I used to do things two times a day. My clock did it so why shouldn’t I? Doing things more than once was fun, so good they named it twice! A drink at lunchtime, a drink in the evening. A smoke in the morning a smoke in the afternoon!
Once, two amazing things happened on the same day – I won the lottery and my ex wife said she wanted to marry me again, what a coincidence!
It was not as good as you might imagine. In no time at all I was doing as I was told, and never things I enjoyed more than once a day. One Time Wendy I called her.
On one occasion she even moaned when I used the same word twice in the same sentence; ‘enough is enough’, she said which was somewhat ironic!
She even changed my treasured analogue clock for a digital one. Now eight sixteen in the evening has become twenty sixteen, or something like that. How stupid!
Like I said, I used to do things twice a day – oh, sorry Wendy, I shouldn’t have said it again!
Here we are at The Baaamy Inn where Farmer Arthur is moaning about the price of fuel, “the other day I heard about a bloke who filled his tractor up and they wanted to charge him 175 pounds, well, he wasn’t happy so he drove off without paying; apparently he got caught and was only fined 100 pounds, that was quite a saving – which reminds me, my farmhand Flora arrived at work out of breath and sweating this morning, she said that instead of catching the bus she ran behind it and saved herself two pounds fifty, I said if she’d followed a taxi she’d have saved about twelve pounds fifty!”
“Talking of money”, said Ted, “I remember hearing about a guy called Clive who’s lucky number was five, he was born at five o’clock on the fifth day of the fifth month in 1955, well, on his 55th birthday he went to the races and noticed a horse called Pentagram was running in the fifth race at five pm with odds of fifty-five to one, so with five minutes to spare he charged over to Ivor Bett the bookie and placed five hundred and fifty-five pounds on it to win – he should have known better, Pentagram finished in fifth place!”
“One of my lads, charged into the barn yelling in pain”, said Babs, “he said he’d been stung by a wasp so I said ‘don’t worry. I’ll put some cream on it’, and he said ‘you’ll never find it, it’ll by miles way by now’, so I said ‘that’s not what I meant, where were you stung?’, and he said ‘in the yard’; well I was getting quite frustrated so I asked where on his body he was stung and he said ‘the wasp stung my finger’, so I asked which one and he said ‘how do I know, all wasps look the same to me’….I gave up!”
Knitwit Natalie was telling her fellow knitwits what happened when she was tidying the bedroom, “my hubby charged into the room pushed me onto the bed and dragged the cover over our heads, I though my luck at changed, it was about time after all, then he said ‘look at my new watch, it’s got a luminous dial!”
Colin’s moment had arrived, “Old McDonald had to sell his farm, e-i-e-i-owes a lot of money – the electric car finished the race early because it had a short circuit – a lion and a cheetah had a race, the lion said you are a cheetah and the cheetah said you are lion – two cats had a swimming race across the English channel, the English cat was called One-Two-Three, and the French cat, Un-Deux-Trois, the One-Two-Three cat won because the Un-Deux-Trois cat sank – the relay race was close, for a while it was touch and go – I removed my snail’s shell to help it win the snail race but it just became more sluggish – a bargain, dead batteries free of charge – you don’t wave a red flag in front of a battery incase it charges – I was charged nothing for my new new roof, it was on the house – the optician charged me a fortune, he saw me coming – pirates sell corn on the cob for a bucc-an-eer – a deer that costs a dollar is called a buck – an out of control robot was charged with battery…..!”
Landlord Len’s dearly departed Maggie was methodical when it came to clearing up after every session; Len tried his best to do as she did, but invariably forgot something or other: “I wish you were still in charge Maggie”, he muttered, ‘I still am’, she whispered in his ear, ‘now go and collect those glasses from the garden!’’
Thanks to Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge for hosting Six Sentence Stories where this week’s given word is Charge
For the sake of my tale, I’ve taken the liberty of moving the road in the picture from New Mexico to France – somewhere I’m more used to driving!
Why do they drive on the wrong side of the road? Everyone should keep left like us. It was stupid to bring our car. We’re on holiday. I should feel relaxed.
Oh no, a roundabout. Keep right-right-right-woo! Bloody foreigner nearly hit us! Imbécile! Yes, I know we’re the foreigners, but we’re their guests, they should treat us with respect!
Wait there chum, it’s my right of way. Oh, lordy-lordy it’s not – eeeek….! Missed. Désolé monsieur.
