england

Silly Sunday Serial – SOS

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 18 Comments

This is the fourth and final part of Flora and Jim’s story, you can see yesterday’s part here.

https://tidalscribe.com/2025/10/18/silly-saturday-serial-singing-in-the-rain/

Clarissa was having a wonderful evening. At last, as a volunteer with Seven Valley Community Support, she was getting to do something exciting and useful. With power lines down, the community centre was lit with candles and battery torches. Computers were down and all they had were clipboards and pen and paper. Clarissa was in charge of the list, or registering unhoused arrivals as she put it. Her excitement grew when a young policeman pushed his way through the throng.

‘Has anybody been reported missing yet?’

‘No, all accounted for.’

‘Not so apparently, the station got a frantic call from a mother who said she had not heard from her daughter and she is not answering her mobile. She just moved into that cottage by the river, umm Little Nile?’

‘Oh goodness, surely no one is living there after what happened last year? The name?’

‘Whose name?’

‘The daughter.’

‘Oh yes, of course. Flora Dora.’

‘Are you sure? Obviously not from around here then. Anyone else living there?’

‘Her boyfriend, Jim James.’

Clarissa clapped her hands to gain attention, unsuccessfully. The police officer moved in front of her, glad of the chance to assert his authority and put on his crowd control voice.

‘Urgent, we need to know if we have a Flora Dora and a Jim James here.’

There was no response.

‘They just moved into Little Nile cottage.’

There was a collective gasp and urgent mutterings.

‘They’ll be gonners by now.’

‘Yup, cottage submerged completely.’

‘Even if they got out the river will have taken them.’

The policeman moved among them trying to get any useful information.

‘They would have heard the alerts and the red warnings.’

‘Not unless they have registered for Seven Flood Alert or got the app.’

‘Slim chance they might have made it up to the road, but that’s blocked off.’

‘The army,’ called Clarissa ‘my nephew’s out there on a training exercise with the Ukrainians.’

‘Training them?’

‘No, the Ukrainians are training our lot, they can drive tanks in the most awful conditions.’

Flora and Jim had started walking along the road, best case scenario they would meet a vehicle. Worst case scenario they would have to keep walking till they came to a house or the town. Neither of them mentioned the actual Worst Case Scenario, not that they could hear a word they said to each other, nor could they read each other’s expressions. All they could hear or see was the relentless rain. Perhaps it was fortunate they had to keep their thoughts to themselves, cosy memories of their parents’ boring little suburban houses…

It was so dark now, no street lights, not even any distant lights. There was no distance so they did not see the solid darkness looming out of the general darkness and barely heard the shouts. When they were blinded by a bright beam they had no chance of seeing anything.

‘Are you lost?’

‘Of course they’re lost corporal, not out for an evening stroll and get that torch out of their eyes.’

‘Soldiers’ stammered Flora through chartering teeth ‘are we on the firing range?’

‘No, but you must have a death wish, didn’t you heed the warnings? Names?’

They tried to say their names, but their frozen mouths did not seem to work. The soldiers got close and yelled ‘Are you Flora Dora and Jim James?’

They nodded vigorously.

‘The whole of the British army is out looking for you and half the Ukrainian army to boot.’

At the community centre Clarissa took charge of the new arrivals, she was not going to be upstaged.

‘Priority registration, have they got any rooms left at Premiere Inn, how’s the hot food coming along, we need two survivor kits over here right now, one men’s one ladie’s.’

She felt just like the United Nations or Medecine Sans Frontieres, though the survivor packs merely contained donated second hand clothes.

Flora and Jim soon became celebrities.

‘A good way to get to know the locals’ laughed Flora, almost restored to her normal self with hot chocolate.

‘And a free night at Premiere Inn hopefully’ added Jim.

‘Well your cottage will still be there, it’s withstood centuries of floods, though they are getting worse.’

‘Yup, it should be dried out by next August‘ added another local.

THE END

You can read the complete story tomorrow.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – The Writing on the Wall

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 25 Comments

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.’

‘No chance after the hot dry summer we’ve had.’

                

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Doppelganger

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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.

Pandemonium

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 19 Comments

Five years ago there was a dark cloud hanging over us.

In 2020 life changed in ways that affected the whole world, how each country directed it citizens to fend off a world wide pandemic varied greatly. In a town in England in March 2020, Cassie is looking forward to her first day working from home. But life for Cassie and other locals soon becomes strange as they try to obey and adapt to the continually changing rules issued by the government, often with amusing results.

