A welcomed guest

By Carol Blackburn

When staring at daybreak it did emerge,

A welcomed guest, I did observe,

to come, and stay briefly, for tea.

I glimpsed him, in my hour of need.

 

The backdrop of daffodils adorned.

That fluttered as to greet him, as well as me.

I knew he would agree, to stay

and meet me for a cup of tea.

My confused mind, I pondered still,

please linger for a cup of tea,

until a closer peek.

Should I dare to step outside,

a chance, filled with fragrant air?

His brothers and sisters are here, too.

For my eyes to swell, to view.

 

He sits proud, prancing, galloping like a horse,

with carefree kinsfolk, on course.

For my eyes to be seized, with his blinding steed.

To count his entourage, too many, indeed.

Who rapidly, mingle in the dawn breeze?

Should I chance, happiness, at last, for me?

 

A stab of danger, his fragrance from his damaging prance.

The overpowering feeling to embrace,

but will I still be alone, if I decide, in haste?

The temptation is high, my resistance is low.

I try to discern; my eyes start to fill and glow.

The predicament of this blinding felon,

If I venture out and join him and his family, will not be heaven.

 

I resist his abundance of kindness, this my unwelcomed guest.

As I sit in the dawn light, behind my windowpane, never to be sad, at all.

They gaze back at me, as it’s my blessed, hay fever.

That came to visit me!

 

 Copyright Carole Blackburn          2020

 

 

 

Personal Well-being: 07

 

Personal Well-being: 07 Body Types

By Barefoot Medic

It pains me that so many people are obsessed with how they look.  Yes, you can improve your physique within the limits of your body type.

Body types do not in any way relate to good/bad health or personal well-being.

Understand, there are three distinct body types:

Ectomorph  (Slim).

Endomorph (Bodybuilder).

Mesomorph (Rotund).

I'm a mesomorph, as are the other members of my family to a greater or lesser extent.  One thing I know is that we will never be able to display a six-pack; that's a fact of life but bears no reference to our fitness level.

In my lifestyle, I believe we should do everything in moderation.  Excessive eating, drinking or exercise, are not conducive to good health. 

Put simply, common sense and moderation will always work in your favour.

Neither the ectomorph nor mesomorph will ever achieve the physique of an endomorph, so stop trying and be yourself.  

Just enjoy life in all its variety!

 

 

Drifters Chapter 2c

This is the third answer to Richard Banks’s challenge (see 04/03/21) there will be others posting their chapter 2 to his chapter 1.  You must decide the best by voting…

By Bob French

She grabs my arm and with a smile, gently leads me down the street which is in near darkness now.  The hissing sound of the gas lamps causes me to look up. Suddenly I feel a tug on the lead and the dog starts to bark and tug on its lead.  I look towards an alleyway and see a cat, its back hunched up, hissing at the dog. I try to hold the dog back, but it’s too late.  It sprints off towards the cat. I curse and start after it but Cassie tries to hold me back.

“it’s alright George, he’ll find his way home.” Her voice sounding convincing, so I stop and wait until she joins me. As we turn a corner, I note a dime light above a tobacco shop selling the new 20 pack of Woodbine Cigarettes and John Player Navy Cut tobacco, something my Granddad use to smoke in his pipe. My senses drag me back to the comfort of my Grandad’s lap; the distinctive smell of his pipe as he puffed clouds above my head.  I pause about to ask her something, but my eyes are drawn to a noisy veteran car rattling out of the darkness and vanishing behind us.  I slow, determined to get some idea of what is happening. I need some answers.

“Cassie, do you know where you are going and what date is it?  Everything is so, so 1920s.”  But she laughs and pulls me further into the darkness.

The man in the silver jumpsuit had drifted into the darkness and quietly makes a telephone call from the phone box on the corner of the street to warn Aunty Lucy that the woman had returned.

Detective Constable Fred Smith was annoyed.  He had planned to watch the Hammers play The Arsenal this evening, but his Chief wanted a report on the bank robbery that had taken place on his patch.  As he pondered on how to word the report, his assistant, WPC Mandy Williams came in and grunted, ‘evening Fred,’ then dropped a file into his already full in-tray.

