Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 534 – I Didn’t Know That Maneuver Needed Lubricant, Past Mastery And…I Have An Address.

I have a couple of mentions of my Brother-In-Law Geordie Bell this week.

We went out for a few pints a week or so ago and something I realised that I did but now realise why, came to light.

I have a local pub that I go into of a Monday. It’s struggling. But when we got off the bus, it was shut. We went into the next pub, had a few and decided to have a wee crawl. We both had a great time and it was when I was thinking on we should do this again I realised I couldn’t. All pubs are struggling, so the odd tenner here or there doesn’t do any of them any good. However, if you nail your colours to one mast, then your sixty or so quid a week may help. It saddens me to see the state of pubs these days. Only three pubs in Ayr open at 10.00am and most of them shut their doors when it’s quiet. It’s hysterical that at one time the government was considering twenty-four hour opening. In a way, they have achieved that but it’s twenty four hours per week!!

George and my sister were just back from holidays with their friends. I know that I shouldn’t have laughed, but I was told that George had to be Heimliched by his pal. So that day that we were out, I did what anyone would do. I slagged him about it. I told him that now he has reached seventy, he should be counting how many times he chewed his food, I suggested thirty?? I then stated that I blamed my sister as she hadn’t cut up his meat small enough. I suggested that maybe he should stick to Soup and Angel Delight. And I finished off with what I thought was my best slagging:

‘Aye, and I heard that you and wee Graham got very close.’

He crucified me with the reply, he said:

‘I probably should have kept ma trousers on!’

I’d like to move onto old skills that we’ve lost. I was inspired to write about this a few weeks back when I was trying to spread butter just out the fridge onto a piece of soft bread. I think I could do this better as a kid! There was no spreadable and we weren’t that open to Margarine in them days!

I thought of more:

– Covering your jotter with wallpaper. (Or brown)

– Wrapping your piece with the Plain Breed Wrapper.

– Looking up something in an Encyclopedia having lost the index book.

– Respecting your grandparents even if they were old bastards.

– Being able to find a book in a library by using the reference cards.

– Tuning into Radio Luxembourg to get the least static.

– Un-Choke yourself due to a Spangle misadventure.

– Taping the chart show on a Cassette Player without catching the shite chat of the DJ.

– Being able to judge how many pickled onions, cubes of cheese and pineapple you would need to make a respectful Hedgehog.

– Looking up a phone number in the Phone Book.

– Manually changing channels on the TV.

– Stemming the blood after your Tufty Club badge stabbed you through the nipple.

– Avoid breaking your knuckles whilst playing Clackers.

– Using a dictionary as porn.

– Lighting a match using your thumb.

– Putting a needle on and lifting it off a record.

– Blagging your way into a pub at fifteen.

– Choosing the relevant weight of coin to counteract a scratch on an LP.

– Accepting yourself as you and not a fucking label.

– And the most important one (Especially relevant in Scotland) – Hiding and suppressing your emotions.

I do realise that if there are any youngsters reading this, they won’t have a Scooby about most of them!!

Onto this week’s stories.

We had two new writers, two returners and a well established friend of the site.

As always, our initial comments follow.

First up we had Mick Bloor with his twenty third story for us. This is a cracking amount but you also need to take into consideration the amount of Specials and Mick’s continual commenting which makes him one of our most prolific writers.

Alan’s Lost Domain’ was his story on Monday.

‘This reminds me that the people in charge hate peace, this has that vibe to it.’

‘A look back at rare times.’

‘This feels as if it comes from a very personal view point.’

On Tuesday we had Alex Faulkner with, ‘Three Swans.’ This was Alex’s second story for us.

‘A fun read.’

‘Cleverly put together.’

‘The tension at the end builds and builds to settle at the end with the mystery when they disappear.’

Our first new writer was showcased on Wednesday. We welcome Seth Bleuer. We hope he has fun on the site and continues to send us his work.

Seth’s story, ‘Swindled’ was next up.

‘A bit of comeuppance is always entertaining.’

‘We’ve had a few of this type but this is the best by far.’

‘I thought this was entertaining and very readable.’

Ian Douglas Robertson was our second returner. His story, ‘How The Captain Got His Garter’ was published on Thursday.

‘I like the language.’

‘A wonderful yarn.’

‘I really enjoyed the dialogue.’

And we finished off with R.H. Nicholson’s, ‘Caged’. R.H. is also a new writer for us and we extend him the same warm welcome!

‘This spins you around.’

‘There’s a lot in this.’

‘This is one that you need to concentrate on.’

That’s us done and dusted.

As I’ve said over the last few postings, please keep doing what you are doing…Everything is going superbly well!!

The only thing I’d ask is for those who used to regularly comment, maybe have a look again. I’m sure you would enjoy the interaction that we now have that maybe we didn’t have a few years back.

To finish off I’d like to say a few words about OAPs – Not the booze swilling, Barley Sugar hating, Never to a Church Of A Sunday, Still having sex, having more life in them than a twenty year old and most importantly, great story tellers with life experience type…No not them, this type of cunt.

