Cecil

Cecil scratched his armpits and trouser snake while the van was stopped at the traffic lights. He farted as the light turned green, put the van into gear, and drove off.

He was sweating again. At the next traffic light he opened the window: cool air in, stink out. The petunias on the roundabout wilted.

At the next red light he absent-mindedly popped one of the spots on his chin, then burped.

He'd arrived. He parked on a double-yellow line and went into the charm school for his 20^th lesson.

New Laptop

Once there was a writer who got a nice new laptop which she could take everywhere. This meant that she could finally write in all those odd little moments which previously got wasted. Since she had very little free time, the odd moments soon became at least half of her writing time. So did her output double?

Oh no, it was much better than that. She finally got some momentum going, and her productivity soared. She finally finished her novel and became rich and famous and bought laptops for all her friends.

What's a Few Tentacles Between Friends?

UK		USA

And we interupt our usual service with some breaking news. Volume 2 of Cthulhu Unbound is now on sale, featuring my story "What's a Few Tentacles Between Friends?"

Bonfires: part 2

"WHAT?" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "You must be joking!"

Janet took an involuntary step backwards.

He grabbed her sleeve. "Come here. I want to show you something."

And he dragged her along the side of the house to the back garden.

"Look! Look!" he yelled, pointing at the bonfire, which belched choking smoke. "I do all this work -- the weeding and the raking and the planting -- and all you can do is complain."

"Mr. Docherty I --"

"Do you think I do it for the good of my health? Do you?"

Janet thought he did it because he was a control freak who needed the garden to stand to attention, but she wasn't reckless enough to say so.

He went on, "And none of you help. Ever."

Janet took a deep breath, and promptly choked on the smoke. At last she gasped, "I tried to help and you said I --"

"Don't interrupt me!" he wagged a finger an inch under her nose.

Before she could say anything, he went on, "And what about that stinking dog?"

"It was only here overnight." Months ago, Summer had brought home a stray dog, and taken it to the shelter in the morning.

"DON'T SHOUT AT ME!" he roared. "THAT BLASTED DOG. CRAPPING OVER HERE --" and he actually dipped his rear towards the ground in a mini squat "-- CRAPPING OVER THERE--" another mini-squat "--THAT'S NOT CLEAN--" wagging his finger under her nose again. "IN FACT, IT'S FILTHY."

The smell of smoke was very strong now.

Gareth Docherty's eyes began to bug out and his face turned a fiery red. "YOU FILTHY PEOPLE HAVE GOT NOTHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT!"

Janet could have sworn she saw wisps of smoke coming out of his ears. But that would just be his grey hair, wouldn't it?

"NOTHING AT ALL!"

With a soft whump the smoke turned to flame, and Gareth Docherty spontaneously combusted.

He burned out in less than a minute, before Janet could believe her eyes enough to scream for help. She was left staring at a new patch of burned grass on the manicured lawn.

Bonfires

Janet stared at the half match in her hand with a sinking heart. Her flatmates, Summer and Dee, stood with whole matches, looking relieved and guilty.

Janet forced a smile, even though she felt sick. "The sooner I get it over with, the better, right?" Because if she stopped to think about it, her legs would refuse to carry her.

Summer and Dee's faces scrunched as they tried to think of something to say. But the plain fact was, it had to be done, they were all equally scared, and Janet got the short match.

Janet walked out before the other two found any words. Moments later, she stood outside the door of the downstairs flat.

She'd rather have poked a rattlesnake with a short stick than touched the door bell. She clenched and unclenched her fists several times, shut her eyes, took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and rang it.

All too soon the door opened. Gareth Docherty smiled his most charming smile. “How lovely to see you, Janet.”


Oh no! He was feeling flirty. OK, so he looked after himself and his eyes were still blue, but he must be over sixty, for goodness' sake. Janet was nineteen, and she didn't want to know.

Stick to the point, she thought. “Um, Mr. Docherty. We were wondering if you could possibly cut down on the smoky bonfires so close to the house on Saturdays?” Damn, it was coming out in a pathetic little squeak. But she'd promised to deliver the message. “With us being at work all week, it's when we like to hang out the washing, you see.”

Gareth's smile switched off to be replaced by wide open eyes and mouth, as though she'd put on a chicken suit and laid an egg.

To be continued...

"I never get time for writing," moaned Sheila. "I spend all my time picking up after you. My life is so boring!"

"Huh," said Gareth. "Swap your problems for mine. I can't see them going away, ever. Sometimes I wish I was dead."

"That can be arranged," said Sheila. "All your problems are inside your head. So all I have to do is remove your head, right?" And she picked up a large, kitchen knife.

Luckily, Gareth managed to run away.

