Mustard Shampoo

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– “Oh no Frances, don’t do that again! It’s only Tuesday…. What time is it?”

– “Early enough, and listen to this, it says Venus is aligning with the Moon today, and small events stemming from Capricorn’s innate daryness  will pamper you with a stream of luxurious payback…. can you translate this?”

– ” It means I need three spoons of sugar in my coffee today, stewardess!”

– “Oh.. I forgot to tell you, yesterday: we’ve run out of coffee.”

– “aarrrggghhhh…. check inside Tommy’s lottery box- if he’s still snoring…. you might find a couple of free coffee samples, as the horoscope suggests…”

– “I’m afraid I can’t, it says here- geminis  need to emphasise on time keeping today, or else  we may have to face self-piling workload.”

– “ok. Don’t forget the Arabica mild roast on your way back.”

– “I’ll write it on my hand. Bye! Don’t fall back asleep lucky capricorn!”

By a chance of luck, as I reach for my phone…. the battery’ s dead. Frances saved me again, because I had set the alarm  buzz for seven am.

Through the window I watch her walk away in a confident hurry, sporting a purple uniform and her favourite yellow crocs.

–  “Frances, I’m not a Capricorn, I’m a Sagittarius!!!” My words are trashed away by the noisy rubbish truck.

*          *          *

The boss has given us an extra lunch half hour, and once again the receptionist wants me to take her sample-hunting.

– “Let’s have lunch first, I suggest, there’s no queueing at the food stall right now. They said there might be a storm.”

– “What, is that what Francesca read on today’s horoscope?”

– “Don’t be jealous of her. She’s had it hard.”

– “And so have we all. Three samples for me and only one for her!”

– “Hot dogs?”, Asks the food stall lady.

– “Two for me with no ketchup, loads of mustard,  extra napkins and chopsticks please!” Anita’s not pulling her leg.

– “That will be eight pounds fifty, just eight pounds for you.”

– “I ‘ve not got enough coins…. so: Same order please,  but without the hotdogs!”

–  “Ummm… One seventy five, two seventy five, three pounds for you! And a hotdog on the house!”

– “Same for me please.”

– “Look, there’s a new bench there. Quick, grab it girl!”

I hesitate to ask then brave the question:

– “Anita, can I enquire…. why won’t you eat without chopsticks?”

– “They make me feel slender. That’s it.”

– “Oh, must be a precious feeling for a millennial female.”

– “Ok,  Capricorn! it’s beauty goodies time!”

– “But you only had mustard for lunch!”

– “Yes, I needed to make up for the free granola bars they were handing out at the station. Here, I took a couple for your pretty Frances.”

– “Thanks. We ve got twelve minutes left. Put some lipstick on, off we go on a lucky errand….. hey, I said lipstick, not Mustard!”

*          *          *

Anita was sniffing all the new shampoo and conditioner cute bottles, not lending an ear to me.

– “Do you do Mustard shampoo, Madame?”

– “Mustard shampoo? Not as far as I know. But our latest cinnamon edition shampoo and conditioner in one is your closest bet. Let me ask my supervisor anyway.”

Leaving all the bottle lids halfway screwed, Anita looks high on exotic essences.

– “Please Sir, could you be kind enough to fill in our creative suggestion form, and very importantly, your email address, because we are treating you with this season’s sample case.”

–  “But we’re late to work…”

– “No worries – I can quickly  fill it in for you,  because I am impressed with the beautiful shine on your girlfriends hair.”

– “Don’t misspell your email address again!” Anita the spoiler sometimes behaves like she’s my girlfriend.

Mission exceeded, we two colleagues are pleasantly excited  by what items we got inside the gift bags.

We hear a thunderbolt.

It’s raining so heavily we have to stay under the porch, dodging the upset bargain shoppers who only want a square inch of shelter.

The rain grows thicker and cooler. I’ll never forget the next five minutes, when Anita opens the coconut shampoo and the small crowd of shoppers instantly start querring about the product.

Anita wants the stage, and she starts foaming her hair under the storm.

I think they gave us an aphrodisiac instead of shampoo. Passers try and take pictures… but the rain’s too thick.

I cannot recall a sexier scene than my very professional receptionist washing her locks under the violent spring shower. I want to ask her what her sign on the horoscope is.

Anita needs not to feel jealous about any single millennial or trillinial chick. The girls got it.

Before the rain recedes the receptionist’s head is wrapped in a newspaper.

A rain scent still lingers on her- even today,  as all customers keep boomeranging back to our shop.

*           *          *

On my way back after work, I don’t bother to collect free papers to cut out the horoscope for Frances, as I’ve been fed up of doing for the past couple of years. All I can think of is brushing with Anita’s hair. I forget to pop into the supermarket to get a coffee jar for the flat. I even forgot Frances’ gift bag!

*         *          *

The flat door is unlocked and I am hoping it’s not  some burglars coming to steal toilet rolls. There’s sachets of mustard over the kitchen table. Frances treating my Anita again as a gesture of fair competition.

– “Thanks, Frances! Frances, you in?”

She sneaks out from Tommy’s bedroom. I pretend not to notice. The keetle beeps.

– “Who got the coffee?”

– “Tommy won a tenner on the Lotto! Says Frances, bottoming her uniform.

– “Well done.  Can I keep the change?”

The evening is light as usual,  lifting the work fatigue just when it’s time to sleep.

