for Sunday Photo Fiction

 

 

Even as a tadpole, he knew he was different, always swimming the opposite way from his tadlings.  When he grew up, Freddie the frog had few friends. 

A fortnight ago, Friday the fifth I fink it was, he was out for hop and came upon the most beautiful toadess, sitting soaking up the summer sunshine.  They glanced at each other.

 “I’m Freddie,” he said, though it was more of a croak than a ribbet – like he had a frog in his throat! (sorry about that!)

“Why hello handsome” squeaked Talula.

*Incidentally, relationships between frogs and toads are fast becoming accepted.  Years ago it was frowned upon, banned even.  But today, ‘croaking out’ is quite commonplace.

Where was I? Oh yes. Talula tiptoed towards Freddie who flung himself forward, falling at her feet. What a lovely couple they made. Okay, Talula was a tad taller and he was somewhat slimier, but that wouldn’t stand in their way.

Since then, Talula and Freddie have been meeting Fridays and Tuesdays.  

Yesterday Freddie asked Talula for her paw in marriage so she took him to seek her parent’s permission.  Freddie wondered how they’d react; he feared being frogmarched off the farm!

He needn’t have worried. He was accepted with open legs!

 

 

 

 

Thanks to Donna for hosting, The picture is by Betty Webb

 

 

for Friday Fictioneers

 

 

The flight was perfect. Decent food, a drink or three and a movie.  Straight through immigration.  Everyone is smiling.  I’m happy, relaxed and looking forward to my hotel room, a bubbly bath then tucking into something spicy. Aaah, bliss!

There’s the bus.  What a charming driver!  This seat’s so comfy. Off we go.

Ooops, he slammed on the brakes.  Woo, we’re hurling forward.  We’re going ridiculously fast, swerving this way and that.  Mind that tuk-tuk, wooo, watch that car.  We’re turning left, right, right (utter a prayer) left, stop, start, stop…and…we’re…there.

I’m exhausted.  I’m queazy.  Where’s the toilet?  Where’s my bed?

 

 

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to  Fatimer Fakier Deria for the photo.

Stop Froggie to join in the fun!

 

 

for Wordless Wednesday in its various guises!

 

 

A few pictures I took on my local beach!

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for Sunday Photo Fiction

 

 

Twas Wednesday and the village square bustled with busy shoppers and eager tradesfolk as wandering waits made jolly music. A wizened old man in a black gown sat hunched over a black-clothed table.

‘Tell me, kind fellow, how charge you for your service?’ asked a frock-coated gentleman.

‘Three groats sir. I think that is fair. How say you?’ replied the soothsayer stroking his lengthy grey beard whilst expectantly twitching the fingers of an upturned hand.

The gentleman removed his tall hat and placed it on the table.  ‘Two groats my man, and should your fatidic statement prove both accurate and pleasing, I shall award you twenty groats more’ 

They shook hands.  The gentleman sat and paid his dues.

The seer bent down and plucked a stone from the ground.  With a small coin of little value, he frantically scratched its surface.  All of a sudden he stopped and gazed upwards, his hands pointing heavenward.

‘The angels smile down upon you this fine day sir. Conceal this stone within the pocket of your weskit and visit the gambling den from where you will surely leave with a fortune’.

…….which reminds me, I need to buy a lottery ticket – you never know!

 

*Fatidic, a word first recorded in 1602.  Having the power to foretell future events; prophetic.

Word count 200

 

Thanks to Donna for hosting. The photo is courtesy of Wendy Van Hove.

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where we are challenged to write 37 words including Morphology, which relates to the formation of language, plants, animals. rocks, humans – and more besides!

 

 

Last question.  Get it right and I’ll win the quiz.

What’s the study of plant formation called?

Morsicuphily, err, morthipithily, err, morphelophosy, it’s coming…….horticulture, final answer!

Incorrect, morphology.

No, I’m mortifiled, err, mortiplied, I’m……. dismayed!

for Friday Fictioneers.

 

 

What time? I asked.

‘Round about three?’ said Felicity.

We were meeting at the funfair. Yea! I’d not won a goldfish or a cuddly toy for years! 

I was a bit late –  took the wrong exit from a roundabout.  Now, where was she?

Someone called my name.

‘Oy, Keef!’

