After being married for thirty years, a wife asked her husband to describe her. He looked at her slowly, then said, “You’re A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K.”
She asked, “What does that mean?”
He said, “Adorable, Beautiful, Cute, Delightful, Elegant, Foxy, Gorgeous, Hot.”
She smiled happily and said, “Oh, that’s so lovely. What about I, J, K?”
He said, “I’m Just Kidding!”
His eye is still swollen, but it will get better.
Well it’s that time of the year again, the annual invasion of the binnelanders! They start arriving from the first week in December peaking round about now and like the great Serengeti migration it’s an annual event and unstoppable.
While hiking along the white cliffs of Dover this morning I noticed a Muslim extremist slip from the cliffs and fall into the English Channel. He was struggling to stay afloat because of all the explosives he had been carrying. If he didn’t get help he’d surely drown.
Being a responsible Brit, and abiding by the law of the land that requires you to help those in distress, I informed Kent Police and the Home Office.
It is now 4 p.m., he has drowned, and neither authority has yet responded. I’m starting to think I wasted two stamps.
Sir,
It has been brought to my attention that, following a recent success in the highly regarded 19th Photography Competition, the only thing standing between me and the first ever Triple Crown award here at Boadicea’s Chariot is a positive decision regarding the Creative Writing Competition wisely and skillfully set by your good self and closing in the next few days.
A lifetime spent in the business of marketing valuable and useful technology to reluctant corporate personnel has taught me the value of careful and thorough preparation of one’s case. I offer the following observations merely as background to what will obviously be a difficult and demanding decision which you will be required to make following December 28, 2011.
Well, it is the season, and to encourage participation let’s make this one easy. We will all be doing this in the next few weeks, so take along that pocket camera and get some good ones.
Eat Drink and be Merry, closing time – Midnight January 15th 2012
The deadline is here, so, as Gregg Wallace says “STOP COOKING NOW!”
It is a shame there were not a few more pictures, but the ones that are there are varied and show some great imagination. I am surprised no-one took a picture of the fairy on the Christmas Tree. Yes, I know the joke about Grumpy Santa and his striking elves!
Continue reading “Results of the 19th Nervous Photographic Competition.”
Sugar Plum Fairy – Tchaikovsky
A rambling account, which is probably of interest to no-one but me. Continue reading “T20 at the Gabba – Shifting Perceptions”
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)”
Boadicea's Chariot 
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