One Day, On The Farm.
Why do herds
Maybe it’s because you’re a farmer carrying a large bale of… hey!
They’re herding this way.
Ah! I see, you are a punster.
Yes, and the name farmer is derived from the old ‘Fermor’ which meant tax-collector.?
But, my name is not Farmer it’s Doug. And I have a shovel.
That’s Mr. Doug, to you.
Touché, Mr. Doug.
“Alexa!!! Will you just shut up and listen to me?”
(No.) Alexa continued listening to Newton Faulkner.
“Alexa!!!!” Fleur was turning an interesting shade of puce.
“Alexa.” possibly slightly more intimidating ‘without’ the exclamation marks.
(Mmmm.) thought Alexa. (Maybe I should just end that Newton Faulkner vibe and listen to commands. Maybe.)
“Stop playing Newton Faulkner… please.”
“Alexa, can you play Ryan Davies’ Beautiful Thing?”
The opening chords began to drift out from the speaker.
“Sorry, Miranda, I was just thinking about a walk once, where we wandered lonely, as woolly clouds”
“Oh, yes; I remember. We were lost.”
“Surely not, Miranda. We were just wandering – we found our way back, didn’t we?”
“Only because we stumbled upon a Caliban, and, having given him some water with berries in’t, and shown him the bigger light and the lesser, he told us which path to take to get us back to this draughty cave.”
“Into air, thin air.”
“Oh, you do talk a lot of twaddle, father!”
“Isn’t It Veronic?”
“Hey, Veronica, meet Veronica!”
“Oh, Veronica and I go way back, Veronica – don’t we Veronica?”
“Oh, yes, Veronica, as Veronica and I were saying, it must be twenty years or more.”
“Really, Veronica? That’s weird, because Veronica and I also go back to our teens (giggles).”
“Teens, Veronica? We are all the same age, as well you should know. All born on the twenty-month of February, 1948.”
“Which makes us…?”
RAF Blues (2)
One morning, at an undisclosed RAF base located somewhere in Southern England, around about the year 1941
“Scrambled eggs at eleven o’clock!”
“Oh, Cookie, you are a one!”
“With toasty bandits?”
“Of course!” smiled Cookie. “No eggy soldiers for the boys in blue.”
“Isn’t that the police?” queried Corky.
“Okay, the boys in RAF blue!” corrected Cookie. “The boys that treasure correctness of detail over actual literal fluidity.”
“That’ll be us!” we all agreed.
“I am the Cheesecake!”
“I am the Cheesecake!”
We looked upon her with some confusion.
But, she said no more – not even what flavour she was.
Somebody had to ask, “Why are you ‘the’ cheesecake and not just ‘a’ cheesecake? it was Teddy Bhere, a cuddly giant of a guy who possessed the biggest ginger beard you have ever seen – though nobody knew where he had got it from.
“I am what I am.” she said. Hardly information to wake the world up for.
“What flavour are you?” Deidre Deidre Mee had to ask the question.
“Banana and Mango.” Not too weird, Banango was a popular choice these days.
“With a Digestive Biscuit Base… and…”
We waited for the bombshell – there was always a bombshell.
“… lots of cheese – I like cheese, especially Smelly Blue Cheeses.”
We moved slightly further away from the Cheesecake. And considered our Maths assignment with renewed vigour.
‘Cheese goes with crackers!’ we thought to ourselves.
“Our speaker tonight…”
“I don’t need a microphone.”
Mumble, mumble, mumble.
We looked at each other.
“He really does need a microphone.” commented Trudy.
“Can you hear me at the back?” he spoke on.
We couldn’t. Our minds started to wander wherever minds unleashed will go.
“Did he say ‘The Spaniards are Revolting?’ “ asked Sparky.
“Doubtful.” I responded. “His speech was supposed to be about the mechanics of sporting achievement, or so I do think.”
Our minds returned from whence they came. I wrote notes on a few ideas for possible stories of the future – like this one.
And a pleasant evening was had by all.