He’s heading towards us in the wrong lane! Regarde où vous allez! No, I’m wrong – hold tight – phew!
We used to love sitting over there watching the boats go by, didn’t we? I remember one day we had a trivial conversation along the lines of ‘how’s work, how’s your mum, what did you have for lunch, you need a haircut…will you marry me?’ You should have seen your face. You had a fit of giggles and then said ‘no!’ Then you looked me in the eye and said ‘of course I’ll marry you’! We sat hand in hand and watched as the sun went down behind the old oak tree.
Then your sun set, too soon. Why? I blamed myself. I blamed your family, I blamed the doctors. I blamed God, how dare he? I was angry, so angry. But it was nobody’s fault. These things happen. To some. To you.
That was a long time ago, and here I am watching the boats go by just as we used to. The bench is still over there. It’s become weather-worn and wobbly, a bit like me. The oak tree’s still here. It doesn’t look a day older, unlike me!
There’s just one thing missing. You are missing. You.
Farmer Fred was telling his Baamy chums about his vinyl record collection, “I got the box down from the loft, it was full of 78’s and 45’s covered in dust, some are like gold dust, they brought back so many memories but I couldn’t find one of my favourites, it’s by Dusty Springfield, or Rusty Springboard as we used to call her, if I don’t find it I just don’t know what to do with myself”; suddenly the door swung open and in came Dick the Vic’s lad – “at least here’s the son of a preacher man,” quipped Colin!
Babs was brushing dirt and dust from her overalls, “I was standing at the bus stop and one bloke close by was digging holes and another chap was filling them in, there was dirt flying everywhere; I asked what they were doing and the digger said, ‘we’re working’, I asked what at, and the filler-inner said ‘there are supposed to be three of us but the guy who plants trees in the holes is off sick’- then the bus came along thank goodness!”
Ted kept sneezing, “sorry”, he said, “but the missus had me helping her clear out the cellar, you’ve never seen so much – achoo – dust, she complained that –achoo -whenever she uses her old broom her arms ache, so I told her she should try using the car more often; well, the, look I got was dirtier – achoo – than the pile of rubbish she’d built so I made a hasty exit – I’m going to buy her a new one tomorrow, a broom that is not a car!”
Knitwit Natilie is a clean freak, wherever she goes she can’t resist getting down to the knitty gritty by running her finger across picture frames and ledges looking for dusty deposits – even as a kid she was neat and tidy, she said she fancied a job cleaning mirrors when she grew up, it was something she could always see herself doing – however she doesn’t need to carry out her routine in The Baaamy Inn as Landlord Len keeps everything in pristine condition in accordance with one of his dearly departed Maggie’s dying wishes.
Colin had, as usual been listening in, “my wife’s mind is cleaner than mine because she changes it more often – her jokes are like vacuum cleaners, they suck – I saw two cleaners kissing, ‘get a broom’, I said, – I met a nun who starts her day by walking around in mud, such a dirty habit – as an ex-hippie I think dirt is groovy, man, I really dig it – I’m obsessed with buying Beatles albums, I need Help – I bought a recording of wasps buzzing but it didn’t sound right, then I realised I was playing the bee side – I’m going to collect records, it’s my decision and that’s vinyl – I was pulled over and asked if I had a police record, I said no, but I have a couple of albums by Sting – ‘cash-ew’, said the nut when it sneezed – undertakers don’t sneeze but they’re always coffin – I keep sneezing and singing My Way, I’ve got the crooner virus – I don’t have to sneeze loudly, a-choos to – birds dust their houses with feather dusters – it’s said that you are dust and you shall return to dust which is why I don’t dust, it could be someone I know….”
Everyone had left, Landlord Len had cleared up and was about to turn out the lights when he spotted some dust on the end of a shelf and in it was drawn a heart, as he went to get his duster Maggie whispered in his ear – ‘let it be Len, it’s just a little fairy dust I found and I wanted to share it with you’.
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Thanks to Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge for hosting Six Sentence Stories where this week’s given word is Dust.
Minutes before midnight. Moments ‘til her birthday. She stands in darkness atop the building, a gusty wind chilling her cheeks. Glancing over her shoulder, she watches as another year blows away taking with it broken promises, unhappy memories, and shattered dreams.
As angry black clouds scurry from sight a new moon appears spreading a silver carpet of hope at her feet. Her long dark shadow tumbles into the gloomy bleak past as a cheery one appears.
Suddenly all is calm. She gazes into the future and smiles as another year begins. A chance to start her life anew.
