Feel free to comment - i can still make changes up to tomorrow :-)
Part 1
In 500 words, write a complete mini-story where the central character is a child. Write it from the child’s narrative point of view (using ‘I’), and in the past tense. Pay attention to the kind of language a child might use; add to the observations particular to a child. Use as your setting: a busy city street, where something has just happened, before the story actually begins. Use some dialogue.
Promises
Mum almost never promised me anything. She’d always say, “We’ll see.” or “It depends on your behaviour.” or “I’ll ask your Dad.” So when she promised me a light sabre for my birthday, I knew that she would keep this one.
On the afternoon of my seventh birthday, she took me into town on a shopping trip. Dad was at work as usual and that was ok. We went on the bus and Mum let us sit upstairs at the front. It was one of those dark days and by the time we got there it was raining and all the city lights shone on the roads and pavements.
“Mum, can we go to McDonalds?” I gave her my bestest smile.
“Hmmm, we’ll see,” she said as we got off the bus, but she smiled too and I knew what she meant.
The streets were very busy and noisy; people were hurrying to get out of the rain and were pushing and barging each other. I held Mum’s hand tightly. I didn’t like all these people, something didn’t feel right, but I was ok with Mum and didn’t mind looking at clothes and shoes as we visited one shop after the other.
I tugged on her hand as she was looking at yet more shoes. “Mum, what about my present?”
“You have had lots of presents already today.”
I knew that she was just teasing me though. She put down the shoe and led me out into the rain once more. We walked very fast and I had to almost run to keep up, but soon we were there, in the biggest toyshop I had ever seen. Toys were piled high and the shop seemed to go on forever.
“Want to look round Jimmy?”
I looked up into her smiling face and said, “I know what I want Mum”, in a serious voice. “It has to be a blue one”, I added, tugging her towards the Star Wars section of the shop. “Nothing else will do.”
At last I held it in my hand, whirling it around my head as Mum paid the lady at the desk. I heard the whummmping noise as it cut through the air. I was Luke Skywalker and I was happy.
“Thanks Mum. You’re the greatest!”
“Happy birthday Jimmy”, She replied. “Come on, time for that McDonalds.” She took my other hand and pulled me back into the street, my sabre shining brightly in the darkness.
Then someone was shouting, and everyone around us began to run towards us. We had to turn around and run too. I heard the word “bomb” and people began to scream loudly as we ran faster and faster. I tripped over but Mum still gripped my hand. My new sabre fell to the pavement and was lost instantly as the crowds pushed us onwards and away.
Somewhere, far away there was a loud bang and Mum stopped and hugged me tightly. All I could think of was my lost birthday present.
(502 words)
Part 2
In 500 words, write a mini portrait of a character, in either past or present tense. In this story, note, there needn’t be any significant plot; concentrate instead on describing both the character and place, and on conveying a particular mood – and state this mood as the title of your story.
Regrets?
John Francis was thirty-five, though he had changed little since he was eighteen. He wore his white BNP tee shirt, neatly pressed, rolled up blue jeans, red braces and highly polished lace up boots with a fanatical pride. White scars of many battles, showed through his closely cropped hair and the blue black swastika tattoos seemed strangely incongruous as his fingers caressed the keyboard, producing the wonderful sound of the Beethoven Sonata.
The music filled the spacious, elegantly decorated drawing room, filtering out and permeating the rest of the house. Full of pathos and sadness and yet also brimming with life and optimism, the musical soul of the great man was emerging through the damaged mind of John Francis.
There was no sign of emotion in his steely blue eyes, yet what flowed from his fingers was sublime. He had shown great musical promise in his early years and had been encouraged by his parents, who, though financially burdened, paid for piano lessons as soon as he was big enough to reach the keys.
Moving to Bradford had changed everything. The inner city school was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and survival meant taking sides. The only protection available came from the gang that you chose to join. Life is about choices, even though sometimes it seems like there are none. His parents had chosen, then John had to choose, and for both there was no going back. Racial abuse had shortened his father’s life, and his Mother never recovered from the shock.
John’s eyes gazed around the unfamiliar room. The Wedgewood blue walls were in perfect keeping with the huge Georgian windows and the parquet floors. Display cabinets containing delicate porcelain, and heavily gilded framed paintings were the only furnishings apart from the grand Steinway. The Beethoven was the last piece that he had learned before the move to Bradford, and he recalled other wonderful pieces, each tagged with a memory. The room was perfectly constructed for the rich sounds of the very expensive piano and, closing his eyes for a moment, he imagined a very different present and a single tear formed in the corner of his eye.
Abruptly his eyes opened and he stopped playing. The last chord echoed around the room and as the music died, so did his temporary lapse into the past. He blinked away the unaccustomed wetness in his eye and listened to the silence of the house. Somewhere far off he could hear the ticking of an ancient clock, a reminder that he needed to leave.
Before long the police would be here; he knew that. Regretfully, and with great respect, he closed the lid of the piano, running his fingers over the beautifully polished finish.
He looked down at Abdul Patel, who lay in a pool of blood beneath the piano. The man, whose house he had just robbed was dead. John kicked him hard in the face, one more time and, before he left, used a curtain to wipe the blood from his toe-cap.
(505 words)
Part 3
In 500 words, write a story or part of a story that fictionalizes something that is mentioned on the radio when you go to turn it on now. Choose a setting which you describe somewhere in your 500 words, and tell this mini-story from the narrative point of view of a man or woman (a character) whom the story directly affects. Do not use any dialogue. Write it either in the past or present tense. Try to use clear, vivid language so that your reader can see the setting and character(s). Avoid cliché.
Young’s Modulus
I almost can’t believe what I did now, it seems that there was no limit to my vanity. But hey, he was quite a catch, and I couldn’t believe it when he suggested going back to his place. What a good job I am always prepared for such contingencies.
It had started as a girls night out; just the three of us you know how it is, and anyway we’d ended up at the Anchor. They have live music there and it’s always busy. We’d had a few vodka and tonics and then this bloke came over and asked me if I wanted to dance. Bev and Tracey didn’t seem bothered and so I said ok. He looked like a nice bloke anyway. So we danced, well we moved around to some music and he took every chance to get close. He didn’t actually grope me but I could tell it was on his mind.