I spun round and about an inch from my nose was a cloud of pink candyfloss. It tilted sideways and Felicity pounced forward giving me a sticky kiss on the cheek.

We got dizzy on the roller-coaster, bobbed up and down on the roundabout and I won a coconut! 

Such a perfect day…la-la-la…

 

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and CEAyr for the picture which I  took the liberty of flipping as we drive on the left here and I’m easily confused!

Kiss the frog to join in the fun!

 

for Sunday Photo Fiction

 

Menagerie Melanie invited Tetchy Thomas round for a drink on her patio.  Her back yard is more like a safari park than a garden!  Not just her pets either, creatures come and go as if they own the place.

‘I wish your cat would stop staring at my glass’  moaned Tom.

‘Tell it to go then’ said Mel.

‘Me? How?’

‘Very funny Tom!’

‘What was?’

‘Meeow!’

‘Why’s that cockerel staring at me?’ groaned Tom.

‘Probably wondering why you’re whining!’  joked Mel.

‘Ha bloody ha’ 

‘Tom, if animals had pubs, what do you think they’d drink?’

‘Well, deer would drink beer, sheep like baaaarly wine and cats, whiskies’.  At last, Tom was almost smiling.

‘Donkeys like cassis and rabbits, anything made with hops!’  chuckled Mel. 

‘So what would you call their pub?’  asked Tom.

‘Noah’s Ark’ suggested Mel.

Tom stood, raised his glass and tapped it with a spoon.   ‘Closing time’  he yelled.

With that, the cat and cockerel jumped down and all the other creatures began filing out of the gate.

‘Now look what you’ve done’  huffed Mel.

‘I’d think I’d better go too’  said Tetchy Thomas.

‘Yes, you should’  grumbled Menagerie Melanie.

‘I hope you find your pussy!’ 

‘GO!’ 

 

Thanks to Donna for hosting and DeAnna Gossman for the photo.

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Longevity and the word count 76.

 

 

A hundred years ago, a hundred acorns fell from a tree that had stood there for a hundred years before.

Soon after, a sturdy sapling reached for the sun, soaked up rain and resisted the wind.

In time, it became a tree. An oak tree.

Children climbed it, birds nested within its branches.

With hearts carved in its bark, couples declared their undying love.  

Others will doubtless do so for a hundred years to come.

 

 for Friday Fictioneers

 

 

When my friend Rosey downsized to a smaller apartment, her vast collection of bits and pieces didn’t fit, so many of them ended up storage, or prison as she calls it!  She visits them now and again so they don’t feel unloved.

When she went the other day, most of the lights weren’t working.  As she felt her way past Cell 16 she had the fright of her life. Through the gloom, she thought she saw a huge gaping mouthful of ugly gappy teeth!

She screamed, and the lights flickered into life.  Then she giggled.  It was a piano!

Oh, Rosey!

 

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to J Hardy Carroll for the picture.

Prod the frog (if you dare) to see other’s stories!

 

for Sunday Photo Fiction

 

 

‘Ello  ‘oward, ‘ow are you?

A bit cross Bert, my motor car suffered some serious damage this morning.

‘Ow so  ‘oward, what  ‘appened?

I got a punctured tyre.

You can  ‘ave that repaired can’t ya’?

Not just the tyre Bert, the wheel is buckled.

‘Oh ‘eck, that’s  ‘orrible.

And it’s facing the wrong way.

You  ‘aint  ‘avin’ a good day are ya’?

I’ve had better Bert.

So  ‘ow did it  ‘appen  ‘oward?

The road is littered with holes and I hit a deep one hence the damage.

What road, ‘amble  ‘ill off the  ‘igh street?

Yes, that’s the one. There should be a warning sign.

There is  ‘oward, I wrote one myself and stuck it by the  ‘awthorn  ‘edge.

I saw a sign about owls in the road, but nothing about holes.

Oh  ‘eck, I must have spelt  ‘oles wrong! I feel a right twit!

Me  ‘twoo’ Bert!

At least you  ’aint damaged your sense of  ‘umour  ‘oward!

No, not me. Right, I’m off to the garage, they should have it fixed by now. 

‘Ope they  ‘ave  ‘oward, bye.

Bye Bert.

 

 

 

Thanks to Donna for hosting and to  Morguefile for the picture