These boots are made for walking, but whenever I wear them I get lost. I’m sure they’ve got minds of their own!
If I was an inventor I’d create shoes with built in GPS. Just say ‘Sholexa, take me to the pub’, or ‘Sholexa, show me the way to go home’ and they’d do as they’re told.
The young lady that sold me these clodhoppers said they would help with my posture. I didn’t believe her at first but now I stand corrected.
She was a charming girl, attractive too. As she helped me with my purchase, ‘you are so bootiful’ played in my mind. I fell head over heels for her, bless her sole.
I hate shoelaces, don’t you? They either come undone and trip me up, or get so tangled that I can’t undo them. I think all shoes should have velcro fasteners, why knot?
I’m heading out for a stroll now, I wonder where my boots will take me today!
It’s so boring sitting here day in, night out, with just my binoculars for company. No, I’m not a nosey-parker, I’m a coastguard stroke lighthouse keeper. Look, I’m up here, waving to you, coo-ee!
I’m on daytime duties this week. Nothing much is happening today. Nothing much happened yesterday. The most exciting thing that’s happened of late was watching my mate topple off his paddleboard!
Ships that pass in the day are far less interesting than ships that pass in the night. After dark I watch those glitzy cruise liners and try imaging the fun the passengers are having. Right now, all I’m seeing is trawlers – which reminds me, it’s fish and chips for supper tonight!
There’s a seagull staring at me though the glass. I wish they wouldn’t do that. Boo, shove off!’
What’s the time? Yawn. Three hours til beer-o-clock. Yawwwwwn, double yawwwwwn.
Oh look, there’s a mermaid, and another, and another! Topless too! I say, their tail’s are off the scales!
Strettttch …. ooooh! I think I must have dozed off. I had a lovely dream though! Hopefully I didn’t miss anything.
Oh dear, that party boat looks like its got a problem, it’s leaning over. If they’re not careful they’ll spill their drinks! Now they are waving in my direction.
How inconsiderate to require assistance when it’s so close to my knocking off time. What is the time? Mmm. My replacement’s due very soon for his night shift.
It was another busy evening at The Baaamy Inn, and all the usual suspects were there, “I bumped into Reggie yesterday”, said Fred, “she wasn’t looking where she was going, anyway, she told me they’d given her a new job as an assistant registrar at The Town Hall in the ‘Hatch ‘em, Match ‘em and Dispatch ‘em department’; “it’ll probably be her birth-day on Wed-nes-die” quipped joker Colin to bemused stares from those around him.
“How are things at the poultry farm?” asked Babs; Charles, aka Charlie and the Chicken Factory had been busy of late, “a load more were born yesterday and I’m expecting more to hatch today,” he said, “I’d had enough of cocks, hens and chicks last night and needed some light relief so I popped down to The Comedy Inn for their Open Mike Night, the first act was a bloke called Keef who told a load of jokes about bloody chickens!” *
For fear that might set Colin off, Charles offered to head to the bar for a round of drinks, but when barmaid Brenda was mid-pint, the beer tap spluttered to a halt, so Landlord Len pulled open the hatch and climbed down the creaking steps to the cellar in order to change the barrel – everyone knew what they were about to endure!
It’s very echoey down there and Len always takes advantage of the cathedral-like acoustics (his description, not ours) and bursts into song; this time it was to be his rendition of Nessun Dorma, however, just as he got started there was a clang and a clonk as several barrels toppled over, one of which landed on his toe; suddenly he was less Luciano Pavarotti and more Leniano Pottimouthi as he yelled an expletive – modesty prevents me from being any more specific – “OY!” yelled Suzie, from the next table, “we’ll have none of that language in your pub!”.
As things returned to normal, with convivial chit-chatting, knitting needles click-clacking, and Bill burping, Arthur produced a bottle of medicine from his pocket, tapped it against the others’ glasses and with a ‘cheers, down the hatch’, he took a swig; well, Len wasn’t impressed, “OY, you can’t bring your own booze into my pub – oh, it’s medicine, sorry, but put it away because I don’t want it giving anybody ideas”.
Seeing Len open the hatch in the floor had reminded Colin of the hatch in his ceiling and some jokes he’d been waiting for the opportunity to use; “my granddad’s wig-making machine is in my attic, it’s a family hair loom –I‘ve gota boat business in my attic, sails are going through the roof – the top room of a house is always problem attic – if you keep pills up there, it’s a drug attic….”, and on and on and on, anyway, I’m out’a here, see you next week!.
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Thanks to Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge for hosting Six Sentence Stories where this week’s given word is Hatch.
*If you missed the 100-word piece I wrote yesterday about a stand-up comedian and his chicken puns, don’t think you’ve got away with it! – here’s the 74-second audio that accompanied it!
“A chicken crossed the road the other day, he wanted to avoid walking past KFC! He didn’t envy those living in Kentucky, he felt much safer in Yolklahoma!
He’s quite well-known within the poultry populace, somewhat egg-centric but with im-peck-able taste. That’s down to his upbringing, like feather like son!
His daughter was quite shy, it took her a while to come out of her shell, but now she’s comedi-hen, her shell jokes crack me up! She enjoys chick flicks, unlike her father whose favourite movie is Lord of the Wings.
Okay, I’ll stop, no need for that fowl language!”
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Prod Froggie to see what other have made of this weeks picture!
