Shimmering Dress

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<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/shimmer/”>Shimmer</a&gt;

It quivers and shimmers
It glimmers and shines
That dress on the model
Oh would it were mine!

I know I’d look slimmer
It would make me much trimmer
I’d feel like a winner
I’d look quite divine.

The colours are gorgeous
Shimmering blue
Shading to turquoise
I adore it, don’t you?

The dress of my dreams
That’s how it will stay
I’ve see the price ticket
That’s half a year’s pay!

cg16d-2

 

ESME

Blogging 101 – Finding Your Own Voice

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Our W.I. our local W.I. the one in our village is to close. I can’t believe it. It’s just not possible. I remember when we first came here. I knew no-one. I was stuck at home most of the time with an eighteen-month-old toddler. My husband took the car to go to work every day and I was left on my own in a little bungalow on a country lane half a mile from the village.

Soon I was walking to the village shop and post office. Then I saw poster advertising the next W.I. meeting. It was only a couple of days away. I turned up. I explained that I had been a W.I. member when we lived in Wales and asked if I could join. The ladies were surprised. I don’t think anyone had just turned up before. Most people were introduced by friends. I didn’t have any friends in the village – not then.

I soon settled in and felt at home. In the village, in the community, in the Women’s Institute. I’ve been on the committee; at different times I’ve been treasurer, president, secretary and press officer. The secretary’s job is definitely the hardest.

And now they are going to close. Lack of interest, they say. No young members. (By “young” they mean women in their forties with kids at school.) No one willing to be officers or committee members. It’s saddening. We had such fun. I got to know women I wouldn’t have met otherwise. I went to meetings, not just in our village, but further afield. I’ve been twice to Denman College, the W.I. residential courses centre near Oxford. But that’s another story – and a fascinating one.

 

 

Blogging 101 – Lost & Found

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Lost & Found

 “You can sort through the Lost Property,” they told me. It had to be better than punching tickets on a draughty platform or dealing with crowds of rowdy football supporters. So here I am with a huge container of lost property. What am I supposed to do with all this?

     “Start small, “said Jenny, “Take out any small items that are worth say, less than a fiver and put them in this bin – she indicated a large black container. They end up in landfill. Then sort the rest into…let’s see… IT stuff, reading matter, clothes, and…er miscellaneous.”

     “Er…miscellaneous?”

     “Miscellaneous, can be fun. We’ve had some odd things in there. We once had a piece of Brie in a carrier bag. Only found out when it started to stink the place out.”

     The job was hardly onerous. After a while it became boring. The things people leave on trains are much the same the world over. Glasses, mobile phones, books and magazines, small items of clothing, gloves or scarves or hats – Jenny claimed she once found a suspender belt and a pair of open crotch panties, but I think she was having me on.

     Halfway through the morning I found the painting. It was quite small and wrapped up in a jiffy bag and brown paper. I could feel the frame through the wrapping and couldn’t resist opening the parcel. It was disappointing. Just a picture like a kid might do of people walking around. It looked as if they were going to work in a mill or somewhere. It didn’t look very good; the figures were more like matchsticks. Surely this was one of the worthless items to be consigned to landfill.

     When Jenny called me over for our coffee break I mentioned the picture. “I put it to go for landfill,” I said, “It was rubbish.”

     Jenny nearly went berserk. She dashed to the discard bin, pulled out the picture and held it up.

     “Thank goodness it hasn’t been sent to landfill,” she said, “Can’t you see how valuable it is?

     “No. It just looks like some kid’s painting that his parents framed. Can’t think why.”

    “Don’t you know anything about painting? Don’t you watch the news?”

    “Welll…er…no,” I admitted.

     “This is a genuine Lowry, stolen last week. It’s been in all the papers and on the telly. They’ve even offered a reward.”

ESME

 

Blogging 101 – Task 14 – Letter

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Dear Sandy

Many thanks for the invitation to your house-warming party. We’d both be delighted to attend. I note that you aren’t looking for gifts, especially stuff to do with the house. A pity. I’ve got several things that I am sure would look well in your new abode and really make it like a home.

They are useful too. There’s a very elegant coffee pot that was a present from my auntie Joan. She didn’t know that we gave up drinking coffee some time ago so it never got used.

Then I’ve a picture of London Bridge, another birthday present; from Gran this time. It’s nice enough but won’t go with the wallpaper in our lounge. Gran is over 90 and lives in Llanfair PG so she won’t call on us and expect to see the picture on display.

