotte, where’s your water?’

Charlotte had assumed there would be a water dispenser.

‘You must have a bottle of water with you and drink at least a litre during the class. If you get dehydrated you will get cramp…’

A whole litre! Charlotte was relieved when they started to cool down, but she had enjoyed bouncing around to the music and realised her mind had been emptied of complicated thoughts. She felt suddenly lost when the class came to an end. Rehydration with a cup of coffee was in order and cake if they had any in the café.

Holly appeared at her side. ‘Well done, are you coming on Thursday?’

‘Twice a week? Oh yes.’

That would be something else to fill her week up. It was harder than she had imagined, living on her own in a town where she knew no one, going from a busy job and busy life to being an unemployed writer. She sat by herself at a table, nearby the young mothers and two young dads from the class were clustered together. Others must have rushed off to their busy lives.

‘Oh chocolate cake, wish I could indulge.’

The woman who had helped her in the class appeared by her table.

‘Shall I join you.’

‘Oh yes’ said Charlotte, pathetically glad, like a new girl at school.

‘Jenny, I’ve been coming for years. Are you new in Hambourne?’

‘Yes, since a couple of weeks ago.’

‘What brought you here?’

She groaned inwardly, that was the trouble with friendly people, they were naturally curious.

‘Oh er a change, getting away from it all.’

‘On your own?’

‘Yes, my daughter thinks I’m mad to move so far without a job to go to.’

‘Where did you work?’

‘At the airport.’

‘Which airport?’

The question took Charlotte by surprise, but of course she was a long way from London now.

‘Heathrow.’

‘Oh how glamourous and exciting,’

Her job wasn’t at all exciting and certainly not glamorous, but she realised she did miss it. However, she had no intention of revealing her actual job or much about her life.

‘There is a great buzz working there, but tell me about Hambourne, I literally stuck a pin in a map of England, got on a train and loved what I saw.’

‘It is indeed a lovely place, I left and came back again. Of course it is rather a strange town…’

You can read The Hambourne Chronicles in my collection Hallows and Heretics.

Friday Flash Fiction 500 -Through The Portal

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 10 Comments

Tuesday Tale 900 – Portal
Today’s tiny tale follows on from Tuesday’s story or you can read it alone as a flash fiction.

Mike was the last person I wanted to talk to on this amazing day. I was just about to quietly explain to Stewart that he must be witness to what I was about to do, when Mike from our cycling club came bowling over with his inane chatter. Stewart was the only person who knew that The Portal on the beach was not just an art installation. Now my watch was telling me that the portal alignment was reaching the optimum moment again.

I had messed up the first time, but a scientist learns from his mistakes and keeps trying. Taking a step forward I had felt a force I can’t describe, saw a break in reality… or did I see anything? Flustered, I would not use the word panic, I had instinctively closed my eyes and stepped back.

This time I must do it, there might not be another chance, the portal was only granted a few days as part of the arts festival, then it must come down. I could not let all my work and research be wasted. Nobody would notice me as they wandered around the portal, taking photos of themselves in the reflections, touching the shiny surface to feel the vibrations. I strode forward.

It hadn’t worked, I was still standing on the beach looking at the sea, the portal behind me. Then I saw myself walking towards me.

The other me spoke, or had I read his thoughts?

‘I’ve done it, brought myself from a parallel universe.’

Simultaneously we reached out to touch each other, then we both recoiled, speaking at the same moment…

‘I’m not sure if… we must be careful…

I was expecting to go over to your world as you arrived.

I expected you to go over as I arrived.

Surely we can’t both exist in the same place.’

I motioned to him to be silent.

‘But we have proved that parallel universes exist, what I see around me is exactly what I left behind, you are even wearing exactly the same clothes.’

‘Are you Doctor Benjamin Gower?’ we spoke together again.

‘All these people on the beach have not noticed a thing, if they looked at us they would probably assume we were identical twins.’

We both laughed. ‘I’m an only child, I always wanted a brother.’

For a moment I felt as if we were naughty school boys doing an experiment that would not be approved of. I decided to remain silent, giving the other Ben a chance to relate his story.

‘I wanted Stewart to observe what happened, but that awful Mike turned up and started talking, once he starts he never stops.’

I twisted round to look back through the portal and sure enough there was Mike jabbering away to Stewart, gesticulating as if he was working his new bicycle gears. What could be better proof that an alternate universe would be exactly the same, in how many universes was boring Mike replicated?

Press The Button and Wait

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 27 Comments

Being under the hospital for five years after cancer treatment means getting advice quicker than going through your GP. Which is how I came to be having an appointment at the Lymphoedema Clinic.