In 2020 life changed in ways that affected the whole world at the same time. Confined to our homes many of us were glad to have the internet; Facetiming family, working from home and for entertainment. Writers could still write and bloggers were glad to link up with each other and not feel isolated. I enjoyed writing blogs, especially short fiction about ordinary folk, inspired by what was going on around me or related to me by others. Most of my tiny tales featured the same few families and neighbours in an English town that perhaps you know. Looking back at these stories, all written in real time, I was amused at the strange regularly changing rules we had to adapt to. The stories naturally formed themselves into a novella. I have not altered them, but I could not resist finding out what has happened to the main characters since. Most of us could not have predicted the upheaval of this current decade, but some people have taken the opportunity of such disruption to change their lives.

The second half of the book is an eclectic collection of stand alone tales, also written in real time. We may have avoided the future portrayed in the final story, or have we?

In March 2025 we were remembering the official start of Lockdown and for the first time I looked back at what I had written in my blogs.

These were strange times with unusual sights to photograph on our permitted exercise walks. Cruise ships moored out in Poole Bay.

Strange happenings, but maybe not as strange as the pandemonium at Tidalscribe Head Office, creating a book and hopefully remembering how I tackled Kindle Direct Publishing for Tidalscribe Tales back in February. Three things are needed for an eBook or a paperback; a title, a manuscript and a cover.

The Covid Chronicles was my working title, but that had been snapped up long ago and there are plenty of books with pandemic in the title, so how about a word that means pandemonium in a pandemic? PANDEMONICA – All I have to do is remember what I called it and how to spell it.

I could not find my word document for the very first story, no problem, copy and paste from my blog – Do Not Try this at home.

I remembered from last time that if you use your own photographs you need portrait shape, not landscape, all of my Covid pictures were landscape. Hmm, how about a desolate promenade at sunset, you might just spot a lonely jogger… it popped onto the Kindle cover no problem. If you like doing the technical side of photography you will know about strange numbers and letters telling you something or other about your photo, or you can just try a photo and KDP will either accept it or reject it. The cover of the paperback evolved to look nothing like my original idea, the sunset was rejected, but how about a desolate beach in sepia tones instead?

An extract from Chapter Two

After two years she now had the house just as she wanted, but that didn’t alter the fact that her independence had been swept from under her feet, transformed overnight by Boris Johnson from a fighting fit recycled teenager into a vulnerable over seventy. As if that wasn’t bad enough, her son had moved back in ‘for a week’ after his divorce, just in time to find himself locked in, locked down, or whatever they called it. Left to her own devices she would have sneaked out, but James was on guard, no doubt on instructions from his sister.

Pop through the ether to have a look at Pandemonica

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0FNC149CV

Sunday Stroll – Sobo Grove

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 26 Comments

Busy, busy, busy, formatting the garden, watering visitors and expecting a new paperback… only time for a little local stroll and perhaps a coffee. Enjoy a wander.

Is it going to rain? No, it’s always sunny in Southbourne-on-Sea.

Local volunteers have been busy planting.

Outside, inside or on the roof…

Yummy, picnic time, wonder what they sell? Answer at the end.

There is always someone watching you…

Answer – the funeral directors…

Where did you stop for coffee?

Tuesday Tale 925 – Alarm

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Oh Damn, isn’t it always the way, you call in to do a quick job and it turns out the customer is dead. Very thoughtful of her to leave the front door ajar. If it had been locked I could just have rung the doorbell and told the boss nobody was in.

Yes I am certain she is dead, face a strange colour. No I haven’t called anybody yet, would just be my luck to get the blame and I have twenty more homes to visit, twenty more carbon monoxide detectors to fit in the boss’s rental properties. If I don’t get them all done that’s a morning’s pay gone. Property inspection panic going on, so if I fit the alarm and quietly slip away, it will look like she died after my visit.

I suppose gloves would have been handy in case they call in forensics, but she doesn’t look murdered, just dead.

I thought I heard a creak upstairs, but can’t be anyone else here, surely they would have noticed a body in the hall? Maybe a cat, no the landlord doesn’t allow pets, except rats. What a place, she’s better off dead than living here I reckon. All his tenants would never believe their landlord is an MP, bet he would not let his mother live in a place like this, though I have seen worse, some of his other properties.