Obnoxious.

Arrogant.

Pedantic.

You will normally find them as a Micro-Managing Tit-head.

By the way, I keep needing to look that term up as it is so anal, controlling and pish, my mind refuses to comprehend it.

What I want to do is appeal to all the Serial Killers out there, these fuckers have never been targeted, don’t you think it’s time that you did?

Okay when you got caught and end up in the jail, you may have a sticky beginning when you tell your fellow inmates that you are ‘The OAP’ killer. But when you explain that it’s OAP as in:

Obnoxious.

Arrogant.

Pedantic.

You will be met with – ‘Whit they cunts! How many did you get?

…Here, have ma pudding!’

Hugh

Now for some music.

I had forgotten about this one. Leila did a list a month or so back regarding story-telling songs. To my disgrace I forgot about this one which I consider one of the best!!

Image: Hugh’s favourite pub in sAyr – Drouthy Neighbours in the twilight with the lights shining out a welcome.

All Stories, General Fiction

Caged by R H Nicholson

Mamaw don’t want to lock you in a cage, but I got no choice,” she apologized to her wailing granddaughter as she extricated herself from the overwrought child, both covered in spittle, snot, and tears, an ectoplasm of bodily fluids. The child desperately reached for her, arms stretched, fingers twitching, head thrusting.

Continue reading “Caged by R H Nicholson”
All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

How the Captain Got his Garter by Ian Douglas Robertson

Jimmy Comerton and I were given the task of tidying up the big shed at the back of the yard. It was a wet autumn day, ideal for the job. After the frenzy of the harvest, the shed was in a mess. Bales of hay and straw had been thrown higgledy-piggledly everywhere, some bursting out of their bindings in an untidy sprawl. Machinery and tools had been lackadaisically discarded in unlikely places. We had also been commissioned to prepare a makeshift pen for the lambing season – my father always tended to think ahead.

Continue reading “How the Captain Got his Garter by Ian Douglas Robertson”
All Stories, General Fiction

Swindled by Seth Bleuer

“I’ll need his name, something of his, and payment upfront, of course,” I say. The young brunette sitting across from me forces a half smile.

“Of course,” she replies. “His name is,” She pauses and her lower lip trembles slightly. “His name was Theodore,” she corrects herself. She reaches into her Dior purse and pulls out a pair of cufflinks. She then pulls out a matching wallet and pauses. “You said cash only, right?” She inquires. She slides her Gucci sunglasses off to see better in the dim lighting. Even from across the table, her eyes look red and puffy, presumably from crying.

Continue reading “Swindled by Seth Bleuer”
All Stories, Fantasy

Three Swans by Alex Faulkner

That year, swan-operators were in short supply.

The work of a swan-operator is hard and unrewarding, apart from the admiration and praise, like other professions I shall refrain from mentioning. There’d been a falling off in applicants in the year before the great day. Recruitment was difficult. Working conditions are somewhat cramped and the hours are long.  There are risks. It’s understandable.

Swans are designed, as isn’t obvious from their behaviour, primarily for flight. Air is, in fact, their best medium. Well, you’ve  seen them in the air, right? Magnificent.

Continue reading “Three Swans by Alex Faulkner”
All Stories, General Fiction

Alan’s Lost Domain by Michael Bloor

Alan had a presentiment of a Nelson Rockefeller Moment in Dorothy’s shower, so he chose the healthy granola option for breakfast, rather than a bacon roll. It was a rare, cold, bright, windless, January day. After he’d loaded the dishwasher, he decided to take a walk down to the shore.

Continue reading “Alan’s Lost Domain by Michael Bloor”
All Stories, sunday whatever

Sunday Whatever – The Shoes Made of Soil by Georgia Xanthopoulou

This was one of those pieces that we knew we should publish but it crossed a couple of genres. Fiction, essay and translation. So where better than a special Sunday spot. Ladies and Gents – we give you :-

Continue reading “Sunday Whatever – The Shoes Made of Soil by Georgia Xanthopoulou”
Editor Picks, General Fiction, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 533: Private Games and an Ode to Bill

I engage in a strange activity when no one is watching. When I see a small stone on the sidewalk I will choose an area then give the pebble an “accidental” kick in that direction, which is never farther than two feet away. I ask myself “Will everything be alright?” as I hit it with my foot. Nothing else happens after that. I cannot remember when it began, sometime in junior high school, I know that. What it means used to exist, but I can no longer get to it. This happens a lot. At least a half dozen times a day for over fifty years.

Continue reading “Week 533: Private Games and an Ode to Bill”
All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

To The Bone by John Whitehouse

It was close to midnight and the diner was empty of customers when headlights swung into the parking lot. They whipped in fast, off the county highway and Dana heard the squeal of brakes on the gravel out front. She looked up from behind the counter and peered through the window. A man and a woman climbed out of a dark sedan. They looked to be in their mid to late forties and were bundled up in winter coats and mufflers, the woman carrying a big fancy leather purse.

Continue reading “To The Bone by John Whitehouse”