I seem to be on a diet

I was tempted to toss the strawberries and a couple of meringues directly into my mouth and top it up with the can of squirty cream that’s in the fridge…

I wrote previously about being fat,  and since that post – despite great consideration – did precisely nothing about it.  Unless of course you were to count the two meals below, which I think may actually have had exactly the opposite effect of a nice salad and a walk in the park.  I am no nutritionist though, so cannot be absolutely certain on that point.

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The feast above was enjoyed (and shared) at Miller and Carter in Huddersfield, and whilst there is an abundance of Salad I imagine the benefits were likely undone by the lashings of dressing and the presence of an entire deep fried crab.  Again, I would welcome a steer on that point from someone in the know.

Now the next meal I enjoyed at the Bottomley Arms in Halifax, and the ultimate burger seems something they are rather proud of.

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After eating as much of it as I could, washed down with a cheeky gin and tonic or two, I realised that perhaps any item of food that has the word ‘Ultimate’ in the description is unlikely to prepare one for a lengthy session in the gym.

Equally, another indication as to its inappropriateness for exertion of any type other than the loosening of one’s belt and sweating on the way back to the car may have been the use of the phrase ‘…and even more onion rings and cheese…”

I’m pretty sure it had pulled pork on it.  I vaguely recall the use of the words ‘succulent’,  ‘juicy’ and ‘hand pulled’ at some point in the evening.

Anyway, I checked both Slimming World and Weight Watchers websites in the hope that perhaps I could pass them off under a few ‘healthy B’s’ or maybe they might come in under a daily ‘points total’ but alas not.  Both sites simply confirmed that not only am I big boned with a healthy appetite but I am also somewhat delusional.

So, that being said I awoke this morning and for some reason thought, “why don’t you get on the scale.”  You want to know the number don’t you.  Yeah well I think perhaps I’ll keep that for another day but what I will say is that I decided that I would have a go at not having bacon for breakfast and take it from there.  What I did have was this:

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It was ok I guess, for a breakfast that was not pork based.  What I will say is that I didn’t need a lie down after it so that’s something right?

Admittedly, I was tempted to toss the strawberries and a couple of meringues directly into my mouth and top it up with the can of squirty cream that’s in the fridge.  I was worried though that should I have a stroke and fall down dead at that very moment it would scar the kids for life when they found me lying there, clad only in my underpants,  Eton mess spilling from my mouth and looking like I’d succumbed to rabies.

So we shall see how it goes, and I will continue to share.  I may well have to change the featured image in this photo if I get a chance later because I feel like that woman with the fruit is just mocking me.

Family #writephoto

“Oh will it, will it” Jean snapped “remember when you said you could do that charity walk with the cricket club and you couldn’t walk for a week after”

“You are going to live In a what!?” her mother asked quizzically, peering over the rim of her glasses.  She didn’t wait for an answer as it sunk in, she seldom did.  “Did you hear that Ronald, did you hear where they’re going to live?”

“Yes Jean” he replied sounding rather tired,  quickly folding his newspaper and scurrying to the kitchen to put the kettle on and to see if he could catch the football results on the radio.

“Mum, it will be fine, don’t worry ok.” said Leslie, she had expected this response.

“Do you still take sugar Leslie?” Ronald shouted from the kitchen as he fiddled with the radio.

“No thanks Dad, just milk please” she shouted back.

“Why on earth would you want do that dear?” Jean continued, “People like us don’t live in places like that.”

“We think it will be a wonderful  opportunity mum, John has looked into it and we agree that it would be a great adventure for us and the kids”

“Do you want a biscuit Leslie?”

“No thanks dad” Leslie responded “I’m having dinner when I get home.”

“Ok, more for me!”

“Mum, I know it sounds a bit crazy but you’ll love it I promise.”

“Honestly Leslie, what will the reading circle ladies think.  A windmill indeed.”  She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.  “You know dear, I don’t think we could possibly visit you know, surely it’s full of steps.  You know how your father is with his bad knee.”

“I’m sure it will be fine” came a contrary voice from the kitchen.

“Oh will it, will it” Jean snapped “remember when you said you could do that charity walk with the cricket club and you couldn’t move for a week after”

“Jean I will be fine.”

“Well don’t come crying to me begging for a lift when you can’t get to the pub because your knee is all swollen!”  Jean folded her arms defiantly and lowered her tone.  “I just think it’s frightfully selfish dear” she continued, “think of your father please.”

“Mum, it’s already done, John signed the papers and we move in in three weeks time.”

Jean said nothing as Ronald brought the tea through on a large round tray.  He’d also brought biscuits.  Ronald did like a nice biscuit with his cup of tea.

“So” aid Ronald cheerfully, handing Leslie a cup of tea.  “Tell me all about this new house you’ve got yourself.”

 

 

 

 

Photo courtesy of Sue Vincent

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Yorkshire Day!

A place of never ending happiness where you can always see the sun…

I don’t really write about stuff like this.  I’m no travel blogger, I’m not very good at photography but I am a proud Yorkshireman.

I will not though make this about Yorkshire pudding, flat caps or whippets.  Indeed, I will also avoid all and any references to Geoffrey Boycott, Sean Bean or the Yorkshire ripper.

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Instead I will simply share a few photographs of the Piece Hall in Halifax which reopened this morning after 3 years or so or renovations.

As you can see from the photo below, it has a really big door which is ideal for ingress and exit.  Useful.

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Above you can see smiling Yorkshire people who I can assure you will do their best not to tell you why Yorkshire is better that wherever you are from.

 

Dating from 1779, when it was built as a Cloth Hall for the trading of ‘pieces’ of cloth (a 30 yard length of woven woollen fabric produced on a handloom),

The Piece Hall was the most Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah blah  – who cares really…It is just pretty cool and a great place to waste a few hours.

 

Below you can see some of the many places to sit, useful if you are tired from standing or walking, or just like sitting.

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As glorious as it is mostly I just like to go there and have an ice cream with the kids and watch people go by.  More restaurants, cafe’s and bars have been added now so even more reason for me to visit.

