Photos from December
A few pictures from my phone from Decemnber
A few pictures from my phone from Decemnber
A few photos from May
One day they may stumble upon these.
I was born in Hull on the east coast of England in November of 1971. My mother was one of eight and my father one of three. I was the first grandchild born into what would eventually be a family that numbered somewhere between sixty and seventy, though it is often hard to recall all the names and connections witha family so vast.
The fishing trade was still the heart of Hull and very much at the heart of my mothers side of the family. My mum’s father was a trawlerman as were a number of my older uncles, with my other aunts and uncles only 7 or 8 years older than me. My earliest memories seem to be dominated by that side of the family for some reason and I cannot really recall my fathers side at all or even our own smaller family of just mum, dad and me.
My mother tells me how my grandad and uncle would return from months away at sea and turn out their pockets and invite me to help myself to whatever money they had – which was often a lot. Casting my mind back I can vaguely remember my uncle taking me to the toy store and telling me that I could have whatever I wanted, and I headed home with a blue scooter which had the most fantastic tassles which hung from the handles.
I also remember Queen. No, not the queen but the band. Even now so many of their songs trigger memories or shadows of memories that take me somewhere almost now lost to me.
Memories of coming downstairs at my granparents house and the smell of stale beer and cigarettes are also still quite vivid after more than forty years too. Curiously I can even still see the ash tray on a stand in the middle of the floor with the push top opening mechanism that I was often told to leave alone.
Even before then though I remember being in a pram outside a house on the other side of the street looking back across to where my mum’s parents lived on the Greatfield council estate in east Hull. It is quite clear to me still and I described it to my mother, pointing out the actual house when we visited forty years later. She insists surely I could not be rememberin gthat because I was probably only three at the most, but I remain quite certain that I remember it quite clearly even now…
Read this before I am forced to delete it…
M has another month of fab prompts that you can see here
Today it is Toilet paper troubles.
I saw the prompt and my mind instantly went back to an event a few years ago now that you might like. You also might not but it’s a true story either way.
It was a lovely summers day and I remember being sat in the living room, as we English are prone to do when we have good weather, when my eldest could be heard laughing hysterically at the top of the stairs. I’m talking out of control belly laugh. He was about 7 at the time, and Tom my youngest about 4.
“What’s so funny Sam” I shout up the stairs and he can’t answer, simply pointing down the stairs and out into the garden. I looked and was at first uncertain until I noticed Tom wandering around the garden with his trousers around his ankles trailing a good ten feet of soiled toilet paper behind him hanging from his bottom.
Obviously my first instinct was to grab my camera to get a good video and as Sam continued to howl hysterically I headed down the garden to capture the moment for posterity.
At this point my wife was alerted to something going on and I heard a cry of distress from the upstairs window an the thundering of feet down the stairs as sh and Sam hurried down the back steps and into the garden too.
“What the bloody hell is going on” she shouted *or something like that) “and why the hell are you filming it and not cleaning up. Curiously that wasn’t a question that had crossed my mind. Perhaps that just shows how different men and women are.
Before I know it a hasty investigation reveals that Sam had tossed Tom a loo roll when he said he needed to go (we only had one loo in the house at the time which Sam was using) and told him to go in the garden. Which Tom did.
“Get some carrier bags” she says to me “and put that bloody camera away.”
The look on her face suggested that she was not to be trifled with so I hurried into the house returning with bags to use to clean up the mess. By this point Tom had pointed out where he had relieved himself and the wife took one of the bags to pick up his leavings.
Probably should point out at this point that I have a quite terrible gag reflex and am prone to heaving and lurching at the sight of bodily fluids which would explain why I begin to gag, eyes watering, as she attempts to pick up the remains of Tom’s lunch.
“Just help will you and pick up that toilet roll” she says pointing to the yards of soiled twin ply littering the garden. I respond by gagging uncontrollably as I near it, which in turns sets off Sam who himself starts to gag.
“What is wrong with you people” she shouts as we both stand there gagging as she ties the bag full of Toms number two but this sight is simply too much for Sam who suddenly starts to projectile vomit across the garden.
“Oh god no “ she shouts panicked clutching a bag of the youngest’s poo as I crack up unable to do anything other that alternate between laughing and gagging, “Just help will you, god what are the neighbours going to think.”
