Monthly Archives: August 2010

Short story part 2 – an experiment in script form.

Act 1, Scene 3:

Woman enters hairdressers’ shop, which looks as though it has been vandalised.  Waits for a while.

Hairdresser (flustered): Hello.  Sorry to keep you waiting, we have had a bit of an emergency here this morning.

Woman:  Yes, I can see that.  What happened?

Hairdresser: We were broken into in the night and the place was trashed.

Woman:  Oh dear, did they take much?

Hairdresser: No, that is the odd thing really.  They only took the scissors and the styling products.  There was a float in the till and I’d even left my engagement ring by the sinks – none of this was touched.

Woman:  How very strange.  I guess you will not be taking any appointments for a while then?

Hairdresser (with slight laugh): No, it’s hard to cut hair with no scissors.

Woman (Indicating post from which rotating chair has been wrenched):  I don’t fancy sitting there, either.   I’ll come back another time, good luck with your repairs.

Hairdresser: Thanks

Woman exits

Act 1, Scene 4

At Council Office.  Woman, with obviously wild hair by this time, waits in a queue.  Reaches window of teller, who can now barely see from beneath his fringe.  Council Tax transaction carried out during the course of this conversation.

Teller: Hello again.  Good to see you.

Woman:  Can you?  See me, that is.

Teller: Having trouble, if I’m honest.  Tried to get my haircut this week, but the place I usually go had been broken into.

Woman:  Oh yes?  We must use the same place, Hair Today in the High Street.  I tried to make an appointment there this morning.

Teller (surprised): No, I go to Herr Cutts, just up the road from here.  Strange that two local places should be  vandalised in the same week.  I wonder what someone has got against hairdressers?

Woman (smiling):  Being far too well groomed, perhaps?

Teller (grinning): At this rate, I’ll need to cut my own hair.

Woman (completing transaction and exiting):  Me too.

Low, menacing laughter heard from stage as woman exits.   Both woman and teller start slightly at the sound, then resume their tasks.

Is it just me…?

Gem no 1) – Courtesy of Freecycle

“Offered: Wall mounted bedroom cupboard and rubble”

Wall mounted bedroom rubble?  Not sure about that.

Gem no 2) – Courtesy of a recent letter:

“You are invited to attend an appointment in Dr Jeffs, Pain Clinic”

What?!?  Will they shrink me down so as to be injected into this Dr Jeffs, a la ‘Inner Space’ or is he simply a very large, encompassing gent?  The mind boggles.



Thanks to Chas and Ian for the feedback.  Also thanks to Becky, who gave her opinion in person.

Also, I have been told that the last posted appeared a little petulant in print!  It was not meant to, it was meant as an request for honest opinions – even if you think I am on a hiding to nothing and should not ‘give up the day job’!

I am now going to give some thought to the next part of the short story, and see what develops.

Thanks again.

P.S.  To those of you I saw in Swampea yesterday – lovely to touch base!  HUGS!

A pome for you (and a question)

First, the pome:

  • And He said…
  • The wedding guests were gathered
  • But we’d run out of wine
  • A stranger approached us
  • And He said it would be fine
  • He said “Fill the jars with water
  • And serve it to the guests”
  • As we did, it was transformed
  • To wine of the very best.
  • The hungry crowd was gathered
  • We had little food to spare
  • Then Jesus approached us
  • And He said “Give each a share”
  • So we walked amongst the people
  • Not sure how this could be
  • That from a meagre little lunch
  • They were fed abundantly.
  • The waiting world is gathered
  • Looking on expectantly
  • And He says “Go to the people
  • Tell my story, set them free”
  • We’re aware of our shortcomings
  • Of our lack and of our sin
  • But we can rise to each challenge
  • By His life, that dwells within.

Now, the question.

Is this any good?

A friend of mine is encouraging me to write more, with a view to seeking publication.  I enjoy writing, and am happy to put some of my efforts on here (relatively safe place).  However, I am not sure that my scribblings are of sufficient quality (or quantity for that matter) to warrant such encouragement.  I feel that my poems have a kind of ‘Beat Poem’ quality to them – the one above being ‘commissioned’ by a local preacher to be read in one of her services.  On the whole, I guess I am happy with some of my poems, but I am not sure if there would be a wider audience for them.  If so, where would that be found anyway?