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In the photograph above you can see people doing stuff.  As people do.  I think that man is looking for a toilet, of which the Piece Hall has many.

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The piece hall has fabulous accessibility, with ramps as far as they eye can see and loads of lifts.  Perfect for people with mobility challenges as well as lazy folk who do not like taking the stairs, of which the Piece Hall also has many.

So if you’re in the Yorkshire area, and looking for something a bit different then it certainly is well worth a look, even if only to have tea and cake or perhaps some lunch or to get hammered in the gin bar and tell your wife what you really think of her mother.

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See why I stick to fiction.

If you found that dull but prefer to read about things I would surely never eat then take a look here.

Michael

 

31 days of Daily prompts – Done!

After a month of completing each and every daily prompt I am going to give myself, for the post of the final day of July, something of a reprieve.

After a month of completing each and every daily prompt I am going to give myself, for the post of the final day of July, something of a reprieve.

I shall certainly be writing about aliens ferreting inside the bottoms of stranger,  I will avoid poetry of a most dubious nature and I will most definitely avoid any writings on the matter of chubby people rutting like beasts in space.

Instead I shall allow myself a most substandard (see what I did there?) effort and just rehash things from the previous month.

Having only started writing this month I have found the daily prompts a brilliant way to focus my ideas and to gain exposure for my thoughts.  If you don’t already, I would certainly advocate using them.

It wasn’t all tomfoolery and deviant imagery this month though, I tried my hand at some serious stuff too and dabbled with the ideas of dementia, child slavery and death.

Admittedly I preferred to write about things more ludicrous but they were still great fun.

So what will August bring?  Not a clue really.  But then that is all part of the fun.

Thanks for reading!

Michael

P.S. – Before you ask, yes – that is indeed my body in the picture.  Or at least the body I would have had were it not for my love of eating jam with a spoon stood in front of the fridge in my underpants in the middle of the night.

 

 


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/substandard/

Photo courtesy of comfreak @ pixabay

Fatties in space – not one for the kiddies

He devoured her like so many delicious cream buns that had gone before…

So I have this idea for a story right, but I think writing about the idea may be more fun than writing it – for now at least – because my kids read my blog sometimes and it would/will scar them.

Anyway…

The idea is a simple one.  It’s a tale of a company that flies particularly portly people to space so that they can have sex, unencumbered by the forces of gravity which must so inhibit those of a most enormous girth.

Now don’t get me wrong, this is not about fat shaming and I am not talking about your average fat person here, of which I am one, I am talking about your truly rotund specimens that might currently require a small winch to get out of bed or a wall removing from the house should they wish to go out to the shops to buy a sandwich.

Some of the lines I scribbled  down that I wanted to use were …

  • He devoured her like so many delicious cream buns that had gone before.
  • Her high pitched squeals of delight filled his mind with a craving for bacon
  • His heaving mass of desire floated towards her
  • somehow I wanted to work in …when she moved her bottom looked like two piglets fighting in a sack
  • she caressed each of his chins gently, staring into his chocolate pudding eyes
  • Locked together like lust filled sea creatures they drifted through the inky blackness oblivious to everything but the throbbing of…well actually I just had this desire to use the word throbbing in some capacity there.

I’m sure you get the general idea.  It’s very much a tale of passion and desire and fulfilment and there is a scene where our star crossed lovers Barry and Janet float across their chamber of love with him positioned behind her, hands on her hips and a large bowl of pudding in the very large small of her back.

Admittedly the idea needs some work but as a general idea I think its quite an evocative one.  Perhaps its chocolate dipped strawberries – that might work better.

So one for more consideration I think, it might make it to my blog it might not.  time will tell.


 

 

Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/29/a-collection-of-miserable-limericks/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/lust/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

More sombre limericks…kind of.

Today I’d like to explore the frailty of our existence. through the medium of limerick.

I’ve rather enjoyed the attempts at sombre limericks of late and being a little pushed for time to write this week they still give me chance to write as they don’t take long.

Today I’d like to explore the frailty of our existence. through the medium of limerick.

So here you go, another 4…though these will be the last for some time as they’re getting rather dark and a bit weird if I’m being honest.


A lass I once worked with called Jane 

Had a tumour removed from her brain 

She went to celebrate 

Thinking yeah this is great 

But got hit on way home by a train 


My friend knew a girl, quite the dancer 

Really hot so he thought he’d romance her

Woo’d her hard, they got wed 

Had two kids then dropped dead 

Nobody knew she’d brain cancer 


 Mum loved  chicken and steak, cheese and bread 

Quite often ate cake in her bed 

Scoffing chocolate and sweeties 

Got real fat,  diabetes 

Lost 3 toes then one summer fell dead 


Old dame lived alone in a flat 

Had no family or friends fancy that

Fell, banged her head on the ground 

3 weeks ’till she was found 

Decomposed, face chewed off by her cat


 

Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/29/a-collection-of-miserable-limericks/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

On the matter of eating endangered species

Following a drunken discussion at the pub.

I would not eat a panda

it does not appeal to me

Despite it being grass fed

and not tough and quite juicy

It’s flesh I would not sauté

bake or broil or steam or fry

I would not make some pastry

and then bake it in a pie

 

Please do not serve me blue whale

it would surely be obscene

To brown it in a skillet

with chopped garlic and some cream

I could not sample blow hole

or a steak of flesh most pink

Do not prepare me sperm whale

or an orca or a mink

 

Bald Eagle’s off the menu

it could never pass my lips  

I’d never shallow fry it

And then serve it with some chips

Please do not bring it to me

if you do I will reject

The smorgasbord of tasty

claws and wings and beaks and necks

 

Be gone you furry entrée

do not ask me to abide

A puppy stuffed with kitten

and Koala on the side

It leaves me feeling queasy

and on me it does repeat

I gag on eucalyptus

flavoured mar-su-pi-al meat

 

I’d never eat a chilli

made of simians for sure

Orang-utan with lentils

that I surely would deplore

I’d not enjoy chim-pan-zee

milk poached with fresh vanilla

I’d rather eat a salad

than bar-be-cued gorilla

 

But pig and cow I’ll gorge on

and chickens fill the belly

Once eels I even sampled

But the hot ones not in jelly

So why’s each species different

some not headed for the pot

whilst others we eat freely

quite delicious cold or hot

——————————————————–

Fancy something else?

