By
Rob Kingston
It‘s never easy shopping with
one arm tied behind your back.
market day
The same can be said of
competing in a three legged egg and spoon race.
between the oohs and ahhs
And then there’s the hop, skip, and jump to navigate through
her trapped nerve
By Peter Woodgate
Peaceful is a garden,
Especially with a glass of wine,
I’d finished a spot of pruning
And the sun began to shine.
I watched the birds begin to feed,
Some were there to drink,
A lovely sight for me to view
I think.
My eyes began to wander
at the colours now in view,
pots I’d planted in the spring
erupting now, on cue.
It was then I spied something odd
beneath the ivy tree,
a sort of brownish colour,
was there for me to see.
It was not a plant, I was certain of that,
and approached with minor caution,
upon identification,
my immediate thought was action.
My mobile phone was handy,
I snapped him there and then,
a fox, there, in my garden,
On day leave from his den.
Fox visits are quite common,
but this, I felt, was steep.
He wasn’t just in my garden,
the rascal was asleep.
I studied him, there, for a moment,
he awoke, shook his head, studied me,
I spoke to him softly, “Now look here mate,
stay there and I’ll charge B&B.
By Peter Woodgate
By Sis Unsworth
“Are you sure you can’t find the ring? I’m beginning to panic, I know I gave it to you at the stag night George.
“No, you didn’t, Bill, you were too busy chasing that girl. My God the way you were acting, no one would think you were the one getting married.
“Yes I do remember her, she was a bit of alright, she really did fancy me. But I did give you the ring!”
“No, you didn’t Bill, you were so into her you had no time to give me the ring.”
“I gave it to you just before we went on the Whiskey chasers when Bobby Smith tried to balance a glass of beer on the barman’s head and nearly got us thrown out…”
“No, you didn’t, you were kissing that girl when it happened.”
“No that was after, now for God's sake give me the ring!”
“Gentlemen, Gentlemen,
can’t you borrow a ring just for the day and find it later? How can you expect me to start this service
while you are arguing all the time? Now can anyone lend us a ring? Oh, too late the bride just ran out of the
church!”
Copyright Sis Unsworth
By Jane Scoggins
It had been a hot day, and
even at 6pm, it was still very warm. He arrived at her flat hoping his best
shirt still looked crisp and fresh and didn’t look sweaty. He was glad he had
decided on the flowers and not the chocolates. The blooms were beautiful and
expensive. He was sure she would love them. Their relationship was just taking
shape and he hoped was becoming more serious. He wanted to continue to impress
her. He had never had a girlfriend he felt so much for. The blinds were down at
her downstairs apartment window keeping out the remaining heat of the day, and
the window was open. He could hear her on the phone laughing and chatting to a
girlfriend. He decided to wait a few minutes rather than ring the bell and have her tell her
friend to hang on while she opened the door. He wanted to see her face when she
saw the bouquet without any distractions to spoil the impact. He wasn’t much into girly stuff so was not
interested in the content of their chat, but couldn't help hearing her say
very animatedly
“He is gorgeous. I wish he was mine. Eyes to
die for. Snuggling up would be divine. No, you are right, my Mum probably
wouldn't approve, so I won't tell her. It's time I had a bit of something to
liven things up for me and keep me on my toes. What about John? I hadn't
thought about him to be honest. Like it or not he will just have to accept any
decision I make. Yes, I do like him a
lot but I wouldn't say we are a proper
couple yet. I think it best I spend time with Ben first and get to know him
better.”
John wished he hadn't heard the conversation,
It had made him realise his worst fears that Caroline was playing with his
affections. He felt deflated, unworthy of her. Punching above his weight. Of
course, he knew she was popular and had admirers. And he with his pebble
spectacles and his less than trendy gear just couldn’t compete. He should have
realised sooner he was on a fools errand. He turned to go with the sound of
Caroline's lovely voice fading as he walked back down the path and towards the
bus stop.