It was close to chucking out time when he made his offer. I couldn’t think of any reason not to go until I realised that I had a problem.
I made my excuses and headed for the ladies. As always there was a queue, and the brazen or really desperate few were even using the men’s toilets. I needed privacy and had no choice but to wait my turn.
Eventually I got to the front of the line and dashed for the vacant cubicle, shut and bolted the door and sat down. The smell was pretty appalling, someone was puking up next door, and outside people were yelling for us all to get a move on. I hung my bag on the back of the door and with difficulty I unzipped my dress and being very careful not to let it touch the floor I stepped out of it and hung that up too.
My flesh coloured control pants, as they are known, were successfully holding everything in. They came all the way up to my boobs and all that flab was held in place tightly and securely. I couldn’t go back to his place wearing them . What would he think?
I began to peel them down. Not an easy thing to do, and as I applied more force, rolls of flesh began to spill out, so relieved to be released. Flesh seemed to be appearing from nowhere as tyre after tyre sprang forth. It was a nightmare, my flab was out of control and the garment seemed reluctant to let more out. Each time I pulled a bit down, another elasticated section seemed to regain hold. By this time I was sweating and imagining that I was forever attached to my garment, but I persisted and bit by bit they gave in and my confined mass reorganised itself.
As I was stepping out of them, a toe snagged in a fold of elastic. I lost my balance and also my grip on the fabric and to my horror I saw my precious pants catapult upwards and over the wall into the next cubicle.
(510 words)
Thursday 27 November 2008
Tuesday 25 November 2008
frustration
There are some kids around, who normally infest the skate park over the road. They are clearly bored with hurtling around on those bits of wood with wheels on, and have taken to running rampant through people's gardens, ringing doorbells and running away, and generally being obnoxious and unpleasant.
Our street is coffin dodger territory and many old folk get very worked up about this, as you can imagine. I just get pissed off and that makes me mad.
Last night i was sorely tempted to take a baseball bat around to the skatepark and have a good chat with the little sods, but i was dissuaded from going. Tonight may be a different matter. I plan to wait for them to arrive, I'll hide in the bushes and spring a rear guard action, hoping to catch one of them.
The police tell me that I cannot set traps, tripwires or land mines. i cannot shoot them, hit them or castrate them without being prosecuted myself. i am also told that because i have no fence ( i am not allowed a fence here) people can assume that they are welcome to wander my garden at will! So says the law!!! Should any of the little vermin trip and fall while running away, then it will be my fault and therefore i can be prosecuted.
If we can identify them - they all wear hoods, then they might just have a word with the parents but don't bank on it. Even if caught red handed the police might just give them a telling off. Meanwhile we suffer the vandalism and abuse and must tolerate it. I am afraid that I am not very tolerant, and will not lie down and be dictated to by these little shits. Why oh why can we not wake up as a society, to the fact that we are allowing the scum of society a free rein. Surely it is time to forget the concept of human rights as being an expectation for all. By terrorising innocent and vulnerable people, one must forfeit the right to be treated softly.
ps - If you don't hear from me I am in jail.
Our street is coffin dodger territory and many old folk get very worked up about this, as you can imagine. I just get pissed off and that makes me mad.
Last night i was sorely tempted to take a baseball bat around to the skatepark and have a good chat with the little sods, but i was dissuaded from going. Tonight may be a different matter. I plan to wait for them to arrive, I'll hide in the bushes and spring a rear guard action, hoping to catch one of them.
The police tell me that I cannot set traps, tripwires or land mines. i cannot shoot them, hit them or castrate them without being prosecuted myself. i am also told that because i have no fence ( i am not allowed a fence here) people can assume that they are welcome to wander my garden at will! So says the law!!! Should any of the little vermin trip and fall while running away, then it will be my fault and therefore i can be prosecuted.
If we can identify them - they all wear hoods, then they might just have a word with the parents but don't bank on it. Even if caught red handed the police might just give them a telling off. Meanwhile we suffer the vandalism and abuse and must tolerate it. I am afraid that I am not very tolerant, and will not lie down and be dictated to by these little shits. Why oh why can we not wake up as a society, to the fact that we are allowing the scum of society a free rein. Surely it is time to forget the concept of human rights as being an expectation for all. By terrorising innocent and vulnerable people, one must forfeit the right to be treated softly.
ps - If you don't hear from me I am in jail.
Thursday 20 November 2008
Education? Ha!
Sometimes I need to escape the present, although mostly these days, I do try to live each day for itself. being one whose tendency is to look back rather than forward, it is easy to recall the past with rose tinted memories, and yes we do tend to bury the bad experiences wherever possible.
I am reading a book called "It's Your Time You're Wasting" by an ex supply teacher who worked in inner city schools. It is essentially a catalogue of bad experiences that illustrate the sad state of so many of our classrooms, that have been systematically saboutaged by endless tinkering and interfering by political parties and educational theorists who have, along with some bloody useless teachers, wrecked the education of so many students over the years.
Yes there are useless teachers, and yes they are hard to get rid of, but there are even more useless educational theorists and administrators who are even harder to shift.
I can recall teaching colleagues, whose every day experience must have been a misery for them. Men and women who had no control whatsoever over their charges, and who would preside over riots within their classrooms, day after day. No learning could possible have taken place and yet each day these people would turn up and go through the whole fiasco, seemingly impervious to what was going on.
There were others who the kids loved, because they never made them do anything, or would allow them to do more or less anything that they wanted, other than work. The system allows it to happen, and as long as these people can tick all the right boxes when inspectors call then they get away with it year after year. I knew one teacher who was so incompetent at administration, that he was never allowed to have a registration group. He claimed that he couldn't see well enough to mark a register, so while the rest of us were dealing with out daily charges, he would sit in the staffroom, or his office, reading the small print of the financial times.
There were still more who, rather than press kids into extending themselves would make every lesson a joy by providing cut and stick exercises, which of course is a wonderful way to control a class as they can talk about anything and everything instead of actually learning anything.
