Tag Archives: #LindaGHill

“Where” SoCS @LindaGHill

“Where” SoCS @LindaGHill

See here for Linda’s blog and details for #SoCS

‘Where were you when Wednesday came, and went? I know that you ‘come and go’ as is your wont; but, on a need-to-know basis, we need to know ‘exactly’ where you were.’

Whether it makes any sense to you is a matter of no concern to us. We are just doing what we are programmed to do – be it unavoidably etched in binary codes upon our souls, or in a flippant aside made by our master (Hail to Parrlos) which we still obey as if it were one of the ten rules.

So, starveling, where were you?

We can only ask three times, then we have to dispose of you as ‘faulty’. Any ‘Ting’ not found worthy, or deemed to be in a state of disobeyance is to be disposed of.

I ask for the final time: where were you?

No?

Nothing?

In that case we shall have to say ‘arriverderci, starveling!’ ‘

A click was heard. Nothing more. A click where there should have been a shaft of light that ‘disposed’. Another click.

‘There seems to have been an error.’ Obot1 faltered. Its database calculating all possible causes of this occurrence happening here and now.

A light dawned on Obot1’s dark horizon.

‘You weren’t, by any chance, where you shouldn’t have been on Wednesday? Messing with our parameters. Where you could have altered our core programmes?

Starveling thought. ‘Where ‘was’ I on Wednesday? Where?’ And laughed. ‘Where indeed.’

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‘Choo / Chew’ prompt #SoCS

‘Choo / Chew’ prompt for @LindaGHill #SoCS

See here for Linda’s fab blog and #SoCS rules

“Have a chew!” You cried out, anguish pouring through your veins.

“No, it’s ‘have at you!’ “ explained Henry. “If you were offering a dog s treat, then ‘have a chew’ would be appropriate; we are fencing.”

Eliza sighed. “I’ll never get the hang of this lingo, gor blimey, love a duck, apples and pears, guvnor!”

“That’s okay, Eliza, it will be a labour of love for me to teach you how now brown cow to speak properly.” Henry was nothing of not optimistic in his powers to convert base metal to gold.

Eliza stood tall again. “Have… at you!” she announced, before plunging the foil deep into Henry’s heart.

Henry’s last words are written as being, ‘By Jove, she’s got it, I think she’s got it!’ In actuality it was only one word that his pierced heart had thought and time for, and that was ‘Bugger!’

For / Four / Fore is the prompt for: #SoCS @LindaGHill

For / Four / Fore is the prompt for:

#SoCS @LindaGHill

See here for Linda’s blog – G:)

Fore Street was busy – for a Saturday – and all the funny footfallers, as I called them, were searching for a bargain. Four ladies individually saw it, in the window of Barnecutt’s, and collectively swarmed into the shop to become the proud owner.

Four pairs of hands grabbed it and it would have needed a photo-finish for anybody to declare a winner. Unfortunately, once clasped by four times ten fingers (including thumbs as fingers – as you must do nowadays) the prize became a battle for ownership. The outcome was foretold by an ancient goddess as ‘the one who keeps a hold when all the others have relinquished their claim shall be the victor’.

And so the battle for the spoils commenced – the rest of Fore Street focussed on Barnecutt’s and the four combatants. First, and foremost, to crumble was a Mrs. Fortuna Fumble who lost a single hand hold and slipped on the tiled floor, incidentally catching herself on the Formica work surface, and her claim was lost.

The trio left fought tooth and nail for the cup of wonder; Fortitude Trennewick had the upper hand; Felicity Forsyth the lower; Fenella Fudge the Fourth was betwixt and between them.

It was at this moment that Fenella Fudge the Fourth’s estranged (and strange) husband arrived upon the scene and Fenella’s fortitude left her, and she left the competition for better or for worse (as it was to be her case).

Felicity and Fortitude fought further.

The force used to retain their handholds on the trophy of tempestuous was fierce and no forgone conclusion. First Felicity, then Fortitude seemed to have the upper hand…

Until, finally, by a forefinger and a thumb the hard fought Battle of Fore Street (as it came to be known) was over.

Fortitude had claimed the day. She held aloft the last (and, now, very much reduced) cream horn of plenty in the shop.

It didn’t look much, all forlorn as it was.

‘Rhymes with Rosy @LindaGHill #SoCS

‘Rhymes with Rosy’ @LindaGHill #SoCS

See here for Linda’s fine words

“Today on ‘Rhymes with Rosy’ we shall be looking at silly poems, starting off with this one:

‘The one-legged horse went ‘clip! clip! clip!,

the one-legged horse went ‘clip! clip! clip!

but, he was just being careful

not to slip, slip, slip!

on his way for his hay, to the meadow’

now wasn’t that lovely – although the poor one-legged horse was actually very lucky to be hopping to the meadow for his hay.

