Tag Archives: #FF

Unreliable Witness – #SoCS

‘SoCS’ Prompt: Black, Gray, or White – unreliable witness. As posted by Linda G Hill

See here for Linda’s site

DCI Syd (ex of the Yard): So, madam, what colour was the vehicle that you saw leaving the vicinity of the area of Whom Manor at about, or just before, or even just after 11, 12, or 1’ o’Clock on the day in question?

DCI Syd (ex of the Yard): So, it was Black, Grey, or White? Can you be a little more specific? No. Okay, it was Black, Grey, or White, and being driven by …

DCI Syd (ex of the Yard): Well, I stopped there hoping that you would fill in the details.

DCI Syd (ex of the Yard): Well – Man, Woman, Girl, Boy, Other.

DCI Syd (ex of the Yard): ‘Yes’ is not helpful, Madam. If you could narrow it down it would be most helpful.

DCI Syd (ex of the Yard): Not ‘other’. Yes, that does narrow it down somewhat. We have ascertained that it was a Man, Woman, Girl, or a Boy, driving a Black, Grey, or White vehicle.

DCI Syd (ex of the Yard): Not a vehicle? Ah, we are getting somewhere now.

DCI Syd (ex of the Yard): It was a ‘Motor Car’. A Black, Grey, or White Motor Car.

DCI Syd (ex of the Yard): And in which direction was it going?

DCI Syd (ex of the Yard): Forwards. It would be, wouldn’t it.

Fred, the dead Red Squirrel, sighed

Fred, the dead Red Squirrel, sighed,

‘The last time I died …’ he said,

I was wearing red.

‘And, this time, too …

perhaps, next time, I should

be wearing blue.

Day 2: Wise Guide? Voice?

Do you have a wise guide?

A voice of steadiness in the storm?’


We had been adrift for many a day, huddled together for warmth in the cruel sanctuary of the lifeboat. The ice-rimed water that lapped about our feet was also what kept us alive, and threatened to end our travails, for the rains had been heavy for some three nights in a row. Luckily, the days had been the opposite, dry, if not warm, and allowing us to keep on top of the fine line between surviving, and diving forsakenly into the unforgiving ocean.

We had, it should be written, lost a few souls from our ensemble – they tended to leap at night when the fear became its worst – and had now, seemingly, settled upon a fixed number, with a fixed routine, and a fixed determination to at least try to survive our ‘peril upon the sea’.

But, in the darkness there was a light.

The light that shone for us was Pastor Tom, he spoke with a sage wiseness that filled our hearts with a glad warmth, and our minds with the hope of an attainable salvation. The trouble was, when he stopped speaking the darkness slowly began to creep back into our beings. The longer our trial lasted, the harder it must have been for him to stir us, for us to be stirred; and the easier it was for the feral black sea-dogs to bark mockingly at our weakenings.

When the real storm hit us, our fears at its powerful effects were realised. We had truly hoped that we should miss it, or it us; but, that scenario was not to be. Ee were adrift in an open lifeboat, hungry, sodden from exposure to the elements, and not knowing if this task was to be one task too many.

Pastor Tom raised his voice and fiercely abraded the storm with commands that it should abate, cease, desist.

He encouraged us to hold tight to our convictions, our dreams of reaching the safety of dry land, and to hold on even more tightly to the ropes that kept us in place upon this week and fragile vessel.

His voice kept us alive.

When the storm passed, an event barely noted, we, as one, said a prayer to whatever god we served, and let out a combined sigh of relief. Pastor Tom had got us through the storm, we would be saved, all would end well.

But, Pastor Tom, was no longer standing at the bow of the craft. He wasn’t within the lifeboat at all. He wasn’t with us in the shape of a person, but we could still feel his care and his love for us.

We did make land. Our bodies and our minds unalterably changed from our experiences. Our lives continuing, free to follow paths unthought of. But all of us carried Pastor Tom with us, for without him we would have perished.

No trace was ever found of Pastor Tom’s body. Perhaps the sea had claims upon it, or perhaps it washed up on a shore in some far off land. Maybe the fishes nibbled gently at his essence until he swam the oceans in the guise of a thousand true seafarers.

No trace of Pastor Tom was found in the records of the parish where he said that he preached. Only ‘I’ found this out.

‘When he was needed he was there; when he needed others, most turned away.’

Temp Ted

Ted was a Temp. Temp being short for ‘temporary’, and Ted was short for Edward. Ted was also short if and when compared to people taller than himself – five feet tall. Ted only had two feet both of which were perfectly in proportion to the rest of his body – being neither too small, nor too large.

Ted was working in Woking in the office of a multi-notional think tank. Or, at least, he thought he was.

He was tempted to leave there; but, he was not a tall self-confident.