The system as it is stinks. GCSE and the National curriculum replaced a perfectly good system of GCE and CSE examinations, which prepared kids for choices post 16. Now everyone is equal and pushed through the same hoops in a ridiculous attempt to improve standards. The kids know that it is a con and so do the teachers. OFSTED is a joke and schools get plenty of time to prepare for inspections, rendering them more or less invalid.
I'd like to see local politicians making spot visits to our schools. They'd find out what was really happening and perhaps something could be done to rescue the chances of our kids.
There are of course many excellent teachers out there and they deserve to be rewarded for what they manage to do despite the odds.
I am reading a book called "It's Your Time You're Wasting" by an ex supply teacher who worked in inner city schools. It is essentially a catalogue of bad experiences that illustrate the sad state of so many of our classrooms, that have been systematically saboutaged by endless tinkering and interfering by political parties and educational theorists who have, along with some bloody useless teachers, wrecked the education of so many students over the years.
Yes there are useless teachers, and yes they are hard to get rid of, but there are even more useless educational theorists and administrators who are even harder to shift.
I can recall teaching colleagues, whose every day experience must have been a misery for them. Men and women who had no control whatsoever over their charges, and who would preside over riots within their classrooms, day after day. No learning could possible have taken place and yet each day these people would turn up and go through the whole fiasco, seemingly impervious to what was going on.
There were others who the kids loved, because they never made them do anything, or would allow them to do more or less anything that they wanted, other than work. The system allows it to happen, and as long as these people can tick all the right boxes when inspectors call then they get away with it year after year. I knew one teacher who was so incompetent at administration, that he was never allowed to have a registration group. He claimed that he couldn't see well enough to mark a register, so while the rest of us were dealing with out daily charges, he would sit in the staffroom, or his office, reading the small print of the financial times.
There were still more who, rather than press kids into extending themselves would make every lesson a joy by providing cut and stick exercises, which of course is a wonderful way to control a class as they can talk about anything and everything instead of actually learning anything.
The system as it is stinks. GCSE and the National curriculum replaced a perfectly good system of GCE and CSE examinations, which prepared kids for choices post 16. Now everyone is equal and pushed through the same hoops in a ridiculous attempt to improve standards. The kids know that it is a con and so do the teachers. OFSTED is a joke and schools get plenty of time to prepare for inspections, rendering them more or less invalid.
I'd like to see local politicians making spot visits to our schools. They'd find out what was really happening and perhaps something could be done to rescue the chances of our kids.
There are of course many excellent teachers out there and they deserve to be rewarded for what they manage to do despite the odds.
Wednesday 19 November 2008
Out of control
When you go into hospital, the first thing that you lose is any control over what goes on. Your body, that you consider your own, becomes the property of the NHS, and you simply place it into the hands of strangers, that through necessity you trust.
I was instructed to report to the ward at 10.30 am for admission, and I, as always arrived punctually. The usual forms were filled in and my identity thoroughly checked before i was allowed to put on the ubiquitous backless nightie and begin the long wait.
I was informed that I was first on the afternoon list. To my knowledge ther is no morning one as a. the surgeons don't come in until midmorning and then they have to do the post op rounds. So anyway, at around 12.30, just as everyone else was being fed, i was walked up to the other end of the vast corridor and sat in a chair to wait. i was eventually put on a table at around 3.30, having finished all the crosswords and worked myself into a state. The next think i know is that i am being woken, back in the ward, with the whole world whirling around in circles. Threatre nurses stay a while to make sure that you are alive and breathing and then vanish, never to be seen again.
Periods of sleep, then waking as the ward fills and empties again, weird dreams and strange sensations come and go and then you are on your own again, left to sleep. If only that were possible!!
Hospital wards are, hot, light, and noisy. The staff talk loudly and to make matters worse, someone decided to dig up the road outside at around midnight. Any chance of sleep after that was destroyed by the guy in the next bed who snored loudly all night. Never before has a night seemed so long.
Sometime in the early hours, I needed to pee. Tentatively I got to my feet noticing that there was blood all over my pillow. I tottered out like an inebriate, past three nurses sitting at a desk, who kindly asked if I was ok. I said that I thought so but there was blood all over my pillow. I made the desperately required pit stop and while washing my hands noticed my heavily bandaged head and streams of red stuff running down my neck. So I wandered back, past said nurses and found that they had changed my pillow. No-one seemed interested in the cause of the bleeding so I went back to bed.
It seems from the stitching, that my ear was sliced away and folded forwards and glued to my face before they dug out the stuff that was causing the problem. Alas the damage was extensive and i have lost all of the functionality of the ear. Still better than the consequences of not having it done.
The ear is still bleeding and i am still dizzy, but thankfully there is no pain as yet. I have a sillier haircut than before and one ear sticks out so I look and feel a different person, but I am still here and can still put a few words together so i will not complain.
Thank you for all of your support, i appreciate that very much.
I was instructed to report to the ward at 10.30 am for admission, and I, as always arrived punctually. The usual forms were filled in and my identity thoroughly checked before i was allowed to put on the ubiquitous backless nightie and begin the long wait.
I was informed that I was first on the afternoon list. To my knowledge ther is no morning one as a. the surgeons don't come in until midmorning and then they have to do the post op rounds. So anyway, at around 12.30, just as everyone else was being fed, i was walked up to the other end of the vast corridor and sat in a chair to wait. i was eventually put on a table at around 3.30, having finished all the crosswords and worked myself into a state. The next think i know is that i am being woken, back in the ward, with the whole world whirling around in circles. Threatre nurses stay a while to make sure that you are alive and breathing and then vanish, never to be seen again.
Periods of sleep, then waking as the ward fills and empties again, weird dreams and strange sensations come and go and then you are on your own again, left to sleep. If only that were possible!!
Hospital wards are, hot, light, and noisy. The staff talk loudly and to make matters worse, someone decided to dig up the road outside at around midnight. Any chance of sleep after that was destroyed by the guy in the next bed who snored loudly all night. Never before has a night seemed so long.