At this point we were about to find out not what the neighbours thought but certainly what their dog thought as she trotted along and quite merrily began to eat Sam’s vomit.
It is all very much a blur from that point on but I know there was screaming and shouting and the dog looked most satisfied with whatever Sam had had for lunch and I eventually stopped gagging though it was too late to recover the position.
It wasn’t long after that we started planning to have the second bathroom put in.
I’m just kidding. Honest.
There’s a saying that runs in our family, coming from fishing stock as I do, and it goes something along the lines of “Worse things happen at sea.” It’s pretty patronising and somewhat dismissive and gets trotted out most often when you bemoan a situation that the other person couldn’t give a monkey’s chuff about.
“Mom I’ve banged my knee…”
“Oh it’s just a scratch, worse things happen at sea son.”
Thing is there comes a point though when through indifference and old age I am finding it becoming my standard response to even more serious situations and it has me thinking that perhaps things really were quite terrible at sea and granddad was a quiet man not because of all the time he spent out on the water but because of all the awful things that must have befallen him.
Should my kids want sympathy then you know, I want to see a leg dangling limp with bone sticking through the skin because I am pretty sure something worse happened to granddad Tom at sea and it probably involved biting down hard on something and crying for his dead mother.
Should they be feeling a little blue then I find myself resisting a fatherly hug but instead insisting that it is considerably more taxing out on the waves and that they should pull themselves together, pack their bags and stop crying over being put up for adoption because it is just a waste of good tears and they should keep them for the orphanage because they’re going to need them.
I know it may seem harsh but I tell you, they just don’t make them like those salty sea dogs do they.
Some deep rambling stuff
My memories will fade one day
my eyes will shine less bright
and into dark I’ll surely slip
but you’ll remain my light
The best of me I hope I gave
My smile, my laugh my frown
from good and bad, your path I shaped
you’res the thing’s I’ve handed down
Your hand I help, your head I kissed
scraped knee and fever soothed
beside your bed all night I sat
a heart once hard so moved
And seasons pass, I watch and smile
you clamber, fight and strive
too quick to run before you walk
eyes bright and so alive
Each year that passes I embrace
such change and watch you grow
my hand let go you walk alone
and deep inside I know
Too soon my time will surely pass
alone you’ll be but find
your joy and hope and always feel
the love we leave behind
She watches, he, a picture of his father
beautiful and flawed
forever and always in her heart
protected, loved , adored
She watches, he, a picture of his father
beautiful and flawed
forever and always in her heart
protected, loved , adored
A world awaits, alone she prepares
first steps, first words, forehead kissed
hand held, knee scraped tears wiped
he – birthdays, Christmas missed
Held tight she wishes a life far more
than she can ever give
love overflows, it’s all she has
to pave his way to live
And seasons pass, she watches
he grows, eyes bright, unknowing
not realising what he does not have
the scars hidden, unshowing
Such pride she wears on tear worn face
a life surrendered without regret
to see him grow from boy to man
though her heart cannot forget
the life now passed her by, in days
each lived but not her own
freely given yet taken too
by the man he has not known
Let’s try a little serious shall we…
Okay so I piss about a bit with my blog I realise. If my poems had a ‘Eeeeuuuwww button’ then I am pretty sure it would get pressed more than my likes. I was challenged by Roda – I think that’s what happened – to try a happy ending or two so for this week I will have a crack at a few more pleasant subjects.
At Days close he waits content
to say goodbye and drift to night
and in those moments years rolled back
warm smiles and joy and eyes shine bright
Her warm embrace and tender kiss
and babies cries and laughter sweet
when blankets laid across his knees
worn eyes do close and visions greet
First words, first steps, first dates first kiss
long days dark nights but then
he sees her face and hears her voice
and love’s restored again
And as he slips to dark and rest
a life well lived he sees
of family, love and heart and hearth
life passing like the breeze
And in that moment vivid, clear
old lips whisper and say
each day a treasure I received
farewell, on this last day
not even a photo album?
Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.
mindescapes Christmas Challenge 2017
A child they say, to save the world
So noble great and true
But there are things I often wonder
And here are but a few
He must have had grandparents
But they do not get a mention
No way would they not be involved
They do so love attention
And what of names when he was young
When he’d not done works or healed the blind
Was he always just called Jesus
Or perhaps nicknames not so kind?