Oblique House

Charles Dickens was once said to have said,

‘Thank you for my meal, Catherine.’

However, this was not


he is remembered for.

Bleak House, one of his finest novels,

originally serialised in 1852/3,

tells a tale – as do all the rest

of his works –

and is of matters that matter.

There is a lot of legal jargon and

Inspector Bucket is brought in to investigate.

There may be more; but, perhaps,

you should read it and find out if that is the case.

Uther Pendragon Kellaly

Uther Pendragon Kellaly,

father of Arthur …

and the inventor

of tiny little guitars …

Opportunity (Grab it!)


If an opportunity comes along grab it with both hands.

But, don’t shout out to a colleague ‘Grab it!’ if you see an opportunity for them that they haven’t seen*.

*This mainly applies for when you are upon a boat.

The Education of Begonias

Now, why Begonias should need an education is beyond me – as are so many other, less important, things. But, if I just go along with the premise that they do, then I shall be able to comprehend why these things are.

It is at this point that I ask,

‘Why is monosyllabic such a long word?’

And other questions. Eventually.

Returning to Begonias,

‘Last night I dreamt I went to Begonias again.’

as was once, fictionally, almost uttered by the second Mrs. de Winter in the book ‘Rebecca’ by Daphne du Maurier.

‘Amanda was a carpet-fitter,

Amanda lay a carpet.’

as was recently written by me in my short prose piece, ‘Education for Begonias’

But, to the crux of the matter – or the important bit (whichever you prefer) – the Begonias.

Not the 1963 film directed by Alfred Hitchcock, nor the famous (yet unheard of) pop group from the mid-1960s, but the specific breed of flower. Begonia Obliqua as the Latins might have called it if they were alive today.

Actually, all plants need to be fed and watered with knowledge otherwise they shall remain ignorant and grow the wrong way down a one-way dead-end street.

So, send them to college, fill them with knowledge, and make sure that they ‘are’ Begonias, and not Triffids – there is a difference, but only time William Tell what it is.

Up the Begonias.

Why didn’t I mention ‘Begonias for Beginners’?

There’s your other question.

I shot the Triffid (and I swear it was in self-defence).

Now, not everybody hates a Triffid (if you consider all life being valuable, you don’t have favourites – all are equal).

So, when (in self-defence, I hasten to add) I shot the top of a towering Triffid, I was mightily surprised when a young lady ran up to me clutching leaflets and a sad expression.

“You’ve killed it!” she cried. “What harm was it doing you? You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Why?”

All these exclamations and questions were not readily answerable to her satisfaction, and I was soon being issues with a notice under Regulation TR1, Section 5, Sub-Section 3, that stated I was formally warned that my actions had brought me in direct conflict with S.C.A.T. (Serious Crimes Against Triffids).

“Do you know S.C.A.T.?” she asked me.

“Without hesitation I broke into some Scat / Do-wop and braved her exasperated look for all of twenty seconds.

“Very recently.” I answered her question.

“What, about two minutes ago?”

“Yes.” I mumbled.

“We shall be watching you.” she warned, as she departed the scene.

I looked after her retreating form, then around at the Triffid trunk.

Shaking my head, I picked up my Triffid Gun, and headed back to my truck.

If – Linda G Hill’s #SoCS

(A prompt for a Saturday Stream-of-Consciousness write – which I restrict myself to doing in 10-minutes – this week the prompt was ‘if’).

See here for Linda G’s site.


If I manage

to write something

of worth here

I shall be mightily surprised.

And, before we get too far into this,

I am writing prose

in a poetry-looking format –

well, it has to be done.


if I ‘do’ manage

to create ‘War and Peace’

in the ten minutes

that I have allowed myself for this,

no one will be surprised.

Sorry, it should have read,

‘no one will be more surprised than me’,

but it didn’t – if you can follow that.

So, if a picture paints a large number of words

(In the vicinity of a thousand)

why can’t I paint?

If a rhetorical question

gains no answers,

why ask it in the first place?

If I knew all of the questions to some of the answers …

Ha! If!

No, seriously for a second –

why is it that E=MC squared?

Remember, you only have a second to answer that.

If you take too long

you lose a point.

If you answer with time to spare,

well, here is a chest

to pin a badge upon.

If this goes on too long

please let me know,

before I write copious amounts

of drivel

and waste everybody’s time.

Well, obviously, not ‘everybody’s’

that would be slightly over-stating

the dozen or so people

that irregularly read

(or claim to read)

what I do write.

If all (nearly) 8 billion people

read my words

(which they don’t)

and even one percent commented,

that would mean my taking

the rest of my life answering.

BTW ‘if’ is the centre part of ‘life’

that was one of those ‘Squirrel’ moments –

I get them from time to time.

Is it almost over?*

As if!

*the 10-minute alarm went off here – how appropriate. G:)