“Chief wants you to look at this asap.”

“Jesus, doesn’t he know were short staffed?”

He pushed the robbery report to one side and quickly read the new file, then thought it a complete waste of time and decided it could wait. As he picked up the robbery file, the words of Frank, his Sergeant crept into his mind as he addressed the station staff.

‘Lastly, there have been a number of strange instances happening lately.  People who have lived on our patch for years have started to vanish without a trace.  Now, I’m not saying we may have a serial killer on the loose in the manor, but keep your eyes and ears open, got it.’

He reluctantly picks up the new file and began to go over it again.

It was near midnight when the door to the office opened and Frank sauntered in with a huge grin on his face.

“Still here Fred?” then casually nodded to Mandy.

“No, it’s a figment of your imagination Sarg.”

“It must be important for you to miss a Hammers game. What’s keeping you?”

“It’s this latest file Sarg from the Chief.  A Miss Broadbent made a report last week about some strange goings on in a phone box opposite the café she uses on Broad Street.

The Sergeant recalled the file.  Probably young kids messing about he thought at the time.

“what have you done so far?”

“Nothing yet.”

Frank turned to Mandy.  First thing in the morning, pop over to where she lives and have a chat with her; find out all you can about the incident. Speak to her friends and neighbours, then fill Frank in.  Can you also ask the girls in archives if they can give you all the files of missing persons during the last four months.   Frank. I want you to put the phone box under surveillance……. I know, we don’t have enough boots on the ground, but see what you can find out about the area. I’ll square it with Jim in Comms to get you some camera equipment.”   As he reached the door, he turned and with a grin on his face called back. “Oh, by the way, Hammers beat The Arsenal 3, 1.”

They had agreed to meet in the café opposite the phone box on Broad Street where Ms Broadbent claimed that something fishy had taken place, at midday.  As Mandy pushed the café door open, Fred caught her eye.

“I spent most of the morning speaking to the old ladies friends,” but Fred could see that she had a puzzled look on her face as she flipped open her notebook. 

“She’s an 82-year-old woman with no living relatives; is well known around the estate. Draws her pension every Friday and plays Bingo every Saturday night, until Saturday the 15^th, when she didn’t turn up for Bingo.  According to everyone I spoke to, the old girl.” She glanced down at her black notebook, “a Fanny Broadbent, would never miss her Bingo, even if it meant climbing out of her death bed. Her neighbours organized a thorough search of the estate, then reported it to the Nick.  I gained access to her flat; nothing seemed out of order, in fact, it looks like she just got up and walked out of her flat and vanished.”

“Vanished?”  Fred shook his head, then glanced across the road as a tall man in a dark overcoat entered the box, made a phone call, then left. He jotted down the time and a brief description of the man.   His thoughts were interrupted as Mavis, a stout, cheerful looking woman who suddenly started to clear the dirty plates left by the previous customer.

“Want anything to eat luv?”

Mandy shook her head, stood and said that she was heading back to the office.

As she left, Fred flashed his warrant card at Mavis and briefly explained his presence before asking for a nice mug of tea.

It was the third day, around five o’clock in the evening. He had read the Daily Mail three times and when he looked up into the fading light of the day, he noticed that it had started to snow.  He seemed to stare out into the street as the neon lights of the shops up and down Broad Street started to come on.  Suddenly he was brought back to reality with a bump as Mavis, the waitress nudge him with her wide motherly hips, then nodded towards the phone box.

He watched as a young woman matching the description of the missing Miss Goodyear, appear to be enticing a gentleman into the phone box. He nods his thanks, gulps down what was left of his cold tea and makes a dash for the door.  As he races towards the phone box it seems to shake violently. It stops just as he was a couple of yards away.  He skids around the other side of the box and rips open the door and freezes.  There is no one inside! 

He quickly searched around the outside of the box, then remembered that the boys from Comms had put a camera in the phone, box to assist him to catch the vandals who had annoyed Miss Broadbent.

That night as he sat in his office going over his report for the tenth time, thinking no one was going to believe him, Jim from the Comms Section came in.