Did the miracles start early
Did his parents ever gloat?
did he go through the terrible two’s?
and when they bathed him did he float?
What were his toys, did he read books?
Was he any good at sports?
Did he always wear a robe or was
He rather fond of shorts
Did he have a pet, was he kind to dogs
And at what age did he walk
Was he quite an advanced baby
And how early did he talk?
You’d think someone might remember
If he was such a big deal
Pity that there aren’t records
As much more they would reveal
Photo courtesy of pixabay
Michael. That’s me.
This seemed like a good idea when I did the title but now I am less sure. If you’ve read me for more than a day or two then you know what I’m like and I don’t really need to tell you. I have a wife and kids who I love, a life I enjoy immensely and very few filters or boundaries.
You know what, I think that will just about do.
You really don’t need to know that I love comics or rugby or television or films or coding or laughing or being grumpy, that’s all there for you to see. You don’t need to know that I think Donald trump is a twat and that I find it quite heart breaking to see what he is doing to America because I grew up with all things American and it played a big part in my growing up.
And you dont need to be told that I like to make people laugh and dont take things too seriously and that I have a problem with authority and organised religion. It’s all there to see in my writing.
Thanks for reading and I hope you continue to take some pleasure in what I put out there and if not, meh, I’ll get over it.
If I were not here tomorrow…
Were I to die tomorrow then there are so many things I would not get to tell my boys. As melancholy a thought as it is it is one with which I have of late struggled though something I have yet to remedy. Such words of wisdom that are a father’s to impart would go unsaid and they would quite possibly venture into this world as young men without my deep and considered understanding of so many things.
Whilst their mother would without doubt provide them the support they need as young men I would not be there to explain to them why they should always ensure they place the drill chuck back in the little holder thingy on the handle of the drill to ensure they are not forever heading to the DIY place to buy another.
I ask myself who, if not me, should be the one to explain why darts is a sport and motor racing is not and why being a Yorkshire-man is truly a privilege.
My heart is heavy with the thought that at my passing so ceases the chance for me to impart upon them how a man should approach washing dishes so as to ensure he never gets asked again.
Truly though I believe the greatest gift we can give them is our presence, time and attention without which we cannot pass on our biases and prejudice.
Good god, what if they grow up to be Manchester United fans?
Just to be clear. They are not for sale.
I have two and I love them very much, which is lucky for them because there are days when I think they might just be a little bit faulty. Don’t get me wrong, despite their obvious flaws I still think mine are actually more pleasant than other peoples – and definitely yours – and I have the tedious photo’s and long winded stories to prove it.
I think/hope that my eldest may well have the most wonderful sense of humour as just the other day he asked whether the Germans were still looking for the Von Trapp family. Now don’t get me wrong, as an Englishman I am of a mind to think that somewhere there is a lower level Ortsgruppenleitner with a hatred for sing songs that is still hopeful of apprehending them, but truth be told that’s probably just me being awful. I was troubled enough to ask him whether he was serious, and I am still not actually sure.
The youngest is a precious little thing who has the most delightful ability to believe his own lies and I am most certain that he is destined for great things – probably in politics or banking. Such is his conviction that I often have to refer to the internet to support any argument I may find myself having with him.
Still, I wouldn’t be without them no matter how much I was offered for them – and trust me the little blonde one is worth big money in certain parts of the middle east. The elder brown haired one is probably worth less though he has broad shoulders and a strong back and would certainly do the work of at least one small mule.
Not that I’ve researched it. Honest.
To be fair, had I tried to return them or asked for a repair I imagine I would have been told that any damage they are currently exhibiting may well be my fault.
You can shove your i spy!
Before I get into this I would make the point that I love my boys very much and would do just about anything for them.
If in doubt understand that I will regularly unclog their toilet – which they seem to prefer to only flush every third or fourth visit – with only minimal shouting and threats. Look closely and you will see that the bonds of love are such that I have been known to tidy their rooms for them and only remind them once or twice that the option of adoption remains on the table until they are 18.
