Cake 1 Witch-hunt 0

An unexpectedly early inheritance: poor Aunt Hettie shouldn’t have died so early, and Janine hadn’t considered the implications. However, hearts wear out, and as a result, Janine now owned a largish suburban house and just enough income to enable early retirement from a dull, mid-rank civil service post. Janine stepped out of her job and (at last) from an unsatisfactory marriage, kicking them  both aside like dirty clothing. Free!

The house had a lovely garden backing on to a small copse. There was ample time in Janine’s rethought life to take on beekeeping, two hives of bees soon making good use of the garden.

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Two Big Lads

The two big lads squeezed into groaning chairs in the snug. Regulars compared the pair to two large teddy bears in a broom cupboard.

            ‘A couple of babes on the go; how did I get myself into this mess? ’ McDonagh said, palming sweat from his pale forehead.

            O’ Shaughnessy took his first slurp of Murphys which formed a cream ring around his mouth and said, ‘There are worse problems.’

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Sober Tomorrow

            ‘How’d he get in this state?’ Potter protested.

‘You take that arm, I’ll take this,’ Evans directed him, murmured ‘Now’ and the two of them hauled the collapsed old man onto unsteady feet. They continued to hold him mistrustfully.

            ‘I’ll be alri`,’ the man said. His large jowls, as if transplanted from a boxer dog, wobbled with the rest of his plump body. ‘What was the sc…?’ Did we wn?’

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A refuge in the storm

Of course, the forest was dark that night, in these sorts of stories it always is. But, even as I stumbled through the undergrowth, the wind whipping razor-sharp branches into my face like an enraged banshee, I couldn’t allow myself to slow.

There it was, by some miracle, a light up ahead. I almost physically stretched toward it, like a dying man in the desert offered a flask of water or, perhaps, to flip the analogy, a drowning man thrown a rope from a passing ship.

What it was, was hope. Lower case, yes, but hope nonetheless.

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Hear me out! Here’s a pitch!

Okay, there’s certain stories you really dig. Sometimes it’s high art that you feel smart for liking. An approving conscience says well done, yada-yada.

Sometimes you like silly fluff for reasons you can’t justify but it was Crimson Camel who said a good paperback is preferable to bad literature.

Think about it, what would you rather eat, a fresh big mac or mouldy caviar?

So, this story, penned by the always entertaining Arizona Davies, takes us to a modest house. It’s during lockdown and two people are fucking.

They’re roleplaying with the guy doing a hearty pirate voice: “Yer be my kidnapped wrench ha-ha” but the gal decides to dial up the romance instead.

“I love you,” she states with puppy eyes “My heart aches for you.”

He frowns somewhat puzzled.

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Only six minutes late

“Where the hell is he?” growled Mike, as Lenny’s phone pinged with a message.

“It’s ‘im, it’s Dave,” Lenny said, unlocking the screen. “Says Be there in a minute, had another commitment to deal with.”

“Another BLOODY commitment?” Mike yelled. “Who’s ‘e fink ‘e is?”

“Itchy,” moaned Two. He’d also been christened Dave, and the group didn’t have much imagination.

“Oh, bloody shut up,” Graham snapped. “Don’t you think we’ve got better things to worry about than your sodding skincare regime at the moment?”

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