I could have guessed! These geesas  are a couple! No wonder they don’t mind me being three months behind the rent…

What other stuff is to be discovered this week? Do I have to peep on one of Frances’ horoscopes to find out?

*          *          *

Two weeks later, and as I am still scratching the love bite, a couple of emails come in at once.

One from the landlord, and one from the beauty store. Bad news is landlord going on a gap year so wants one years rent ahead, good news is we won the two shampoo recipe contests. I only submitted one- shampoo with rainwater…

Over the phone, Anita can’t believe her luck, and starts laughing and laughing,

– “I made up a mustard shampoo formula, just as a joke….. I didn’t even test it…. can’t believe we won the grand, plus the lifetime supply of beauty products!”

Well, it’s all typed somewhere in cyberspace. As for me I need to find a new room. The grand comes in handy.

– “You moving out with Frances?”

– “Nope!”

– “Then come to my block! there’s a free room on the second floor sharing with some dictionary animals…. sure they ‘ll love the mustard shampoo….”

– “Thanks.  I ‘ll check the horoscope and get back to you.”

– “No probs, Capricorn! I’ll be practising on a new sardines moisturising cream formula as a good bye prank to Frances – while you make up your mind…… gosh you really got me into this.”

– “Just to remind you girls once again, I am not a Capricorn, but the lucky Sagittarius…”

The End

Keep the competition happy!

 

 

 

Secret Flowers, Dreadlocks and Blueberry Muffins.

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Once upon a dream there was a very special blueberry tree.

Its fruits refused to blend into muffins so they only showed at night, when they talked funny gossip about the garden bugs’ adventures.

And everyday, at nine o’clock, the flower delivery guy stole a fruit, dropped a braid and hopped away, happy to keep Ron the gardener’s secret during one more shift.

But the secret would soon become a muffin.

The antiques dealer and her charming servant lived towards the West of the garden. They never got tired of receiving a delicate bunch of flowers from an anonymous sender.

No, the flowers were not for the mistress, but for her jolly loyal servant Milly, who used the flowers to keep busy pressing them into cards or diadems, or anything she could come up with… but what Milly did not like, was to bake half a dozen of muffins at night , for Ms Jane to enjoy breakfast with her time-rich clients.

– ” You haven’t told Milly, have you?” The gardener would enquire from time to time.

– ” Sort of…. NOT.” And so  Ron the gardener would mess up the flower driver’s dreadlocks.

– ” I hope I don’t catch you nicking the blueberries”

– ” It’s a small price for a secret”

– ” Are you suggesting Milly’s heart is of a small value?”

– ” Oh, no, I didn’t mean that…. I mean you need to water the blueberry plant with brandy next time, so they grow plumper…” said John, trying to redo all his hair.”

– “Same time tomorrow!”

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Ron the gardener had first met Milly on her third day of work, when she rushed to him for help to mend a Vase she dropped while dusting. The girl was so worried that she didn’t say a word while glueing the pieces back together, one after another, until the vase was whole again. He was still hoping for a chance to talk to her- but all he got was ironical messages sent back by John, such as

“Please could Mr Love talk John into a haircut instead of sending the fifty- eighth bunch of  gorgeous flowers. Thank you.”

*          *          *

One morning there were no flowers delivered to the doorstep. The two ladies felt surprisingly unspecial.

“I just wish my fan would actually turn out to be….. John.”

Later in the day Milly received a call from Ms Jane saying she would be late,  for a very fine deal had been reached for some new acquired goods.

No pretty flowers to do artwork that day. Milly felt like having a break, so she went for a stroll down the lane.

She saw John picking some berries.

– “Where’ s my bouquet? Has my admirer given up so easy?”

– “Hey Milly! You scared me! Do you want some blueberries? The gardener’s away- there’s a rumour he won the lottery last night!”

– “The….. what? ”

– “Yep! The lottery.”

What a strange day this was, thought Milly. Maybe it was another fib.

– “John! Stop chewing that dreadlock !”

– “ooops… don’t tell  Ron…”

– ” About you biting your own dreadlocks?”

-” No, silly! about the blueberries…”

– ” Actually, I was just thinking I might take some for tomorrow’s darling muffins…. you won’t say anything?”

– “I might…. NOT”. They both laughed as usual.

– “See you again tomorrow when you bring my fan’s art supplies”.

Just before she turned away from him, some familiar car brakes pulled like the sound of a nightmare snorer, just in time for Jane and the gardener to catch the conversation.

The stalky man stepped out.  The look he gave Milly was like two slaps accross her face…. This strong fellow with those  calm, cloudy eyes was the one sending the flowers everyday! Dropping the stolen berries from her skirt and all over the floor, she was even more vexed by the gardeners spontaneous gesture: he was helping her pick the blueberries!…..

Ms Jane, who knew her servant just like a daughter, could follow the full story.

The gardener was firm,

– “I experienced the archaeologist’s dream yesterday while pulling out some roots. The Council insisted I could keep the old coins, so I was planning to buy some land for you and I Milly,  and even build a flower art workshop for yourself, just so you needn’t bake a single more muffin again. I already had in mind a lady who would do the housekeeping for you. You were to me the freshest flower in the bouquet, but now I see you are an ungrateful blueberry thief who mocked my feelings while taking the gifts.

– ” I’m so sorry, I…..”

– You’re not sorry. Today we found out who my real lady is… one who you should have learnt from.

– “Don’t talk to her like that!” Said John, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, “She works hard everyday and cheers up my mornings!, and it was me who offered the blueberries just now…”

– “Then take her hand… take it! I shall ask for Ms Jane’s on my knees.”

