Once again everyone was present at The Baaamy Inn; “what’s that slimy mess on your trousers, Ted?”, asked Arthur, “well, I was playing golf with Micky March, the bloke with the chickens across the road from me that sells eggs at the market, and as I was about to tee off he suddenly said ‘look, there’s Flighty Flora’; obviously I stopped and turned, whilst unbeknown to me he was replacing my golf ball with one of his white eggs, hence that mess, he really is as mad as a March hare!”
“Time really does march by”, said Babs, “it seems like only yesterday it was February and now April’s knocking on the barn door; this month alone I’ve given birth to thirty five lambs – not literally of course even though I am married to Bertram Ramsbottom!”
“I’m joining all you other farmers on that protest march on Sunday” said Arthur, “not sure what it’s about but I thought I’d better take part; I just hope it’s not like the one I did when I was in the army; we were told we had to march ten miles, then half way up a very steep hill the Sergeant Major said ‘you’ve done five miles, just a few more to go…before we reach the starting point”.
“When I was a teenager I was an army cadet” said George, “one day we were all standing to attention about to do some march training, except for the lad next to me who was slouching; the Sergeant Major said ‘step forward boy, what’s your name?’ and he said ‘John, mister’ – the officer said ‘we don’t use first names just surnames and you call me Sergeant Major, now I ask you again tell me your name’, and the lad said ‘Darling, John Darling Sergeant Major’ – we were in hysterics!”
“I’ve got a French hen”, said Colin, “it only lays single eggs but un oeuf is enough – a row of rabbits marching backwards is called a receding hare-line – March is the best time to buy a mattress, that’s when they’re most springy – March 4th is not just a date, it’s a command too – there’s a place where January comes after February, and December comes before September, it’s the dictionary – how many months have 28 days?…all of them – nine months feels like a maternity – my wife said I’m in for a big surprise in nine months time, I can’t wait for Santa to come – bees become less decisive after April, they become maybees – two guys stole a calender, they both got six months – my mate got fired from a calender factory for taking a day off – how many seconds are there in a year? 12, January the 2nd, February the 2nd, March the 2nd…..”
Len was having fun making up March related things he thought his dearly departed Maggie might like to do, like eating marshmallows, mashing potatoes, playing matchstick puzzles, trying some magic mushrooms even; “what do you think Maggie?” he chuckled, ‘you should do it again in April Maybe’ she whispered!
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Thanks to Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge for hosting Six Sentence Stories where this week’s given word is March.
He’s always been a bit cack-handed. You’d think having eight legs and sixteen little fingers to use he’d be quite good at knitting a web, but no, he always gets in a right ‘ole pickle!
The one he made just now looks a bit like my gran’s hairnet! It’s not too bad, but look what’s just happened – he’s only gone and got himself caught in the middle his own trap!
The local flies think it’s hilarious, they’re fluttering around laughing their little heads off! The poor fella’s asking them for help. Fine chance of that happening, especially on a Webnesday!
When I finished writing and recording my story, I realised I had used last Sunday’s words not today’s!
Having spent several hours slaving over it, I decided to post it rather than scrap it.
Sorry if it goes on a bit, I’ve been very naughty and exceeded the self imposed 200 word limit I try to adhere to when writing!
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He was born too soon, so frail there were doubts as to whether he’d survive, but somehow he did.
When he was two he became overly playful with a dog. After he hit it several times, it turned on him. He was badly mawled but eventually pulled through.
His third year was a difficult one. He was unwell for months after drinking something bitter and toxic. We were told to expect the worst, but we never lost hope and against all odds he recovered.
He was four when he became curious about the big wild world and wandered away from home. After being missing for four days he was eventually found unharmed and carried on as if nothing had happened,
He was five years old when he climbed inside a massive dryer at the laundrette. He was fast asleep on a pile of warm damp clothes when it was switched on. Fortunately he was spotted almost straight away and jumped out dizzy and hot, but unharmed!