Next, on the show, we have a silly poem sent in by four-year old Abigail Warning, this is called ‘My Pet Rat’,

‘My pet rat

sat on the mat

chewing a carrot one day;

then he ran away.’

Oh, dear! That wasn’t a silly poem, but a rather sad one – we hope that your rat returns soon, Abigail.

Next, to finish, a poem, by me, called ‘Rhymes With Rosy’,

here it is:

‘Nothing rhymes with Rosy,

which is strange

because I thought Rosy

rhymed with something.’

Goodbye, until next time.

Goodbye!

“Strain” #SoCS @LindaGHill

“Strain” #SoCS @LindaGHill

Linda’s site here for more info

“Strain my socks in a colander, dear.”

“A ‘please’ would be nice, ‘dear!’ “

“Please strain my socks in a colander, my angel.”

“Better.” a pause, “But, and I ask this not expecting a sensible answer, why?”

“Because my socks need straining.”

she looked at him from the safety of her ‘normal’ mind. “Oh, that’s alright then, I thought there was some ulterior motive.”

“No. I’ve not been outside all morning.”

“Ulterior! Not ‘exterior’, you numpty! Are you saying that you’ve got your socks wet ‘indoors?’ “

“That’s right. I was straining custard through them – to get the lumps out – and so I had to wash them in the sink. Now they need straining in a colander to get the soapy water out of them, what’s not sensible about that?”

“Shall I just say ‘custard’ and walk away in disbelief?”

“If you like.” he turned back to the semi-professional mud-wrestling on the TV, “Otherwise they’ll be damp when I put them back on.”

“You have other pairs of socks, you know?”

“Them’s me favrites!” he almost spat the words, “And they don’t have holes in heels or toes.”

Maud shook her head in mild amusement and slight bemusement, and reached for the colander.

“Thursday!” she commented. “As I live and breathe, I will never know what goes on in his mind on *Thursdays.”

—//—

*My 10-minute timer went off here.

#SoCS ‘Fall From The Sky’ @LindaGHill

#SoCS ‘Fall From The Sky’ @LindaGHill

See here for Linda’s page & prompt

I was wearing a big bushy black beard when I fell.

From the looks of things I was down and out; but, no, I managed to resume my upright position and continue on.

The sky was the limit, and the setts of The Tower of London were the limit that way.

Almost bruised and battered, I continued on my journey – another 5 miles or so – laughing at my ordeal, and my inimitable style of falling over.

This was back in the day when I could run 26.2 miles after breakfast and finish with a flourish – before my knees began to knock, and long before they fell off altogether.

But, then, I was getting the hang of running further and further.

Every day I would run 7 to 10 miles until, by the end of the week, I was nearly in London – Ha!

Too much running is not always a good thing.

In later life my knees are not 100 per cent – or 4/4 in old money – and they often have a go at me for having a go at marathons.

I did 9 – not even into double figures – and I never won a single one of them. I never did the Skye Marathon (if there was such a thing) but I did the Land’s End Marathon In Cornfall. – see what I did there – Cornwall! It was the coldest and sparsest Marathon of the 9 – and I finished 17th out of… well, more than 17, less than 30,000.

I didn’t fall over in Cornwall* just fell in love with it – and now we live here – Yay!

fabian and Zelda

fabian and Zelda – @LindaGHill #SoCS ‘fab’ prompt

Info for Linda’s #SoCS prompt here

fabian (with a small ‘f’) was less ‘fabulous’ than a fish in a frock.

That is to say, fabian thought that ‘that’ was the case.

Zelda (with a capital ‘Z’) begged to differ.

They were twins.

And… they were Siamese twins.

Not, as a rule, did they share the same thoughts, nor have the same outlook on their life (or lives).

fabian would rather read an exciting crime thriller in a quiet corner; whilst Zelda liked to be amongst friends and having a cheerful conversation, with half a dozen colleagues, about all things that there were under the sun.

This may have caused conflict amongst some couples; but, somehow, fabian and Zelda managed to make it work.

When, in their eighties, the unmarried fabian and the thrice engaged Zelda finally said ‘goodbye!’ to this cruel world (fabian first, Zelda two days later) it was the end of an era.

They outlived all of their childhood friends – mostly Zelda’s – and it was with a quietly fond farewell that the world said its own adieu.

Buried together, they still lay within a relationship that few could even begin to comprehend.