After a brief exchange of amusing glances, both men fell on their knees. The ladies felt a warm blush of complicity.

A sudden gush of wind blew a few ripe blueberries away like confetti, while the happy bugs flew and crawled towards the spot where the fruit spilt over.

– “One more thing,  Ron continued, my lucky messenger, if you could spare a couple of hours this evening to do a spikey dreadlock coiffure over this foolish head of mine, and it looks good- I promise you – all four of us will enjoy digging more coins out from the soil… and then we can do a proper  sausages and blueberries barbecue!

The drivers behind, who had been listening while they waited for Jane to move her car out of the way, started to beep and cheer….

– “Hey, we’re engaged!” Cried Milly, “can’t you wait? And please don’t drive over our blueberries! I’m trying a new muffin recipe in the early morning!”

The End.

*       *       *

More posts coming soon

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The Feathered Drone

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Alex remained indifferent to the plague all the village was worried about, for he was the village fool…

Errands for you, and you! fix my car, polish Mr Quito’s shoes in three minutes…. only, and only, for a bunch of coloured feathers.

And everybody was fond of him, we could even say proud of him. But why he loved the feathers – people kept on asking each other. There were always jokes going on about Alex’ s feathers, and he didn’t really like that- but nevermind! He always got beautiful ones from friends returning from holidays or business trips.

One morning the fool heard a knock on the door. He was asked to dispose of his feather collection, as a precaution to take against the enigmatic plague going around.

His flatmate Manu managed to agree to give the feathers, only if these would be returned once the disease would receed.

Manu kept checking on him all day, in case he would be upset without his feathers.  But on his way back home,  he was absorbed by the colourful decorations on his friends’ garden trees, and statues…

– “Isn’t all this festive? Alex has been charging everyone with old curtains… instead of feathers!” For the first time in a month, people were cracking jokes again, distracted at last from the same topic.

A couple of weeks later many folks were happily helping him make his creations, and some ladies even asked them to do their garden doors up.

The sick started to take tiny walks out- just to admire the colourful, crazy new attire their old town was showing.

When the subject was raised at the village neighbourhood meeting, all agreed that, even if Alex had asked for permission prior to putting up the funny decorations, the artwork would be removed after the summer.

In need of nonsense, the people were getting more ideas just to stay away from the taboo subject- from taking the cattle on a stroll to wearing flower diadems- anything to show they were not afraid.

*          *          *

Mario’s car wouldn’t start after a long day training at the doctor’s surgery, so he called the strong Alex to help push it back home. Once by the porch, he told the fool

– “Make sure you wash and dry all that sweat off before you go to sleep!”

– “No need.”

– “What?”

– “No need.” Mario looked at him, and Alex explained,

– “If I keep the sweat then I will grow feathers!”

The car engine started as a comical sychnonicity of events, for the idea this silly comment had sparked in Mario’s scientific mind made him rush back to the surgery lab, to stay and work on it for the following weeks.

The decorations in town started getting exaggerated and lost their novelty charm. With the plague, they added to the confusion. So down they came.

The fool thought he wanted his feathers back: he walked to the surgery hoping to find Mario, besides there being rumours he wasn’t in town.

Mario was on the phone speaking some foreign, very weird language. Saying something about a “formula“. When he saw Alex, he smiled and rushed inside to get the box of feathers.

– “Aye! My feathers!”

– “We got something even better. Wait here five minutes.”

– “A drone! A drone!” People were clapping. More drones followed. Maybe these were bringing vaccines!

– “I’m going to sleep in my bed now- please Alex, don’t say anything.”

– “I won’t.”

– “Oh, I wanted to ask you…. well, I was slightly curious…. why do you collect feathers?”

Alex put his head down and turned sad.

– The feathers…. my feathers… well, it’s just that maybe one day I’ll get invited to one of those really funny dressing up parties…. so I’m saving up all the feathers for  my costume!”

The End.

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My Unforgettable Getaway

The Mount from Marazion“Why do you want to go to St Ives? It´s a five hour train ride… we can fly to Ibiza in less than two hours.”

“No Ibiza. I just want to go to St Ives.”

“Ok then!”

Didn´t take much convincing, for the joys and miseries of travelling always set a new mark to start afresh.

-“Can I ask you, what will we do in St Ives?”

-“Here are the tickets, we´re leaving in one hour and forty minutes.”

-“ Oh, no,You´re joking!” I saw that shiny, little star in his eyes.

The journey was unexpectedly smooth and I had three boxes to tick on my list- art, sea and moaning.

Yep, moaning. I always save my moaning to get spoilt in the most ridiculous manner I can.

– “You will not moan there will you? “

– “Not if you let me smoke as much as I like”.

– “Ok”.

The closer we got to the hotel, the more enchanted we felt, for if there was a place with a simpler richness of character, this would be the areas of Cornwall.

The first day was silly, spent walking up and down like a pair of knotted shadows, the skilled rythm of the port not affected by our hungry curiosity . We watched, and before the art galleries closed, we had seen those paintings.

-”Gosh, you look like that pirate!”

– “Thanks!, he also looks like me”.

There is a travel style we enjoy, and it is the one opposed to the “surveyor tourist” as I like to call them, who carries a list of the most important sights to visit, at a particular date and time, and the more he sees, the better.

We just like to float there, let our shoes take us around, hear the history from the locals, notice those particular little things…. go visit the places the locals recommend, and mostly, get to know the people.

