REVENGE PORN

By Rosemary Clarke

What's happened to the men out there?
Have you forgotten how to care?
The girlfriend that you used to love
Is filmed and ridiculed to prove
What?  Your selfish ego, pride?
We understand you're hurt inside
By treating it the adult way
Who knows you may be friends someday.
You don't know who will see the pics
Perverts looking just for kicks
You loved her once, she's hurting too
What is it that's got into you?

I watched a programme on people stealing nude photos and putting them on the net wherever they wanted.  One man slept with his girlfriend and took photos of her naked while she slept; this is revenge porn and I was incensed!

 

 A Cold Caller 

By Sis Unsworth

One December evening, we heard the doorbell ring,

“Who is going to answer that?” dad said with a grin.

He knew no one would leave, the cosy heated room,

and go out to the front door, and face the winter gloom.

Then uncle Fred attempted, but said he was in pain,

his hip replacement was still sore, he sat back down again.

Then the doorbell rang once more, but no one ventured up,

it was then that dad asked my old mum, to pour him another cup.

“The poor thing outside our front door, it’s freezing cold out there,”

aunt Mary tried to sound sincere, but we knew she didn’t care

the caller must indeed be cold, on that we did agree,

but none of us would leave the room, to go outside and see.

Mum declared “will no one go, just to our front door?

You know there’ll be more snow tonight, and no chance of a thaw.”

She then glanced around the room, with a disbelieving face,

For we were all reluctant, to leave the warm fireplace.

When you come to think on it, it really was a sin,

We all wondered who it was, but no one would give in

suddenly the ringing stopped, the caller went away.

“Someone should have answered that, was all that dad would say.”

We always blame each other, whenever the tale is told,

the one thing that we all agreed, “Whoever called was cold!”

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

 Killer Cretins

By Natalie Hudson

The press call them covidiots

But they don't deserve a name

They should all start to accept the truth

And hang their heads in shame

This virus is a killer

It's been proven, it's a fact

They should pull their heads out of the sand

And learn to deal with that

They fail to socially distance 

They refuse to wear a mask 

It's not because they are exempt 

But people are scared to ask

This virus will infect

And it won't discriminate 

It doesn't care if you're rich or poor 

If you're kind or filled with hate 

This is no time for conspiracies 

To work out where it came from

It's a time for us to pull together 

And get this virus gone

Copyright Natalie Hudson

 

 Haiku Senryu

By Robert Kingston

his last laugh

a land rover hearse

in racing green

 

blue iris

almost a century

churning the earth

 Copyright Robert Kingston

 Catching The Bus

By Len Morgan

The number 20 takes me home to Hullbridge, or in the other direction it takes me to Rayleigh Town Center, Southend Hospital or to Southend-on-Sea: if I'm in a seaside frame of mind.

The buses run every 20 minutes unless of course, they cut one out!  The timings are 3 past the hour, 23 past and 18 minute too.

Invariably I get to the top of my road at 20 past and watch the 23 past, vanishing into the distance, (it came early).  When I try to outsmart it by arriving 10 minutes early, I wind up waiting 30 minutes (the buggers cut one out).

I used to drive everywhere unless it was a short trip in which case I would walk, I never used the buses.

 Then I retired and being environmentally aware I sold my car and applied for my bus pass.  I think I was entitled at age 60, but I didn't retire until I was 67, (nine years ago), well I didn't exactly retire, the Oil Refinery was put into administration so in a sense it retired me.  I went there as a temp for 3 months and wound up staying there for 7 years; they called me the super-temp!

At first, it was no hardship catching the bus.  On nice sunny days, I would wait at the stop, listening to mp3 books on my Walkman.   Then the weather changed, it became cold and wet and with buses being cut out I found running for a bus that arrived early was a desperate act of self-preservation!  If I missed it I would have to wait up to an hour.  I believe the drivers got to know me and took a sadistic pleasure in closing their doors and driving away, having watched me do the 100-yard dash in 10 seconds flat.  I'm not proud of the language I yelled; after buses as they disappeared into the distance... 

I caught cold after cold and felt quite miserable; in one desperate moment of weakness I even considered getting another car...  Then the sun returned, the service improved and I found that even if I did miss the bus I could spend twenty minutes in idle indulgence listening to music, chatting to the twerlies (waiting for the 18 minutes to 9 bus), or listen to my latest mp3 book.   

At least at 76, the bus is free: So, I did some costing's on my car and discovered to my horror that it cost me £9 a day (£275 a month) while just standing outside my door.  If I use it I would incur the additional cost of fuel and parking.  On a state pension, you could travel in style, and starve.  So, on balance, I'll be catching the bus. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Costings:

Car costing £10K depreciated over 5 years   ~   £2,000 pa

Road tax for a year                                    ~        176

Insurance Fully comprehensive                   ~        300

Tyres, Repairs/maint/cleaning materials etc ~        924

                                 Total annual expense  =  £3,400

 

 

 THE GLORIOUS 12TH

By Rosemary Clarke

Now we'll remember the Glorious 12th
As something other than hunting.
So be of good cheer it's the best of the year
Let's put up the chains and the bunting!
But remember this day will not stay this way
If we're starting to flout all the rules
So let us beware and be careful out there
Or they'll shut down our shops and our schools.
Our Great British life will just end up in strife
If we falter with masks or with paces
If we all watch out we'll give Covid a clout
And come back to our wide-open spaces.
So let's think of us all and we'll have a ball
Let's keep clean the beaches and parks
If we try to care for all creatures out there
Life could really be quite a lark!