“Hi, Fred.  Got the pictures of the phone box you wanted?”

Fred took the memory stick and slipped it into his laptop then settled back to study the short film of the mysterious disappearance of Miss Goodyear and the gentleman. When the phone box started to vibrate, the picture became distorted.  When it stopped, the two people had vanished?   Smith felt that gut feeling again that made him a good detective. He plays it several times again, but nothing jumps out at him.  He plays the start of the film slowly and jots down the twenty-three digit telephone number Miss Goodyear had dialled.

On the way home that night, Fred thought that the only way he is going to get to the bottom of this mystery was to try the telephone box himself.  He glanced at his watch as he parked the car a few hundred yards from the phone box, then walked down the deserted Broad Street to the phone box. 

The box smelt of stale cigarette smoke as he pulls open the door to the phone box. He dials the number.  Nothing happens.  He tries again.  Still nothing.  In frustration, he curses and leaves the box to walk back to his car. It was just past midnight; the night sky was full of stars and the street was deserted, yet he felt uncomfortable. Someone was following him.  He turns several times, hoping to catch someone, but there’s no one there.  As he continues, the feelings grew stronger as though someone is about to mug him.

 Copyright Bob French

Personal Well-being: 06

 

 Personal Well-being: 06 Exercise for the Overweight, Infirm & Aged.

  By Barefoot Medic

"If only I had paid more attention to my diet and watched my weight in earlier years, but now it's too late..." an obese lady in her 60's confided.

But, is it too late? Surely there are exercises we can do that would help? Pilates, yoga, Tai Chi, Dynamic tension?

Pilates:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NI66J8X63TE

Yoga:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phuS5VLQy8c

Tai Chi:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCnCSOWgIUU&t=342s

Dynamic tension:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XkJEWMCw0T8

They are always demonstrated by fit healthy youngsters, but if we select what we can and cannot do comfortably from each regimen we can all improve our lives.

That, together with a balanced diet, eating less and daily deep breathing exercises to fully oxygenate our blood would result in rapid improvements physically and mentally.  A lot can be accomplished in bed and will help you sleep…

I recall a motivational mantra but not its origin which doesn't affect its relevance:

Never lay when you can sit.
Never sit when you can stand.
Never stand when you can walk.
Never walk when you can run.

No such thing as can't only won't!

Any activity is better than none. You don't need to spend on an expensive Gym membership, Walking, swimming, and gardening cost nothing. Initially exercise in moderation, and you'll be surprised how much better you will feel.

 

  The Secret

By Janet Baldey

‘A thick blanket of snow covered the ground….’

Alisia stilled.  She tried to frown, then remembered she still had her skin protector on.   With an irritated sigh, she ripped it off.  Although she knew it was necessary, she hated wearing it.  Masking all expression - they made even the most intelligent look bovine.   She spent a few luxurious seconds working the muscles of her face before turning to the screen again.

‘turning the fields into a winter wonderland.’

The teacher’s creeping sense of unease deepened.   She’d asked her class of 7/8-year-olds to write about their weekend.   True, she’d said they could describe something that really happened, or something ‘made up’ but she’d not expected this.  After all, she was three times this child’s age and she’d never seen snow and neither had her parents.  Her lips tightened, that was not the point.   Mentioning snow was tantamount to discussing the ‘old days’ and that was strictly forbidden by the Regime.   People had been disposed of for less.   It sounded severe but the Regime was right;  after all, she had to admit that the boy’s sentence had even awakened a vague longing inside her and could easily promote discontent in others more unruly.  Discontent was dangerous, which had been drummed into her during her indoctrination.  Discontent had led to the downfall of other regimes, with disastrous effects.   She glanced out of the window.  As usual, the never-changing expanse of bright blue sky was total, unbroken by even the smallest wisp of cloud.   At ground level, the dust stretching towards the horizon had its own beauty, she supposed.   At dusk, it reflected the setting sun and glowed blood red, but even so, it would be nice if….  She snapped her mind closed, she was entering dangerous territory.   It was time to deal with the more immediate problem.