That day I was left thrilled by an old novelty of place, so I had forgotten to do my planned and loved moaning. Took me almost an hour to fall asleep as the beauty of St Ives played in my imagery, making me want it all.

Very lucky to rise under a beautiful sunshine and a treasoning wind, I suggested we had a sip of Cornish Lust Cream for breakfast. It sprung to my mind to hire some bikes, why not. Even if my smoking and quick sandwiches habit was not going to be my friend. Minutes after I googled a bike hire service, I heard my name.

The bikes were there! Peter from Lands End Cycle Hire had delivered them! And we were the halfway though a cigarette. At first I started to feel uneasy thinking of the awful cramps I would get on the next day, but Peter´s jolly mood made me stick to the no-plan, which was to just get on the bikes and go here and there and nowhere.

Pete pulled out a large. colourful map and marked a cross over our exact location. Then he drew a route to follow with a skillful trace, and told us where we could go, including St Michael´s Mount.

– “Isn´t all that too far?”

– “No it isn´t”, he said, confidently. I was slightly scared when I saw the line on paper, but all this sounded so good.

Handing us the bikes as if he was trusting his best racing horses to take us on our journey, I watched my partner ride off in circles like a kid.

– “Where´s the map?”

– “I´ve got it!”

– “No, give it to me!”

Every time I remember that day I´ve got to stop doing what I´m doing and enjoy the resurfacing emotions for three minutes.

I felt very proud of not going back on my steps but taking up the little adventure, and we could´t wait to go. We only took essentials and the bike locks. No, no raincoats.

“If it´s longer tan I think then I can start my moaning.”

Instead of moaning, all that came up was a futuristic renaissance of the body as my legs pumped up the oxygen, and we felt so free and in control of space, wanting to go further and further.

All that running after buses, errands and the ever broken lift had paid- I wasn´t so unfit! I was recalling how as a kid I liked to BMX, while I tried to not miss the enticing lansdcapes and architecture that allowed us to inhale history, life and future.

We didn´t get lost. We saw so much, placed our feet on the Giant´s Heart of St Michael´s Mount, the day was too long and at the same time too short… for we could´t get enough. It was all too entertaining to leave space for cramps.

At one point a young lady called us and handed us the notes I had dropped while taking off my jumper. This was sooo nice.

The sky was wide, the breaks so delightful.

– “You haven´t started moaning yet!”

– ” Wait and see. It´s getting dark, we need to get back to the hotel.”

– “I think it looks like it´s about to rain.”

– “How are we going to make it back tos St Ives?”

A passer-by Heard us and said the last train was leaving in sixteen minutes, and we could take the bikes too. I thought it was a joke, but it was correct. My ignorance!

My partner looked at me and said

– “I didn´t know you were so fit”.

– “you mean the bike is fit.”

– “Very funny.”

– “Sure I am, because you always send me to the most remote shop to get hot chilis for the pasta sauce before it´s about to burn!”

– “I guess so… do you have that Crust cream on you?”

– “You mean the Lust Cream?”

– “Yeah. Whatever.”

– “No, I left it on the night table…. When do we go back?”

– “You want to go back?”

– “Well, if we got enough money to stretch the holidays…. I´d like to stay one week more.”

– “OK. We´ll stay until we got two pounds fifty left in our pockets.”

He opened a secret zip inside his jacket and showed me a few notes.

– “Hey, you cheeky! I asked. What´s that”?

– “I got a refund and I saved it for a sunny day.”

– “Brilliaaaant! We´re there! Quick, where´s the bikes wagon? “

– “No idea….”

– “What we gonna do?”

– “The bikes wagon is the last carriage!”, somebody informed.

– “Thank you, Sir! “My man stared at him in funny way and whispered…

– “This guy really looks like that pirate on the painting we saw yesterday.”

I lied all the time about not having any night cramps, even if he kept on asking, because I wanted to cycle my breathe away- on every single holiday, for the rest of time….Bikes at Porthmeor Beach

After six days whe realised we had only three gorgeous pounds left. We had fed the seals, been fishing and many more things. It was time to return the bikes.

Peter must have read our relief, because he smiled as if he could grasp the joy of our cycling in Cornwall. He must have been very used to that.

– “Before we go, can we get a souvenir mug? Do you think we got enough coins? “I enquired.

-”Lets try. The mug broke a Little on the way back. What is really strange is that the day we got our brand new bikes and got back home, the mug strangely appeared undamaged.

A few weeks later I noticed my man staring at some birds.

– “You like their looks? The shorter one reminds me of the pirate on the boat on the painting….”

– ” It’s even better than that! I think she might be the same person who picked up our quids when you dropped them in Cornwall”…

– You wish!

*          *          *

Lately I found a new excuse to moan- and this is if someone asks to borrow my bike!.

 

The End.

Thanks for sharing!

Benefits of cycling include

– Better navigation skills

– Improves spacial awareness and confidence

– Boosts your inmune system

– Brain health

– Social life

….. and no need to mention- saves a good deal of time and money!

St. Ives Bikes

The Budgie Who Fell In Love with my Enemy.

dalton-touchberry-yWfdhaqSAEo-unsplashYou loved to be cat called, Selena, and this time I was going to do this in a way you never heard before.

Since you moved in upstairs, three months back, my Budgie had stopped singing every morning because of your loud Moby playing, because you jumped around the living room like a drunk tapdancer. My budgie was even singing Moby kind tones after a while, which I found unpleasant.

