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.

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/

 

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/

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.

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/

On being really fat

They say one should write about what one knows, so I I think I shall perhaps write about being fat.

They say one should write about what one knows, so I I think I shall perhaps write about being fat.

Now, I don’t yet know if it will be a cake and pork fuelled celebration of my wobbly belly and chafing thighs or whether I shall use this as a shameful catalyst to stir me in my eternal attempt to lose weight.  I haven’t quite worked myself up to a commitment one way or another yet having only just penned the thought, plus I have a rather nice hot beef and mustard sandwich that needs to be eaten before I do any sort of serious decision making.

Now if I was to attempt to lose weight, which I indeed might but let’s not be too hasty as we are still working through the premise for this piece, then It obviously goes without saying that typing will not help me shed a single chin.  I am also pretty sure that a few of the particularly energetic amongst you may well be thinking that I should simply stop typing right now, wipe the quite delicious beef juice from my chubby little fingers and get myself on a treadmill or go for a nice walk.  I won’t argue against that point, and the matter of the treadmill is one I will address another time most likely, but for now I think I shall  either, but I shall persist with writing something first at that was my aim when I sat down.  That and to eat my rather delicious sandwich which I have done whilst typing this.

So where to next I ask myself.  I am not certain yet but how about I float a couple of ideas to see whether any of them stir me as to my preferred course of action:

·       When bending over to pick things up became an embarrassment to my children.

·       Why my jeans need pulling up whenever I stand.

·       Failing at not being fat.

·       Stamina, what stamina.

·       I woke up with a lollipop stuck to my jumper

·       What do you mean I have piles!

·       Late night eating by refrigerator light.

·       Please put a shirt on the neighbours might see you.

As much as that feels like Weird Al album track listing,  I think I might have enough ideas to take this somewhere you know. 

Perhaps I will see you next time when I tackle the difficult subject of ‘Why my bathroom scale hates me and lies just to make me feel bad about myself’.

 

 

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

Soil – An Armitage Tangent

“A scotch egg is not a fruit!” Wednesday insisted forcefully, “it is an egg wrapped in sausage meat then crumbed and deep fried!”

 “A scotch egg is not a fruit!” Wednesday insisted forcefully, “it is an egg wrapped in sausage meat then crumbed and deep fried!” 

“All I’m saying” replied Thomas, “Is that if you use your imagination, and think of it maybe as a meat apple then it maybe could be.”  He paused for a moment.  “Don’t you think?”

Wednesday did not think.  Not for one moment. 

“Why do you insist on being so completely ridiculous?” He ranted, face flushed and his jaw clenched.  “I swear you do it just to annoy me!”

“What if I gave you an apple flavoured one?”

“That’s a bloody apple!” Wednesday raged.  “We’ve got a job to do here – stop going on about scotch egg flavoured apples and apple flavoured scotch eggs and dig!”

“What about an orange flavoured one?”

“Ok, you know full well  that an orange flavoured apple flavoured scotch egg is a bleeding orange!”  A vein pulsed just above his right temple.  “Just keep digging and stop being an idiot.”

Thomas allowed himself just a little smile.  He loved Wednesday deeply but he was a frightful bore at times and took things far too seriously.  No imagination at all sadly.  “It’s nature’s goodness Wednesday” he grinned, attempting to push the large brown pork ball into his friend’s hand.  “Here”, he said “Take a bite they’re delicious!”

Wednesday hit Thomas’ hand away and the scotch egg fell to the floor “Stop it!” he shouted, “I don’t want a bloody pork apple!”

“So you admit it then!”  Thomas laughed in delight, picking up the scotch egg from the floor “Oh Wednesday, you are funny.  You won’t grow if you don’t eat your vegetables” he teased.

Wednesday did not find any of this funny at all.  His sense of humour was not his strong suite.  It served very little purpose in his line of work.

“Just keep digging the hole and then we’ll get out of here” he said thrusting a shovel into Thomas’ free hand.

“I don’t see why I always have to do the digging “ said thomas “you could help”.

Wednesday rolled his head, bones cracking in his neck.  “You dig because I do most of the killing” he replied curtly.  “If you want to do more of the killing then I will quite happily dig but if you insist of eating scotch eggs and being an idiot then you get to dig.”

“I only asked, bloody hell mate” Thomas said “This should be deep enough anyway, drag him over I’ll get him covered up.”

Thomas shovelled the majority of the soil over what was quite obviously the body of a rather portly gentleman, a single polished shoe protruding from a thick white wrapping that did very little to hide what was inside.

“Job Done” Thomas said satisfactorily, brushing the dust from his clothes.