  She looked at the name at the top of the monitor, Alex Kapplin one of the brightest in her class.   Even so, his essay was surely about something that had been blocked for years before he’d been born.   He must have heard of it from someone; probably from his father who’d always made her feel uneasy.  His far-seeing deep blue eyes seemed to know things she didn’t, which was strange as being a teacher, she knew more than most.   However, she was aware that although it was the law that all over the age of six should have their memories wiped at regular intervals, it wasn’t unknown that in certain individuals, breakthroughs occurred.  Alex’s father must be one such.   Retrodegenerates, they were called and if discovered, the Regime disposed of them without mercy.

Alisia’s fingers fluttered over the boy’s name and then pressed down decisively.  The screen rippled and the boy’s face appeared.   He had a smear of jam at the corner of his mouth and he looked surprised and, she thought, apprehensive.

‘It’s about your essay, Alex.   Tell me, what made you write it?’

‘Don’t know Miss.’

‘But where did you get the idea from?’  Did you hear about it from someone else?’

‘No, Miss.  I just remembered it in the morning.’

 As he answered her questions she stared into his eyes.   They did not flicker, it was obvious he was telling the truth.

She switched off the screen and sat swivelling in her chair.  Clearly, the boy must have had a dream.   She sat quite still, recalling the boy’s face, his eyes in particular - they had so much light and fire.    Her shoulders drooped, those eyes would be dimmed forever if the Regime were informed, but it was her duty.   When she first became a Teacher she had taken an oath to do all she could to protect the Regime.   After all, it was the Regime that provided for her and for all those who lived under the Dome.   All were protected.  All were gainfully employed.   All had plentiful food, gyms for exercising slack muscles, swimming pools, athletic tracks, football pitches, even a virtual adventure room where one could slay mythical creatures.   And if the Regime appeared harsh on occasions, deep down everyone knew it was for their own good.  For instance, old people were an encumbrance, they were unproductive and took up valuable breathing space.   A switch inside Alisia’s head turned itself off.   Her thinking time had elapsed.

Her chair stopped swivelling as she sat upright.   After all, it wasn’t as if the child would be eradicated – just changed, that was all.   She turned to an array of instruments in front of her and began to key in a number and it was then that it happened.   Images began to flash before her eyes so quickly she could barely breathe.   Bursting like firecrackers before her were ragged clouds, seas of liquid gold, salmon pink sunsets, bolts of jagged lightning, curtains of rain, hailstones as big as marbles, trees swaying gently in the breeze.   All so strange, but so familiar somehow and so, so beautiful….. her fingers slackened and dropped from the keyboard as she sat staring into nothing.

She knew she should turn herself in, together with the child, but she wouldn’t.  The visions were too precious to lose. They would be the secret she and the boy shared.  

Copyright Janet Baldey

 

Drifters Chapter 2b

This is the first answer to Richard Banks’s challenge (see 04/03/21) there will be others posting their chapter 2 to his chapter 1.  You must decide the best by voting…

By Peter Woodgate 

Who is this Aunt Lucy,? I think to myself as Cassandra leads me down a shady looking alley.

    No point in pursuing my inquisition, it was obvious that the answer, according to Cassandra, would be beyond my comprehension.

    We emerged from what was an uncomfortable walk through the alley, where, on two occasions, I was approached by “Ladies in Doorways.”

Cassandra, however, made sure that each approach was merely one of curiosity. I was relieved, however, when we finally emerged from the alley and turned left into what was an extremely busy street

    It was like one of those old black and white photos that showed the street amass with people, the men all wearing waistcoats and flat caps.

There was a mandatory horse and cart that thundered past us and even some young children chasing hoops zig zagging between adults that appeared oblivious to this youthful enthusiasm.

    “Not far now,” Cassandra grabbed my arm as we crossed the road avoiding the man with a red flag who was walking in front of the most amazing antique car that I had ever witnessed.

    “Come on,” Cassandra pulled me away from my moment of amazement before pushing me through an open doorway. Amazed as I was by the sight of that magnificent car, it was pale in comparison to what I now witnessed.