Don’t procrastinate. Don’t procrastinate. Go ahead! Was what I had to repeat to my clients who sought for counselling everyday. Why wasn’t I doing that myself?

That day I grabbed a saucepan so you would hear me behind the door, and to my surprise, you said

“Hey, neighbour! You’ve run out of salt? There’s some in the kitchen, to the left, help yourself!”

As sweet and fresh as you sounded, I was not going to be charmed .

– We haven’t run out of salt, but of patience!

You stopped the music and took a sip from a shiny bottle.

– Take a seat.

– You noisy Pretty Woman are annoying us with those Moby beats in the mornings!

– I’ve been told so.

– Is that all you can say, I’ve been told so? wait until I issue you with a pet shrink’s bill and then you won’t even be able to afford a handkerchief to cover your muscles….!

– Take it easy, girl. What kind of music do you guys like?

I didn’t know what to say, I was so angry.

– Then why don’t you and the little budgie come join me every morning for my fitness routine?

This was the minute I thought I had lost my voice: me, exercising daily, and for free? Wasn’t this exactly what I recommended my clients to get on with?

A flash went through my head. I couldn’t barely go up a flight of stairs without going out of breathe, and all my online dating ended up with the phrase “I’ll be in touch”.

You drank the rest of the shiny bottle of whatever it was and said,

I’ll see you and the budgie, tomorrow 6 AM, and you don’t need to bring the saucepan with you….

I heard my budgie singing high downstairs as you pinched my behind. Couldn’t help laughing, but, inside, I still held a grudge over you. Even today!

*          *          *

The rest of the day was a clumsy one, as I couldn’t figure out whether I was more intrigued by yourself and our new friendship, or by the body transformation.

The fact is our first workout day was a giggling one as you kept on asking my budgie to sing this or that song and my budgie kept nodding as I had never noticed before.

I got cat called for the first time in fifteen years on my way to work: ” betty boo is late to work, wish I had a car to give her a lift!”

Cucumber smoothies after the workout, budgie dancing to copy us and policing questions like ” how did you acheive this look, tell me?” were just a few of the many joys you, my neighbour Pretty Woman Selina, brought into my life. Not to mention the naughty pizzas we gobbled every Sunday evening…. while scrolling down through the dating website.

Brenda, my neighbour on the right, and Nancy, the block’s cleaner, very soon joined in.

Then one day, as the pizza delivery was absurdly late, you broke into tears and told me your story.

A promising career as a dance/fitness monitor at a tropical island hotel spa had been wrecked by the jealous director’s wife, who caught him reviewing the souvenir class footages.

She had pressed charges against you for a sprained ankle and so you lost your license unfairly. But as we spoke and you mentioned the name of the couple, he happened to be one of my clients, and recently divorced!

We didn’t make contact through my premises, but you found him on that hilarious dating site. His ex wife was poorly, and luckily, Brenda talked you through forgiving her and lending her a helping hand.

What could be nicer than a new baby budgie couple to cheer her up and join our morning fun?

Not only friendship ties were becoming the norm around these budgies, but the once jealous avenger mended her mistakes, she built a new fresh friendship with her ex.

We fit five ladies are opening a bird sanctuary in the empty space behind the block garage- and a fitness lounge just beside!

The Sunday pizzas are still our naughty secret so please keep your mouth shut…. oh, and remember: budgies don’t like to hold a grudge, and they don’t like techno!

The End.

Thanks for sharing!

More books here.

Image by Dalton Touchberry from Unsplash.

Thinking at the speed of Lightning

91630354-09D6-49DE-B062-B699EC559D05A relieving January feeling trespassed Rob’s twelve figure calculations as his business was retrieving new wings.

Sat at one of those new characterless franchise terrace cafes, he enjoyed that pleasant recalling of last year’s life-changing events.

No need to pull out his hat nor to charm his way to get a sheltered seat- the rain had started to embarass the locals again-  for those memories could beat a Netflix action film playing loud in a dark hotel room.

Those increadible twenty minutes under an impertinent heatwave in this same square at the coast town saved his son’s vibrating destiny.

I’ll narrate the events once more….

He was waiting for his coffee to cool diwn just to concentrate better on the a phone conversation with one of his suppliers, when there was a collective outbreak of shouting.

He had to follow the joy/fright to be able to distinguish what the turtle was going on there, when he was soaked with iced water at the medieval corner.

” Leave them, they’re thirsty!”

A pipe had burst on the road. As he whipped his eyes to see, a pullizter-prize like scene staged a very mixed-feelings atmosphere. He couldn’t even smile, for the joy that rushed through the people was explosive and brief.

The youngsters had already set their phones to video mode to capture the grateful yet very dishevelled foreigners who were drinking water.

”Heck! The ducks have just found a petrol well under their feet!

” I don’t think they even know what petrol smells like…”

Ranging from their late teens right into middle age, and dirty, almost toothless and dressed in dark worn eighties’ garnments, the brave men were trying to hide the fact that they were crying. The way they were drinking from the spree showed that this was their accostumed way of drinking, for all their bodies were shaking except for their strong hands.

The divine welcoming of overabundant civilisation was not what they had pictured all their lives, but they liked it.

Rob was now trying to profile them in origin and deeds, but these folks panther-like features along with a melodic way of expressing themselves made him fully sympathetic.

He thought that wherever they came from- that place would definetly become his family’s next holiday destination.