My attempt at short stories/prose leave much more to be desired, I think.  For e.g., the opening salvo of my short story on here appeared to fall quite flat.  I was hoping it would hook people to want to know more.  Just out of interest, is anyone curious to know what happens next? I am wondering whether to write the next section in script form, rather than story form.  I sense that my attempts at setting scenes are lacking, I think I may be better at conversation and abstract imagery than at straightforward description.  In my own mind, pictures work best as pictures, I do not seem to have the ability to turn the stuff that is seen with the physical eye into good enough words to do it justice.  Words or concepts come more easily to me, I feel.

Anyway, I said there would be a question.  It appears to have thrown up a number of questions – over to you (please… :))

Garden Allegory

Was pottering around the garden earlier. After a week away, a little tidying was needed. The plants needed a few things:
a) Pruning – so as to be more productive
b) Checking for pests/diseases – so as to be healthy
c) Adding supports – so flower heads are lifted from the dirt

Found myself reflecting that we, as God’s children, need much the same thing; to know where to direct our energies; cleansing from the things we do wrong and from that which harms us; also to have support and someone to lift our heads at times.

Do you agree?

In praise of random Dads

Thanks to “Surfing” for reminding me of how cool it can be to have a Dad who says the most odd things.

On phone to Dad the other day, discussing the imminent arrival of myself, T&E and the Nephews for our ‘luxury’ hols chez parents’.  The following is a paraphrase of the final part of that conversation:

Dad: I’ve been thinking about what the boys should call us.  I don’t think its right that lads of their age should call people of our generation by their first names.

Me: Okay, what do you have in mind?

Dad: Well, I am their Great Uncle J**** and Mum would be Great Auntie J****, so I was thinking of using the initials.

Me (seeing what is coming): Yeeeess….

Dad: So I would be GAJ … no, that would be Mum… I would be GUJ and Mum would be GAJ.

Me (smiling to self): GUJ and GAJ.  Yes, I reckon the boys would be happy to call you that.  (Thinking: “This is no doubt true, it makes you sound like kids TV characters.  I do not think Mum will like it tho…”)

Dad: Well, have a think about it.   (Aside, evidently to Mum: What?  Stop frowning at me.)

Me (suppressing giggles): Ok, Dad.  See you soon.

Dad: Bye love.

I am convinced that Dad will end up being GUJ, and very happy with it.  Mum, on the other hand, will probably prefer to be called by her given name.  We shall see….

(I love my parents, I really do! :))

Hope deferred

  • She sat upon a cold, wet shore
  • And stared into the leaden sky
  • The clouds hung heavy on her brow
  • As endlessly she questioned why.
  • Why is this darkness all I see?
  • When will there be a time for me?
  • A time when life does not pass by
  • When I will have my wings to fly.
  • For one-by-one and all around
  • Her friends had launched from that same ground
  • Until, at last, into the grey
  • The final one had flown away.
  • Then in the distance, clear and bright,
  • Something glinted in the light,
  • One friend, then two, hove into view.
  • Perhaps they’d help to get her thru!
  • Welcome friends, I’ve been so sad,
  • But now I don’t feel quite as bad.
  • For it is hard when one can’t fly
  • To watch each day crawl slowly by.
  • My gosh, dear one, if you but knew
  • The things these wings have put us through
  • My how they ache from all that work
  • At times it drives us quite berserk!
  • We envy you this cold, damp shore.
  • Please don’t complain, its such a bore.
  • And if you really want to fly
  • My goodness, dear, you have to TRY!
  • Well, can’t sit chatting here all day,
  • We really must be on our way.
  • But when you wish, please do drop by,
  • For it is not that far to fly.
  • She watched until they passed from sight
  • And faced, once more, a long, dark night.
  • From deep within she gave a sigh
  • Dear God, I really want to  fly…

Hope deferred makes the heart sick,

but when the desire is fulfilled, it is a tree of life.

Proverbs 13 v 12