Sometime in the early hours, I needed to pee. Tentatively I got to my feet noticing that there was blood all over my pillow. I tottered out like an inebriate, past three nurses sitting at a desk, who kindly asked if I was ok. I said that I thought so but there was blood all over my pillow. I made the desperately required pit stop and while washing my hands noticed my heavily bandaged head and streams of red stuff running down my neck. So I wandered back, past said nurses and found that they had changed my pillow. No-one seemed interested in the cause of the bleeding so I went back to bed.
It seems from the stitching, that my ear was sliced away and folded forwards and glued to my face before they dug out the stuff that was causing the problem. Alas the damage was extensive and i have lost all of the functionality of the ear. Still better than the consequences of not having it done.
The ear is still bleeding and i am still dizzy, but thankfully there is no pain as yet. I have a sillier haircut than before and one ear sticks out so I look and feel a different person, but I am still here and can still put a few words together so i will not complain.
Thank you for all of your support, i appreciate that very much.
Tuesday 18 November 2008
Sunday 16 November 2008
Sunday - I made it!
Well here we are - a complete week of entries. I didn't think I had it in me!
It has been a very busy week and there have been things that i have meant to do but somehow not got around to. I haven't even managed to tidy my desk, but that can wait until the morning, as can a shave and shower.
I actually managed to write a chapter of a novel that has been fermenting in my mind for so long, it must be getting toxic. The only trouble is i don't really know where it is heading. i guess when i get back i can start chapter 2 and then see where i end up. It is strange how, as a boy I hated writing, and now i can't seem to get enough time to write all the thoughts that cascade through me. i want to write and of course i want to be read. There is a vanity there i guess, but I am beginning to think that I can write in a way that others might actually want to read.
There is a downside to all this fervent activity. I seem to have lost time to read, and although i have five books on the go, I seem to lose focus on reading very quickly as new thoughts enter my head and I then need to write them down. All this takes time and I just don't seem to have enough of it.
I have wanted to write about the American election and the blame culture that is now crucifying Sarah Palin but somehow my heart isn't in it. I hate to kick someone who is down.
Anyhow, off to hospital tomorrow, i have to check in at 10.30 and then, if I haven't absconded in my backless gown, I am being done in the afternoon. No doubt there will be no sense from me tomorrow (no change there I hear you say) but I hope to be back on tuesday and will post a bulletin as soon as I am able. Be kind to yourself and be happy.
It has been a very busy week and there have been things that i have meant to do but somehow not got around to. I haven't even managed to tidy my desk, but that can wait until the morning, as can a shave and shower.
I actually managed to write a chapter of a novel that has been fermenting in my mind for so long, it must be getting toxic. The only trouble is i don't really know where it is heading. i guess when i get back i can start chapter 2 and then see where i end up. It is strange how, as a boy I hated writing, and now i can't seem to get enough time to write all the thoughts that cascade through me. i want to write and of course i want to be read. There is a vanity there i guess, but I am beginning to think that I can write in a way that others might actually want to read.
There is a downside to all this fervent activity. I seem to have lost time to read, and although i have five books on the go, I seem to lose focus on reading very quickly as new thoughts enter my head and I then need to write them down. All this takes time and I just don't seem to have enough of it.
I have wanted to write about the American election and the blame culture that is now crucifying Sarah Palin but somehow my heart isn't in it. I hate to kick someone who is down.
Anyhow, off to hospital tomorrow, i have to check in at 10.30 and then, if I haven't absconded in my backless gown, I am being done in the afternoon. No doubt there will be no sense from me tomorrow (no change there I hear you say) but I hope to be back on tuesday and will post a bulletin as soon as I am able. Be kind to yourself and be happy.
Saturday 15 November 2008
Saturday
Had a lot of strange dreams last night - I guess the inner tension is starting to show its presence.
Nothing much sort of day again. i wrote a little, and am now cooking a coq au vin for dinner - we have guests.
It is one of those dishes that sounds simple until you come to do it. preparation takes ages, not least of which
is the home made chicken stock. However it is done and simmering so i guess i need to shower and shave before they arrive.
I am only writing this to keep a clean sheet this week, with an entry for each day. One never knows which entry will be the last
so I press on and hope, always, to make one more.
Nothing much sort of day again. i wrote a little, and am now cooking a coq au vin for dinner - we have guests.
It is one of those dishes that sounds simple until you come to do it. preparation takes ages, not least of which
is the home made chicken stock. However it is done and simmering so i guess i need to shower and shave before they arrive.
I am only writing this to keep a clean sheet this week, with an entry for each day. One never knows which entry will be the last
so I press on and hope, always, to make one more.
Friday 14 November 2008
It's Friday
I am full of good intent, and one of my pledges to myself this week was that I would blog each day and also try to find something interesting to write about. Well i have managed to write each day that is true, but some days i do struggle to find things to say.
I did make a start on a personal writing project today, more on that another time. It is something that I set out to do once before but never had the will to see it through. there is no guarantee that this time will be any different but i will at least make an effort for now.
I have enjoyed this week, and there are still a couple of days to go, so I see no reason why i shouldn't manage the seven days. I have written a lot this week and have received some feedback, much of which has been useful, and I am grateful to anyone who takes that trouble. Criticising someone's work is always risky as you never really know how they will take it, and if you are like em then you probably hate upsetting people, however I am prepared to accept whatever anyone throws at me.
I have managed to consume nearly a whole pack of pistachio nuts today and feel a little bloated, but now it is off to the kitchen to make a curry - well it is friday after all and i haven't had a curry since last week.
I did make a start on a personal writing project today, more on that another time. It is something that I set out to do once before but never had the will to see it through. there is no guarantee that this time will be any different but i will at least make an effort for now.
I have enjoyed this week, and there are still a couple of days to go, so I see no reason why i shouldn't manage the seven days. I have written a lot this week and have received some feedback, much of which has been useful, and I am grateful to anyone who takes that trouble. Criticising someone's work is always risky as you never really know how they will take it, and if you are like em then you probably hate upsetting people, however I am prepared to accept whatever anyone throws at me.
I have managed to consume nearly a whole pack of pistachio nuts today and feel a little bloated, but now it is off to the kitchen to make a curry - well it is friday after all and i haven't had a curry since last week.
