Tag Archives: #LindaGHill

#SoCS – Tape #4 (part 2) – Linda G Hill

See here for Linda G Hill’s prompts and siteL

After checking back with W (at control) I was advised to ask a policeman for directions.

Upon eventually my finding a PC, strolling around inside PC World, and asking him whether I should go ‘West or East?’ I was advised that ‘West is best’ – he happened to be one of the rare ‘rhyming’ policemen of little or no value to society, apart from in a strangely poetic way.

I duly travelled due East, and landed safely in the hitherto unknown Gillingham Airport in Kent (which is close to the Isle of Thanet) at approximately a quarter to.

The secret contact was found casually leaning against the third coffee vending machine on the right (as I had almost been advised that he would be), having kept himself awake and primed for inaction by the consumption of thirty-seven cups of steaming Nitrous Coffee –

‘Guaranteed to stimulate the mind if not the body!’

I handed the contact the tape and he briefly checked it through for authenticity. Finding it to be the genuine article, the contact gave me a recipe for his Grandma’s Treacle Tart Pudding, and a copy of ‘The Tatler and the Bystander’ from 1941.

Finishing the crossword in that magazine made me realise something: that I was terrible at crosswords… and that perhaps I should have spent the intervening 17 days actually earning the pay of a spy.

Needless to say, I was demoted to Dispatch Rider (second class) and given the choice of a donkey or Shank’s Pony as my chariot of choice. Being no fool, I chose the pony.

Me – a 10-minute SoCS write for Linda G Hill’s prompt.

See here for Linda G Hill’s website and prompts

Me. I, Myself? What can I possibly say that will convince you to choose between the three of them? You may love Me, be passionate about I, or still have deep feelings for Myself, but will you be able to whittle down the three to just the one?

I knows you for what you are, and you don’t fool Me, let alone your being cared for by Myself.

You and I? Me and someone like You? Myself, I would protect you from Myself, unlike Me.

Me and his shadow, I and another like Him, Al by Myself, seeking insider information?

You tell Me. And I shall be Here beside Myself. I cannot tell You, or so he told Me. As to Myself, I cannot understand Myself, and He cannot understand Me. She doesn’t believe in Me, and I understands Me only too well. Tell You Me this: should I work it out for Myself, or He for Me?

What I really wants to know is, when it comes to Me, is He actually working for Himself? Or am I?

You may understand all of this, but I has lost the plot, and He really hasn’t ever known what was going on. Myself, I liked, but He hates Me.

One-liner Wednesday #LindaGHill

‘One-Liner Wednesday’

Link to one-liner Wednesday

I saw a large boat in the harbour – or a ship – or a mirage; but, oh, my it was huge, or small, or it wasn’t at all.

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.

Anyway,

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:)

N.O.T.H.S. #SoCS @LindaGHill

See here! Please do. G:)

N.O.T.H.S.

Not on the High Street

or the Fore Street

(in these parts)

although N.O.T.F.S.

doesn’t scan quite so well;

I can tell

by the double-glazed look

in your wooden eyes

that it comes

as no surprise,

when I waffle on

like this

as I do.

So, what

is not

on the High Street?

You or I?

Or us.

And, we are neither of us,

either to be found

upon a bus…

poetry tinged with the moment’s uncertainty,

may become less accessible

when the steep pavement of Time

is put in our way.

So, let us value

the day,

‘Carpe Diem the day!’

as the Latinos

might never say.

‘The Key’ #SoCS @LindaGHill

‘The Key’ #SoCS @LindaGHill – Linda’s Lovely site here.

I found a key, close by the door of an old boarded-up building. I thought that the key would fit the door, unlock it, and allow me to enter the boarded-up property, where I would find an old wooden chest which would contain a quantity of treasure that exceeded my imagination to imagine it.

The key did fit the door, and the door opened upon the most unlikely treasure chest location that I could think to encounter. There weren’t any floorboards remaining – due to the ravages of time – and the plaster that should have been hugging the walls was now filling the gaps between the floor joists around the edges of the room.

However, there was a large wooden chest, albeit slightly below floor level, and covered in a thick layer of dust – well, dust that had become a veritable skin for the treasure container.

I carefully walked across to where it lay and found that the lid wasn’t locked shut. It opened easily, and without the expected creak that is probably usual from badly maintained hinges.

Now, this is where thing got a little strange.

The chest was very deep. In fact, it was much deeper than theoretically possible, being to a depth of six or seven feet; and there at the bottom of the chest was just one thing, a piece of parchment the size of an old white five-pound note (they were larger than the current five-pound notes, shall we say twice the size?

I was leaning down into the chest to try and reach the ancient paper, when I was pushed by unseen hands and toppled forward. Any light was quickly removed as the lid of the chest closed upon me and , having been winded by my fall, it was a few seconds before I could gather myself. I had a torch, which I retrieved from a pocket, and I gathered up the parchment.

The words upon it, although in an ancient script, were legible,

‘East is East,

And West is West,

Now You are interred

Within this Chest!’

It took me a long time to die. It took me a very short time before that happened to curse my finding of a key to a house that, to my knowledge, had never stood on the corner of Elim Street and Douglas Avenue before.

For a short while I was a kind of a Cause Célèbre in the neighbourhood; then like my earthly body, mentions of me faded away… to nothing.

“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.’

‘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!