They were very kind at the secure mental hospital, and she had lots of time to write.

Reincarnation

"I want to be reincarnated as a cat," said Carlos, stroking the one on his knee. "One with properly trained humans, of course." Then he gently moved the cat to the chair beside him, and got on with mending his elderly neighbour's TV.

Somebody must have heard him. Perhaps the gods were pleased with his kindness to his neighbour. More likely, they just have a warped sense of humour.

Anyway, Carlos had a heart attack in his sleep, and died. He woke up as a kitten.

He slept and played, played and slept. The milk was delicious.

It would have been great if only he hadn't remembered being human. Oh how he missed electronics! But when the TV broke (and he remembered perfectly how to repair it) he couldn't get the cover off with his paws.

When the human came to fix it, Carlos tried to help, but the human kept pushing him away. Over and over, Carlos tried to make the stupid human see that the power supply was singed. Look! There! That's the bit you need to replace.

And over and over again, the human grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dumped him as far away as his arms would reach.

Then Carlos's human - the owner of the TV - left the room, and the repair man threw Carlos across the room.

He landed on his feet, of course, and ran under the sofa.

"I want to be human again!" he wailed.

But all the gods heard was, "Meow."

Reasons to be Maungy, Part 3.

For those who haven't come across the word before, "maungy" is West Yorkshire dialect for depressed and bad tempered.

After a rather bad day, I started writing my own lyrics to Ian Dury's "Reasons to be Cheerful, Part 3".

Dirty, greasy dishes,
Rooms that smell of fishes,
Never get my wishes
It seems.

Floors in need of mopping,
Food in need of shopping,
A lifestyle that keeps dropping
My dreams.

My blogs don't earn money,
My jokes aren't funny,
And now the crummy cat's
Got fleas.

Rotten old translation
might as well be Croatian,
I wanna vacation
Please!

Reasons to be maungy, Part 3.
Reasons to be maungy, Part 1, 2, 3.

Cooking Cabage: Part 2

(see previous post for part 1)

As I watched the pearl hatch, my imagination went wild. Clearly this was no ordinary egg, and it wasn't likely to hatch an ordinary bird or reptile. Perhaps I was about to see a dragon or a fairy. Maybe even a demon or an angel. This might be even better than a pearl.

The edges of the crack reached around the pearl and joined. The two halves fell down. And there stood a tiny penguin.

Well, I say a penguin. Certainly it was penguin-shaped, But instead of the usual black and white marking like a tuxedo, this one wore a Hawaiian shirt, mostly electric blue and fuchsia.

I stared, with my mouth open.

The penguin put the tip of his wing to his beak and wiggled it at me while he blew a long, loud raspberry.

Then he flew out of the window. That's right. He flew.

And I didn't even have time to grab my camera. Just my luck.

Cooking Cabbage: Part 1

Sometimes I enjoy cooking, but this wasn't one of those times. I was chopping up a cabbage for lunch. (I fry cabbage with a little bit of bacon and garlic - very good) And I was bored, bored, bored.

The knife hit something hard. There, in the very centre of the cabbage, gleamed a massive pearl, almost the size of a sprout.

I stared, entranced. It must be worth millions! I pictured myself lying on a coral-pink beach in the Bahamas, while a fit, young waiter, wearing very little, brought me cocktails. No washing up, no laundry, no cooking.

But the pearl began to crack, like an eggshell.

To be continued... (probably)

Fetching pizza

There I was, waiting for my take-away pizza in the local bar when George Clooney walked in, looking far sexier in real life than he does on screen. His Spanish was pretty limited, so I helped him with his order, and we got chatting. He was staying at the Parador for a few days' break, because he'd been told that La Palma was the most beautiful of the Canary Islands.

So I recommended the Roque and Cumbrecita and El Tablado. And he offered me 100€ to be his tour guide for a day.

WOW!

Of course I agreed. Stuff translating.

So the limo will pick me up at 10 am tomorrow.

Kidnapped by Aliens

The aliens kidnapped me while I was unloading knickers from the washing machine.

The big window snapped wide open, and I felt the gentlest tug as I was lifted off my feet. I floated up to their space ship, which looked like a flying teacup. Presumably the saucer was off elsewhere. A door opened in the base, and I was sucked inside.

The interior was all squidgy pink. Little girl pink at that. I'd have loved it when I was seven. Now it made me come over all feminist.

The outside door shut. An inside door opened, and a stalk of electric-blue celery walked in and threw some pink powder at me.

Then I woke up lying on the floor in front of the utility room, on a pile of wet knickers.

And now I'm so traumatised that I can't bear to go anywhere near the washing machine.

So you'll have to do the laundry, darling.