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/shallow/

The continuing exploration of my fascination with alien probing

Malan eased the sleek silver craft to the ground, ion drives humming quietly and three silver legs sliding out slowly to cushion the ships gradual descent.

Malan eased the sleek silver craft to the ground, ion drives humming quietly and three silver legs sliding out slowly to cushion the ships gradual descent.

“This looks as good a place as any” said Malan as the craft settled snugly into a clearing in the middle of a large wooded expanse.  His voice was full of excitement as a green light on the panel lit up to indicate that recharging had commenced and a second blinked to indicate that there were no locals within a 1 quillet radius.

“We’re here dear” he grinned “shall I put the kettle on and we can get straight to it?”

His clan mate ran a clawed hand through thick blue fur and grunted approvingly.

“make sure the system’s are running on low power” she bristled, her thick tail swishing impatiently “we need to keep usage low until we’ve recharged enough to make the next leg.”

Their unplanned detour to this awful blue and green galactic backwater was made only slightly more pleasant by the promise of the opportunity to do some probing, something she took great delight in.

“How many did you pick up for me?” Zarb asked curtly.

“Just the one” Malan said eagerly, “there seem to be rather a lot of them so he won’t be missed for a few hours I’m sure. ”

“They all looked like pests to me!” she snapped.  “Hardly worth our time I’d imagine”

He was lucky to have her he reminded himself – the benefits of a wealthy family – and she was a quite magnificent specimen when she was vexed.  Standing tall she was half again as large as he, her glossy fur thick and blue and a quite magnificent tail that made him want to do nothing more than please her.

Zarb punched away at a small hand held console.  “According to this there are already a number of recorded instances of probing across a number of the species on the planet” she said curtly “I guess we won’t be getting any ‘first finder’ recognition!  Records seem to indicate a mostly primitive society.”

Malan brought her over a steaming cup of tea, the writhing thrubar tentacles curling around the lip of the mug made her purr with delight as she slurped them into her sharply toothed mouth.  “Right, let’s meet our visitors shall we” she said almost smiling.

Malan coughed nervously.

“What?” she snapped.

“He does seem rather annoying”

“Annoying?  What do you mean annoying?”

“Well, just a little backwards and he really will not shut up”

“What do you expect” Zarb snarled, “an unpleasant rock such as this is hardly going to be the most intriguing of places is it.  I’d be surprised if we were able to learn a single thing of interest from him.”

“I suppose” Malan replied, suddenly feeling deflated.  “I just wanted it to be fun you know – special – it’s been a while since we’ve done this together.”  Despite her frightful temper he really did admire her and as clan mate’s went she was the envy of many of his colleagues and friends.

“Perhaps just turn your translator off” Malan suggested, “we can still have fun without listening.”

“Hush will you!” she snapped.  “Let’s just see what we have shall we.”  Zarb put aside her tea and pushed past him and headed to the medical bay.

The first thing she noticed about the earthling was just how small he was.  Small and pink.  He seemed to have a light covering of fur in a few places but mostly he displayed a rather repulsive amount of flesh.  “How revolting!” she said scornfully as Malan followed closely behind her.

Upon hearing her voice the creature turned his head towards her and started shouting something, his eyes wide.  Zarb had no idea what he was saying but she thought she would at least entertain it for a while, he might actually turn out to be interesting.

She walked across to a small panel and with a curled claw punched a sequence into a keypad.  With a crackle she began to hear the previously unintelligible ramblings translated as he spoke them.

“…You will be purged ..something something…” the translator was struggling a little.

“Animated fellow isn’t he” Zarb remarked, picking up a large probe from the array of tools at the end of the silver bench to which he was strapped.

“…and fire and death will descend upon you…” he continued, his eyes bulging wide as she walked towards him smiling.

“Fire and death eh” Zarb smiled menacingly “I think I may keep him awake for this you know Malan.”

Malan congratulated himself on bringing such pleasure to his clan mate as the creature continued to rage and thrash.

“…and you will be destroyed and you will submit to the… something …will of the most something…Alan Akbar!”

“Alan Akbar” Zarb remarked, “you ever heard of an Alan Akbar, Malan” she asked, now most definitely grinning.

“Alan Akbar?  No dear” Malan replied playfully “never heard of the chap.”

“Well my little pink friend” She continued menacingly, running a claw slowly down the creatures stomach, “unless this Alan Akbar is about to burst through the door an rescue you you’re going to feel this descend on you most imminently!”

She held up the probe and something in the creatures response told her that it knew exactly what would happen next.

“Malan, be a dear turn the translator off will you” she asked smiling, “I think we will do this the old fashioned way…”

 


Whilst this piece can be read on its own there are other pieces which give it some greater context which you can find here and then here.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/pest/
 

The toils of motherhood

Three weeks ago I started writing and in those first days I think I wrote some good stuff that I don’t think many people read. Hers a new blogger who you might enjoy and that might benefit from the encouragement of new readers.

Life lessons

My mother-in-law had finished her lecture (for the nth time), about how she had efficiently looked after my husband and his brother when they were just babies in their cloth diapers. Presumably she had had sleepless nights, mornings full of work, illnesses to be dealt with, school work and possibly fought a war with aliens too, by the looks of it. But she managed all that by not taking her children out of the house but taking them out. Yes, you read that right.

I quizzically looked at my 3 month old baby slumbering peacefully in his cradle. My first (and terrifying) thought was, “Were we going to end up like that, too?”

Now let me get this straight. I love my baby. I really do. He is the light of my life. But I value my sleep. And my life. There, I said it. I’m already struggling a bit…

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A collection of hopefully sad limericks.

Limericks are so playful and whimsical and done right, usually rather funny.  My aim is to do quite the opposite. How did I do?

On Mondays I like to allow myself a little more freedom from the discipline of the more structured writing schedule that I have set for myself.  