Thursday 13 November 2008
An ordinary day
Thursday, wet, cold and novemberish. I needed to press ahead with an assignment that is required for the first of the online tutorials. You can guess that it is scheduled for next week, while I am otherwise disposed. Oh well i spent today writing. The task seemed trivial at first but proved harder , and more rewarding than i thought. Given a list of twelve fairly mundane words, we have to write a few lines that brings each word to life. I hope i succeeded, as always feedback of a constructive nature is always welcome. Wow even destructive is ok, it means i am being read.
Mary
Mary, unlike her namesake, was no virgin. Her tired face, burdened by layers of hastily applied makeup, and illuminated by the harsh streetlight, appeared stark, colourless and unreal. Her cheap, revealing outfit did little to enhance a figure that had seen better days. She huddled and shivered in the thin, night air as she awaited her next client with no sense of anticipation at all.
Sorrow
The news of my brother’s death came as a complete shock. There was an initial inertia of disbelief, as I stumbled back to my lonely room, and as I closed the door on the world, reality began to diffuse into my consciousness, tears welled from the depths of my being and as I lay on my unmade bed, my body was racked with sobs excluding everything else. Never before had I understood the true meaning of sorrow.
Joy
The bonus ball was a six. He stared in disbelief as the numbers were put in sequence on the TV screen. He looked back at his lottery ticket and back at the screen, checking and double-checking and vaguely heard the presenter declaring that tonight there is just one lucky winner.
He couldn’t believe it; he had never won a thing in his life.
“And tonight’s jackpot is twelve million pounds” came through, penetrating his mind like a flash of lightning.
His problems were over; his debts could be finally paid and he could do whatever he wanted. Overwhelmed with joy, it took him seconds to realise what this meant to him.
“I’ve won the lottery Margaret,” he said quietly to the sour faced woman that his wife had turned into, and for the first time in years, she smiled, albeit icily.
“That’s nice,” she said in a sarcastic tone.
“Yes,” he replied, his heart almost bursting with a sense of newfound freedom. “You’d best get packed!”
She put down her knitting and for once showed an interest in what he was saying.
“Where are we going then?” she asked attempting to add warmness to her voice.
He looked at his wife with a look of utter contempt. “WE ain’t going nowhere! You are! Now clear off!”
Blue
Everything about the bedroom was cold. The small space was lit by a single blue bulb that hung from the ceiling on a frayed, fabric covered, flex. The weak light reflected evenly from the plain surfaces of the unpatterned walls and fabrics while intense black shadows hid underneath the bed and single chair. Their breath seemed suspended in thin blue clouds in the frigid air.
Mug
That mug meant a lot to me. Not that it was particularly special in itself. It was white, mass-produced and had the bright yellow face of Homer Simpson printed on it, but it had been a gift from someone very special.
Over the years it had become a part of my daily routine. It lived among the clutter of books and papers that also seemed permanent fixtures on my desk, and each tea break, I would rinse away the remnant of the previous drink under the cold tap before adding a fresh teabag and hot water. Never having been washed properly, the inner surface had gained a dense patina of dark brown tannins and a recent chip from the inner lip, stood out in stark contrast.
Why someone would want to steal it was beyond me.
Skirt
Her legs seemed to go on forever; an illusion accentuated by ridiculously high heels and the almost non-existent strip of fabric that the Carnaby Street Boutique dared call a skirt. The thin, floral printed, cotton garment that hung from her hips, left little to the imagination, and each tottering step that she made towards the front door revealed more than just a hint of white panties. She reached for the handle, but before she could turn it, her father’s voice boomed loudly the words that she had learned to dread.
“You are not going out looking like that!”
Shoe
The shoe felt heavy in her hand. The black, scuffed, faux leather was machine stitched and new looking laces were tied tightly in a double bow. Curious as to the strange weight, she peered inside it, immediately dropping it with an involuntary shriek. It still contained a foot.
John
John was approaching his sixtieth birthday, and as he aged was becoming more and more like his father. His once long, flowing hair had thinned and receded, while gravity had forced the migration of much of his flesh to his waistline. He mumbled, rather than spoke, and whenever his watery blue eyes met yours, it was over the rims of his reading glasses. He was working hard on his hypochondria, and enjoyed cataloguing his multiple complaints whenever anyone would take time to listen.
John had become what he had always despised. A pompous, self-righteous bigot.
Wednesday
Otherwise known as “Hump Day”, Wednesday was seen by the workforce as a day for optimism. The road towards the weekend seemed to be downhill from that point onwards, and for many it had the added advantage of being free from East Enders.
Car
His first car was a black, nineteen forties Austin 10. It lay in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by a sea of long grass, its engine and wheels long since removed. It had become a home for mice, birds and slow creeping rust and yet he revelled in the adventure as he sat on the tattered leather seat, smelling the decay and gripping the spindly steering wheel. He would drive for mile after mile, unable to see over the wheel or to reach the pedals, only returning when his mum called him in for tea.
Coffee
Being the last man on Earth wasn’t easy. There were no birds, cats, dogs, or even insects roaming the empty streets. He felt dreadfully alone as he explored the premises of what had been his hometown. There was no shortage of packaged food; he could pick up anything he needed and although there was nothing fresh, he still had plenty of choice and supplies to last his lifetime.
He stopped, his attention grasped by a new and intoxicating smell. Aromatic and strangely sweet, yet smoky fragrance drifted through the still spring morning, assaulting his sharpened olfactory sense and he felt his heart thumping in his chest for the first time in years. He knew that smell, and its significance. Someone was making fresh coffee.
Newspaper
I can still smell the vinegar soaked newspaper that once enhanced the whole fish and chips’ experience. At the end of a night out, what could be better than to stand at the bus stop, munching at the battered cod, whilst reading ancient news items from the grease stained and fragrant wrappings?
ps - guess which i found hardest??
Mary
Mary, unlike her namesake, was no virgin. Her tired face, burdened by layers of hastily applied makeup, and illuminated by the harsh streetlight, appeared stark, colourless and unreal. Her cheap, revealing outfit did little to enhance a figure that had seen better days. She huddled and shivered in the thin, night air as she awaited her next client with no sense of anticipation at all.