Wednesday smiled “You got any of those scotch eggs left, I’m starving.”

 

 

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

Armitage – Part 5

Koala Jackson was consumed by exactly none of the fear or trepidation that filled Armitage whenever he considered what lie before him.   In fact, she possessed mostly none of the attributes which made Armitage the opposite of whatever would likely pass as perfect for this mission.  Not to say he did not have admirable qualities, he did, but the ability to work with spreadsheets, support charities or put up a small shelf in the kitchen were highly unlikely to be required at any point in the near future.

With Close to two dozen rift missions under her belt, Koala was as close to a veteran of these things as you were going to find.   At 6 ft 2 she posed a striking figure, especially for a woman – which she quite obviously was.  Throw in piercing blue eyes, broad shoulders and a rather intimidating yet situationally perfect crew cut she was not to be trifled with.  Drop her into military fatigues and pop a couple of weapons in her surprisingly elegant hands and trifling was the furthest thing from Armitage’s mind.  This was most certainly a non trifling situation.

“Shanks!” she shouted over as Armitage stepped from the car, “Front and centre.  You too Goodwin!”

Goodwin scurried over, pulling on Armitage’s sleeve to hurry him along.  He’d seen enough television to know what she meant by ‘front and centre’ he just never quite imagined he’d need to be either front or centre and the confusion showed on his face as she barked again.

“Move it Shanks, we don’t have all day!”

“I really do think there has been a terrible misunderstanding ” he said gingerly, his feet shifting uncomfortably as he spoke.

“Did the receptionist send you?” she asked

Armitage confirmed with a nod and mumbled unintelligibly about clerical errors and voices in his head.

“Then there is no mistake.  The receptionist does not make mistakes!”

It was at this point, looking about, that he realised that a couple of slices of marmalade on toast and a cup of tea were not going to get him through the day.   He knew where he was, but it was very much changed from the last time he was here.  The Local football team ground had been commandeered by the Rift Police and the large car park to the front of the ground, where he now found himself, was now home to row upon row of military green tents.  Large stacks of crates were dotted about here and there and the place swarmed with gnarled looking , heavily armed, military types.

“Don’t look so worried shanks!” barked Jackson loudly, “What’s the worst that can happen eh?”

Armitage was pretty sure that she was making a joke, but the stony look on her face quite the opposite and he wondered for a moment whether this was a question.  Armitage had a good imagination, and right now he could picture plenty of things that would be considerably worse than that which he would have imagined were he asked the same question less than 24 hours earlier.

Jackson continued, addressing both Armitage and Goodwin jointly.  “Now I imagine you want to know why you’re here”.  She did not wait for him to respond.  “You have been  been chosen by the receptionist to accompany me and my team into the rift at 18 hundred hours. ”

Armitage felt suddenly rather unwell.  His brain insisted, quite elegantly and persuasively,  that it was simply a ludicrous idea to even consider such a thing, and who the devil did the council think it was to be asking perfectly unassuming members of the public to undertake what was quite obviously a military mission.  It was not on and he would like to speak to whomever was in charge because this simply would not do.

Unfortunately, all of this came out as a rather unconvincing “Mnneeegghh”.

“Excellent” she said, “well now that that is all squared away Goodwin will show you to your tent and get you settled” and with that she strode off purposely towards the tents and disappeared.

Armitage stood for a while then looked across at Goodwin.  “This way then Armitage” he said, almost cheerily, and set off in the same general direction as Jackson.

Entering the large green tent it was everything he had ever seen on television, back when there was any television to speak of.  Two rows of four beds lined each side of the tent and to the right of the head of each bed there was a small metal cupboard and at the foot of the bed a large green metal trunk.  Piled neatly on the end of the bed was a sheet, blanket, pillow and pillow case.

“Pick any one ” instructed Goodwin, waving a hand towards the beds “might be worth making up the bed too in case you want to grab some sleep before things get a bit crazy.”

“Why am I here?” Armitage asked emptily.

Goodwin chuckled and sat on the edge of one of the beds, his hands folded in his lap.  It was always the same routine.  The Receptionist picks them out, lands him with them and he has to explain why some poor regular run of the mill nobody is about to pop into a rift in time and space.

“Pretty simple really ” he answered, “Turns out you’re most probably genetically predisposed to rift travel.”

Goodwin paused for dramatic effect, his slightly too apart eyes not blinking to heighten the tension.  This was his favourite part.  “I say probably because it did go wrong once and …” He paused again.  “Well lets just say that should this not go well your wife will receive a rather nice bouquet of flowers and a card expressing the council’s sincerest condolences. ”

Armitage thought he was going to be sick again.  He seemed to be feeling this way a lot today and he was pretty sure that it was nothing to do with the marmalade.

