A short story …

for Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt



The rising sun shines silver through an early morning mist.  Droplets of dew glisten on blades of grass which quiver in the breath of a gentle spring breeze.  A walk beside the lake.  Just one man and his dog. 

So peaceful.

In distant houses, alarms wake folk from their slumbers.  Soon the quiet will be shattered by cars spluttering into life, children shouting goodbye as they pile into buses. The endless drone of the city beyond will provide a soundtrack to the wearisome working day.

But for now, it’s peaceful,  so very peaceful.

He stops to watch a mother duck proudly floating across the lake, her precious babies paddling frantically in her wake.  

Behind a fence, brightly coloured slides and seesaws enjoy the last minutes of solitude before chattering mothers propel their shrieking offspring through the gate in bag-laden buggies.  Swings move lazily back and forth awaiting their first passengers of the day.

He wishes it could always be as peaceful as this.

Soon the chugging mower and rumbling roller will be trundling back and forth preparing the green for the cricketers.  The crack of leather on willow will be music to the ears of the white-attired gentlemen as they bat, catch and run.  Their proud ladies will make cucumber sandwiches, pour endless cups of tea and butter home-baked scones.

He turns and walks into the copse.  Sunrays, like silver spears, pierce the swaying branches.   The dog scampers this way and that, then off into the trees.  A few minutes more and they’ll be home.  He’ll hand the park back to his neighbours for another noise-filled day.

A jarring thump. He shoots forward and stumbles to the ground. A heavy boot flies into his face as someone tears at his pockets then drags the watch from his wrist. 

The peace is shattered.

The dog rushes to defend its master, the silence assaulted by frenzied barking and the terrified cries of the assailant who suddenly becomes the victim.  He limps away then disappears.

Peace returns.

Quiet, but for the whimpering faithful hound as he sits beside his master, licking his face, willing him to recover.

Alone in the park.  Just one man and his dog. 

So peaceful.



Words on a Wednesday …

for Friday Fictioneers




BGMy friend Rosey and I love visiting Farmer Fred. 

Once Rosey tried milking a cow and squirted herself in the eye.  Another time, whilst stroking a lamb a ram butted her back-side!  As for her five-legged horse…!

Last time, we drove across the fields.  I had the tractor, Fred, his Landrover, Rosey a 4×4 buggy.  ‘Race you to the barn’ she said shooting off into the distance!

Unfortunately, she missed the brake pedal and careered straight through the barn doors.

We eventually caught up to see her grinning head poking out of a heap of hay!

We are going again Saturday.



To read more stories about Rosey, pop across to My Friend Rosey


barns-1-dawn-millerThanks to Rochelle for hosting, and Dawn Miller for the picture.

Click Froggie to join in the fun!


A flash of fiction …

for Sunday Photo Fiction




So there I was, wandering around the car boot sale or flea market as they’re called across the pond.  I paid a few bob for some old books and a quid for a bookcase.  Not bad eh?

Then I saw it.  The most beautiful picture I’d ever seen.  Something seemed familiar about it.  Like I’d seen it before.

I told the seller.  ‘That’s called day-jar-voo mate’ he said, ‘day-jar-voo’.

I had to buy it.  After a bit of bantering, it was mine.  But I still couldn’t think where I’d seen it before.

I was so proud of it, I took it to the pub to show my mates.  It got a mixed reaction as they’re not connoisseurs of fine art unlike me.

Next day I showed Mum.  You should have seen her face! 

‘Of course you recognise it.  You painted it at school, framed it and gave it Dad and me for Christmas in 1960!’

My turn to pull a face.

‘It’s been in the loft for years and the other day I asked Frank to sell at the boot fair.  I didn’t expect you to find out!’

Anyway, she’s said she’d refund me and stick it on her wall.  For now!





Thanks to Donna for hosting. The photo is from Morguefile.

*We had the same photo prompt last week which is what gave me the idea for my story!


Seventy-one words…

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Sculpture and the word limit, 71.


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3a851cf3f4ec193324d39c41c1401836I like being a sculpture. 

Yesterday, a bloke said  “I wish you had a pair like that” and his wife slapped his face! 

Here’s another lot, time for my stony-faced expression!

Look, some old folk.  “Magnificent …  splendid … ravishing”.

Hello handsome, fancy stroking my marble?  Oooh, cheeky boy!

Good, lights out.  Time for a chat with One-Tit-Tina and Noseless-Nick.  Headless-Harry too; no doubt he’ll be talking out of his ass as usual!




One hundred words …

for Friday Fictioneers



Old Bert peered out the window.  It was raining, pouring. 

‘Nothing on the telly,  crossword’s done and I’m clean outa’ whisky’,  he muttered.  ‘I’ll have an early night’ .

His ancient joints clicked and crunched as he heaved himself to his feet and tottered to the bedroom.