Sorrow
The news of my brother’s death came as a complete shock. There was an initial inertia of disbelief, as I stumbled back to my lonely room, and as I closed the door on the world, reality began to diffuse into my consciousness, tears welled from the depths of my being and as I lay on my unmade bed, my body was racked with sobs excluding everything else. Never before had I understood the true meaning of sorrow.
Joy
The bonus ball was a six. He stared in disbelief as the numbers were put in sequence on the TV screen. He looked back at his lottery ticket and back at the screen, checking and double-checking and vaguely heard the presenter declaring that tonight there is just one lucky winner.
He couldn’t believe it; he had never won a thing in his life.
“And tonight’s jackpot is twelve million pounds” came through, penetrating his mind like a flash of lightning.
His problems were over; his debts could be finally paid and he could do whatever he wanted. Overwhelmed with joy, it took him seconds to realise what this meant to him.
“I’ve won the lottery Margaret,” he said quietly to the sour faced woman that his wife had turned into, and for the first time in years, she smiled, albeit icily.
“That’s nice,” she said in a sarcastic tone.
“Yes,” he replied, his heart almost bursting with a sense of newfound freedom. “You’d best get packed!”
She put down her knitting and for once showed an interest in what he was saying.
“Where are we going then?” she asked attempting to add warmness to her voice.
He looked at his wife with a look of utter contempt. “WE ain’t going nowhere! You are! Now clear off!”
Blue
Everything about the bedroom was cold. The small space was lit by a single blue bulb that hung from the ceiling on a frayed, fabric covered, flex. The weak light reflected evenly from the plain surfaces of the unpatterned walls and fabrics while intense black shadows hid underneath the bed and single chair. Their breath seemed suspended in thin blue clouds in the frigid air.
Mug
That mug meant a lot to me. Not that it was particularly special in itself. It was white, mass-produced and had the bright yellow face of Homer Simpson printed on it, but it had been a gift from someone very special.
Over the years it had become a part of my daily routine. It lived among the clutter of books and papers that also seemed permanent fixtures on my desk, and each tea break, I would rinse away the remnant of the previous drink under the cold tap before adding a fresh teabag and hot water. Never having been washed properly, the inner surface had gained a dense patina of dark brown tannins and a recent chip from the inner lip, stood out in stark contrast.
Why someone would want to steal it was beyond me.
Skirt
Her legs seemed to go on forever; an illusion accentuated by ridiculously high heels and the almost non-existent strip of fabric that the Carnaby Street Boutique dared call a skirt. The thin, floral printed, cotton garment that hung from her hips, left little to the imagination, and each tottering step that she made towards the front door revealed more than just a hint of white panties. She reached for the handle, but before she could turn it, her father’s voice boomed loudly the words that she had learned to dread.
“You are not going out looking like that!”
Shoe
The shoe felt heavy in her hand. The black, scuffed, faux leather was machine stitched and new looking laces were tied tightly in a double bow. Curious as to the strange weight, she peered inside it, immediately dropping it with an involuntary shriek. It still contained a foot.
John
John was approaching his sixtieth birthday, and as he aged was becoming more and more like his father. His once long, flowing hair had thinned and receded, while gravity had forced the migration of much of his flesh to his waistline. He mumbled, rather than spoke, and whenever his watery blue eyes met yours, it was over the rims of his reading glasses. He was working hard on his hypochondria, and enjoyed cataloguing his multiple complaints whenever anyone would take time to listen.
John had become what he had always despised. A pompous, self-righteous bigot.
Wednesday
Otherwise known as “Hump Day”, Wednesday was seen by the workforce as a day for optimism. The road towards the weekend seemed to be downhill from that point onwards, and for many it had the added advantage of being free from East Enders.
Car
His first car was a black, nineteen forties Austin 10. It lay in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by a sea of long grass, its engine and wheels long since removed. It had become a home for mice, birds and slow creeping rust and yet he revelled in the adventure as he sat on the tattered leather seat, smelling the decay and gripping the spindly steering wheel. He would drive for mile after mile, unable to see over the wheel or to reach the pedals, only returning when his mum called him in for tea.
Coffee
Being the last man on Earth wasn’t easy. There were no birds, cats, dogs, or even insects roaming the empty streets. He felt dreadfully alone as he explored the premises of what had been his hometown. There was no shortage of packaged food; he could pick up anything he needed and although there was nothing fresh, he still had plenty of choice and supplies to last his lifetime.
He stopped, his attention grasped by a new and intoxicating smell. Aromatic and strangely sweet, yet smoky fragrance drifted through the still spring morning, assaulting his sharpened olfactory sense and he felt his heart thumping in his chest for the first time in years. He knew that smell, and its significance. Someone was making fresh coffee.
Newspaper
I can still smell the vinegar soaked newspaper that once enhanced the whole fish and chips’ experience. At the end of a night out, what could be better than to stand at the bus stop, munching at the battered cod, whilst reading ancient news items from the grease stained and fragrant wrappings?
ps - guess which i found hardest??
Wednesday 12 November 2008
So far so good
Well the week has been pretty much ok so far. I have been reasonably productive and have kept myself pretty busy. I finished and posted the first piece of work for my course and that is quite a large hurdle to get over. It is largely an online experience and written work is posted for everyone else to read and of course comment on, so it is a bit like taking one's clothes off in public. The brief was fairly open but had to be in the first person and limited to 500 words. That is in itself daunting. 500 words sounds like a lot until you try to tell a story. However i bit the bullet an posted mine yesterday and feedback has begun. Unsurprisingly, people are being very kind, and no mud is in evidence yet. It will only take one to start it though, unless of course everyone is going to be very civilised. I rather hope that will be the case. Interesting that so far no tutor comments have been forthcoming. It's like setting homework to a class and then getting the class to mark it!!!
Anyhow i thought you might like to read my first effort. maybe I'll post my stuff here too so that I have a record of what i do.
(Actually I exceeded the 500 words)
***********
The pain was intense, and seemed to have no distinct origin. Waves of agony swept through my body, intermingled with the dream. Lucid images of a girl and a bar kept flashing before me like a high speed slide show, each image erased by a new wave of pain.