So he didn't hear the remaining telephone
conversation.
“ I must go now Liz. John is coming round
this evening and I need to freshen up, get changed, and put on a bit of makeup.
He may not be my usual type, but he is growing on me. He is so kind, funny and
intelligent. I didn't think we had much in common at first but the more I get
to know him and his quirky self, the more I like him. I am beginning to realise
that maybe all those other blokes I've been involved with were not for me after
all. He said he was not really a doggy person but if I do decide to take on
Ben, I'm sure he will be fine. Having a bouncy puppy to take on walks and
cuddle up to on the sofa, may be what
we both need to bring a bit of fun and zing to our budding relationship. So
bye, for now. I will let you know how I get on”
On the way home John made two decisions. To
give the bouquet of flowers to his Gran, and to accept the offer of the job in
Copyright
Jane Scoggins
By Bob French
The
afternoon light was beginning to fade and the calm wind, that had been
throughout most of the day, had started to freshen. Peter Harlesden,
a thirty-five-year-old civil servant, working for the Ministry of Science was
worried. He had already received several threatening letters, which
he had ignored, but now it appeared that ‘they’ were getting
serious.
She
knew they were heading towards the ‘Never Say Die’ pub, just off the
beach. He had taken her there once, many years ago when he had been
threatened by ‘them’ and he had managed to satisfy their
needs. After that, he'd made a promise that he would never allow
himself to get into that situation again.
Alex
slipped her arm through his and hugged him. “Let’s sit a while and see if we
can put together a plan where you both can come out of this alive,” and nodded
to the weather-beaten bench that faced the sea and distant horizon.
Once
they were comfortable, Peter took a deep breath, closed his eyes and slowly
allowed his head to tilt back. “All we know so far is that Jacobson,
the head of the Science Secretariate at the Ministry of Defence has been
compromised.”
Alex
didn’t face him but quietly spoke to the horizon. “Yes, and that he had
bragged about his affair with a rather attractive woman he met on a package
holiday to
She
smiled to herself. “It appears that she had taught him things that weren’t even
published in the Kama Sutra and because of his conduct, which would become a threat
to the security of the project, Maurice White had discretely reported him to
his security people and then of course, GCHQ started to take an interest in
Jacobson.”
Peter
nodded. “But I know GCHQ. They will only act if Jacobson is contacted
by the person who set him up. They won’t move to neutralize him
until then. Not their style.”
Alex
frowned and shook her head slowly. “Knowing GCHQ, I’m inclined to
think that they or MI6 will probably wait until they know who is behind this
honey trap against Jacobson, then try to discover what they want. What will
happen to Jacobson? Will be he killed?”
“Good
heavens no. We’re British, we don’t go around killing off our
own. No, he will be quietly retired with a D Notice slapped on him
and his family.”
They
didn’t speak for a few minutes, then Alex took out a packet of cigarettes and
lit up. Blowing smoke into the air above her head she asked “Does
his wife know about this holiday affair?”
Peter
thought for a minute, then shook his head. “No, he would have worked
out that if he told her, she’d walk out on him which would automatically alert
the security services.”
“What
I don’t understand is that if it is the Russians behind this operation, why Jacobson? He’s
no big fry, in fact, he’s fairly junior really. It doesn’t make
sense.”
“Good
point. He has only recently been appointed head of the secretariat
from the Department of Agg and Fisheries.” Peter thought for a
minute. “Just thinking outside the box, what if it was someone with a grudge
against him. You know; found out that he was going on holiday by
himself and set up a simple honey trap or sting. Then when he
returned to the
“Yes.
That’s quite possible. You can buy any sort of service you want in
Peter
sat quietly looking out to sea then spoke. “Three questions; who
would undertake such a venture. Who would gain from Jacobson’s
demise and who would know Jacobson’s holiday plans?”
“Harvey
Sebastian Flood.” They said his name together.
Peter turned to face Alex. “Flood; the man everyone
thought would take over the secretariate after the sudden death of Billington.”