Last Monday I explored the idea of the inappropriate Haiku which you can read here

Limericks are so playful and whimsical and done right, usually rather funny.  My aim is to do quite the opposite.  So, can the limerick be sad?  Perhaps you’d like to leave your own in the comments?


A young lad I knew as a senior

he got cancer, I think ’twas leukaemia

the treatment it failed

he got thinner and paled

and then died and his wife got bulimia


My dad was a drunk and a cheat

every weekend my mother he beat

took her cash to do drugs

bringing home sluts and thugs

’till we all ended up on the street


First time we met how I tried

not to love, but I made her my bride

then the marriage it failed

when her sister I nailed 

Took her life, overdose, suicide


My dog, my best friend always true

dedicated to me through and through

Drunk, I left the door wide

and she ran straight outside

got ran over and died now I’m blue

 

A chap that I know who loves choir 

had to quit giving up his desire 

he could not harmonise 

when he lost both his eyes 

and his tongue when he fell in a fire 


I think I’ll stop there, I’m not sure that I’m trying hard enough to make them sad.  Or maybe I should blame the limerick, either way I hope it’s not too inappropriate and I think it goes to show that even the most serious of subjects find some lightness in a limerick.



Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/



 https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/harmonize/

More tea vicar ? 

I should warn that should you read further you could find my post somewhat inappropriate, though that could also be down to you.  I am not one to judge.


I have written on the matter of tea twice already this week, and as a proud Englishman and Yorkshireman I believe that it is a subject worth revisiting.

Not that I am particularly fond of the stuff, I am not.  But seeing the daily prompt I was reminded of something of a running battle that has raged in our house for a number of years now.

I should warn that should you read further you could find my post a little inappropriate, though that could also be down to you.  I am not one to judge.

My wife insists on insisting, much to my frustration, that on a hot day a nice cup of tea will cool one down.  Now before you rush off to Google to see whether it has a voice on the matter I will confess that any answers it may provide could possibly be construed as confirming that fact.  There are posts on the science of heating one’s core to trigger the bodies natural cooling mechanisms.

I do not care one jot what Google says on the matter, if you are drinking a scalding cup of anything on a boiling hot day it will inevitably make you feel somewhat sweatier than a nice pinacolada will.

Despite pointing that out to her, the merest mention of sunshine and she is ready to trot out her well worn offering of a nice cup of tea knowing that I will both refuse her not at all kind offer but also rant and rage much to her pleasure.

I do however get to occasionally exercise my revenge, which is always best served cold, unlike tea.   It’s important to note at this point that my wife likes to leave the tea bag in the cup as she drinks her tea.

If we have visitors then I like to ask her, loudly and in front of as many of them as is possible (and if children are about even better), “Do you want ‘teabagin’ hun?”

The pleasure is amplified if I can get my 9 yeah old to shout it.  “Mum, dad wants to know if you want teabagin.”

At worse I will be the recipient of a withering look, and if I am lucky I will be on the sharp end of rolling eyes and a “god, what are you 13 years old!”

I may not win them all but when I do, the sweetness of battle is oh so delicious…

 


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/Tea/

 


More? You could see if you like any of this

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/24/screw-you-haiku/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/tea/

Screw you haiku vol 2

Just back from the pub and I have a little time to do some scribbling so will permit myself some whimsical haiku

Just back from the pub and I have a little time to do some scribbling so will permit myself some whimsical haiku given how I enjoyed doing the previous ones.

You can read those here:


Brought up on a farm

Solitude drives him to drink

Tried to milk a pig


Cannot resist cake

Man boobs sweating in summer

Next week I diet


Big fight with the wife

Mother in law comes to town

Sorry must work late


Caesaren birth

Peeking beyond the curtain

Threw up in my mouth


New baby new dad

How did he make all of that !?!?

Fetch me the hose pipe


 

 

 

Want to read more of my stuff?

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

Lion and Zebra – Daily Prompt – Hidden

“Good morning Zebra” said lion, drinking deep from the murkiness of the water hole, “you look particularly well today”

Zebra looked across at lion warily, she knew his type all too well.

“Steady on there Lion”, said Crocodile as he peered above the water, “you know the rules, at the water hole.  Here we simply drink, we do not feed”

“My good fellow, I think have me all wrong” insisted Lion, his eyes still fixed firmly on Zebra.  “I simply wish to quench my thirst like everybody else.”

Zebra shuffled nervously and continued to drink.  The sun was coming up and the heat would soon be fierce.

“Good, just you remember that ” Crocodile insisted as he sank back under the surface.

“So Zebra” Lion continued, “do you have any plans today?”

Zebra did not respond, her mother had always said to stay away from animals like Lion.

“Perhaps you’ll be heading to that hidden valley you so love” Lion suggested, a broad smile breaking out across his face “or maybe up on the hill side where the green grass grows?”

Zebra finished drinking and moved slowly back towards where the herd was gathering.

“See you later Zebra” Lion shouted over as she wandered away, “did I mention how good you look today?”



 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/Hidden/

 

Want to read more?  You might like this one about Hippo and Croc, or if you fancy something rather different then what about this?

 

 

A letter to the council – An Armitage Tangent

Secondly, and perhaps more obviously, I would again press as to why my husband is now on what is quite obviously a dangerous undertaking.  He did not take either a proper coat or sturdy shoes,

The Cottage

79 The Crescent

Little Norwood

West Yorkshire

 

To whom it may concern

I would write to you in the strongest terms with regards to the recent treatment of my husband, Mr Armitage Shanks, of the address noted above.

Two days ago My husband attended your offices and was informed by the receptionist that in order for his family to continue to receive our support he would need to support one of your apparent operations within The Rift.  This really is most unacceptable and not how we should conduct things as the last bastion of organised civilisation.

To this point I would ask a number of questions.

Firstly, who the devil is this receptionist.  Whilst the world may have gone to hell (please forgive my language, but this matter has me most vexed), surely one would require far greater authority to compel my husband to risk life and limb that that possessed of a mere receptionist.