I forced my eyes open, needing to escape from the dream but the pain remained, enhanced by reality. I tried to move but my body refused to respond to instructions. I could see nothing, the blackness was complete as was the silence. I was lying down, on a hard surface and held down by a blanket of coarse material.
I tried to make sense of what was happening, images came and went but nothing made sense. What the hell was happening to me? I told myself that this was a dream, even that the pain was just a dream. I recalled that I had gone out drinking, and as usual I had drifted from one bar to another. I had met a girl, that was no dream, ok I was drunk, but not that drunk, I must have groaned aloud.
I tried to bypass the pain, focussing on the memories that flashed rapidly through my mind, and gradually something began to make sense. There had been a girl, and we had gone back to her place; they all look beautiful at that stage of the evening. She plied me with more drink and that is all that I could remember.
Fresh waves of sheer agony swept through me and I guess that I blacked out. When I came to, there was a grey light filtering into the room through ragged curtains. I could see that the room was unfurnished and that I lay on my back on bare floorboards covered by a blanket. I could turn my head and move my hands but an attempt to make any other move led to excruciating pain.
The silence was broken by the muffled sound of a cell phone. It took me some while to realise that the source lay beneath the thin pillow, and with difficulty I reached for it, pressed a button and held it to my ear.
“Glad you are awake at last.” Said a strangely familiar female voice.
“Don’t try to move and just listen to me. To save you asking, your location is unimportant right now. I am just a girl you met and will probably never remember.”
I tried to fix her face in my mind but I couldn’t.
“I am calling to tell you that you need to get to hospital pretty quickly.”
“But why…..” I began, but she cut me off quickly.
“No questions. There is a number pre-programmed in the phone. Call the hospital and someone will come to get you.”
She gave me the address, I didn’t recognise the street name. I sensed that she hadn’t finished and waited for her to speak again.
There was a long pause then……….
“You are probably wondering about the pain. “ another long pause.
“We took both of your kidneys two days ago. You need medical help, I am sorry”
The line went dead. The silence that followed was broken only by my screams.
Anyhow i thought you might like to read my first effort. maybe I'll post my stuff here too so that I have a record of what i do.
(Actually I exceeded the 500 words)
***********
The pain was intense, and seemed to have no distinct origin. Waves of agony swept through my body, intermingled with the dream. Lucid images of a girl and a bar kept flashing before me like a high speed slide show, each image erased by a new wave of pain.
I forced my eyes open, needing to escape from the dream but the pain remained, enhanced by reality. I tried to move but my body refused to respond to instructions. I could see nothing, the blackness was complete as was the silence. I was lying down, on a hard surface and held down by a blanket of coarse material.
I tried to make sense of what was happening, images came and went but nothing made sense. What the hell was happening to me? I told myself that this was a dream, even that the pain was just a dream. I recalled that I had gone out drinking, and as usual I had drifted from one bar to another. I had met a girl, that was no dream, ok I was drunk, but not that drunk, I must have groaned aloud.
I tried to bypass the pain, focussing on the memories that flashed rapidly through my mind, and gradually something began to make sense. There had been a girl, and we had gone back to her place; they all look beautiful at that stage of the evening. She plied me with more drink and that is all that I could remember.
Fresh waves of sheer agony swept through me and I guess that I blacked out. When I came to, there was a grey light filtering into the room through ragged curtains. I could see that the room was unfurnished and that I lay on my back on bare floorboards covered by a blanket. I could turn my head and move my hands but an attempt to make any other move led to excruciating pain.
The silence was broken by the muffled sound of a cell phone. It took me some while to realise that the source lay beneath the thin pillow, and with difficulty I reached for it, pressed a button and held it to my ear.
“Glad you are awake at last.” Said a strangely familiar female voice.
“Don’t try to move and just listen to me. To save you asking, your location is unimportant right now. I am just a girl you met and will probably never remember.”
I tried to fix her face in my mind but I couldn’t.
“I am calling to tell you that you need to get to hospital pretty quickly.”
“But why…..” I began, but she cut me off quickly.
“No questions. There is a number pre-programmed in the phone. Call the hospital and someone will come to get you.”
She gave me the address, I didn’t recognise the street name. I sensed that she hadn’t finished and waited for her to speak again.
There was a long pause then……….
“You are probably wondering about the pain. “ another long pause.
“We took both of your kidneys two days ago. You need medical help, I am sorry”
The line went dead. The silence that followed was broken only by my screams.
Tuesday 11 November 2008
Remembrance
If anyone has not seen Holly's latest video, then please take a look - today would be good.
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=-MShbKCXPr4
Monday 10 November 2008
The weekend
Spent a long weekend in the Metropolis and am glad to get some peace and quiet again. I really don't handle noise too well right now and any background sounds tend to make any sort of conversation very difficult.
The object this weekend was to see Queen; not THE Queen, I wouldn't cross the road to see her, but QUEEN, seventies rock stars, along with Paul Rodgers, standing in for the late lamented Freddie.
This was at the O2, that big tent on the south of the river somewhere near Canary Wharf. It is BIG and must hold about 30,000 or more. It isn't just a concert venue, it is also rather like a small town in its own right, and we ate a hearty meal with wine for very reasonable rates before finding our seats. How odd it was when we found ourselves seated next to people that we knew, who had booked independently and more or less at the last minute. They live in the same town and we even knew them by name. The world sometimes feels very small.
It was LOUD - they went through most of their greatest hits and even Freddie got to appear albeit on a screen, singing Bohemian Rhapsody. The crowd loved them and one got the feeling that they were back in their element, faced with a sea of happy faces and waving arms.
It was an experience, and one shared by a pretty diverse audience, though i have to say it was largely white and middle aged. Would i go again? Bloody right i would.
The object this weekend was to see Queen; not THE Queen, I wouldn't cross the road to see her, but QUEEN, seventies rock stars, along with Paul Rodgers, standing in for the late lamented Freddie.
