A very short story featuring 4 underused words beginning with B



Today’s underused words are :-

bBosk (n) A small wooded area.

Bombinating (v)   Buzzing, humming.

Bifurcates(v) Divides into two branches.

                              Brannigan (n) A drinking spree.




Bill’s got a bosk at the bottom of his garden.  It’s nice.  A couple of beech trees and an oak or two.  Bushes too.

A footpath runs into it. Midway it bifurcates.  One way is a useful shortcut to the village pub, and the other leads to what he calls his honey factory.   Five hives and a colony of bombinating bees!

When he goes collecting he looks like a creature from outer space with his protective gear covering him from head to foot!

He sells his honey in the pub.  It’s delicious.   Whenever he’s there enjoying a brannigan, he has a new bee joke.  What do bees do when they get married?   Have a honeymoon!  Where do they go?   Beejing or Stingapore! 

So, what shall I have for breakfast today?  Toast and honey of course!



Tomorrows words :-

Cockolorum (courtesy of Varad!), concinnity and cynosure

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A-Z Challenge day one.


I’m something of a loganamnosist* and this month I will resurrect as many obsolete words as I can within short pieces of flash fiction.

* (n) someone with an obsession for discovering long-forgotten words.


To start us off –


Absquatulate (v) to discreetly leave a gathering or party without informing the host.

Aliment (n) food; nourishment.




Oh no! Look what I’ve done. I don’t think anyone noticed, at least I hope not.  But honestly, serving red wine at a party in a room with a white carpet is asking for trouble.  Someone’s bound to spill some.  Don’t you dare rat on me!

Actually, it looks quite pretty, almost as if it’s meant to be there.  If I drip a drop more just there, and a dribble to the right, it’ll look like a pretty rose.  Then if I accidentally drop some of that green guacamole dippy stuff and tread on it, it’ll have some leaves!   Shall I?   No one’s looking, so here goes!  

Hey, that’s great; a magnificent work of art! 

Time to grab a handful of aliment and absquatulate methinks.  Disappear like that graffiti artist that paints pictures on walls without being seen.  What’s his name?  Banksy, that’s him.

Just think, one day this carpet will be worth a fortune. The Rose: Artist unknown!


Tomorrow’s words :-

Bosky, bombinate, brannigan and bifurcate


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Thirty-five words …

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Continuity and the limit just 35 words.





Continuity of thought comes … 

        mmm, nice wine 

naturally to some, … 

        must check my emails 

not allowing …

        oh look, a spider

random notions to … 

        what’s the time?

interrupt …

        Sunday tomorrow

their …

        yawn ……..      

What was I saying?



My contribution …

to Sue Vincent’s  #writephoto Prompt.

I have one golden rule when writing pieces for my blog.  No more than 200 words.  But today I’m breaking it and posting 376 of the little blighters. I’ll tell myself off later!




write-photo-26th-mar (1)He was scared, so very scared.  Never before had he known such fear.  He was running, faster and faster.  He had to run.  Run, run. run.

He hurtled between the trees, tripping, stumbling, bouncing from one trunk to another. His shoulder throbbed with pain. One arm hung limp and useless.

A glance behind, then suddenly the ground before him fell away.  With a thump and a splash, he landed in water.  For a moment, he let the icy stream wash over his aching limbs; for a moment the pain eased. Holding his breath for a second, he listened. He heard no one but that didn’t mean he was alone.  Any wistful thoughts washed away.  He had to carry on. 

Scrambling to his feet, he climbed the bank.  Foul water trickled from his hair into his eyes.  They were stinging.  Streaming.  Almost blinded, he clambered through the foliage, brushing wet leaves from his face,

A sudden chill.  He stopped.  A bitter breeze swirled around him.  He shivered.  He heard a hollow echoing laugh. A blood-curdling laugh.  Firstly before him, then behind. Utter panic set in. Where to go, where to run. Don’t think about it. Just run. Run.

He rushed through long grass and dragged himself through a thorny hedge. A warm trickle of blood ran down his scratched and torn face.

A clammy hand grabbed him. An unseen slimy hand, which clasped his neck and strangled his cry for help. But he struggled free and clambered on all fours up a slippery slope. Without warning an avalanche of stones and rocks tumbled downward, pummelling his aching body.

He knew it was up.

He could go no further.

Then that laugh again. That mocking, brutal, terrifying laugh.  His mind was a muddle of swirling images, echoing sounds.  A grey mist filled every part of his trembling body. 


Suddenly he was swept from his feet. Something unseen caught him, enveloped him, carried him skyward. He stared down at the moor and the forest below. A feeling of euphoria came over him.  A warm glow.  Contentment.  He heard a soft voice, as smooth as silk.  

“You are safe now,” it said.  “No need to run anymore”.

His eyes closed and he slept the sleep of an angel. 

It was over, for another night at least.


Some pictures




I have stayed close to my home for this week’s Wordless Wednesday.  I took these pictures on Pevensey Marsh on the East Sussex coast which separates my seaside town from the one to the west.   

It’s a large salt wetland and grazing pasture which once formed the seabed.  In 1066 William the Conqueror sailed over it during the Norman invasion.  As kids, we used to dig into the soil to find seashells. 

They depict some of the numerous man-made channels (known as dykes) that crisscross the marsh intending to prevent the area from flooding, though not always successfully! 












… and finally, residents Mum and Dad Swan with their lit’lun!



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One hundred words …

for Friday Fictioneers.




BGMy friend Rosey rushed into the pub with a big grin on her face.

‘Guess what?’ she shouted interrupting our conversation.

‘Guess!’  she squeaked hopping up and down.

‘Do tell us’  pleaded Sally,  ‘don’t keep us in suspenders!’

‘Drumroll please’  yelled Mike tapping his hands on the table.

‘Well … I just parked my car… between two others … perfectly!

‘Wow,’  I said remembering the time I tried guiding her and she ran over my toe.

‘And, both wheels are exactly one inch from the kerb!’

Then her expression changed.

‘But there was no one there to witness it’  she sighed.



pastedgraphicThanks to Rochelle for hosting and J Hardy Carroll for the picture which immediately brought to mind some of the weird places Rosey parks her car!

Click on Froggie to join in the fun!