Tag Archives: #tale

The Labradoodle (extended)

A Labradoodle

at Durdle Dor

spoke, ‘Abracadabra!’

then spoke no more.


A small Chihuahua

who saw this feat,

also spoke the once,

‘I want food – to eat!’


And all the dogs

who were there that day,

had something of nothing

of which to say.


And so was heard

(so the stories tell)

a thousand dog-phrases,

before Midnight’s toll bell.

Dream Story – The Warm Yellow Custard Lake

… and they both dived eagerly into the lake of warm custard – for that is what it was.

Surfacing some distance apart, the two hollered to each other their joy at their instantaneous feelings of vitality, health, and well-being, for they were truly invigorated – which feelings can arise after a swim, even in warm custard, but this was different.

Small cuts, bruises, scars, and their, recently, ever-present sunburn, all disappeared – gone, and gone for good. The healing powers of the warm custard were, to put it lamely, amazing!

Fully rejuvenated, and feeling twenty years younger, the pair travelled on upon their quest, telling the tale of the yellow lake and its properties.

Thus, people began journeying from near, and then far, to bear witness by personal immersion into the healing warmth of yellowness.

As more and ever more people used the warm custard to heal small wounds, injuries and more serious ailments – even, in one instance, to replace a missing limb – the warm custard began to cool, and a shade of green tinged the golden yellow surface. The, until recently, sick and wounded also commented upon the slight sourness that they tasted when they inadvertently swallowed some of the warm custard.

But, the people came in their droves.

Until, soon, all the healing powers of the Yellow Custard Lake were exhausted. The lake had cooled, turned a murky green all over, and bubbled strangely in places. It had become a swamp.

In olden times, this was how swamps were formed. And if you ever now see a lake of warm custard on your travels…

…jump on in…

… before it becomes a foetid swamp –

for nobody wants to immerse themselves in one of those, do they?

Tales of Failed Dinner Parties #1


Wrong Plaice!
Wrong Thyme!

Which is the simple explanation as to why the fish supper meal that I had prepared for my friends went so badly.

The Tale of Constance Truggle

As she would have looked (IMO)

As she would have looked (IMO)

Character Name: Constance Truggle

She was born into a family feud; not her fault, obviously; but, it didn’t help her with her upbringing that the intricate machinations of parents, uncles, older cousins, step-relatives (usually the worst) and siblings kept the climate either frosty or fiery in her surroundings.
However, Constance was a joy.
Never complaining about a thing, she was simply a perfect being,
That said, Constance was destined to struggle throughout her life in more ways than one.
She gave away all that she owned to those more fortunate than herself; and proceeded to live the life of a hermit in isolation and peaceful contemplation.
Constance died quietly at the age of twenty-seven from a wasting-away disease of the heart.
Mankind just hadn’t looked like saving itself; so what was the point for her to continue?

A Pasta-Present for the Future – a sad tale.


A pasta-present for the future.

The pasta-making machine was a brilliant idea
And as brilliant ideas can be totally useless…
This one was.
Nothing wrong with the machine itself;
Just the idea that ‘somebody’ would want to ‘make’ their own pasta
When it is so inexpensive and handy to buy any of the myriad shaped, sized and coloured pastas in the local Supermarket.
It was a thoughtful gift
But, now it is gathering dust
And rust (possibly)
In a dark cupboard somewhere –
The sort of place where dreams go to slowly fade away.

The Thin King Man (A tale of Kingly Exploits) W.I.P.


Chapter 1 (including introduction)

To actually put pen to paper!
This is novel.
Try again with second pen (it pays to have backups).
This is a novel.
And, as you can see, my handwriting is not of the best.
It started off well; but, my neat handwriting ‘cannot’ keep up with my brain.
There is a ‘twenty-minute clarity clause’ to my words – after that time as elapsed, even I have some difficulty in working out what I have written. You can probably see that by now.
Which is why I prefer to write most of my words on my mobile – a laptop is okay; and a PC is alright; but, they are not that portable; and my ideas hit me at any ‘time of place!’

(Here I make a note of the phrase ‘time of place!’)

So, I sit here in the railway town thinking what to write.

