airy fairy nothingness

I've got another flash for you, but not much else. I have been even more spaced out than ususal today, despite the coffee and the mad half hour on the rowing machine (which you would have thought would sharpen me up a bit). No more sightings of the elusive pocket-sized choir master. But, given my zombified state today, he may well have been strutting about in the welfare centre or hanging out with Ray at the garage or wafting out in the art gallery, or pumping iron in the gym. He could have been in any of these places and I simply wouldn't have noticed, because my head is full of airy fairy nothingness. I should probably just go to bed!

The water trickled between his shoulder blades. He shifted his head back and let it swill, tepid and briny, over his two-day-old stubble. The stained sleeping bag lay sloughed off on the sandy floorboards. Next to it the precious letter, still in its pristine cream envelope. He imagined the black type inside, jostling and straining against the paper prison. He was Dominic Slater, 29, failed teacher, living in a beach hut. But not for much longer.

Busy day, no time for pants, as they say. Actually, I did have time for pants. No time to eat, though.
My lessons on family vocabulary and the royal family seemed to go down okay. I picked up my potential birthday present leather trousers from the collect plus corner shop, tried them on, and took them straight back again. My waist is too small and my legs are too chubby - at least my unusual body type has saved my husband a small fortune on the birthday present though. I am, as usual on a Wednesday, far too hungry to stay up much longer, but I have written you a little Wednesday flash, which follows. Nightie night xx

Gareth Malone!

Hey, guess who I saw on camp the other day? Only Gareth Malone. Yes, that Gareth Malone. I know! Who would have thought he'd be in our neck of the woods. The military wives choir are all being very tight-lipped about it, but clearly somethings goin' daahn, innit?
I was just driving out of camp and I saw someone in a car who I recognised, so I gave him a nice big smile. Only later, I realised he wasn't a random bloke from our street, no, it was him off the telly!
I'd already driven halfway down the road by then, so sadly it was too late for me to say, "Oi, aren't you that bloke off the telly?" He must get strange women smiling at him all the time, thinking that they actually know him. But I like to think that my smile was special. He looked like he almost smiled back (no, he didn't - in fact he looked quite grumpy).
So that was last week's excitement. Which semi-celebrity with a vague military connection will it be next? Ross Kemp? I'd give him a cheery smile if I saw him at the camp gates. Oh yes I would!
Better go, work tomorrow (teaching the students about the royal family - not just because the queen is actually my husband's boss, but in the hope that it may in some way help with the incredibly difficult citizenship test, which asks people important British questions such as when were the Corn Laws repealed....).
xxx
ps - and in honour of Gareth Malone, a reminder of the 2011 MWC smash hit!

 The wonderful Military Wives Choir- alternative funny lyrics written by Sarah Myers

Wherever you are, I wish I could get through,
The dog is lost, the fish are dead,
What am I s’posed to do?

Wherever you are, I need to know your PIN,
The bank has called, won’t speak to me
“we have to speak to him”

Light up the darkness, oh, where are the bulbs
You’ve put them somewhere safe and sound,
But no one have you told,

Light up the darkness, oh, where are the keys?
I am locked out of the house
and I may need to call the police.

Wherever I am, I don’t know what to do,
The kids are ill, your mother’s phoned
And wants to speak to you.

Wherever I am, not sure what day it is,
The Sky wont’ work, I have to call,
But they’ll just say “its his”

Light up the darkness, night has come
But I still have to grab a coat and go and mow the lawn,
Light up the darkness, for all my sins,
I must change a fuse, fix countless things
And put out all the bins.

flash fiction BOGOF Thursday!

Over here.

You see the brindled grey sea, and the wind-rippled dunes. High and far away a lone gull wheels and disappears. Wan cloud curtains the insipid sunshine. Far down on the strand a man is walking. His fair hair is flapping up in the wind like a wing, and he's got this red scarf, looping free. You want to shout, to wave, but the tape still covers your mouth, and the handcuffs bite deep. He turns.

today's flash fiction

There she was, in the next pew. The sun was streaming through the stained glass. Before he died, he'd
specified a Beatle's song to play as they brought the coffin in: Lucy in the sky with diamonds. A psychodelic funeral march, typically him. She turned and I noticed her greying temples. There was something different about the set of her mouth, as if she'd spent the last twenty years not saying something.
"Hello Lucy," I said.

I thought the recent kitchen refurb had disturbed some spirits from an old Indian burial mound our house may have been built on when I heard strange noises coming from downstairs this morning. Turns out it was just a man drilling a hole in the wall for the tumble dryer duct. Shame, just when I thought I'd done with my annual dusting session, too. Also shame it wasn't anything actually supernatural, which would have been fairly exciting for a Thursday morning - almost as exciting as getting a delivery of a new dishwasher and a whole week's supermarket shop at exactly the same time (did the delivery men synchronise watches before setting off, I wonder?).
So, today I plumbed in the dishwasher, moved the tumble dryer and re-plumbed in the washing machine. I also did lots of wiping windowsills and chucking stuff away. And ironing, too.
I felt the tedium of housework totally justified eating Twin 1's forgotten Easter egg for her.
I've just noticed that there's still a pink jelly worm on the ceiling of the living room, and  the leftover brick dust from the drilling, and a basket full of washing to sort, and an untold amount of ironing left to do, but I'm kind of done with being a housewife today.
What I really need is some genuine supernatural activity in the form of an OCD poltergeist. Something that, instead of hurling things across the room in a spooky way, instead picks them up and puts them neatly in a drawer somewhere. That would be nice...