I stood beneath the stone steps leading up to Hawthorn Cottage. It had remained empty for many years and time had taken its toll on what once had been a desirable property. For some reason, I know not what or why, I was overcome with a desire to peer inside.
I started to climb, steadying myself by gripping a rusty railing, my feet snagging on overgrown weeds. Shabby curtains hung forlornly across filthy windows. There was no way I could see beyond them. I noticed a skylight. So desperate was I to discover what lay within that I decided to climb upon the roof.
I made my way to a crooked coal bunker which threatened to collapse as I clambered onto it. As I heaved myself onto the sloping roof, several tiles shattered on the paved area beneath.
Had I been heard? I held my breath. No.
Crawling on my hands and knees, I reached the skylight. Years of tobacco smoke had stained the glass a dirty brown, so I used a tile to smash a hole in its centre.
There was furniture scattered everywhere; upturned chairs and toppled tables. On the floor, lay a picture frame, its glass shattered.
It’s said that many years ago a brutal murder took place at Hawthorn Cottage. An elderly lady was slain by an opportunist thief who wasn’t expecting her to put up a fight. They say that no one attended her funeral. Was she not someone’s mother? Grandmother? But then I never knew my Grandmother. She was never spoken about as I grew up.
Gradually the faded photograph within the fallen frame started to come into focus. It was a picture of me as a child.
I stand motionless on a moving stairway as it carries me down, down, down.
A gaudy tunnel taunts me, envelopes me. To my left and right, behind and before me, a silent hoard stands motionless like a museum of statues seemingly unaware of others around them.
The stillness is disturbed by a sudden rush of wind. A distant rumble becomes a roar as an enormous silver snake shoots from the tunnel and then rattles to a halt. A row of doors hisses open, like so many hungry gaping mouths. I watch as a surging mass makes its escape, buffeting me in its frantic bid for freedom.
‘Mind the gap’ commands an echoing voice.
‘Mind the gap’
A throng carries me forward, seemingly eager to be swallowed up. We cram against each other like sardines in a can. A jerk. I grip a post. We sway as one, this way and that. Nobody speaks.
We are hidden in darkness deep underground. My body’s down here but my mind is up there in a bustling street where folk are going about their lives oblivious to what is happening beneath them. I was there not an hour ago. I break into a sweat.
Is this what it’s like? Is this the end?
‘We are now approaching Angel’ shrieks an amplified voice. ‘Mind the gap’
“You’re late Arthur, where you bin?” asked Ted, “well,” said Arthur, “I thought I’d use that new taxi service, Dial-a-Ride, but that was a mistake, the guy hardly knows the area and his satinavy thingamajiggy was no ‘elp, we went down Barn Lane, then to Barry’s Barbers, then past that burger bar; anyway I’ve asked him to pick me up at eleven, I hope he comes at eleven tonight not eleven tomorrow morning!”
“Talking of getting the time wrong”, said Bill, “I came here for a quick tipple in the garden the other day before meeting my darlin’ Delia in town at two-thirty but I’d forgotten my watch, then I remembered Len’s sundial on the lawn, so I looked at it and to my horror it said three o’clock – but just then the church clock rang two and I realised Len must have moved it”; “OY” yelled Landlord Len, “that’s meant to be an ornament, not an accurate timepiece”.
“You know that guy with the long nose”, said Babs, “Pinocchio Pete to his mates, well, his wife was telling me that she can use him as a sundial, he just has to stand facing northwards and his face tells her the time!”
“I decided I needed a new clock,” said Suzie, sitting at the next table, “my present one was driving me cuckoo, so I went to the antique shop to see what he’d got, there were carriage clocks, alarm clocks, grandfather clocks all set to ten-to-two, then I saw it, a little beauty set to six-thirty, that was the winner hands down, but I didn’t throw my old one away, that would have been a waste of time … time … clock … get it?!”
Colin cleared his throat, and everyone turned their eyes upward, “when clocks are hungry they go back four seconds – I’ve run out of clock jokes it’s about time I got some more – telephones used to have dials too, now they have buttons, I dropped mine in the bath and it started syncing – a cell phone went to prison, it was charged with battery – I rang 999 the other day and the operator asked what my emergency was and I said I’d accidentally superglued my finger to the nine button – I asked a German girl for her phone number and she said ‘nein nein nein nein’ …..”
It was almost midnight and The Baaarmy Inn was empty, Len went out back and looked up at the star-studded sky; the glistening moon cast shadows across the grass as he walked over to the sundial; “Maggie loved you, I bet she’s looking down at us now”, he said as he placed his arms around its concrete plinth and shifted it until the time said twelve o’clock.
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*In case my friends across the pond are unaware, our 999 is your 911!
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Thanks to Denise for hosting Six Sentence Stories where this week’s given word is Dial.
She coudn’t wait to get home after another boring day at work. Boring job, boring collegues. Working with children would be much more fun. Teaching, running a playgroup. Sadly though, she wasn’t qualified.
Her journey was taking for ever. Heavy traffic, road works, a broken down truck blocking the way. With just a short distance to go, a gaggle of geese suddenly marched across the road. Another hold up!
‘I know’, she thought, ‘I’ll become a lollipop lady! Not only will I work with kids, bit I’ll get my own back for all those times I’ve been brought to a halt!’
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Click Froggie to see what others have come up with!.
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Incase you are unfamiliar with the term, a lollipop lady/man is someone who helps children to cross the road near a school by standing in the middle of the road and holding up a stick with a round stop sign on it!
Keith's Ramblings 