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“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.

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#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!

In the Squad Car

In the squad car

Juliet (into walkie-talkie): Oscar Biscuit Tango! Oscar Biscuit Tango!

Oscar: Shouldn’t that be Oscar Bravo Tango?

Juliet: It should, but; as you are named Oscar Biscuit, I thought that I would update our phonetic alphabet a little.

Oscar: I should remind you, Juliet, that your name is Juliet and we can always make strange new phonetic letters to go with that.

Juliet: Such as?

Oscar: Well, um, okay, how about Juliet Zipadeedoodah Fandango?

Juliet: I like it, lots. And I’m going to change my name by deed poll to ‘Juliet Zipadeedoodah Fandango!’

Oscar: you can’t change the Juliet part – you are already Juliet.

Juliet: No, not really; the lads at my first station just called me that because of my being a woman.

Oscar: Oh. What is your real name?

Juliet: It’s a bit embarrassing?

Oscar: You can tell me – I’m Oscar Biscuit, so let’s just be open with our names.

Juliet: Okay. My name is… Charli (with an I and no e) Sue-Lou Foxcroft.

Oscar: And a lovely name it is, too.

Radio Voice: Oscar Biscuit Tango! Oscar Biscuit Tango! It’s Golf Hotel Weekend here – are you receiving me?

‘Rib’ #SoCS @LindaGHill

‘RiB’ #SoCS &LindaGHill

See here for Linda’s #SoCS

‘I was dribbling when I wrote this

forgive me if it goes astray.’

The boys ribbed me over my accent. “I’m from Cornwall!” I cried, then I cried.

“Who’s an Nansum boy, then! Pretty Pasty, Pretty Pasty!” called Joe Parroti.

I bribed them not to take the Michael out of me; it worked for a while – then my money ran out.

“The trouble with Tribbles…” was as far as I got – the Nerds didn’t like me either – new nerd on the block!

It’s not easy getting into a tribe – we had just read Lord of the Flies – and I was a bit of a Piggy; but from my POV not enough of one. – and I was no Jack or Ralph, that’s for sure.

I left school at 27 and became a scribe; well, I scribbled; and dribbled as I did so.

Rib of Adam, son of Eve

maybe it is

time to leave.

Aribberderci!

‘Lip’ #Socs – @LindaGHill

#SoCS “Lip” @LindaGHill

Linda’s Blog here!

I let slip, the other day, that I was gay; I wasn’t, well, I was; but, not in that sort of way. I was paying lip-service to a thought that had passed my mind – or crossed it – that it would give me a little fillip if I thought I was in my twenties again – or in ‘the’ twenties (not, again, as I’d never been there before) when ‘gay’ was just a word to mean ‘cheerful’ and ‘happy’, and I am a cheerful, happy chappie.

So, that was what I meant.

It may have been just a blip, my saying that – as I don’t normally let slip the dogs of war (Shakespeare) and sometimes words can create a conflict, a clip round the ear, or a full-on battle – as when the baby flips out the rattle from the perambulator – also a rather old word.

I also may have been being flippant when I said I was gay; or I may have meant ‘gray’ as it is my name – so, I shall just slip into something less macho, sip on my mint tulip (I know ‘julep’) and be less hip and more wise, with less lip and using the largesse of sultry eyes.

How hip, to hop to the shop in East Ruislip in little more than a slip and slippers – for a kilo of freshly smoked kippers!

Unwin and Neverwin.

Unwin and Neverwin.

“Can you ‘unwin’ something?” said Unwin.

“Not sure.” said Neverwin. “I’ll let you know if I ever do win something.”

“Didn’t Didwin win something once?” continued Unwin.

“He might have done. It must have been a long time ago.” considered Neverwin.

“He was always entering competitions – so it’s quite likely that he would have won once.” said Unwin, thoughtfully.

Unwin was unsure as to whether just by entering a competition, you were more likely to win, than if you didn’t enter.

“Yes, he entered lots. Though I’m sure he’d have told us if he’d won something. A holiday to Barbados, a hamper of quality goods-“

“A personalised pencil!” interrupted Unwin. “I’ve always wanted to win a personalised pencil.”

“With ‘Unwin’ printed on it?” queried Neverwin.

“Oh, yes!” Unwin’s eyes had lit up. “U.N.W.I.N!”

“Well, dream big, little Unwin – a seagull’s dreams may come true.”

And with that the two gulls lined up the pasty of an easily-distracted holiday maker.

“Tea-time!” they shrieked in unison. “Let’s go and get it!”

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.