My husband is a weak willed man and I can only assume that she is one of these modern liberated types who, feeling empowered per some council agenda, feels that she can order people to their doom willy nilly.  This simply will not do and on that matter I would ask that you escalate my concerns to the highest possible authority.

Secondly, I would again press as to why my husband is now on what is quite obviously a dangerous undertaking.  He did not take either a proper coat or sturdy shoes, instead choosing a light summer jacket and a pair of tan brogues.  Can you assure me that you have provided his with suitable apparel.

Lastly I would again insist that you return him home as soon as is possible.  He is in no way prepared for an endeavour of this basis and not capable of a great deal more than some light gardening and the occasional trip to the pub.  He has also not yet fitted a shelf in the kitchen over which he has been procrastinating for some time and I must insist that should anything untoward happen to my husband then I will hold you responsible for not only the welfare of me and my family but you will also need to put up that shelf as I currently have nowhere for my pans.

I anticipate your swift response.

Yours Sincerely

Katherine Shanks

 


If you want to read more about Armitage Shanks please take a look here.

Thanks!

I Just wanted to say a big thank you to everyone that has clicked, read, liked and followed me since I turned up on here just a couple of weeks ago.

I Just wanted to say a big thank you to everyone that has clicked, read, liked and followed me since I turned up on here just a couple of weeks ago.

I had no idea what I was going to write when I started, knowing only that I wanted to put pen to paper.  I thought perhaps I needed a message or a theme but I have simply just enjoyed writing whatever takes my fancy.

I won’t labour the point, but again just thanks for popping by and helping make this a hugely rewarding experience.

 

 

 

 

 

Fly me to the moon – Sunday photo fiction

When Yako spent his food-creds on the lottery he knew it was their last chance of escaping the bleak existence of Earth. 

The Series 3 transporter hurtled through the inky darkness, ion propulsion drive humming as it devoured the empty miles.

“Dad, dad, look!” Tovi shouted. pointing out of the port side windows as the earth disappeared,  the moon racing towards them..

When Yako spent his food-creds on the lottery he knew it was their last chance of escaping the bleak existence of Earth.  “This is going to be a new life for us!” he said gently, “Not many poor folk like us get a second chance of a real life on the moon you know!”

“Will we be happy dad?” Tovi asked, still uncertain.

“It’s going to be wonderful” he grinned, “We’ll have an apartment, food, you’ll go to a real school and I’ll have a job at last!”

Tovi’s face lit up in delight.  As the transporter doors Tovi pushed through the crowd desperate to get a glimpse of their new home.

“CHILDREN LEFT, ADULTS RIGHT” boomed the tonoi.

The last time Tovi remembered seeing his father was as he turned and momentarily caught sight of him looking panicked and calling his name.

He wasn’t sure how long ago that was though, time escapes you in the mines of the moon…


https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/07/23/sunday-photo-fiction-july-23rd-2017/

Photo courtesy of © A Mixed Bag 2009

The intergalactic language of tea – Daily Prompt

Now as it turns out, across the collective 11256 recognised civilisations registered at the Central Galactic Office for Sentience more than two thirds have something culturally equivalent to a nice cup of tea. 

Zarb turned on her clan mate, his blue fur ruffling as she roared her disapproval at again being lost in some awful backwater.

“I swear by the many moons of Tarlex” she bellowed, “If we run out of fuel and end up marooned here waiting for a repair service I will rip out your throat and leave your carcass in this god forsaken place!”

“Now now dear” said Malen, attempting to calm her.  She was half his size again and had such a frightful temper, “I know exactly where we are” he paused for a moment before adding “…more or less.”

She scowled at him, her claws twitching and her tail swishing impatiently.  “My mother told me that you were an inferior mate” she snarled, “but no, I let you woo me with your throbbing brabnar and your eloquent songs of dal-bur”.  She pushed him aside, reaching for the Navigation console.

“Zarb, my sweetness” Malen pleaded, “trust me, we are only a mere 4 quintels astray and we will soon be back on …”

Malan never got to finish explaining how they would soon be back on course following a diversion to avoid a rather nasty solar flare, because he was quite rudely interrupted by a loud alarm and a series of flashing lights emanating from the bridge.

“Malan you useless spawn of a fargon!” She cried, clubbing him across the side of the face and squeezing her ample rump into the not quite large enough chair in front of the console.  Furiously she stabbed away at the illuminated buttons with her long fingers. 

He looked over her furry blue shoulder as she plotted a new set of navigation coordinates. 

“You’ve taken us too far out of range of that sun!” she growled, we’re going to need to spend a couple of cycles on the nearest planet to recharge the cells!” 

Malan knew it was best to say as little as possible at this point.  “How about I make us a nice cup of tea?” he offered apologetically as she continued to mumble insults about his mother’s cooking and the unimpressive girth of his father’s jarbul.

Now as it turns out, across the collective 11256 recognised civilisations registered at the Central Galactic Office for Sentience more than two thirds have something culturally equivalent to a nice cup of tea.  The people of Karpisal V have a beverage almost identical to a refreshing Earl Grey taken each morning as a cleansing tonic whilst the amassed hordes of Qualik have something more akin to a soup of battery acid and pig trotters which is apparently quite invigorating on a summer’s day. 

The idea seemed to calm her somewhat and she grunted approvingly. 

“I’ll tell you what else we can do when we get there “ Malan said with a hint of excitement in his voice.

“What’s that?” She asked, her interest piqued.

“Probing!” he exclaimed.

“Ooh ooh yes please” Zarb cried “It’s been far too long.


To find out a little more about our furry blue friends take a look here

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

 


Or you could see if you like any of this

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/24/screw-you-haiku/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/tea/

Traditional – Daily prompt

“Bloody hell Charlie! his father shouted, dragging himself upright.  “Could you not just give me 5 more minutes like I asked?”  His head pounded and Charlie could smell the cigarettes on his breath.  “Why cant you just be patient?”

“Dad, dad are you waking up?” Charlie asked, tugging at his dad’s sleeve as he slept.  There were bottles strewn across the table and his father was still in yesterday’s clothes.  “I’m hungry dad and there’s nothing in the fridge.”

