The Tenant of Trenant Hall
You must go back with me to the Autumn of 1827 – sorry, you must go back with me to 18:27 one Autumn evening a few years ago – the exact date shall remain suitably vague so as to protect the innocent – to that most audacious of country manors, Trenant Hall.
I am a cinnamon, but I pray every day to the Irish God to forgive me.
NB PC Winsome Winters always refers to his notebook for detail, and is constantly updating it.
SD PC Winters Enters
PC Winters: I have arrived hot foot from the station, Sarge!
WPS Wispy: Foot? Not ‘feet’, Constable?
PC Winters: Oh, yes, ‘feet’ it is, Sarge. Let me just write that down. (there is a slight pause) ‘Feet’.
WPS Wispy: Marvellous. And your reason for running all the way here, Constable?
PC Winters: Ah, let me just consult… my notebook. (there is a slight pause) Feet! No. (Another pause) Ah, yes, here it is. ‘Tell WPS Wispy that Romeo and Juliet are doing the Foxtrot Tango.
WPS Wispy: I see. That’s good. Can you let DC Acey know that Papa’s got a brand new bag.
PC Winters: (writing) Tell DC Acey, ‘Papa’s got a brand new bag.’ Right-o.
SD PC Winters leaves.
WPS Wispy: The boy is a fool, a good-natured fool, but a fool nevertheless.
“Children, children, children, children,
children, children, chil—‘ said the Queen bee.
‘What on earth is going on this morning?
I made up your sandwiches, filled you all a flask, and all I ask is a little peace and quiet – and it’s just chaos!
“It’s bedlam!” cried the Queen bee/
“Well, ma’am…” said one particularly brave worker bee, “it’s our beehive, you see.”
“And what is wrong with the beehive?”
“Well… it seems to be perched upon the top of somebody’s head!”
One day, the ants were out for an amble— when, all of a sudden they heard a loud wailing siren, and saw blue flashing lights!
A cry went up from the vehicle, ‘Amble Ants!’ and, luckily, all of the ants managed to amble to safety.
A young man trying to do an old man’s job met an old man trying to do a young man’s job – they swapped their tales; and, afterwards, both were better able to do their job.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #FF, #vss, prose
Where is the island?
There! Behind the mist!
I can’t see it. Are you sure it’s there?
It was there last time I saw it!
But, what’s to say that it’s still there now?
It just is, alright?
It might have been stolen, sunk, or just floated away.
Yes, there is a possibility, though not a probability.
I reckon it sank, without Tracey.
I meant, ‘without a trace’.
Yes. I can see that now.
Oh, good grief!
Never say rabbit on a train –
I know, not a boat, a train;
because if you do (but you shouldn’t, so don’t);
but, if you do, who knows what will happen?
“It is said that ‘everybody has a book in them’; well, I’ve just seen my x-rays – and it’s true!”
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Book, #FF, #vss, prose
At least a stopped clock is right twice a day.
A stopped perpetual calendar, on the other hand…