Be careful, safe and happy wherever you are.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

 CHAIN OF EVENTS 

Jane Scoggins 

  When Sophie tripped on the pavement and badly cut her knee there seemed to be a lot of blood and before she knew it some kind person had phoned for an ambulance. Several people gathered and all showed concern. More than one person mentioned suing the council in case it had been caused by a loose paving stone or something like that. The young paramedic that arrived in the ambulance car soon confirmed there were no broken bones and although the gash on her knee was nasty it did not warrant stitches. Sophie remained calm and lucid and confirmed that she had not banged her head in the fall. A trip to the hospital was thus averted. The paramedic cleaned the wounded knee put on a couple of steristrips and a large plaster and escorted Sophie to her flat fifty yards away. When her daughter called in after work Sophie made light of the whole thing.

  She enjoyed her activities, in particular the various U3A meetings on different subjects. The gardening club was one of her favourites as she had a wealth of knowledge about plants having gardened for many years. When the children were young she and her husband had also had an allotment and had grown prize winning onions and carrots amongst other things. Although she now lived in a ground floor flat she still took pride in growing things in large terracotta pots on the sunny patio outside her back door. Despite a sore knee the day after the fall Sophie was not deterred from getting on the bus to join another group of like minded people for a talk on local history. She took some photographs of her own to share with the group. Most days she was up and off doing something. Sophie prided herself on keeping her mind and body active. She was becoming less interested in national news but continued to take a newspaper so she could do the crossword. Determined not to let herself sink into complacent old age Sophie continued to look out for even more activities she could join. Most recently it had been a writing group at the library.

 Sophie's daughter Ann was concerned that her Mum was taking on too much and regularly told her mother so in a kindly way that she should slow down as all this activity was tiring her. More than a few times she had called in at 6pm on her way home and found her Mum fast asleep in a chair with something cooking on the hob or the oven on, and a slight smell of burning. But Sophie always rallied and dismissed her daughter's concerns with a wave of her hand saying ''I just closed my eyes for a few minutes that’s all''

      When Sophie took a tumble the next time it was a bit more serious. She had slipped on the wet pavement on the way to the corner shop to get some milk. She was not badly hurt, just a bit of a twisted ankle, which prevented her from getting up unaided. She knew someone would come along soon so she waited. When someone did come along they very kindly helped her to her feet but realising she could not easily weight bare and she was cold and wet, called for an ambulance. This time the paramedics took Sophie to A&E for a check up. She agreed for the nurse to look in her handbag for her daughter's telephone number so she could be contacted. As a result of the medical assessment, Sophie stayed overnight.

   Ann answered the nurse's questions fully whilst her Mum dozed. In the morning Sophie was disorientated and it was agreed that there should be more investigations before being discharged.

    When Sophie was discharged she was told she needed to rest and for the time being not go back to her many activities straight away. Although disappointed she accepted she was not ready. She felt tired all of a sudden and agreed that maybe she had been overdoing it.

     When Sophie had slipped on the wet pavement on the way to the shop, she had actually been a quarter of a mile away in the other direction. It had been dark, 10pm, and she had on her dressing gown and slippers. Ann told the Drs at the hospital that her Mum had been losing her memory for some time but seemed able to function day to day and loved going to all her clubs and activities. So much so that she had neglected the terracotta pots and they were full of weeds.

 

  When Ann contacted the various people from the U3A she found that they were quite relieved. Apparently, Sophie had been going downhill for some time but they hadn’t wanted to say as she so loved joining in. Truth be told she had repeated the same story about her childhood in the history group at every meeting even though the meetings were about something completely different.

The gardening group reported that Sophie had gradually forgotten most of the names for the garden plants and in trying to retrieve useful information often resorted to saying things like ''Probably time to put in onion seeds now'' or  '' I must cut back my dahlias this week'' 

    Ann had also noticed that her Mum was forgetful but she was so good at covering her tracks that initially she didn’t worry too much. She had noticed though that when she glanced at her Mum’s newspaper, the crossword although filled in and looked impressive, the answers did not fit the questions, they were just words that fitted the spaces.

  The writing group had been very sweet. They said that Sophie often got the time wrong and arrived before the start or halfway through. When reminded she had always had a good excuse like the bus was late or a friend had kept her chatting. When asked if she had written anything, the answer had been no, not yet, but she had brought along a book of poems she liked written by her father. The poems were actually by Keats, but no one said anything. She was such a charming woman and loved to sit and listen to the writers reading out their stories. Most weeks she seemed to think that at least two of the group were new since the last meeting, and asked to be introduced again. Quite often she would doze off for a few minutes at a time and wake smiling and bemused.

  Sophie now enjoys her trips to daycare but continues to believe it is the U3A. Ann replaced the weeds in the terracotta pots, but one day saw that they had been uprooted and put in the bin. Her mum said proudly that she had done the weeding and would be planting carrots this year. She now enjoys watering the pots and tending the weeds that have resumed ownership.

 

 Copyright Jane Scoggins