Just one query about your party. The invitation says, “Bring a bottle”. As you know, we are both recovering alcoholics so will Vimto be acceptable?

With best wishes
Marmeduke & Magdalen

Writing 101 Childhood Home

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I am trying to write this using sentences of different lengths

     When I was 12 we lived over the shop. Literally. My parents had a baker’s shop and the upstairs rooms were our living room and bedrooms and bathroom. There were three of us in the family, mum, dad and me. But sometimes it seemed more like six; my paternal grandmother and my aunt lived only a short distance away with another old lady called Mary Ellen – usually known as Nellie. She was not a relative but had lived with my gran for a long time. Nellie worked as shop assistant in our bakers. As long as I can remember the three of them Gaga (my childish name for my auntie Margaret.) Nannie and Nellie were part of the family. They came to us for meals and before I started school I was taken to Nannie’s house every day where she looked after me while my mum was working.

        By today’s standards our little flat above the shop would be considered cramped. But there were good points too. We had a fine view of the street outside from our second floor window. On the relatively few occasions when I couldn’t see across the road because of the dreaded l smog I knew I wouldn’t have to go to school. All buses would be cancelled.

      The bathroom was immediately above the bakehouse oven so we had a nice warm floor to stand on when getting into the bath. Strangely enough, though we had a bathroom upstairs, the lavatory was outside the back door. Not unusual in the 1940s suppose.

     I took a lot for granted about the house we lived in. Everything was close. We were one of a row of shops and most of our daily needs could be supplied within walking distance. There was a post office, a newsagents, a butcher, a fish shop, a sweetshop, a tripe shop, even a hairdresser and a shoe shop. What more could you ask? This was before the advent of supermarkets or shopping malls.

      Well before I was 12 I could run errands to any of the shops on our road, I could go to the newsagents next door to buy a newspaper and twenty cigarettes for my dad. I can’t imagine sending my daughter on a similar errand when she was seven.

Writing 101 – Task 8 – Kill the Adverb

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He stormed into the room.
What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“N, nothing,” she muttered, “I only….”
He paced the room, examining the papers, the books, the pictures on the wall.
“What are you hiding?” he yelled.
“I’m not…” she began.
“Where is he? I’m not stupid. Where is your lover? Where are you hiding him?”
She shuddered.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” she whimpered.
He seized her arm and twisted it till she screamed with pain.
“He’s been here. I can smell tobacco and look -” he picked up a cigarette butt from the carpet.
“My father…” she said.
“Rubbish! Your father smokes a pipe.”
Before he had time to realise what she was doing Amelia spun round, raced across the room and slammed the door behind her. He heard her cackle of triumph as she turned the key and shut him in.

Extract from a gothic-type story. Unfinished.

Free Writing

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15 minutes free writing – not sure what is meant by this term just keeping on stream of consciousness for 15 minutes. I should be able to do that, the prompt about “three songs that mean the most to you” has to be ignored I can’t think of ONE song let along THREE that mean anything at all to me. Songs and all kinds of mucic are just a form of noise, sound without any form or meaning, a pleasant or unpleasant background to whatever is going on in the rest of the world, the rest of my life.

Sound, noise, words, letters, speech, writing – all ways of conveying meaning, all more or less useful.

Empty your mind – an empty mind a blank sheet of paper, tabla rasa or whatever. I do try to do this consciously in the mornign when I wake up and do a sort of first thing mediation to start off the day. I lie down, relax as much as possible, then envisage my head as a sort of room, a big square space and take a broom to clear it out, sweeping the dust and debris away, leavng a clear space. Sometimes it works. Then I think of my feet as having a sort of tap to drain out all the miseries and bad things, all the tempers and sadnesses, all the frustration and angers I feel and I imgaine then pouring out of my feet and draining away so I have a clear feeling and a nice blank place to start on next day. Then I imagine a funnel with a pipe leading into it and the end of the pipe going into my head. I see all sorts of good things pouring down the funnel into my brain. things like love and peace and joy and caring and happiness and if it is a good day and my imaginative visualisation is workign well I am ready to get up, have a shower, clean my teeth and face the world as it comes at me. Try it, it works, really – or at least it works for me.

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Not sure if this exercise/task is supposed to be entered on my blog. Seems to vague and unplanned and also too personal. Will leave it for now and look at The commoms to see what other people have felt about this.