When the oncologist said I would have to have lymph nodes removed she said there was a risk of lymphoedema, but I was unlikely to get it. I replied ‘Oh good, I don’t want to wear one of those awful sleeves.’ No doubt she thought there were worse things that could happen and I assumed I would not get it, especially after two years had gone past… until I noticed that my right forearm seemed a bit puffy…

My appointment letter included a map to find the hospice where the clinic was located, the good news was it was just up the road from the bus station, but the instructions didn’t sound very welcoming.

‘There is no waiting room so please don’t arrive early… or late. If it is sunny there is a bench outside. Press the buzzer below the lymphoedema clinic sign and wait for instructions.’

It was a sunny day luckily, but I was sure nobody would answer the buzzer. I arrived just in time to hear a woman announcing she was Janet. She was let in, that was hopeful, but I guessed they would say go up in the lift, even though it was only a two storey building. I hate lifts.

The greeting was friendly and I was told to come up in the lift and turn left, or was it right and sit on a chair in the corridor. The other Janet was sitting waiting and she said ‘Oh I could have kept the door open for you’. Lucky she didn’t as it later transpired that on no account were we to enter if the door was open without ringing the buzzer to announce our arrival!

I was soon called in, by which time the other Janet and I had exchanged the complete medical histories of our families.

All readers need to know about Lymphoedema is it is difficult to spell and not to be confused with Lymphoma. Our lymphatic system is a wondrous thing we don’t take much notice of unless we have swollen glands, or doctors start talking about ‘spreading to the lymph nodes’ in cancer patients. If you are in normal health it is very clever at fighting off infection and cleansing the body of impurities. It works fine if not interfered with by surgery or radiotherapy. The salient point is that your blood is pumped round by your heart, but your lymphatic system has no pump, it relies on the general movement of your body. For the very immobile and the elderly this is why they can have swollen legs as it drains down but can’t drain up.

My diagnosis was done with a tape measure to compare arms, but also a clever high tech thingy the nurse presses at various points that reads how much fluid is lurking and where. The dreaded pressure sleeve doesn’t squash fluid out, it makes your muscles work harder, the better to keep lymph fluid moving. The condition can’t be cured but can be managed. Like all things medical there are dire warnings of what might happen like cellulitis, an infection of the skin. Any sign and you must get antibiotics straight away, so there is a card to carry on holiday in case a doctor doesn’t believe you!

Chocolate Moose is glad he doesn’t have to wear this.

The Four Big Things we have to do are skin care, exercise, pressure and lymphatic drainage which I am learning on my next appointment. In the meantime the sleeve is quite hard to get on and the awful colour makes it look like I have an artificial arm. But compared with all the multitude of medical problems people have I’m not complaining. If people ask what’s wrong with my arm and they do ask, I am tempted to say it got chopped off or I have third degree burns, which sounds much more exciting.

Monday Musing – Fifteen Seconds of Fame

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 11 Comments

Would you like fifteen seconds of fame, or would you avoid it? Perhaps fifteen minutes or even one of those weeks that is a long time in politics. There are many ways to achieve brief fame; it could be accidental or you could plan your life to achieve it.

You could pop in to Pret a Manger if you hear a prince happens to be visiting, like Karl Burns our regular Bournemouth Big Issue seller, who subsequently appeared on the television news… repeatedly.

But perhaps you will be unlucky and your stomach will be filmed walking by for one of those obesity items on the news. Just unfortunate that everyone you know recognises the hand knitted jumper your wife made you.

Your brief moment of fame could be multiplied many times over if it appears on every news bulletin. You didn’t even know your town was having an important by election and are totally unprepared to intelligently express your views as you only popped out in your old DIY clothes to buy another tin of paint.

‘Do you think Tom Wilko stands a chance of getting in?’

‘Not if he closes all his stores, where am going to get paint in future?’

‘Well, it seems locals have more pressing concerns than what happens in Westminster.’

How Do they pick people to interview in the street and more curiously, who are those people who get interviewed in their own homes? Do they knock on doors to surprise you or give you three hours to give the house a thorough clean and mow the lawn. No one has ever asked to interview me or anyone I know. The ‘family interview’ asking how they will cope with mortgage rises, hospital / school / shop closures has the puppy and sweet toddlers playing in the foreground. It would be far more interesting if the dog bit the presenter, the little child’s only words were poo poo and the smoke alarm went off because something was burning on the stove.

And what about the viewers? Does the husband who abandoned his wife and children last year feel guilty when he sees her describing their visits to food banks and being thrown out by the landlord as they couldn’t pay the rent?

Have you ever had a brief moment of fame or seen your neighbours on television?