As the growing crowd mingled in that spontanoeous style that curiosity and wonder fuel easily, a couple of kids joined the water party. A bitter woman close to Rob ordered

„ Don’t get too near guys, they might have something contagious!”

That’s when the businessman’s spare brain locker popped open. He went on guard. His grandfather had fled war.

A desperate strange growl made silence around the square. One of the folks held a damp family photograph, and the rest started checking all their pockets for their own ones.

In no time at all two eastern european builders offered some napkins they had angrily snatched from the luxurious sandwich bar where that unscrupulous mother was sat, and as ever so grateful as these men were ,their most feared nightmare was threatning to come true- losing the photos.

As the builders efficiently showed them the snaps hadn’t been ruined, some media student asked her friend,

”Is the film crew here yet?”

That was enough. Reaching to his pocket for cash and then waved it to the smuggled, thirsty men -with no concerns over the the notes getting soaked, their eyes met for a lengthy second, enough for Rob to taste their dangerous and exhausting journeys.

Those eyes were  as eloquent as a drunk nutter’s.

”No, Dollars? Dollars? They didn’t reach for the money.

A TV van was approaching down the hill.

But Rob had already texted a mechanic he  knew around:

“Bring a large van fast thanks. “ and the young mechanic was there, buffled and not understanding a thing.

Rob’s potentiel friends or ennemies- he didn’t know yet- were still staring at the money with a question-mark twist when he attempted his best to save their lives from an unexpected disaster.

Pointing to the lorry and seeing there was the mechanic’s shopping  bags still inside at the rear, the builders joined to convince them to hop on.

Rob hadn’t even noticed that one  member of the group was a female who’s friends urged to jump in first.

The film crew lost sight of the van, its men and their four saviours and were asking questions to the dissappointed passer-bys.

Half amused and half scared, the immigrants were not repeating “Dollars” anymore but “Job” as they opened the groceries with curiosity and no greed.

It was later known that the peculiar group  fled a serious humanitarian situation and gained passionate working force strength once recovered from the journey.

*     *     *

The guys’ leader and his wife were employed as keepers at Rob’s mansion, but there was still a tricky task to complete.

They had to ask to remove the screening of a short documentary a reckless reporter had shot.

Rob’s always resourceful wife suggested to pass this work to Michael, their rebellious son, who had only been asking to drop school for the past two years.

If there do exist synchronicity events in some people’s lives, this could be another example: the media company got so fed up of Michael’s determination that they became somewhat intrigued by him…. and called him up for an interview.

But as he worked his new life through, distrust from the media drew him to study part- time,aiming for photography restoration course.

Since then the mechanic always keeps an extra large box of sandwiches, drinks and party baloons inside the  van.

Rob’s family is looking forward to a six week break at the foreign workers’ village. Never has a holiday been planned so enthusiastically!

But Michael has kept this information very secret at work…. and taking only his new camera to the trip!

The End.

Thanks for sharing!

More humour here.

 

The Price of a Passport

annie-spratt-466676-2Duncan was a happy IT programmer, and since he married Tatiana his lifetime vocation to become a Nurse had been half fulfilled.

They had met in Cyprus at a late night Hotel Can Can show and tied the knot three months later.  Duncan’s fetish for sexy hands drove him to take Tatiana to the most exclusive Gel Nails salon in Chelsea… after the “bobo” days.

“Bobo days” were what the couple called her period days when Tatiana would be ill, tortured but looked after by her husband like a toddler. This man was a gem.

Nursing Tatiana and checking her vitals every three hours- even at night- was an experience that went beyond love, sex and drug hyper that alllowed them both to start the complicated relashionship again from scratch.  Just like a spiritual self-punishing ritual.

Little did Duncan know that these aches and pains would dissapear with his cosy settled life.

A friend of Tatiana’s from the Russian Embassy had insisted and organised treatment for her condition. An oblivious Duncan paid the ridiculous Physician’s bill thinking he was redeeming her Sins.

So no more “Bobos”. Tatiana launched an online mother’s gifts business from home and her husband started to secretly miss his nursing role.  So the relationship started to go down the pit.

One day before he was about to leave work for the weekend and as he checked his email inbox for the last time, the foundations of his lovely life crumbled down. Tatiana had mistakenly sent a sexy message to him instead of to her lover, Boris, and as Duncan auto-translated the content he stood there frozen and half dead, rereading the translation from Russian in disbelief.

The whole marriage contract was intended to get Tatiana and Boris a British Passport. Nothing else. Duncan had not been making live to this woman, but wotis’ dream working on Boris’ dream of escaping Russian justice with Tatiana.

The betrayed man’s eyes started to water after staring at the screen without blinking.

-“You ok Duncan?” Said the receptionist who was about to leave.[sociallocker][/sociallocker]

-“No. It is all a lie. A lie. A Lie! Tell the boss I am sacking myself,  can’t stand this!”

*     *     *

Four months had passed. Duncan was homeless, heart-frozen and he had also made himself amnesic with a little help from alcohol. But he hadn’t forgotten his mum’s landline number, which he dialled everyday from the last phonebox that worked in Lambeth.

He didn’t want to do as she said and come back home and get his life babysitted by her and social services. Just hearing her voice,  and also herself forcing laughter to keep him going was worth the eighty pence call.

After another row with his mum about her never allowing him to study Nursing as he wanted since age ten, he put the phone down on her and went to sit at the Cemetery, on a grave- his favourite spot that resonated with his spirits.