“There are things to see and places to go in this universe Armitage,  well beyond that which you could ever comprehend” he continued, “and we need your unique genetic code unlock the rift to allow Jackson and her team to pass through.”

“Oh this is bloody stupid” he replied, the combination of nausea and confusion overwhelming him somewhat.  That was all he could muster other than “I really don’t feel well at all”.

“Lie down a while” replied Goodwin still smiling “It will be fine.” He paused again.  “Probably”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Image :https://www.bing.com/images/search?view=detailV2&ccid=e48dXtHN&id=A5ABBE65EF8506F45F1B27322227D48F9A7408A2&thid=OIP.e48dXtHNxGyT3KHbFDIFngEkEs&q=another+dimension&simid=608012592998056987&selectedIndex=77&ajaxhist=0

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bernard and Charles – Daily prompt

“Ill tell you what Charles” said Bernard, shuffling his newspaper and staring out of the large communal room window.  His eyes followed an older woman in a blue dress being walked by a small pack of dogs on the lawn outside. “Things are a lot better than they used to be you know”.

“Uh-huh, is that so?” replied Charles distantly, not looking up from his cross word and scratching his head through a thick mop of white hair.  He was having a real problem with three across.

“Oh yes, absolutely” Bernard insisted.  “Look at the world now.  It’s not like in our day Charles.  Kids don’t know how lucky they have it.”

Charles muttered loudly “20th century Canadian Liberal, four letters”?

Bernard wasn’t listening, intent only on voicing his opinions whilst continuing to watch the woman in the blue dress, who was now struggling to disentangle herself from the dog leashes which were now wrapped around her legs.

“They never had to deal with any of the things we had to deal with in our day you know!”

Charles lifted his head from his crossword.  “And what was it we had to deal with Bernard?” he asked.  Three across was really starting to frustrate him.

Bernard fell quiet, staring out of the window, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance.

Charles knew it was mean of him to do that, he knew that Bernard wouldn’t remember.  He never did.

The woman in the blue dress had lost her battle with the dogs and was now attempting pick up a jack Russell in one hand and at the same time prevent the Chihuahua from attempting to mount a rather indifferent looking Rottweiler with the other.

Suddenly Bernard returned to the room, his face animated.  “Now that’s ambition Charles” he exclaimed, pointing towards the woman in the blue dress.

“Look at that, that little bugger doesn’t know it’s a Chihuahua!  It thinks it’s a Rottweiler Charles!”.

Charles looked over, smiling at his old friend.  “Indeed it does Bernard, indeed it does”

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

 

 

 

 

I don’t have a dog called Caper – Daily prompt

I do not have a dog, and his name is not Caper.  That is to say If I did have a trusted canine companion, then I am sure that Caper would be his name.  Not Brian, nor Carl.

 

 

I do not have a dog, and his name is not Caper.  That is to say If I did have a trusted canine companion, then I am sure that Caper would be his name.  Not Brian, nor Carl.

We do not go for long walks, and I do not have a special stick that I throw for him which he retrieves with such pleasure, dropping it at my feed for a treat and great praise.  If though , as I have supposed,  I did have a dog – named Caper (not Brian nor Carl)  – then we would most definitely enjoy the outdoors more than I do now and he would always be there for me through thick and thin as only a dog called caper could be.

I do not have a dog named Caper and Caper and I do not sit on the couch on a Saturday night and watch television and eat pizza together, but if we did it would definitely be pepperoni because that would be his favourite I am sure and Caper would almost certainly eat the crusts that I leave.

Because I do not have a dog named Caper, each morning I am not awakened by him, and he is not happy to see me as much today as yesterday but not quite as much as he will be tomorrow.

I do not have a dog, and his name is not Caper and he did not run out into the road in front of a car.

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

via Daily Prompt: Caper

 

Welcome to Afterwards

You won’t leave feeling affirmed or inspired but you might just crack a smile at something you shouldn’t, and that is okay because I wont tell anybody. Someone even laughed out loud once but then had to pretend it was something funny they read elsewhere because it was wholly inappropriate and they were a bit ashamed but mostly amused.

You won’t leave feeling affirmed or inspired but you might just crack a smile at something you shouldn’t, and that is okay because I wont tell anybody.  Someone even laughed out loud once but then had to pretend it was something funny they read elsewhere because it was wholly inappropriate and they were a bit ashamed but mostly amused.