Still to be convinced? My heart overflows with love so abundant that only recently I was witnessed preparing them 3 meals in a single day. That’s true human kindness right there…
That said, there are limits and those limits come in the form of board games. I really do not enjoy one bit sitting down with the family for an evening of board games and frivolity. It takes almost no time at all for me to upset somebody because I refuse to let somebody win because they’re ‘only little’. Play against kids of your own age if that’s how you want to roll but as far as I am concerned you want me to play, I will play to crush you. Ideally I will make you never want to play board games with me ever again.
I know it makes me a terrible person. I will pay for their therapy when they are older. Might also explain why we have a cupboard full of unused board games.
The wife likes to play with the boys when I am away though, which is nice.
And don’t get me started on bloody i-spy. As if driving in this country isn’t hard enough with it’s constant roadworks and sheer weight of traffic…I travel miles and miles having to try and guess the quite ridiculous things my youngest apparently spies.
Get lost Thomas you didn’t spot Batman, T is not for “Tornado” and you can get stuffed if you believe that you saw a clown in the car that went past us 5 miles ago. You’re a liar and your lies make baby Jesus cry!
And don’t go crying to mum when I insist that Psoriasis begins with a P, and you’re no doctor so the dry skin on my elbows could well be something more serious and your diagnosis is worthless because you are only 9.
I have lived in a fair few places in my life.
I have lived in a fair few places in my life. Hull, Secunda, Mossel Bay, Grahamstown, Oudtshoorn, Knysna, Immingham, Barton-Upon-Humber, Sheffield, Sowerby Bridge, Brighouse and Halifax. Not the one in Nova Scotia. I think that’s all of them.
My instinct here is to explore the phrase that ‘home is where the heart is’, and looking back all of those places – perhaps with the exception of Hull (Which I left when I was 10) and Halifax (where I live now) – felt rather temporary. I have very few, though definitely some, memories that I look back upon with fondness, and try as I might I find myself hard pressed to remember the feeling of content I have where I live now.
Perhaps it is the stage in my life that I find myself at, the life I have made for myself and the physical surroundings that all together make my current home something different to everything that has gone before. It is not a fancy house by any means, only a small terrace in an average part of an average norther town but it is mine. Or ours, as I share it with my wife and children. It is the place that we have made our home for the last ten years and where the memories that mean the most to me have been made.
It is where I have watched my boys grow up, each room filled with magical memories of at least one of them covering it in vomit. It is the place where I have threatened to paint and put up shelves and trust me, I will get round to it I promise. When we are long gone somebody will pull up the carpets and see the large cock I drew on the wooden floors in the back bedroom.
We renovated it from top to bottom recently, and put everything we had into it to make it the place that we could spend the next decade though there is perhaps still not quite enough room for my comic collection. Oh, and don’t get me started on the collection of things at the bottom of the stairs up to the kids bedrooms.
It is about more than just the four of us though, it is the place where my wife and I have made new friends and welcomed them into our home and been so very grateful when they have eventually left because we do rather like the peace and quiet too.
When I go out I see so many people that I know from the community, and I feel like I belong here and am part of the community and proudly so.
I love where I live, the house I live in and the people I share it with and who knows, maybe we would have been happy in any of the myriad of places I have lived but to me this one is special.
Next time…I is for i-spy
The things that hold us back…
Let’s do another month of M’s prompts shall we.
I’ve a tale I would tell, and it might do you well
To pay heed and perhaps give some thought
To the things that constrain and the things that we blame
And on which were eternally caught
They’re the things in our heads, that live under our beds
And that lurk when we wake late at night
Paralysed by the doubt and the voices that shout
they defeat when we just cannot fight
Or you think you’re no good and that one day you could
be redeemed if you just do not stray
so you live only just and you hope pray and trust
that divine you’ll be carried away
so we stop in our tracks and we always look back
never trying to push on ahead
and were tangled in thorns and our minds they get torn
cant make sense of the thoughts in our heads
and you’re lying there scared and your wholly ensnared
to the things you believe are the truth
now perhaps they are not but you’ve sadly forgot
how to look for a sign or some proof
Unencumbered you’d find that the world can be kind
and there’s joy to be found and much more
we can live, love and learn and eternity spurn
for there’s hope here and now, life galore
The old clock in the hall struck seven as George sat down at his writing table as he did every night.
Let’s do another month of M’s prompts shall we…this one is in response to the Weaving Words prompt.
