Category: Competition

Window (Short story competition)

It took a few moments for her to realise that the man she thought had been waving at her through the window was in fact cleaning it. In readiness for a response she had already subconsciously improved her posture, moved her face into a smile and was just on the point waving back when she simultaneously realised her mistake – it wasn’t Alasdair – and felt a shop assistant observing her with an amused expression.

“In which aisle would I find eggs?” she said turning the ghost of the smile on the girl, determined that she should stay in control and suppress the deep heat of a flush that had already started, “And crystallised ginger?” She turned the trolley in anticipation, “I can’t seem to find anything since you had a change around in here.”

Later, after she had piled all the bags into the car boot she returned to the store’s cafe with The Guardian to have a latte, an almond croissant and two paracetamol. She pulled her glasses and an A5 notepad out of her hand bag and flipped over a few pages of lists to find today’s scrawl and started ticking and adding until she come across something, in her own handwriting that she couldn’t remember adding, and it was completely indecipherable. It seemed to say jumper bernies. She sat and stared at it for some while, but nothing clicked and in the end she put he notepad away and returned to her coffee and croissant. God, she thought, am I going completely mad? She picked up the newspaper and glanced at the front page before opening it at the crossword.

The first clue she glanced at was 1 Down:  What can a sticking plaster sing at Yuletide? (2, 4, 4, 3, 9). She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Shut her eyes and leaned back to think.

“Well I never! Hello, Vicky,” said a man’s voice.

She looked up to find a tall, elegant man smiling at her. She frowned lightly,

“I’m sorry?” Continue reading “Window (Short story competition)”

Bulldog spirit

Yes, yes, I know some of you are (shall we say?) a tad critical of the British gubmint (pause for widespread, even furrry heckling…..) but may I make a point by way of balance? Last night Cameron used the veto to draw a line in the European sand. Unlike his Opposition he didn’t want the Federalists to make further inroads into British sovereignty and hog-tie the City of London in deference to the Franco-German policies of envy. Other than Hungary (who agreed with him) and Sweden (who had to go home to ask Dad) the rest of the lily-livered mob are going to accept that their national budgets and expenditure will be controlled by Berlin.  No, not by the faceless Commission or bottom-feeding Parliament or feckless Froggies – by Berlin.

Am I anti-German? No. Do I accept their economic imperialism? No. And Cameron has delivered the message. Well done.

My Daily Walk [December CWC]

I picked myself up and turned back to see what had tripped me.

Someone was lying face-down in the middle of the footpath, arms loosely at his side, one leg sprawled sideways.   There was blood seeping from his head; he was very still.   How could I have missed seeing him, I wondered?   Sure, I had been thinking about what to cook for dinner while I listened to triple-M, but to be unaware of something as large as a body suggested gross inattention.   I knelt to see if I could render assistance, but the poor chap looked as though he was past all help.   Continue reading “My Daily Walk [December CWC]”

A Christmas Quarrel

“You can’t go on strike. You don’t have a union.”

Thus spake Lofty Ghost, the host of the annual meeting of ghosts in a disused warehouse on the edge of town. Every year the spirits wanted a few days off. People aren’t scared at the holiday period, they complain. We should get time off, same as the living, they demand. Jasper Ghost made an impassioned plea.

“After the Queen’s speech, Morecambe and Wise and a full dinner, folk are too full of beans to even half-scare.” Continue reading “A Christmas Quarrel”

19th Photographic Competition

After my stunning, but totally fortuitous, triumph in the previous Photographic Competition, I believe it behoves me to suggest a theme for the next one and pronounce judgement upon everyone’s efforts.

In order to allow the next competition setter (mug) to organise a Chrimbo theme, if they so wish, I propose that the deadline is Wednesday 21st December.

Since it has long been an interest of mine, I suggest the theme of “Flight”. Any variation on the theme will do, planes, balloons, airships, birds, insects, kites, old, new, you name it, as long as it is capable of getting into the air.

Just to get the ball rolling, but doubly disqualified because it is (a) displayed by me and (b) because it is not mine, here is a new aircraft under development.

Augusta-Westland AW609
Things to come?

So, come on chaps and chappesses. Get clicking or rummaging through the archives!

Entries in the comments section, as usual.

November Creative Writing Winner

It has become customary for the competition adjudicator to begin with a laudatory paragraph about each submission, highlighting their best features – and a very civilised custom it is, too.

However, the entries for November are of such a uniformly excellent standard that I have decided to throw custom and convention out of the window.   Instead, I shall highlight the few blemishes I uncovered, since it was the only way I could find to discriminate between such superb essays – my initial reaction was to declare them all joint winners!   I hope our five skilful authors will not be unduly discombobulated by this unusual approach, and I urge them to take my remarks with at least a modicum of salt. Continue reading “November Creative Writing Winner”

The Steadfast Tin Soldier, a pome

(With apologies to Messrs. HC Andersen and R Dahl)

One Yuletide Eve, in days of yore (when children all learned fairy lore)…..
No! Mercy me! How mem’ries fade! In telling you his escapades
I quite forgot that time before: a birthday, when the boy received
A troop of soldiers –  now displayed upon a table near the door.

Continue reading “The Steadfast Tin Soldier, a pome”