His father stirred briefly.  “Just 5 more minute Charlie”  he mumbled,  pulling away and turning his back sinking further into the sofa.

“But dad” he insisted, pulling on his father’s shoulder “you said you’d buy food yesterday and you never.”

“Please Charlie, just give me a few minutes and I’ll get up I promise.”

“But dad I’m so hungry” he pleaded.

“Bloody hell Charlie! his father shouted, dragging himself upright.  “Could you not just give me 5 more minutes like I asked?”  His head pounded and Charlie could smell the cigarettes on his breath.  “Why cant you just be patient?”

Charlie started to cry.  It had been this way for a while now, ever since the accident.  Things weren’t like they used to be when mum was still around.

“Please Charlie, come here” said his father, reaching out and pulling him close to console him and suddenly sobbing uncontrollably as he held him.

“Will it always be like this dad?” Charlie asked.  Memories of her were already fading and some days he didn’t think about here at all.  “Will I get a new mum or will we never be a family again?”

 

 


Want to read more of my stuff?  There’s a few links below you might like. There are aliens and zombies and poems and letters and loads more.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

 


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/Tradition/


I am my mother’s mistake – Five Sentence Story Prompt

“Do I really have to go out again today?” Mina asked, already knowing the answer but hoping that today might be the day when she wouldn’t have to go out onto the streets.

“Do I really have to go out again today?” Mina asked, already knowing the answer but hoping that today might be the day when she wouldn’t have to go out onto the streets.

Ventra raised a hand but stopped short of striking her – too many bruises and someone might start to ask questions.

“You know you do, now get out there with the others, how else are we supposed to buy food”  he shouted, face full of rage and his well manicured fingers instinctively stroking the strap of the gold Rolex on his wrist, “you should be grateful for all we do for you, without us you’d be dead just like her!”

“What’s wrong” Colima asked, popping her head around the door “what’s all the shouting about, Is she causing trouble again?”

“I tell you Colima” Ventra replied angrily, fists clenched, “she’s ungrateful this one, selfish – just like your sister was – she’s just lucky she had us to clean up after her mistakes.”


 

Want to read more of my stuff?  There’s a few links below you might like.  It’s not all like that, there are aliens and zombies and things that aren’t depressing too. 

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 


https://aestheticgraphy.wordpress.com/2017/07/25/five-sentence-story-prompt-6/

https://doodlingpanda.wordpress.com/2017/07/24/five-sentence-story-prompt-6/

Pictures courtesy of :

https://www.123rf.com/stock-photo/child_poverty.html

 

 

 

Remembering – FFfAW – 25 July 2017

There were lots of things that he couldn’t remember any more, no matter how hard he tried.

There were lots of things that he couldn’t remember any more, no matter how hard he tried.

Sometimes, falling asleep ,he would remember the sea, a small white boat, and the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon, but both of their names were long lost to him.

Strangers would visit and tell him stories of his life, but none of these memories seemed to be his and they would leave looking sad, kissing him on the forehead as they departed.  They seemed nice people though and he was grateful for the company and he so enjoyed their stories.

As he slipped into the darkness, a nurse at his bedside holding his hand, he opened his eyes for one last time, remembering everything.

“Josephine” he said smiling, “that was her name.”

 


 

Word count – 150

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Louise with The Storyteller’s Abode. Thank you Louise!


Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

The hidden depths of men.  Thursday photo prompt – Mask #writephoto

“All I really wanted to do was spend a bit more time down the pub and read a bit, but you should see my foxtrot, I’m not bad you know”

“If you ask me” Gerald insisted, “feelings are wholly overrated!”  He took a long slug from his beer and stared into the flames. “Jane is always wanting me to share things and open up, but that’s just not me you know” he continued.

“I always try and explain that to my wife” Thomas answered, placing more wood on the fire, “I tell her that I am just not that deep but she seems desperate for me to share some inner most thoughts.  I don’t really have any though.”.

Gerald nodded in agreement.  “You know, once I actually made some stuff up about me having some hidden pain in my past that I didn’t want to talk about”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“We were young, she was hot and I thought it might make me more interesting.”  He finished the beer and reached into the cool box for another.  “She always loved poetry and those arty films and stuff and I figured I might stand more of a chance if I pretended to have some inner demons.”

“Many things you are mate, but deep you are not.  Unless of course you count the love of beer and football and pies as something that makes you whimsical or brooding or whatever the hell it is she wants” Thomas laughed.

“I know, and now she’s forever wanting me to talk about stuff.  She even suggested I see somebody because she thinks I’m repressed.” Gerald said, scratching his head.  “Turns out I’m just not that interesting but 20 years into a marriage I’m not really sure what I can do.”

“So what’s set her off then, has she always been like this, you’ve not mentioned it before.”

Gerald waited before replying, he wasn’t really sure.  “Maybe with the kids being gone we have less things to distract us.  We had Elsie so quickly and the twins followed not long after.  I think she might be bored too.”

“Mate, that happened to us” Thomas said “I ended up taking dance classes with her and writing a travel blog because she thought we needed to enrich our lives more and enjoy the time we had together.”

“Did it work?”

“All I really wanted to do was spend a bit more time down the pub and read a bit, but you should see my foxtrot, I’m not bad you know”

The door to the house opened and Jane’s head popping through “Come on you two, I know you’re probably deep in conversation but dinner is ready.  You can come tell us what you’ve been talking about”

 


 

Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 


https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/3193846/posts/1532690515

Thursday photo prompt – Mask #writephoto

Screw you Haiku

On Mondays I like to allow myself a little more freedom from the discipline of the more structured writing schedule that I have set for myself and simply do something stupid.

On Mondays I like to allow myself a little more freedom from the discipline of the more structured writing schedule that I have set for myself and do something different.  I normally like to dabble with a variety of fiction pieces but Not on Monday, oh no

The challenge of packing emotive imagery into 17 syllables is quite a test, which is perhaps why they seem so daunting and often so very serious.  A limerick on the other hand is quite the opposite, filled with such joy and whimsy.