The whiskey was almost finished and the keeper was not there to tell him to bugger off again. He heard a very weird sound. Digging? No. Not digging. Not music.

It was a Drone. A Very funny silver drone which appeared to look like some sort of futuristic fantasy creature.

The drone hovered around him, then landed on the grass. He heard his own voice saying “cheer up Duncan! The bobo will take revenge and come back three times stronger – that doctor was only a Vet! Now take these keys to your country house and sign up for the Adult Nursing Qualification starting in two weeks!”

Had he lost it? His alter-ego talking to him through a Drone?

He got up to take a closer look but the Drone danced its way off.  It had delivered the keys to his Bath second property which Tatiana always viciously insisted on keeping, and a receipt for 5,900 pounds for the local nursing academy. Underneath this was a paper in Russian which he understood was a criminal conviction paper for Boris – and he was going to post it straight to the Home Office.

 

*     *     *

The nursing course was so cool he was wishing it would never end. Having come to terms with betrayal and even joking about it, he couldn’t make up his mind about which student to take on a date.

He finally chose Nora, a girl who bit her nails and was studying to be an expert in Terminaly Ill patients- and who loved Cemeteries like he did.

The Day he took her to the same spot where the Drone Duncan had sent himself back from the Future, he told her his story. As she started to giggle hearing that “nonsense”, another Drone came down from the clouds. This time it was metallic red.

On a screen three kids were taking to her. “Hello mummy! Bring us some Rubick’s Cubes from the past!  We’re waiting for them- you can only get them from antiques auctions in 2026! We love you!”

As a tear dropped from her cheek, Duncan removed Nora ‘s fingers from her mouth and she hugged him so strong, he thought he didn’t want to be anywhere else in time nor space.

“Lets go Nora, I’ve booked you a surprise session at the Nails Salon.”

-“Oh, no, please not today! I ve got terrible period cramps….”

 

The End

More humor here.

The Other Woman

votenow-2-transI am not the jealous type. But what happened to me last Christmas changed my marriage for good.

I had been suspecting her existence for a couple of months -but I didn’t think twice when I was sent to a Seminar in Manchester for a week: “if he’s got to see her he will anyway “.

My marriage with my teenage love was too perfect and I would even say boring for Her not to appear like a flesh Ghost. I hadn’t mentioned her to anyone, all I did was get myself a small cute notepad in Cards Galore, and tracked down the clues she left behind. I secretly enjoyed this and carried on with my life.

But when I got back from that Manchester Seminar and found he was not home, I thought myself a fool. Instinctively I went through the bedroom and en suite bathroom to find a case left behind.

It was a tablet case… with no tablet. All there was inside was a collection of cards I avidly went through one by one. This woman was spoilt, and popular. All cards said something like “free ” or “gift” on them, and there was a handful of VIP business cards too.

My darker side took hold of me and I quickly went to my little home desk and sat down to find a place to hide the treasure.[sociallocker][/sociallocker]

“Mother Christmas I shall call her”.

Still trembling with excitement I took a quick shower and undid my luggage. Stan had called to say he had a last minute football ticket given by his colleague and would be back home soon.

Nobody ever reclaimed the little “Christmas present ” but the following months were a new beginning thanks to the cards.

I had used one of the Spa vouchers for an egyptian mud treatment which knocked five  years off my skin complexion . I joined a belly dancing group with her membership card and started to enjoy a kind of sex appeal only celebrities can show off. I used the VIP contacts to make my way through a career change.

And best of all, my wardrobe got revamped and Stan said he couldn’t recognize the “new woman ” I had become. So he took me on a second honeymoon where we finally conceived twins.

While we were there on a drunk night by the fireplace, I confessed my little detective book and so he said She was just a woman he was trying to sign a deal with and who lurred him into intimacy. He said he had set her up with the football fan colleague to get rid of her -and now these two were engaged.

Drunk as he was, he showed me a video of her on his phone where she is shouting at a cabbie in Spanish.

“By the way, can I ask you Jennifer – you don’t happen to have a sugar daddy buying you all this expensive sexy underwear, do you?” And I spilled the whiskey on the sheepskin rug….

 

The End

More humour  here !

Grandma and Grandpa are High

IMG_1814I had always known My Grandpas for their passion for quarrelling. Whether it was the milkshake flavour I would have for breakfast, who was going to drive the Caravan or or what Christmas presents they were to buy my mum, I had child’s wisdom- which told me they loved it.

They were usually brought to sit at opposite ends of the dining table on celebrations.

Now. I had been saved from the five medium bullies on the Estate by fellow classmate Clive Richards. Mum asked me to bring him around the day after, while she and dad were at a Charity Event. Turned out to be Granma and Grandpa had come to our garden to pull out the weeds they loved doing so much.

Clive was teaching me Kung Fu and Grandma was telling Grandpa he had spoilt her crime novel reading by sneaking through the End pages and telling her. Grandpa couldn’t help his devious little smile while he repeated “you’re still madly in love with me and I’m too old for this nonsense Chick”.

It started to rain all of a sudden- one of London ‘s lovely privileges- and all four of us went in into the kitchen.

“How did you two meet?” Asked Clive, surprising me with his interest for the elderly.

” A message in a bottle on the The Canal, forty nine years ago! A waste of a life! I wish I had never opened the bottle and bet you she got someone else to write the letter inside!” Said Grandpa.

” You only picked up the bottle because there were rumours someone was throwing football tickets into the water!”