    On passing through the doorway we were confronted by a mirror, well I thought it was a mirror, but, after our reflections appeared to be scanned, they disappeared to be replaced by a neon sign which showed the following words:

 

Astronomical

Unit

Neutralizing

Time

Leaving

Uniformity

Controlling

Years

 

“Here we are,” Cassandra, still holding my hand, pulled me through the neon sign and into a wonderland of pulsating lights and soothing music.

My eyes and ears were bathed in a sensual extravaganza that oozed throughout my whole body.

    “Welcome to Aunt Lucy, George.” Cassandra smiled as she led me through to the reception area

 

 

   

 Drifters Chapter 2a

This is the first answer to Richard Banks’s challenge (see 04/03/21) there will be others posting their chapter 2 to his chapter 1.  You must decide the best by voting…

By Janet Baldey

She tucks her arm underneath mine and guides me up a wide elm lined drive.  I look around but can see no lights.  Where the hell are we? We should be in the middle of the city for God’s sake.  The sky darkens as the trees thicken and bend towards us.  It’s as if they are trying to tell me something and again I get the feeling of weird.  Then, I get it and almost laugh out loud at my stupidity.  This is obviously an elaborate practical joke.  That toffee was obviously drugged.  But why?  Is Cassie trying to impress me?  I glance at her, noting the perfection of her profile, and face the fact there is absolutely no need, I am already completely smitten.

         After we’d been walking for at least a mile, a huge house appears in the distance.  I say house, it’s a mansion with lots of pointed gables and crenulated towers.  It’s a mishmash and I wonder who designed it; obviously someone with more money than taste.   I shake my head; I really am taking this too seriously.  Someone in design let his imagination run away with him, that’s all.  It’s not a real house, it’s just a backdrop.  

         However, my faith in that theory is somewhat shaken when we arrive at the front door, which is huge and obviously hewn from solid English oak.

         “Here we are,” says Cassie, somewhat unnecessarily, and pulls at a heavy-looking metal chain.  We stand listening to the muffled tolling of a bell and from somewhere deep inside I hear that damned dog again.  My stomach starts to churn as the weird feeling returns.

         Almost immediately, the door swings open to reveal a uniformed lackey.  I note the sheen on his wig and his emerald velvet coat sprigged with gold and feel seriously impressed.  If this is a joke, then no expense has been spared.

         Then, Cassie breaks the spell with a casual “Hi, we’re here to see Aunt Lucy.”  I look at her and think that if this is a stunt and Cassie’s an extra, then she deserves the boot.

         It turns out that Aunt Lucy is as impressive as the house.  If the human form could be likened to a building, she would definitely be a castle.  I stand before her feeling like a broken-down shed as she raises her lorgnette and appraises me.  She’s dressed in some sort of period costume, Edwardian, Regency, Georgian?   I rack my brains but history was never my forte.

         “So,” jet flashes as she turns to look at Cassie. “I take it that this young man wishes to know why he has been brought here.” Her bosom heaves and I am momentarily dazzled by the gems sewn into her attire.

         “Yes, Aunt Lucy.”

         Cassie is standing with her eyes cast downwards. She is definitely on her best behaviour.  She probably realises she’s goofed and is worried about her take-home pay.

         I sense Aunt Lucy’s eyes on me and jump to attention. Dammit, why?   I’m the victim here.

         “Young man. “ Her voice has softened and she sounds almost human. Damn again, she is human.  I grit my teeth, Cassie may be lovely but this is all one big scam and I must not buy into it.  Aunt Lucy is speaking again and I do my best to pay attention. This had better be good.

         “I had hoped that I wouldn’t need to have this conversation.  I had hoped that my head hunters would be sufficiently well trained to cope with any questions thrown their way. “

         I don’t need to look at her to realise she is frowning at Cassie.  A head hunter, is that what she is?   I feel as deflated like a burst balloon.

         “At least, I hope she didn’t mention space/time continuums.” Aunt Lucy read my expression and tutted.  

         “Well, forget all that nonsense.   What we do here is something much more important. Exponentially so.”

