Gargling with a Gargoyle – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below.  Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

Copyright - A Mixed Bag

Copyright – A Mixed Bag

– Gargling with a Gargoyle –

Sally has caught The Sore Throat, as my ever-pessimistic and annoyingly accurate husband had predicted.

Sally is usually smilingly robust (like me), but today, she is distraught.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” I do my best to be sympathetic, like a good mummy, but my mind is where I really want to be – immersed in the dreaming spires of Oxford, or more realistically my distance-learning course in Middle English.

I click on the link and the photo materialises – closely followed by the best squeal my daughter’s throat can muster. She hides her face in my shoulder, her little body shaking.

“It’s only the silly old gargoyle, Sally! I thought you liked him?” This is really weird. I stroke her hot little forehead, wondering if she is hallucinating.

“But Daddy had to put one in his throat when he was poorly last week! And he washed it in TCP too! It’s too big for my throat, Mummy!”

Her little face crumples, and I try very hard to suppress a smile. No wonder she had been so obsessed with John and his morning ministrations to his Man Flu.

Time to buy a dictionary – and indulge in a quick spelling lesson.


 

The Pigeon Fancier – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below.  Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

Copyright - A Mixed Bag

Copyright – A Mixed Bag

– The Pigeon Fancier –

“Hey, George! Psst! Are you in there?”

“Don’t be silly, Jim. He ain’t in there! Why would he be in there?”

“Look, Sally’s convinced that’s where she saw him last, before they put the air brick back. Why d’you think she’s been standing here like a lovelorn loon, billing and cooing like it’s going out of fashion?”

“Boys! Shush! I can hear him! He’s definitely in there…”

“Come on, Sally love, you know you’re wasting your time. He’s done a runner, same as always…”

“No he hasn’t! You always want to talk him down – listen!”

“Come on, Jim, let’s leave her to it. She won’t listen – stupid girl!”

“Salleeeeee, Salleeeee, pride of our alley, you’re more than the whole world toooo me…”

“See! I told you boys! He’s singing to me! George! George! Here I am!”

“Jim – it’s that film on TV again, she’s got it all wrong, poor love.”

“Bless her. Let’s leave her to it, like you said. The blighter doesn’t deserve her…”

Here’s a bit of background, for those of you that don’t know the film Sally in Our Alley, or the song by Gracie Fields.

Stop All the Clocks – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below.  Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

Copyright - A Mixed Bag

Copyright – A Mixed Bag

– Stop All the Clocks –

Eric wondered whether the clock’s stopping had taken place in broad daylight, or whether the hands had ceased their relentless turning in the London night, unremarked by human eyes.

His day swallowed him whole, the passing thoughts faded into the background. Two weeks later, on his first day back to work from his annual summer holiday, the ever-still hands locked at just before twenty to three caught his eye straight away. He reached his office, shut the door and picked up the phone.

“Yes, hello. Your clock doesn’t seem to be working. Did you know about it?”

Eric liked order, above all things. On putting the receiver back in its cradle, he felt satisfied at having alerted the management to the problem.

On his way home, he opened the Evening Standard, settling down to read. At the bottom of page 7, a news item caught his eye and his satisfaction disappeared, replaced by a strange empty feeling.

“Hotel clock winder dies on duty”

Still, at least he had helped them find the poor old man.