The old clock in the hall struck seven as George sat down at his writing table as he did every night. He opened the drawer and took out the pen she had given him on their 25th anniversary, then carefully took a sheet of the finest paper from a sheath and placed it on the desk in front of him.
He rolled the pen between his fingers and smiled as he read the inscription:
“My heart remains yours always.”
He pulled his chair to the desk, made himself comfortable and began to write.
My dearest Alice
Winter has come at last it seems, and the days grow shorter and we have had the first flakes of snow this evening. Fortunately I have a good store of wood this year, and the new people on the Henderson farm have assured me they have plenty to spare should I run short. They seem very nice, though I am not quite sure they are cut out for this life. Time will tell.
I took a walk by the river this morning, the air cold and crisp and the skies blue with the feintest whisper of cloud. Sadly the old bridge we built at Millers crossing has collapsed, and I fear age would insist that I am now well beyond repairing it.
Such memories it brought back and I remembered the yellow dress you wore the day we finished it. It seems like only yesterday, and the smile you wore with it remains with me to this day. As time passes it’s funny the things we remember and those we forget. The smallest details of our life together I still recall and yet major events now seem like a story told to me by someone else.
Sometimes I do wonder whether I have forgotten days we spent together, yet my heart remains full of those that are still so clear to me.
My heart remains yours always
Gently placing the pen on the desk George then folded the paper and placed it in an envelope that he pulled from the bottom drawer. Sealing it he then took a bundle of identical envelopes and slowly unknotted the string that bound them together.
Taking up the pen he wrote ‘Alice’ on the front and then bundled it with the others, refastening them together with the old coarse string and placing them back in the drawer.
He smiled as he stood from the desk, pushed the chair back in and turned out the light.
It had been a good day, she would have enjoyed it he thought smiling to himself as he climbed the stairs to bed.
For me it starts once I have seen the coke advert…
I was unsure as to whether posting on the matter of Christmas was a little premature, but I saw the Coco-Cola advert last night so for me that is the traditional beginning of Christmas and a green light to write about it.
Actually, I should confess that our family Christmas traditions started week before last. Each Sunday in the run up to Christmas we watch one of the Harry Potter films, and by the time they’re all done the big day is upon us. I just think there’s something about the films that screams Christmas plus it gives us a chance to curl up in front of the fire on a gloomy English Sunday afternoon and spend time together with the kids who, as they get older, are often keen to be anywhere else.
While I am at it I have another confession. On Sunday we had our first family Christmas get together. Now I know it is only mid November but my Dad works in Kazakhstan much of the year and this was the last chance we had to get together before he goes away until the new year so we had lunch (not a festive one as the Christmas menu was not yet out) and exchanged gifts. This has become something of a tradition in recent years, and we now seldom meet over the Christmas period.
Funny you know, but I had intended for this to be something of a rant about the things I don’t like about Christmas – and there are many, but over recent years I have learned to enjoy it more than I ever did, and I think perhaps it is because as a family we are making our own traditions and not simply slotting in with other peoples.
Yes we see our families and friends, but when it works for us instead of it feeling like an obligation. It’s selfish perhaps, but sometimes it is important to consider what you need first because just pleasing others at your own expense isn’t always a good thing, as selfless as it might seem.
Do you have any traditions that you’re excited about?
Anyway, see you tomorrow for ‘D is for Duran Duran’
Some families aren’t always what they seem…
Thanks to Michelle for the prompt
“Dude what the hell have you done?”
“I know I know, but he was keeping me awake all night every night. I couldn’t take it anymore, I snapped.”
“So you just bashed his head in? No one complains about you.”
“You gotta understand man, the wheezing – it never stopped. Night after night it just went on and on and on I couldn’t take it.”
“Oh the boss is so going to go ballistic man.”
“Shit shit shit shit shit!”
“Get a mop, bucket and tarpaulin. We’ll sort it”
“Oh gosh thanks man really, thank you!
“The seven dwarfs sounds better anyway…”
Photo courtesy of pixabay
On Sundays I think I will on occasion re blog an early most which post of you will never have read.
For my darling wife and my beloved children.
I write this to you in a moment of clarity, which these days are sadly so very few. They tell me I do not recognise you any more and that your names are lost to me, my mind fragile and my memories faded. I write this with haste as I know not when the clarity will slip through my fingers.