When he was six he wondered if he could fly. He leapt from high tree and discovered he couldn’t. Somehow he landed on his feet.
Just after his seventh birthday he was walking along a street when for some reason he suddenly decided to dash across the road. He ran in front of a car. How he survived we’ll never knew.
When he was eight he should have known better. He climbed on the facade above a store then realised he couldn’t get down again. The emergency services came to his rescue.
He was a restless nine year old and simply had to explore. That was fine until he discovered a hole in the ground, climbed inside and became stuck. He wasn’t rescued until the following day.
Like so many stories, his has a sting in its tail. He would have been ten this year and wanted to know how it felt to swim. He was torn between trying it or not. Sadly he made the wong decision. His curiosity eventually killed him.
All we have to remember him by is a mound of soil in the garden, with a small wooden cross sticking from the top. A strip of wood bears the words ‘Casper our Curious Cat’
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Last week’s words were – facade doubts curiosity bitter torn hit restless hope massive frail strip and sting.
Knowing me, I’ll probably use this week’s words next week!
“Sorry I’m late”, said Arthur, “the Missus told me to swing by the supermarket and pick up some razor blades, she wants me to get rid of this stubble because it’s our wedding anniversary soon and she may decide to kiss me on the cheek, well, I walked up and down but I couldn’t find any so I asked an assistant where they were and she said ‘I’ll see’, and walked off; I waited for ages but she didn’t come back so I had another look around and eventually found them in aisle C!”
Ted was late arriving too, he’d just been for his second golf lesson; “you’re soaking wet, Ted, what happened to you?”, asked Babs; “well”, said Ted, “my instructor was helping me improve my swing and I was doing quite well, infact I managed to wack the ball off the tee five times, but there was a sudden downpour, I was more pee’d off than tee’d off, I can tell you” – Suzie at the next table leapt to her feet ,”swinging in the rain, just swinging in the rain….”
Over at the knitting circle, Natalie was telling her fellow knitwits about her father’s ninetieth birthday party, “he’s always raving about the swinging sixties so we hired a band, they got several of us up singing, even me; at first I was afraid, I was petrified, but I did quite well, anyway, we persuaded Dad to have a go – I hoped he’d sing something like Heaven Can Wait, but no, he sang Knock Knock Knocking on Heaven’s Door, he did quite well but he hardly sounded like Axl Rose!”
George heard the end of their conversation and it reminded him about the other day when he needed cut down a tree that was sadly dying, “my chain saw’s conked out so I thought, I know, my axe’ll do, so I gave it a good swing, and another swing and another swing but it got me nowhere; I decided to call that lady lumberjack, Isla ‘Chopper’ Downe, and she felled it and logged it in no time at all – as she was leaving she told me that the other day she cut down a tree by just looking at it, I asked how and she said ‘saw it with my own two eyes’!”
“She once told me she’s chopped down 34,576 trees”, said Colin, “I asked how she remembers and she said she keeps a log – the lumberjack told the talking tree it would dialogue – he once chopped down the wrong tree, it was axidental – cross amusician, a mathematician and a lumberjack and you get a logarithm – he’d be a smart feller – Dr Watson asked Sherlock Holmes what his favourite tree was, ‘a lemon tree my dear Watson’, he said – a skeleton went to a supermarket to get some spare ribs – a can of coke fell on my head in a supermarket, good job it was a soft drink – swings can’t make their minds up, they always go back and forth – the chicken crossed the playground to get to the other slide…….!”
In the back garden of The Baaamy Inn there’s a kiddie’s play area and Landlord Len was thinking back to the times he and his dearly departed Maggie used to fool around out there when the pub was closed, “the seesaw’s not the same without you sitting on one end, Maggie”, he muttered, “I still push the swing but I miss watching you going to and fro” – ’just because you can’t see me it doesn’t mean I’m not there’, she whispered, ‘come on, Len, let’s go outside and play!’
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