This was at the O2, that big tent on the south of the river somewhere near Canary Wharf. It is BIG and must hold about 30,000 or more. It isn't just a concert venue, it is also rather like a small town in its own right, and we ate a hearty meal with wine for very reasonable rates before finding our seats. How odd it was when we found ourselves seated next to people that we knew, who had booked independently and more or less at the last minute. They live in the same town and we even knew them by name. The world sometimes feels very small.
It was LOUD - they went through most of their greatest hits and even Freddie got to appear albeit on a screen, singing Bohemian Rhapsody. The crowd loved them and one got the feeling that they were back in their element, faced with a sea of happy faces and waving arms.
It was an experience, and one shared by a pretty diverse audience, though i have to say it was largely white and middle aged. Would i go again? Bloody right i would.
Wednesday 5 November 2008
Frying pans and fires
I am back from my scrutination with very mixed feelings. It is always a bad moment when you enter a waiting room and see that it has a well used coffee machine, and yes there was a wait, though not as long as it might have been.
I think that I have been declared fit for the knife, at least i wasn't told any different, but the possible outcomes have been made very clear to me. It looks like I stand to lose a great deal and gain nothing. I may lose my sense of balance, my facial nerve function, as well as my sense of taste on that side too, but on the other hand if I don't get it done there is the almost certain possibility of a brain abcess sooner rather than later. So i signed the forms and feel really quite scared of the future. Damned if i do and damned if i don't.
:-(
I think that I have been declared fit for the knife, at least i wasn't told any different, but the possible outcomes have been made very clear to me. It looks like I stand to lose a great deal and gain nothing. I may lose my sense of balance, my facial nerve function, as well as my sense of taste on that side too, but on the other hand if I don't get it done there is the almost certain possibility of a brain abcess sooner rather than later. So i signed the forms and feel really quite scared of the future. Damned if i do and damned if i don't.
:-(
Trepidation
I am just filling in time, waiting to attend a pre-op medical that i am warned could occupy up to three hours today. I am also advised to take something to read. So i am to be poked and prodded and questioned at huge length to ensure that I am fit to be operated on. Just imagine being told that you are not!
Well Mr Obama has taken the poison chalice and is now the President Elect. What a whacky system, he now has to wait another length of time before he can take over, giving George W plenty of time to cover his tracks I suppose. How long can it take for a guy to clear his desk?
Oh well guess I'd better head off to the hospital or I'll never find anywhere to park.
Well Mr Obama has taken the poison chalice and is now the President Elect. What a whacky system, he now has to wait another length of time before he can take over, giving George W plenty of time to cover his tracks I suppose. How long can it take for a guy to clear his desk?
Oh well guess I'd better head off to the hospital or I'll never find anywhere to park.
Tuesday 4 November 2008
Discrimination in the polls
This made me smile - an image on the BBC website! Are the Americans discriminating against the illiterates in their society?
Razzmatazz
Today could be a huge day in the history of the world. America may just manage to appoint its first black President. This really depends on the balance between the intelligent citizens and the Republicans and the proportions of which manage to drag themselves out to vote.
Having watched the process over the last , How many months? I would not be surprised if the vast majority had died from sheer boredom. The electoral system there seems to us outsiders, such a complex and tedious procedure, seemingly there to assure that they find the best man (probably) for the role. Amazingly they still managed to elect Bush, Reagan and Nixon. I find it a little sad that in such a vast and talented nation that they can still put monkeys in charge.
Will Obama be any different? Well he will look different that is for certain, he seems enthusiastic and smart but will he be able to be his own man or will he, like so many before him, respond to the money that pulls his strings. JFK tried to be his own man, and look where he ended up.
It would be good if Obama, should he be elected, can change the way in which the Americans see the world and the way in which the world sees America. Should he fail, then the world may live to rue that horrendous combination of McCain and Palin.
I wish him, and the people of America, the very best of luck.
Having watched the process over the last , How many months? I would not be surprised if the vast majority had died from sheer boredom. The electoral system there seems to us outsiders, such a complex and tedious procedure, seemingly there to assure that they find the best man (probably) for the role. Amazingly they still managed to elect Bush, Reagan and Nixon. I find it a little sad that in such a vast and talented nation that they can still put monkeys in charge.
Will Obama be any different? Well he will look different that is for certain, he seems enthusiastic and smart but will he be able to be his own man or will he, like so many before him, respond to the money that pulls his strings. JFK tried to be his own man, and look where he ended up.
It would be good if Obama, should he be elected, can change the way in which the Americans see the world and the way in which the world sees America. Should he fail, then the world may live to rue that horrendous combination of McCain and Palin.
I wish him, and the people of America, the very best of luck.
Saturday 1 November 2008
Winter
Winter is here. November the first and it is wet and grey and cold and windy. The worst combination, guaranteed to provoke waves of emigration, in desire at least.
I loathe winter and see my way through it as a series of fences that need to be crossed before spring. Halloween was the first and now we are lurching along the muddy track towards the dreaded festivities in late December. I find it hard even to say the words, but each time I venture out, i am bombarded with the tacky tinsel coated rubbish that indicates the three month run up to the biggest anticlimax of the year.
Once that is gone and the rubbish all consigned to landfill, I then have my birthday to endure. I never look forward to that, probably because it is stuck in the middle of my least favourite month, but at least when that is done, much of winter is behind.
I'd like to sleep through february, it has no saving graces at all, though frogs seem to find it possible to begin their procreation in the icy ponds. Daffodils appear in march and they are so welcome with their promise of spring.
Actually I think I'll go to sleep now - wake me up in April.
I loathe winter and see my way through it as a series of fences that need to be crossed before spring. Halloween was the first and now we are lurching along the muddy track towards the dreaded festivities in late December. I find it hard even to say the words, but each time I venture out, i am bombarded with the tacky tinsel coated rubbish that indicates the three month run up to the biggest anticlimax of the year.
Once that is gone and the rubbish all consigned to landfill, I then have my birthday to endure. I never look forward to that, probably because it is stuck in the middle of my least favourite month, but at least when that is done, much of winter is behind.
I'd like to sleep through february, it has no saving graces at all, though frogs seem to find it possible to begin their procreation in the icy ponds. Daffodils appear in march and they are so welcome with their promise of spring.
Actually I think I'll go to sleep now - wake me up in April.
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