Today’s lark all started with a scare in the news, some do-gooding new MP stands up in The House and rattles on about the plight of her constituents in substandard housing. Family taken to hospital with carbon monoxide poisoning, calling for all landlords to have carbon monoxide detectors fitted in their properties. Anyway, the boss is worried his tenants might be alerted. They don’t know he is an MP of course, not any idea who he is. Big Dave deals with all complaints and they don’t usually complain again.

Oh damn, that’s the plaster crumbling, how am I supposed to get this bloody thing fixed on the wall?

Door bell? Hell, I’ve got to get out of here fast. Lucky the back door’s unlocked, bad luck I’m stuck in this four foot back yard. Stuck in this yard with an angry dog. Whoever is in the house is going to investigate furious barking. Only way out is over the fence, thank God everything in this property is broken. OW! Dog at my ankle, I’m going over. Can’t get my footing, dog attached to my ankle, we’re rolling down a hill, no a railway embankment and a train coming, how much worse is my morning going to get?

…and finally in tonight’s news a body has been found in a rental property belonging to an MP.   Police were called this morning by a shocked neighbour to a terraced property in West London. Police say there were no suspicious circumstances, but the death came to the attention of the media when it was revealed the dead pensioner was a constituent of the MP, who only two days ago stood up in The Commons to draw attention to the unsafe conditions many of her constituents live under. Our reporter spoke this evening to MP Marlina Pontefract outside the shabby row of terraced houses where the tragedy occurred.

‘Is it true that these properties actually belong to a fellow MP?’

‘I can’t comment on that as I don’t have the facts, but whoever is responsible for these properties has a lot of questions to answer.’

You have to laugh don’t you. I would love to see my boss, or rather ex boss, answering some awkward questions. Come on Marlina, I bet you do know who he is. Well I never got any more work done this morning, that’s why I got the sack. Ended up in casualty, lucky to get away with a broken ankle and a tetanus shot. The dog wasn’t so lucky, straight under the train. It was slowing down for the station, jammed the brakes on. You should have seen the driver’s face when I looked up from the track. All those rescue teams just for me. I told them I was trying to rescue my run away dog.

So here I am, foot up… travel news, wonder if…

There were delays at Paddington Station for commuters after an incident with a local train. A railway spokesman reminded dog owners that it was never safe to try and rescue your dog from a railway line.

‘The sad fact is, it is easier to clean up a dog from the line than a human.’

So that was my moment of fame, just as well they didn’t bother to mention me as I was not dead. Let’s catch up with the late night news.

…and we’re just hearing the MP Anthony Saint has been named as the MP who owns substandard rental properties where a woman was found dead this morning. We were unable to contact him for comment.

Meanwhile, police have confirmed that the unnamed woman died of carbon monoxide poisoning and they will now await the coroner’s full report...

There’s an irony, but at least they can’t accuse me of murder.

 …but would still like to speak to anyone who has visited the deceased or been in that vicinity recently. It is believed the woman lived alone at that address and had been dead for at least forty eight hours.

Can’t link me to her death, but it’s not going to look good if anyone finds out I was there this morning, oh damn…

Saturday Stroll – Windy Walk

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Please note, only the dog gave permission for her photos to appear. Does NOT include unflattering pictures of windswept walkers. This was the day Storm Floris hit Scotland and the north of England, but only a Force five wind on Hengistbury Head.

How do you like your walks? Windy, sunny, hilly or flat?

Sunday Seaside Saunter

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Goats keep the vegetation under control on the cliff.

Fish and chips

Queue for ice creams

https://www.lucanart.com/contact

Local artist Miroslav Lucan

Portrait by Mathew Byrom of Southbourne Metal Detectorist hero Darren Wiles.

https://www.bournemouthecho.co.uk/news/24340520.bournemouth-metal-detectorist-suprised-beach-art/

Primary school leavers jump in the sea in their school uniforms to celebrate the end of the school year.

Time to leave the beach…

Steps

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 32 Comments

No holiday is complete without steps, not the steps your Fitbit counts, real steps you climb to reach a destination, a view you would otherwise never see.

Visitors to Paris head for Le Tour Eiffel, as those of us doing Duolingo like to call it. Why do we give it an English name when we call other famous Paris locations by their proper French names? Anyway, last century found us in Paris with the children and arriving at Le Tour Eiffel we noticed one ’leg’ had no queue, this was where to climb the stairs. Alas one can only take steps to the first and second floor, the public are not allowed on the final flight for safety reasons and take a lift. Still, we climbed up 674 steps and felt we deserved the view of Paris spread before us, so different from London, white buildings laid out geometrically.

