Someone once said ‘Life’s a song – sing it’. Sadly, few of us are blessed with the ability to sing in tune, but most of us try to belt out a song now and again whether it be in the pub on karaoke night or in the shower!
Many years ago a band called The New Squeakers (or something like that) sang a song about teaching the world to sing in perfect harmony; a noble aspiration, but sadly one which will probably never be achieved.
On that note, or not, this was me a couple of weeks ago. You may need your earplugs!
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I sing the sad song Old Shep at every opportunity. When I did so on a stage in Italy a couple of years ago, a woman in the front row started crying her eyes out – apparently her beloved dog had recently died and she was on holiday trying to get over it!
I was rambling along the river bank with my puppy when I heard singing. Where was it coming from? There was something fishy going on. And then I saw it, a Carp Khoir practicing its scales!
They paused, blew a few bubbles, wiggled their tails then started to sing Finlandia. It was magnifishent!
On the drive home, I began to wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing. Then I heard singing from behind me. Believe it or not, my puppy was singing!
There was only one thing for it, I had to sing too!
I felt prod in my ribs. “Oy”, said my wife, “stop making that noise, you woke me up. Now let me get back to sleep”.
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Thanks to Sadje for hosting What Do You See? – and that’s the first thing I saw when the pictures appeared!
With a name like Honey it was no wonder she decided to keep bees in the back garden of her home.
To her, they are like family. Often, she sits upon a stool amid the hives and strums her ukelele whilst singing their favourite songs like Beecause by The Beeatles, or Beeautiful Love by Justin Beeieber.
She loves to explore long forgotten pieces of folklore from around the world. Did you know that should a bee land on the palm of your hand you are about to come into money? Or if a bee enters your home and you kill it, some one you love will also die? Such beliefs are not to be denied, she pleas.
Honey looks to the sky and watches as her bees follow each other in search of flower beds from which to gather pollen. She sighs contentedly. She, and her bees.
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Thanks to Brenda for hosting The Sunday Whirlwhere this week’s words are – home world denied bees pleas forgotten folklore wonder strum fallow sigh sky
I wasn’t around for the last Weekend Writing Prompt so I thought I’d have two goes at this week’s word – in the second one I used a variarion which is within the rules!
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I started to read From Here to Eternity several years ago, it’s such a long book that I’ve not even got half way through it yet! At this rate I’ll be I’ll be reading it for ever and a day.
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My friend Rosey came across an evangelist in the market place the other day and he said to her, ‘come forth and you will receive eternal life’. She asked him what she would get if she came third. Typical Rosey!
Arthur entered The Baaamy Inn with two number balloons floating above his head, a six and a two; he attached them to the back of his chair, only he put them the wrong way round; “You’re not twenty six”, chuckled Babs, “I know”, said Arthur, “but my wife’s been going on about my age all day and I’ve had enough of it, I thought sixty second birthdays were only supposed to last a minute – apparently there’s a surprise waiting for me later, she’s usually in bed when I get back from the pub so I dread to think what it is”.
“Talking of balloons and birthdays”, said Bert, “one year my kids treated me to a hot air balloon ride, well, I can’t stand flying in planes so the thought of being up there in a basket with a flaming cauldron scared me to bits, but as it happens it wasn’t too bad, obviously there wasn’t a trolley dolly but we did at least have a bottle a champers; after we landed we stayed in a very hot Airb&b which seemed quite appropriate!”
Over at the Knitting circle Natalie was telling her fellow knitwits about the time she brought her husband a trumpet for his birthday, “he always liked silver bands, so I thought he’d appreciate it, I’ll never forget his face the first time he blew in it, his puffed up cheeks looked like red balloons and the noise was like one of Bert’s bulls with severe flatulence!”.
Landlord Len’s dearly departed Maggie used to come up with some really unusual pub games, she once held a darts contest with a difference, before each player had a go she hung large balloon in front of the board to hide the numbers; when it was Len’s turn, she discreetly poured some water into the balloon before inflating it, the poor chap got soaked when he hit it – knitter Poppy won the competition, she’s good at piercing wool with her knitting needles, so aiming darts was a piece of cake, she had the perfect name too!
Drumroll please, here comes Colin, ”I’ve invented bubble wrap filled with helium to make packages lighter – I liked working at the helium factory it was uplifting – but I left because I didn’t like being spoken to in that tone of voice – you fill female balloons with shelium – balloons hate pop music – two balloons were in the desert, one says ‘look out, a cuctus’ and the other one says ‘what cactsssssssssssss’ – the last thing the balloon said to father was ‘goodbye, pop’ – ‘ay matey,’ said the pirate on his 80th birthday – the best way to remember your wife’s birthday is to forget it once – I asked my friend when his birthday was, he said March 1st so a wandered around the room and asked again – if you’ve never played darts blindfolded you don’t know what you’re missing…..”.
It would have been Maggie’s birthday tomorrow so just after midnight Len did what he does each year, he went into the garden with a heart shaped helium balloon then released it into the air and watched as flew heavenward; “happy birthday my love”, he muttered, ‘thank you sweetheart’, she whispered in his ear.
Thanks to Denise at GirleOnTheEdge for hosting Six Sentence Stories where this week’s given word is Balloon!
If only he’d controlled his rage. He should have walked away, but no, that mindless attack cost him five empty years, years which had promised so much, now wasted.
He yearns for the day when once again he’ll stroll in the sun, the sun which is now just a few shadowed lines on a soiled cell floor. To wrap up warm on a frosty morning and tramp through snow. To play music so loud, the walls vibrate. To live!
Two years more, twenty-four godforsaken months. One hundred and four marks scratched on a prison wall, still to be crossed through.
…and what an action packed weekend it was! My family made sure I had a very special birthday with meals at lovely restaurants and an extremely noisy session in a karoake pod in Brighton (I’ll spare you the videos of me singing!) and more besides!
But what I really want to say is thank you, fellow bloggers, for all your messages. They meant so much to me.
