What do you do if there is a heat wave and you arrive early for your dentist appointment? Obviously walk down to the pier to cool off.
Even the sea is evaporating in the heat.
What do you do when you have a relaxed walk up to the dentist, pleased you are exactly on time, then hear they tried to phone you this morning to tell you the dentist has gone sick!
Normal person in a heat wave – go home.
Blogger in a heat wave – head for shady gardens and take photos for your blog.
Yes it really was as green as this.
Flies are a nuisance in hot weather
Will we find any art?
What next?
Coffee and writing
If you are in Europe you are very likely to be enduring a heatwave. Wherever you are how is your weather?
Sally at Smorgasbord is a great supporter of fellow bloggers and in this series she highlights half a dozen recent blogs by other bloggers. Please visit to enjoy an interesting assortment.
Today’s story is written by a popular blogger I follow, Beetleypete, who wanted a challenge and asked fellow bloggers to provide a last line. He has come up with a brilliant tale which I’m sure will resonate with all of us. Do pop over and visit Pete’s blog to read the story.
Beetleypete is a blogger I enjoy following regularly. This summer he has invited fellow bloggers to share their stories on his blog. I am this morning’s guest. Visit Pete’s blog for serial stories, interesting posts about life and his collections of pictures from the past.
Janet is a writer and blogger who lives on the south coast of England. Her blog is full of interesting stories and quirky photo posts. She has sent me a Flash Fiction short story.
If you want to discover more about Janet, here is a link to her blog. I recommend you check it out. https://tidalscribe.com/
Just Going for a Walk
‘One large rucksack containing the following;
One set of six keys, one bottle of water, one diary, one iPhone.
One yellow purse containing one note each of the following denominations – £20, £10, £5 and £7.23 in change, one Visa debit card in the name of Lottie Lincoln, six assorted membership cards, an assortment of coffee shop reward cards, one book of second class stamps with one stamp remaining and ten business style cards in the name of Lottie Lincoln, author.
One makeup bag with assorted toiletries, one facemask…
Nicholas felt like Winnie the Pooh after eating a whole jar of honey…though he was not stuck in Rabbit’s burrow, but in the window of the end cubicle of the Gent’s toilet. In one of his chaplit rom com novels this had always been an excellent way to escape embarrassing or dangerous situations. Now Nicholas had created his own dramatic scene.
His big mistake had been to keep one arm behind for manoeuvring, now this arm was firmly wedged between his stomach and the window frame. Nicholas looked down at the deserted alley below, at least no one could see his predicament.
The muted sound of music and lively chatter floated down the corridor to the hotel cloakrooms. Hopefully everyone’s attention was still focussed on the late arrival of the real Nigel Palmer at the Clacket Lane Junior School reunion. How long before they noticed that Nicholas the imposter Nigel Palmer had slipped out of the function room? The tough looking real Nigel with his beard, biceps and bionic legs was unlikely to have ended up in such a humiliating situation.
How long before someone sauntered into the Gents so Nicholas could yell for help, or preferably keep quiet. As he tried to stretch his outside arm he realised he could reach into his top pocket for his phone. Maybe the emergency services would rescue him before his old classmates found him; he would not tell them he was in trouble, he would report as an anonymous passerby.
There was shock for the Clacket Lane party as flashing lights and sirens were followed by all three emergency services bursting into the function room. It was a quiet night in the town and they were all glad to respond to confused 999 calls that could be a suicide, burglary or major terrorist incident.
Nigel’s plan worked, he was being rescued, or at least there was talk of equipment being fetched by the voices he could hear behind him. In the alleyway an ambulance lady tried to reassure him, while a police officer asked how many terrorists were in the hotel. He would have been further reassured if he could have seen his former class mates lying on the floor being checked for weapons.
All except Caroline Hepworth who had managed to slip away, determined to see who was ruining her well organised evening. When she heard someone say ’in the alleyway Sarge’ she crept out, one of the advantages of being a woman of a certain age, one was always invisible. Peering in the darkness she could see two figures in yellow jackets talking to a head sticking out of a window, when a torch beam moved she caught a glimpse of a face. Wedged in the window was the man who had been Nigel Palmer all evening until the appearance of the more exciting real Nigel Palmer.
‘Don’t let him go,’ she bellowed ‘he’s an imposter.’
‘Not much chance, he’s stuck fast.’
‘Oh dear, is it serious, I mean he might be real and the other chap an imposter.’
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 