Today I shall attempt to write some haiku that are not serious at all serious.


 

Hot spicy curry

Arse like a Japanese flag

oh no not again


 

In the house naked

Wife and kids on vacation

Beer for breakfast


 

Leaving work in shame

Stomach flu going around

Gambled on a fart


 

Wife screams in horror

Dogs humping in the garden

Cover children’s eyes


 

Loud knock at the door

Dancing in the house naked

Police “Close curtains!”


 

Want to read more of my stuff?

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

Stinky teenagers – Daily prompt 

I did some research, worried that smelling like Satan’s anus might be a permanent fixture…

My eldest son is nearly 13 and quite often smells like onions.  I do not intend to be beastly but heavens his room really is eye wateringly odorous.  It is not the quite-delicious-slowly-sweated-in-butter type of onion but rather the nose-wrinkling, eye stinging and nose punishing variety. 

This is not because he is prone to poor personal hygiene, he is not and showers morning and night and is often found in a rather pleasant if somewhat overpowering cloud of fragrance, but it is apparently a natural occurrence for boys of his age.

I did some research, worried that smelling like Satan’s anus might be a permanent fixture, only to discover that the stench that often surrounds him was a matter of a combination of  hormones and his age.  These hormones, new sweaty places and a general increase in sweating are instead to blame.

There seem to be a myriad of solutions that we can employ to help with the challenge of the upstairs bedrooms smelling like Beelzebub’s bottom, including more showers, anti-bacterial soaps and  frequent changes of clothing which is a real relief.

Until then he will continue to sleep with the windows open because good heavens it’s pretty nasty up there.

___________________________________________

Want to read more of my stuff that’s not about smelly teens?

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/fragrance/

 Hippopotamus

“I think that today I shall stay in the pool” said Hippo as the sun began to creep over the horizon, a fiery line drawn against the silhouette of the hills beyond.

“I think that today I shall stay in the pool” said Hippo as the sun began to creep over the horizon, a fiery line drawn against the silhouette of the hills beyond.

“Is that not what you do every day?” Crocodile asked with a mischievous toothy grin

“It is indeed” Hippo responded, his ears twitching.  “It keeps me cool when the sun is most fierce”

Hippo heaved his huge frame from the riverbank.  “And what are your plans today?” he asked crocodile.

“Today I shall do what I did yesterday, and what I shall do tomorrow” Crocodile said.  “I shall go to the pool and then I have some breakfast.”

“And are you going to try and eat me again” Hippo laughed, “It was ever so funny when you tried that.”

Crocodile remembered all too well the day he met his old friend and laughed.  “You tasted terrible anyway” he joked.

“The sun is getting up!” Said Hippo, “Come on lets get going, all the good spots will be taken.”


 

 

Want to read more of my stuff that’s not about hippos and crocs me but about  and zombies and people and rude poems and life and stuff?

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OWPC

Armitage – Part 6

“Imagine the world as a sheet of double ply toilet paper.” Ichabod continued, “This world is one sheet and the other sheet is one of countless others.  I exist in-between those two sheets.”
“As scientific explanations go” Armitage snapped, “that is bloody awful!”  His breathing quickened, his head started to pound and he started to feel sick again.

Armitage awoke from a rather pleasant dream where he was not in a military compound waiting to pop into a space time rift on the whim of a council office receptionist.  It involved cups of tea and pottering around the garden for the most part.  There may have been croquet at one point but he was too busy tending to his roses for that.

He opened his eyes slowly and realising where he was mumbled an “oh bugger me” before closing them again in an attempt to at least pretend that he was still asleep.

“Excellent, you’re awake!” Came a reply.

It wasn’t Goodwin.  This was a new voice and one wholly more friendly and upbeat than either Goodwin or Koala.  It sounded excited almost, which Armitage found most annoying.

“I was just about to wake you” the voice continued quite chipper.  “You need to get ready, it’s nearly time”.

Armitage sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.  He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, he had intended to try and get hold of his family, protest loudly but politely about his current situation and try and get hold of a tooth brush as he had neglected to brush this morning.

“And you are exactly whom?” he asked turning towards the source of the voice.

“Turner” came the reply, “Ichabod Turner, please to meet you”.

There was nobody precisely where this somebody ought to be.

“Why can I not see you? Armitage puzzled, already fast acclimatising to the new ridiculousness of his post-council-office-trip life.

“Oh yes, sorry I do forget sometimes” came the disembodied reply, “the easiest way to explain it is that I exist in a place between your world and a million others.  Went into into a rift a few years ago and came out like this.”

Armitage said nothing, waiting.

“Imagine the world as a sheet of double ply toilet paper.” Ichabod continued, “This world is one sheet and the other sheet is one of countless others.  I exist in-between those two sheets of toilet paper.”

“As scientific explanations go” Armitage snapped, “that is bloody awful!”  His breathing quickened, his head started to pound and he started to feel sick again.

“Yeah my wife said something along those lines when I told her” Ichabod replied. “Well, in between the screaming and the crying and the insisting that she had told me something like this was bound to happen if I insisted on wandering onto rifts.”

Armitage thought he sounded like he was smiling.  He wondered if his own wife was destined for a similar fate.

“I probably need to rethink how I explain myself to people” Ichabod continued, then paused for a moment whilst Armitage put his head in his hands.  He really needed a nice cup of team and another lie down.

“Come on Armitage” he insisted “we can’t be lingering here all day we have places to be.  Lets have you, chop chop.”

Armitage struggled to his feet, head spinning.  “Ok, where are we going?”

“Oh this is going to be fantastic”.

“I very much doubt that.”

Ichabod laughed.  “Do you want to put on those fatigues?”

Armitage had no intention of putting on the fatigues and boots laid out on the green trunk at the end of the bed.  “I was supposed to be repotting my azalea today you know!” He complained loudly. “It isn’t flowering and it really needs looking at.

Ichabod didn’t reply.

“You know what” he said, “I think I shall remain in the clothes I am wearing thank you very much.”  He folded his arms in as much of an act of defiance as he could muster.