         “Excuse me, but where exactly is ‘here’” I break-in.

         “Somewhere… nowhere.”  She sees my expression and laughs.  “To be honest, it doesn’t matter. We could be anywhere.  What matters is what we’re doing.”

         “And that is……?”

         “It’s complicated and difficult to explain.  But you obviously want an answer and so I’ll try to show you.   Just close your eyes – count up to ten, then open them and try and find me.”

         I do as she says and when I open them, she’s disappeared.  I look around.  Where has she gone?  I didn’t hear anything and my hearing is sharp.

         “Have you found me yet?”

         I jump.  Her unmistakable plummy tones are behind me.  I whirl round but see nothing, except for a tiny mouse that is staring at me.  Slowly it raises one paw and salutes.  I feel waves of faintness washing over me and pinch myself hard.  The mouse has stopped saluting but its mouth is opening and shutting almost as if it’s talking.  How do they do that?

         “I’m sorry about that.  Didn’t realise you had a thing about mice.  Now close your eyes again, please.  During transference, my clothing sometimes goes adrift and I wish to preserve my dignity.”

         I do as the voice commands and when I open them Aunt Lucy is there again, with her clothes intact.

         “So now you know what I am talking about.  Surely you’ve heard of ‘shape shifters’?”

         I dig deep inside my mind and nod.

         “Good.  Well, that’s basically what we are.  In a nutshell, young man, we have a great opportunity for you.  We are recruiting, for a limited time only, intelligent individuals with good intent.”

         It’s the word ‘intelligent’ that sings to me and I start to show interest.

         “But, why?”

         “To save the planet, of course!”   Her voice deepens and rings with fervour.  “Let me explain. Tell me your deepest, most earnest desire.   As you lie in your bed at night, who or what would you most like to be?   What life would you like to live?  And remember it can be anything.”

         I open my mouth but she interrupts.

         “No, don’t say anything now.  Just think about it.  But be assured, if you pass the interview we will reward you well.  As you have seen, I myself can be an Edwardian lady, a mouse, a computer, anything”   She pauses and looks at me. “For instance, there is nothing that Cassie enjoys more than becoming a tree; an ancient oak or a redwood preferably.  Now, trees are splendid but they don’t have a great sense of time, which is why she disappeared for three months when she only meant to be away for two days.” 

         I goggle at her.  How did she know that?  I drag my mind back to the question in hand. The idea of being something different is appealing and I am tempted.  After all, my job in the Inland Revenue is less than riveting.   I put my thinking cap on.

          “Where’s the catch?”

         “No catch.  The only thing we ask is that when you eventually die, as we all must, we get a bit of your soul.  The best bit.   And your legacy will help us save the planet. “

         “How on earth…..” I bite my tongue, it seems that every time I speak, clichés come spewing out.

         “We are offering you the chance to live your dream, young man.  In turn, we are following the science.  Our scientists say that if we work hard on our recruitment drive, eventually we will have enough best bits of soul to create a perfect human.  One with abilities that will be channelled to save the world; which your lot are presently doing their best to destroy.”   She snorts and fans herself vigorously. 

         From deep inside the house a clock chimes and the dog barks again. This reminds me.

         “Why do I keep hearing that dog?” I ask.

         Aunt Lucy’s eyebrows lift.  “Oh that…. used to be an extremely successful banker. Chose to be a dog because he wanted his wife to love him like she loved her pooches.  Then he discovered he liked being just a dog, so he ran away and now we can’t catch him.” She shakes her head. “Nothing worse than an ill-disciplined dog.  Never mind, what he doesn’t seem to realise is that dogs don’t live very long so we’ll have his bit of soul sooner rather than later.  It’s in his contract.  Typical banker.  They think they’re so clever but they don’t read the small print.”

         I stand staring at her, the cogs of my brain whirling.  I’d always wished I could fly like a bird. Perhaps now is my chance. I could be an eagle and swoop down and perch amongst Cassie’s branches.

         I look across at Cassie and she smiles at me.  Suddenly, I'm a believer.   I also decide to forget the birds; a tree hugger is a much better idea.