Today, of all days, I remember you. I remember it all. A lifetime of memories too many to repeat and my heart swells with joy at the life I have lived. The face of my beloved wife on our wedding day, holding each of you in my arms and the laughter – such laughter – of a life well lived and so widely shared.
Each and every Christmas is as clear in my mind as the day I lived it first, I recall each first day at school, each scraped knee, each lost tooth and every candle blown out on each and every cake. I remember those special moments that I shared with each of you that I cherish while I can and that overwhelm me so suddenly that I am given to tears of joy.
To my beautiful children, the pride I felt as you grew and blossomed and built lives of your own fills me now as it did every day watching you. To my wife, my love, my friend , my everything you were my inspiration and my light and I would gladly give every day I have left for just one more walk with you arm in arm.
Do not remember me as I am but rather as I was, and I ask that you mourn not the loss but rather savour each moment we have lived and loved and laughed.
They tell me that you may be here later, it is my Birthday after all, though alas I fear by then I will be lost to you again. If that is so then I would have you know that I will love each of you always, and in my heart I remember you.
There’s no love like the love a mother has for her baby right?
Written in response to Michelle’s writing prompt which you can see here.
A shrill scream pierced the night, and had Adam scrambling from his bed before he was even properly awake, heart racing. He flew from the bedroom calling for his wife, his head spinning and not daring to guess what had happened.
“Oh god, In here” came her voice, barely recognisable, “I’m in the babies room.”
Adam ran to the room and stopped in the doorway. Jane was sat in the dark, quite still in an old rocking chair in the corner. In her arms, wrapped in the blanket her mother had bought for them, was the baby.
He hurried over to her. “What’s wrong, is she okay?” he pulled back the blanket that he could see her face. He knew straight away that she was not. Her eyes were wide open, unblinking, and her expression unchanging and her body motionless. “Jesus, her eyes Jane – what’s happened.”
Jane couldn’t reply, she simply sat holding the bundle tightly in her arms.
Adam took a closer look and realised that all the colour had disappeared from her eyes and they were completely black.
“I’ll call an engineer” he said placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “It will be okay Jane.”
“I don’t want a fucking engineer” she screamed, “I want my baby!”
“Jane please” Adam said, not really knowing what to say, “They’ll know what to do”.
He didn’t wait for a response, and after a few minutes returned to the room. “They’re on the way it won’t be long at all” he said, but she was not listening, she simply sat staring at her baby, crying.
After what seemed like an eternity a tall man in a sharp black suit arrived at the house and Adam lead him upstairs to the nursery.
“Mrs Goodwin” he said, reaching for the bundle in her arms, “time is of the essence, Please.”
Not looking up she allowed the stranger to take her baby and watch him leave the room with it.
“I will be in the next room” he said, “If you could just wait in here I will need to run full diagnostics.”
Adam stood next to his wife, nodded, and watched the engineer take the baby from the room.
Neither of them spoke, simply waiting for the engineer’s return. Adam reached for his wife’s hand but she pulled away sharply.
“Mr Goodwin” came a voice “Could you come through please.”
Jane looked up at him and nodded. “I’m okay. Go” she said.
Entering the guest bedroom his stomach lurched as he saw his daughter lying on the bed, a panel in the side of her head open and a connection from her head leading to a small tablet that lay on the bed next to her.
“What’s happened “He asked calmly, “what’s happened to our daughter.”
The Engineer paused struggling for words.
“I …” he hesitated. He needed to put this into terms Adam would understand. “There’s been a catastrophic failure” he said rubbing his chin “the main learning core went into overload and the emergency backup overwrote the last good file and we’ve lost everything. All her memories and learning are gone”
He waited for Adam to reply but Adam stood silent.
“I’ve checked for an offsite backup but it looks like you never paid for the service – so I have nothing to work with.”
“We only just had enough for the basic model” Adam said, his face now pale. “I thought it would be okay” he continued “I never told Jane, we just wanted the baby so badly. Surely there must be something we can do?”