“Suit yourself, follow me” instructed Ichabod.

Armitage followed Ichabod’s voice as he was lead between the tents and to a small door in the side of the stadium.  There were surprisingly few people to be seen.  He had seen a couple of heavily armed thick set men milling about outside one of the large green tents and a small squad of around a dozen men could be seen running at the far end of the row of tents but that aside it was by no means busy.

“Could you get that?” Ichabod asked.  “I seem to be struggling with my hands in this reality a little today.”

Armitage pulled the door open and they passed through inside, Ichabod leading him through a series of winding corridors until they appeared at another door.  Armitage pulled it open without being asked.

The first thing he saw when he passed through the door, hearing it clang closed behind him, was Koala Jackson deep in conversation with Goodwin.  They were just a few metres away on the edge of what was once the pitch inside the stadium, but the grass was mostly gone now and more tents were scattered across it’s surface, with one particularly large one squarely in the centre.  Masses of heavily armed troops littered the place and there was a real thrum of activity wherever he looked, with crates of what he assumed were weapons and ammunition being moved about.  Much of the seating in the stands had been removed and what looked like sand bag emplacements and bunkers took up much the space where the seating had once been.

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed loudly.   “What the bloody hell is this?”

“Armitage, Turner, over here” boomed Koala Jackson.  “Front and centre, sharp!”

Armitage really did not like being barked at.  It made him feel most uneasy given that he was by nature a more collaborative sort, prone to problem solving through the sharing ideas and the exchange of dialogue.  Judging by the look on Koala Jackson’s face she didn’t seem to be in the mood for anything other than him being front and centre, so he hastily obliged.

First thing Armitage noticed was that she seemed to be carrying an inordinate amount of weapons, which surely did not bode well for the rest of the evening.  Not that he knew anything about armaments, but they certainly looked rather dangerous and not something you would need were you pottering in the garden or making jam.  There were Pistols in holsters on her belt, those he could recognise, and there were a couple or large pointy ones on her back which looked most unpleasant and which might take an eye out if you weren’t careful with them.   Add to these the one strapped across her chest and the one in her left hand and she looked prepared for something that he was not.

“Is all that not heavy?” he asked, the words spilling from his lips without thought.  Jackson didn’t bother with a reply.

“Gentlemen” she said with a certain menace that Armitage had not noticed earlier “Inrift into  exactly ten minutes time we shall be entering Rift 1979.”  Four heavily armed men in worn fatigues had joined him and Ichabod and they stood waiting for Jackson to continue.

Armitage felt sick again

Jackson stood to her full height, addressing the group but speaking to him directly.  “Armitage, you are our key and are going to help me and my team pass through Rift 1979.  Once inside the  Rift you will remain with us whilst we complete our mission at which point you will accompany us back through again.  Is that understood?”

“Well actually…” Armitage began before she interrupted him.

“You don’t need to ask questions” she snapped “you simply need to do as I tell you and stay close to Mr Goodwin.  He will ensure nothing terrible happens to you.”

Armitage did not like the word terrible one bit.  He had once spilled paint on the stair carpet, and that was about the extent of his definition of terrible. He feared her definition was somewhat significantly worse.

“Ichabod will be our guide between dimensions and the 4 magnificent specimens you see next to you are there just in case we need to negotiate with the locals.”  Armitage looked at the one closest to him and he had to agree, he was rather magnificent.  Not the sort  you would have round for a spot of brunch but he hoped most certainly suited to something as ridiculous as whimsically popping into a space time rift.

“Now, if you all want to follow me we really must be going” she said sharply and headed off towards the large white tent in the middle of the pitch.

Goodwin grabbed his arm and pulled him after him as he hear Ichabod proclaim “Oh I love this bit.  You’re going to love this Mr Shanks, just you see!”

Armitage doubted that very much.  Approaching the large white tent he noticed Jackson’s team visibly tense.  “What happened to your previous key?” he asked cautiously.

They looked at one another but didn’t reply.  He was about to protest most vociferously when he suddenly found himself inside the tent, Goodwin’s hand still around his arm.  He had anticipated a head quarters of some sort, or perhaps an information desk where he cold lodge a complaint, but this really was not what he expected.

Standing in the middle of the tent, the only thing in the room, was a door.

Now as far as doors go this one was for the most part a rather regular and unassuming door, the type you would find on any street. It was 8 panelled with a  brass handle, letter box and knocker and painted jet black with a number two positioned slightly off centre to the right about three quarters of the way up.  That was it, just this door.

He wanted to ask why there was a door, it seemed the natural question to ask, but given how the last few days had panned out he waited as someone would tell him eventually.

“Welcome to Rift 1979!”  Jackson seemed rather proud suddenly”Oh yes, baby!” Ichabod exclaimed.

“I expected something a little more…” Armitage paused. “Well a little less door like really.  Maybe a little more Hollywood.”

Jackson glared at him.  “The door is a containment field Mr Shanks.  Our alien friends were so kind as to leave us with this before they disappeared with our tea and biscuits.”

“Very kind of them” he mumbled.

Koala took his arm and pulled him towards the door.  ” Now all I need you to do is to open it for me and step inside.”

This was all happening way too fast he thought.  This sort of thing did not happen to people like him.  People like him tended their gardens and contributed to the general well being of the village and drank beer and played darts in the pub on a Friday .

“And how exactly do I do that ” Armitage asked, hoping that there would be some complex ritual which he could make a mess of to delay what felt like the inevitable.

“Its a Door Armitage” Goodwin interrupted.  “Turn the handle.”

“Well I could” he said, “But I really do not think that …”

“Open the bloody door Armitage!” Jackson demanded.

She scared him into action and before he knew it he had reached out turning the handle.  It clicked, just as one would expect of a door and slowly he pushed against it.  Before he had time to ask whether he might perhaps remain behind given his splitting headache he felt was a shove in the back and he tumbled through the door, the others bursting past and stepping over him.

After that it all got a little weird.

 


Want to read more of my stuff?  There’s a few links below you might like.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/