‘Thin King Man’

The ‘Thin King’ was a man.
Most kings are – ‘men’ not ‘thin’ I mean.
He ruled his kingdom with a rod of steel…
…that was exactly one span in length; a ‘span’ being the distance from the king’s outstretched fingertip of his left hand, to the outstretched fingertip of his right hand (with arms stretched sideways, of course). This was decided many ‘kingly’ years ago by Bilasti the Mathematical; and has caused many problems over the centuries by the simple fact of kings being mainly of a non- standard stature.

However, that is a matter for another story, another time – a time other than the one that we have here, today.

The ‘Thin King’ was young and keen; he had been younger and less keen; but, Time can change a man – even a king.
Shall we give this ‘Thin King’ a name? It seems a little rude not to. We shall henceforth call him by his given name – that is, he was given it as a small boy and kept it safe since then – which name is (roll of drums and fanfare (as befits)… Kiriel! Which is as ‘made-up’ as it sounds; no kings let their real names be known, as evil beings could make ill-use of the knowledge.
So, Kiriel, was young, thin, and a king.
Was he married?
Was he kindly?
Actually, he was.
Was he strong enough to be a good king?
Not yet.
(Have you noticed this a little bit like a Q and A session – exactly like one, in fact).
So what is this story about?
I’m glad you asked. This story is the story of Kiriel’s search for a queen; his sending off of ‘Knights of the Realm’ (a rather grandiose term for a few adventurous types that desired to see the world) many of whom actually had seen the world and died from its diseases and battles.
And this story is ultimately about Kiriel’s finally getting up off of his oversize throne to go and find a queen for himself; but, disguised as one of his own servants. “I’ll call myself ‘Knight of the Realm, Sir Lanky-Lot (which was a huge pun for a ‘Thin-King-Man’.


When Duncan Looked Out Of His Window


When Duncan looked out of his window

When Duncan got up that rainy Sunday morning, he secretly wished that he had somebody to keep his secret wishes from.

But, he didn’t.

He put the kettle on (it didn’t suit him) so he took it off again and put a suit on (that only suited him slightly better).

Then he tried to make himself a cup of tea (he was an amateur magician, so he just imagined that he could do such things) and, as that was unsuccessful, he had a glass of water.

After his frugal breakfast he thought about what exciting things he could do on a wet Sunday in whatever month it was. He could go out, and… or, he could stay in.

So, he stayed in. Pottering about. “Expialidocious!” and “Impervious!” he would pronounce at odd moments; and once he even tried “Expelliarmus !“ the disarming spell (and then found that he had no arms – but, it did wear off after a while).

Duncan was most surprised to hear a knock at the door at around about a half past nine (it wasn’t his birthday – just a note to add detail; it also wasn’t a Tuesday). Duncan looked out of the window; but, as the window looked over the back garden and the door was at the front of the house, this didn’t help.

Duncan tried to open the front door. Then he decided to unlock it and try again. He unlocked the front door; then, he tried to open it, again.

Funnily, it opened this time (now that he had unlocked it). It was one of those stable doors (much better than the unstable ones) and you could open up a half of it, or both halves (or neither). Duncan opened up the bottom half and was greeted by a pair of legs (including ankles and accompanying booted feet).

Hello!” greeted Duncan. “Can I help you?” (He was very polite)

A voice travelled under the door to reach his ears (it was the best available route) “Yes, I am looking for a Dormouse who goes by the name of Duncan – Duncan the Dormouse.”

That would be me!” Duncan became all excited. “I am Duncan – Duncan the Dormouse; although my real name is ‘Duncan Theodore’ and I am a mouse; but, well, things get lost in translation when documents are hand-written. And, when I was a small mouse (I still am, actually) my mother used to say to me ‘Duncan, if you live to a ripe old age like your grandma, I’ll be surprised – and. do you know what? No? Well, she was often surprised. “

But, there’s me going on and on and… can I invite you in for a glass of water?”

No, thank you.” came the voice. “I was just carrying out a census. I have all the information that I need; thank you, again.” and the voice left (taking the legs and booted feet with it.

Duncan stood for a short while. Then a long while. Then closed the door, sadly.

Then Duncan went and looked out of his window.