We have also been up the Blackpool Tower, half the height of Eiffel, but it does have a famous ballroom, where countless steps have graced the floor.

Sometimes steps are the reason for the holiday. We were watching a programme about Whitby, on the Yorkshire coast, or perhaps it was a programme about Dracula. We instantly decided Whitby would be our next holiday destination so we could walk up the 199 steps. There have been steps here since at least 1340 when Pilgrims would climb wooden steps to Whitby Abbey.

In 1774 they were replaced by stone. Nowadays they are famous for their appearance in the real Dracula story by Bram Stoker. Dracula’s ship, with the crew all dead, was wrecked at the foot of the cliffs and Dracula, in the form of a black dog, runs up the steps to the graveyard of Saint Mary’s church.

As well as the church you will find the ruins of Whitby Abbey, an iconic sight whether you are down in the town or out at sea. It is worth the saunter up the steps to look down on the harbour, river and town. Whitby turned out to be a good place for a holiday with beaches, the quaint old town and plenty of Dracula souvenirs. We have been there several times and up and down the steps numerous times.

https://www.thewhitbyguide.co.uk/listings/199-steps/

There are plenty of other places to visit with opportunities to climb winding narrow steps. Take your choice from castles, cathedrals and lighthouses.

Lincoln is a great city to visit with the added bonus of the iconic narrow street called Steep Hill which you climb to visit the cathedral as the pilgrims did long ago.  They did not have the lovely shops, cafes and bars to visit along the way. Conveniently close to the beautiful cathedral is the castle. Climb the steps to walk all round the castle walls.

https://www.lincolncastle.com/

Durham Cathedral can be seen for miles around and is one of the wonderful views from the East Coast mainline.

When we went there ten years ago a small door led to one of the two western towers, climb up this tower, then walk across to the central tower. This long gallery was where the defibrillator was kept, which hopefully you would not need if you had read the dire warnings about not climbing if you have a heart condition. The lovely views were well worth the climb.

https://www.durhamcathedral.co.uk/

The fun with lighthouses is the design that makes the winding stairs narrower and narrower as you ascend. Portland Bill lighthouse stands at the rugged tip of the Isle of Portland, Dorset and its red and white bands make it a popular subject for photographers. You can have a guided tour to take the 155 steps to the lantern room.

In contrast, the old black Dungeness lighthouse suits the bleak landscape of vast stretches of shingle, home to nuclear power stations. When we climbed on two occasions I did not step outside onto the narrow balcony; opening the narrow door the wind nearly ripped it off its hinges.

For a modern experience we visited Swaffham in Norfolk. We went there some years ago and looking it up brought back happy memories, but when I reached the end of the article a note had been added to say it was permanently closed! Here is what we saw and what you will miss…

‘The Swaffham wind turbine, located at the Green Britain Centre, is the UK’s first megawatt-class wind turbine and offers a unique opportunity for visitors to climb to its viewing platform. It was built in 1999 and stands at a height of 67 meters, with rotor blades measuring 66 meters in diameter. It has a power capacity of 1.5 megawatts (MW). The turbine is notable for being the only one in the UK that allows public access to its viewing platform, which is located just below the generator. Visitors can climb 305 steps to reach the top, where they can enjoy panoramic views of the surrounding Norfolk countryside. The climb provides a unique perspective on wind energy production and the scale of the turbine itself.’ 

It was a unique experience. Safely behind presumably strong glass we watched the blades gracefully glide past.

I don’t have to go on holiday to find ancient steps. Here is the familiar Christchurch castle and nearby at the Priory are hidden steps leading to St. Michael’s Loft Museum.

You find a little door and go up one side, then sensibly go down the stairs at the other side. We visited once years ago, then the door seemed to disappear… but I found it again last year. If you want to visit, check the website for opening hours.

https://www.christchurchpriory.org/fabric-history/st-michaels-loft-museum

What Iconic steps have you climbed? If you don’t like steps, can they be avoided?

You can go up the Eiffel Tower by lift.

A bus takes you to the cliff top where Whitby Abbey is.

You can just drive up to the historic part of Lincoln. When we were at the castle last year there was a lift operating, not that we used it! BUT looking up their website, maintenance means access to the wall is by the spiral stairs only.