The engineer placed his tablet back into his bag and packed his tools away. “Mr Goodwin, I am sorry sir” he said, “but there really is nothing that can be done to restore her to her last known state. The best I can do is to flush the bios and do a factory reset but you will have to restart the whole programme and the last three months learning will be lost. Even then I cannot guarantee this won’t happen again. You should have taken the extended warranty sir.”
Pesky butterflies – Weekly Weather Challenge: Hurricane
A generous portion of life – #Writephoto Challenge
Photo courtesy of Kuloser @ pixabay
Flavius laughed as he took the long handled spear from the older man. “Honestly, what are you like” he replied “you don’t really think he’s the son of god do you?”
“I’m not doing it ” insisted Octavio, thrusting the spear into the hand of the younger legionnaire. “You can do it, my sister has been going on about this fellow for some time and she will not forgive me if I start getting all stabby with him.”
Flavius laughed as he took the long handled spear from the older man. “Honestly, what are you like” he replied “you don’t really think he’s the son of god do you?”
They both looked up at the bedraggled man hanging on the cross in front of them. He really wasn’t having a very good day.
“And besides” Flavius continued, “do you really think giving him a bit of a poke in the side with a spear is any worse than nailing him to a cross? You didn’t seem to mind a bit of hammering earlier”
Octavio shoved the younger man “Just shut up will you” he said rather annoyed. The thought of his sister finding out about his role in this whole affair had him feeling rather on edge.
“You don’t know my sister okay, once she gets a bee in her bonnet about something she is most persistent. No one saw me nailing anyone to anything, I just don’t want to be doing any stabbing okay.”
Flavius shook his head. “I really do think that you ought to worry less about what your sister thinks and worry more about keeping that lot at bay” he said, motioning to a small crowd that had gathered not too far off. “They look like they might try something. We had a lot try and rescue a chap a while back – one of the lads lost a couple of fingers.”
Octavio really didn’t think they looked like any bother at all and looked up at the man on the cross. Blood ran down his face where the crown of thorns he was wearing had dug into his flesh. “Listen mate” Octavio said shuffling nervously, his sister had seemed pretty convinced about this fellow. “I really am sorry about this you know – just following orders and all that.”
The man grimaced and he turned his head to look at the legionnaire. He attempted to speak, but could manage only a whisper. “May I ask of you a favour” he said, his eyes dark and his lips dry and cracked.
Octavio looked around an noticed that Flavius was watching the people gathered some way off.
“If I can, I suppose” he muttered quietly not wanting to be heard.
“Will you give a message to my dad for me?”
Octavio nodded. He did not intend to but it was the least he could do after nailing him to a cross. The man on the cross really did not look in a very good way at all. He grimaced in agony as the thick iron nails tore into his flesh.
“Tell him I’m still not tidying my bedroom…”
Fly me to the moon – Sunday photo fiction
just a few thoughts before I start the day
Just a few thoughts on the hotel before we head out and see what the day has to hold.
Other peoples kids
Drunkards bouncing down the hall
Four people one room
A night time cocophony
Really need a nap
Lying in my bed
Inches from another soul
In another room
Please shut your kids up
Next time we go up market
Tired and grumpy
Right…im off for an ice cream and to dip my toes in the icy north sea. I will let you know how it goes.
The 35 Minute ride across the lake provides some rather lovely views of unspoiled coastlines and magnificent houses which you will never be able to afford…
I have only once ever before tried my hand at sharing something one might class at travel, which you can read here. it is not my strong point, so in the interest of self improvement here’s a little something else covering a recent trip with the family to the lakes.
Departing Lakeside on a grey yet pleasant day in the English Lake District we boarded the Tern, built in 1891, and headed out across Lake Windermere for the town of Bowness where we hoped to take in the World of Beatrix Potter exhibit and feed some ducks maybe.
The children were quick to confirm that the Tern does not in fact have on board WiFi and that in the middle of the lakes there is little or no 4G connection which is apparently ridiculous, stupid and completely backwards and likely to ruin your a previously rather pleasant morning.
The 35 Minute ride across the lake provides some rather lovely views of unspoiled coastlines and magnificent houses which you will never be able to afford and that may leave you feeling just a little dissatisfied with your lot in life. On the upside, the boat had clean toilets and a bar, which was nice.
The view from the stern of the boat offered fantastic views across the tranquil waters and also kept us away from the family who seemed set on allowing their screaming child to spoil said tranquillity with his monstrous howling inside the covered decks.