Alex
frowned at Peter’s suggestion. “Flood is a fool. He has
only reached the position he is in now because his father is an MP who just
happens to work in the treasury. No, I am convinced that it’s not
the Russians. They are not interested in gathering intelligence
about financial matters of the United Kingdom, they want information about
Project 47.”
“You
may be right. Remember last year. Someone started that
rumour about Flood and Jacobson’s wife at the Christmas
Party.” Peter paused to collect his thoughts. “But Billington had
them investigated; nothing was proven.” Peter shook his head slowly.
“Several thought the whole thing was a whitewash, which was typical of the
civil service. You know the saying, one does not hang out one’s
dirty washing in public.”
Alex
dropped her cigarette butt and ground it into the sand. “Do you think Flood had
Billington murdered, or do you think there’s a Russian connection?”
“Flood’s
a mysterious character and also very ambitious, but I don’t think he would go
as far as killing someone. No there has to be something a little
more simple, more sinister.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s
just say that Flood and Jacobson’s wife were having an affair. Now
the sudden death of Billington was put down to kidney failure. If
you factor in that Jacobson’s wife is one of the doctor’s receptionists at the
surgery where Billington was a patient. It is not beyond the realms
to think that she could have easily altered a prescription, say increased the
strength of one of his medicines and suddenly you have a perfect undetectable
death. Then Flood, who was expected to be appointed the next head of
the science secretariate doesn’t get the job. Jacobson does. So
Flood, plans a double coup; he compromises Jacobson who is then removed by the
security services and, being the unsuccessful choice as the next head of the
secretariat he is given the job.”
“That’s
it! And as a result, Flood becomes the director of Project
47. That’s clever, even for Flood, very clever.”
“Yes,” said Peter, “but it doesn’t end
there. Flood is not the problem.”
Alex sits forward on the bench and turns to faces
Peter. “Then who is it?”
“Flood is married to a Ukrainian woman. She
came over in 1983 and has since taken British citizenship. They were
married in 1995 after a whirlwind courtship and if one believes the rumours,
are still madly in love. No children yet.”
“And you think she’s the mastermind behind this
plan? Is GCHQ aware of her?”
“Oh yes, but she’s as clean as a
whistle. She’s buried herself deep into her local community; started
a mother and toddler group, sings in the local church choir, helps in the local
primary school as a teaching assistant and is a Girl Guide leader. A pillar of
respectability in every sense of the word, one may say.”
“And you suspect that Mrs Flood, after she has sucked
every last detail out of Flood about Project 47, will quietly vanish back to
where ever she came from, leaving Flood to face the music.”
Peter nods slowly, then stands up. “Put my
life’s savings on it, my dear.”
The light had started to fade and the gay promenade
lights that lined the coast road suddenly came on and started swinging gently
in the wind.
Alex hugged his arm as they walked slowly back along
the beach. “I knew you would sort out the last chapter of your
book. You can now tell those beastly publishers to stop sending you
threatening letters, and we can get back to looking after our garden.
Copyright Bob French
Haibun
By Robert Kingston
Do you
know that feeling? Sure you do! You start off from one room with an aim, only
to be distracted along the way by a telephone call. Putting down the receiver
you set off with a different intent and carry on your day. Later, given cause
to go back to the room you set off from originally, you discover the thing
you’d forgotten.
cold day
a crow in the rear view mirror
returns to the roadkill
By Peter Woodgate
Oh mummy, I’ve been told today,
Protests, they must cease,
We can’t allow disruption,
Though carried out in peace.
This Earth in danger lies,
For those we look upon to lead
Are blind, just close their eyes.
And mummy all those laws proposed
To ram deep down each throat,
Remember, were it not for them
You wouldn’t have the vote.
It appears you just want to
appease the crowd
Against those you think are
hollow,
Oh mummy I’m eight years old
today,
But oh, what of tomorrow?
Copyright Peter Woodgate