He bent to massage his aching knees and bumped his head.

‘Ouch,’ he said rubbing his brow.

He climbed beneath the sheets and in minutes old Bert was snoring like a pig. 

Come dawn the only sound to be heard was the pitter-patter of raindrops on the windowpane.

He didn’t get up in the morning.




Any similarity between this tale and a certain nursery rhyme is purely coincidental!

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and providing this weeks picture.


zzzzClick on Froggie to join in the fun!  Don’t worry about him, this is pure fiction and his name’s not Bert!

A tiny tale…

for Sunday Photo Fiction




I was in the library scanning the bookshelves for a copy of my favourite book, ‘The Charms of Dandyism, or Living in Style’  by Olivia Moreland, Chief of the Female Dandies.

I spotted it and as I attempted to slide it from the shelf, it pulled back.  I pulled, it pulled.  I pulled harder, it pulled harder.

Suddenly it came free and I flew backwards landing on the floor. 

I peered under the bottom shelf and spotted a pretty pair of ankles.  I climbed back to my feet and peeped through the gap left by  ‘The Charms of Dandyism blah blah blah’,  and looking back at me was the sweetest blue eye I’d ever seen.

download (1)“Hello, I’m Charlotte,”  said a cute little voice. 

“Hello, I’m Danny,”  said I. 

To cut a long story short we agreed to share the book and so started a new chapter in our lives. 


Thanks to Donna for hosting.  Photo Credit Morguefile



Fifty-six words…

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Elysian with an allowance of just 56 words.




action figures Edith Vonnegut


Look at this mess. You cherubs and your abandoned toys.  Good folk enter the Elysian Field only to find the Stairway to Heaven littered with plastic frogs and action men.

Dying once is bad enough, but tripping on the steps and dying again’s not on.

Get this place cleared up before the Boss sees it.


By the way, the painting is Action Figures by Edith Vonnegut.

A short story…

for Sue Vincent’s #writephoto Photo Prompt


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What’s happening to me?  Words once flowed from my mind in an endless stream.  Now they don’t.  I just sit here fiddling with pens, screwing up paper and bending paper clips. 

We used to go to a club on Mondays and sit in a circle reading stories we’d written.  Or was that Tuesdays?  We did, didn’t we?  Yes, I remember standing up and reciting a poem about my cat. Or dog.  That was me, wasn’t it?  Or was it you?

It’s Thursday tomorrow I think.  I hope so because we do something special on Mondays, don’t we?  We go to a club.  That’s right.  We eat lunch and have a choice of fish and chips or something else.  What is it?  Oh I know, fish and…chips.

You used to take me shopping today. Or was that Fridays? 

Sorry, do I know you?



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A flash of fiction…

for Friday Fictioneers


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We stood as a solemn verger, rod in hand, led the robed choir to the candlelit stalls. 

We sat.

With a sweep of their leader’s hand, the choir burst into song.  At first, soft as a whisper, then, loud as thunder.  The concinnity of voices and harmony took my breath away.

I shivered.

Thirty voices swooping and swirling, this way, that way; up, down then up again.  All thoughts drifted from my mind as music filled every corner of my being.

Too soon the choir fell silent, turned and disappeared from sight. 

For a few moments, I sat in hope of catching an echo.

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As a member of Friends of Cathedral Music, I regularly visit Winchester Cathedral to listen to their magnificent choir.


unamed-from-ted-strutzFriday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle and this week’s photo is from Ted Strutz.


Click the Froggie Choir to join in the fun!




A trip down memory lane …

for Sunday Photo Fiction



I’ve changed from fiction to fact this week.  I hope you don’t mind! It’s based on some notes I made when I gave up my own village pub, The Brewers Arms several years ago.




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I’ll miss this place and its characters.

I served farmers, local crafts folk, tradesmen and a retired bank robber.  A lord and lady, and a couple of faded celebs too.  All ages.  Some not old enough to be drinking, others old enough to know when to stop – but didn’t.

Sing-song Sid would suddenly start warbling and everyone joined in.  When Gladys the Guzzler went to the toilet, she’d drop her false teeth in her Guinness. “Drink this and they’ll bite your bloody nose off” she would shout.  People would dance between the tables; on the tables even!

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I remembea dart landing in someone’s burger,  our resident mouse running along the bar, and my dog Daisy depositing something very unsavoury on the floor of the packed restaurant bar!  I recall riotous after-hours lock-ins, screeching karaoke divas and quiz nights with Google cheats!

Now, standing alone in this empty bar I still hear laughter, raucous singing, and the crackling log fire.  I smell pub-grub, beer and Smooth Stan’s overpowering aftershave!

As I turn the key and walk away for the final time I take with me nothing but happy memories.  What more could I wish for?


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Thanks to Donna for hosting. The picture is from the  Morguefile photo collection.