“The next World War will be for paper! I am a visionary and I even predicted Brexit thirty years ago!”

” Don’t start all that stupid chatter you’ll poison these young minds” Grandma was already preparing a cake.

“Our tools! Lets go get our tools from under the rain!” Cried Grandpa.

“It’s your fault it’s raining again because you were snoring loudly all night!” Off to the garden they went, and I followed them to hold the brolly over their heads.

Clive had been listening to the quarrel all the way and when we went back in he opened up and said he never got to meet any of his grandparents and that he’d like to hear more about the Paper World War”.

After Grandma thanked him from saving me from the Estate bullies the cake was ready.

Now, what on Earth is going on here? Twenty minutes after we started eating the cake and drinking some tea, Granpa is touching Grandma ‘s white locks and crying.

” You look more and more beautiful to me every day Chick and I am so sorry I keep upsetting you all the time, but your mum always wanted you to marry that Officer, and he keeps on asking me after you every time I go to the Newsagents to collect the unsold papers.”

“Oh, Harold! You haven’t spoken to me like this in a lifetime! Why didn’t you clear that extra bedroom we had of all those papers and cardboards, we could have used it for the baby boy I always longed for!”

And they started cuddling, crying and kissing. Clive gave me the same look he had the day he was caught bt the teacher with a cheat sheet in his smartphone. ” Come here Clive” I ordered, not impressed with his counter- bullying skills anymore.

Out on the porch, he looked down and showed me a tiny bag of Hasch. Before I could punch his face for drugging my elders, I heard mum and dad giggling in the kitchen- they had gotten in through the back door- .

Grandma was sruggling to let go of Grandpa ‘s grip and writing something on paper.

“What are you writing, nanny?”

“You’ll see! It’s a message in a bottle!”

“Can we read it?” we all asked.

“Bullied kids’ Barbecue. Meet your future other half while Clive and Sam teach you Kung Fu. Bring this message and old newspapers to be admitted .”

“Do you have any more jars, darling? We’re going to drop twenty of them in the Canal! Hope you don’t mind the mess we’ll make during the Barbecue in your Garden!”

The End.

More humour here!

The Day I Switched To Decaff.

Caffeine hurts, Caffeine drains you, you look nervous. I had heard it all.

Gazing at the infinite coffee lovers’ options at my favourite massive supermarket,  and with time leaking between my nervous fingers, I grabbed it.

A jar of decaffeinated coffee.

” I don’t believe it would be on the shelves if it were bad for you” I said to myself.

In twenty four hours I  were to find out.

Because it was only early afternoon on Sunday I packed some goodies to last me til Monday and decided to spend the rest of my week-end decluttering, then reading my vampire novel… and drinking Decaff.

I even wrote on my smartphone calendar a “good news note” about the new change.

Halfway through chapter six of my novel I realised I was getting a headache and strained eyes, felt drowsy and couldn’t take anything in.

“I will take a bath tomorrow before work”. I forgot to mark the page in my novel. Zzzzz……

Thank goodness I use a loud alarm clock, my good old alarm clock from the eighties, which followed me around the world, through six boyfriends and three redundancies- because I was having a nightmare about London getting flooded with Coffee, and people escaping in huge paper cups and rowing with teaspoons.

I found the bath too hot so I made it a bathspresso. 

Very proud of drinking Decaff, but Heck, where’s that Buzz?!

“I’ll get through this...”

Work is just three blocks away, but on my way I stopped at the ATM. After a seven people queue, I entered my PIN number wrong three times.  Card swallowed. Because I have another pair of cards I just walked away thinking “I ‘ll pay my rent via direct debit like Sasha rightly tells me to”.

We can do this. Even if I’m not quite sure who “we” is, but I needed some back-up then.

 

I had never noticed there’s a Decaff option at the office coffee machine. Stubborn me.

A call. My neighbour Ted yelling. Oh no, I forgot to turn off the hot water tap after my bath! And we were not insured. ” We” again?

Luckily my boss is understanding and I usually don’t call in for too many stickies- so I grabbed my bag and made my way to the bus stop, as Ted was telling me he had recently refurbished his studio flat. So time wasn’t on my side.

“That ‘s a new nice building they’ve just built there!”  This bus was unusually empty so I took a seat and fell asleep while looking outside the window. ” We” weren’t even aware it was the wrong bus.

“Driver! Please let me off! I’ve got a leak at home and am on the wrong bus!”

“Sorry Madame, I  cannot let you off til the next stop. ”

“We’ll get over this Stella”. Was I going mad talking to myself, this time out loud?

As I looked right, Simon was there, pressing the emergency button that opens the door, and pulled me out by the hand.

 

Simon was a summer camp teenage love from Colombia who I had met in the Alpes.

” I still keep all your letters in chocolate box, You look great, just a little sleepy”. He kissed me confidently.  ” Now where ‘s your flat? I will steal a couple of bikes to get there, then we can dump them in front of the Police station like we used to, remember? ”

“We do. I mean- I do”

“Do you still have that alarm clock we used to meet up in the stables at 4 AM?”

I hadn’t realised how far we were from home- I must have really dozed off on that bus. That lucky bus!

Now all I wanted was a double coffee, gaze into Simon eyes and hear his stories.

I don’t know by which exact magic art he happened to have some Colombian Roasted coffee, feather dream-catchers and cafe creme cigarellos. But before there was going to be some fifth gear love making, while being interrupted by Ted the angry neighbour who was still waiting for me to close the tap!

 

The End.