Historical and picturesque Bowness greets it’s visitors with a typically English understatedness and an array of row boats lined up which you can apparently rent but that most folk just take photos of because they have their good walking shoes on and don’t want to get wet.
A short walk through Bowness will bring you to the rather lovely Beatrix Potter attraction where you can enjoy an interactive 40 minutes with the wonderful characters of her books whilst liberal hippy looking types ram into the back of your legs with their prams and children named Sebastian and Bella run wild whilst their floppy haired father sips on his Starbucks and celebrates his children’s uniqueness.
What better way to pass time waiting for the boat back than a quick tootle on the land train. This was made extra special by the chap who seemed more content on playing candy crush and wishing for a different life that preventing his kids from hanging out of the carriage windows.
Throw in a packed lunch and a spot of shopping and It was back on the boat headed back to Lakeland for a quite magnificent afternoon tea. With magnificent waters edge views, sumptuous clotted cream and damson jam and the lightest of scones it was a quite perfect end to the day. It was also perfectly overpriced, just enough to keep the riff-raff out.
A perfect end to a lovely day.
here’s a few more photos if you’re still reading 🙂
Flo and Darren plan a dirty weekend away…
A couple I know, call them Darren and Flo
Decided some “them” time was needed
So they packed off the boys, with their books clothes and toys
to grand parents to whom they had pleaded
“Please just for tonight, they said they won’t fight
and we’ll set off back early to home
they’re really not bad, and we’d be oh so glad!”
half a weekend away – all alone!
To a hotel they drove, up the coast near the cove
lovely beach, seafood joint and big bed 😉
“This is just what we need!” Flo declared, he agreed
“Dirty weekend away!” Darren said.
Hand on thigh as they drive, not too late they arrive
short trek, they retire to the bed
“in the mood?” he enquires, but alas it transpires
Flo then asks for some pills for her head.
“Just unpack – in a while, I’ll be fine” Flo does smile
“Then I’m yours you can do as you will!
you can tie me and ravage, go to town get quite savage
but for now will you get me my pill?”
“Yes of course” he agrees… he would tremble her knees
just like when they first met way back when
and they’d make love all night – what a glorious sight
they’d skip breakfast and start it again.
But to his great despair, fast asleep in the chair
he awakes with a knock at the door
Knock, Knock, Knock “it’s House keeping… you awake or you sleeping?””
The evening had promised much more!
Still a breakfast enjoyed as they talk of the boys
and how odd it is here all alone
“Do you think they’re okay?” Daz to Flo then does say
“Let me call them quick, pass me my phone”
It turns out they were fine, “slept from 8 through ’till 9
been no bother at all!” Gran does say
“Did you have a good night, was the hotel alright,
shall I tell them you’re now on you’re way?”
“So perhaps not quite bliss” Darren says with a kiss
and Flo smiles as he kisses her head
“at least we slept well, and were rested and hell
we woke up with no kids in the bed!”
Fancy something else?
Picture courtesy of espressoili @ pixabay
No lies, it’s about precisely nothing
Upon seeing the daily prompt, ‘Partner’, I would imagine that I was not alone in thinking that this would be an ideal opportunity to write a piece on my relationship with my wife. It would be insightful and honest and lay bare the ups and downs of a modern relationship.
I imagined that I would share wisdom and experience in a light hearted yet uplifting way and it would prove enlightening and encouraging for others as they would see their own relationship in ours. I would talk about love and compromise and friendship and laughter and…
Okay…I’ll stop there. I can’t type that with a straight face.
I was mostly going to write about the impact of going to the toilet in front of one’s partner. I had also considered something humorous on how to be certain that the kids are asleep and not just pretending and instead hatching a plan to burst into the bedroom with a “Surprise!!!” at the most inopportune moment.
Both of those will not now see the light of day though as I mentioned the general ‘Partner’ subject to my wife and her reaction was “as long as you don’t write about me I don’t care what you write.” There was no malice in it though she did, quite coincidentally, have a rather large knife in her hand at the time so I took her advice seriously.
Therefore, this is mostly a piece about what you will not be reading, so I posted it with a picture of a cat just because.
Want to read more of my stuff?
Photo courtesy of cocopasasienne @ Pixabay