A Re-Run Of Silly!

I was having my breakfast at teatime on a cold, dark sunlit morning when to my surprise I could smell the colour of the sound the door bell makes.

"Well" I said loudly to myself. "Who on earth could be banging my bell in that shade of pink"?

Curious as to whom my visitor may be, I sent the dog to the front door with a 50p piece and a note saying 'call me'.

A few minutes later the phone rang so I answered the door saying "It’s a little bit late to be phoning at this time in the morning isn't it"?

The lady at the door I immediately recognised as someone I didn't know.

"Sir" she said without a by your leave. "I am your local neighbourhood Avon lady and I have travelled many miles from across the street to save your legs from the terrible blight of hairy legness".

Had she seen me through the window as I paraded myself naked dressed as a man with clothes on? Had my wife informed her of my most deeply held secret during one of her weekly naughty knicker meeting in the church hall?

How could she know of my shameful secret that only a handful of people at 'Gossips Anonymous' knew?

"Come in" I spluttered at her "and wipe your face with this towel".

She entered by way of in and stood in the hallway as I closed the door in the direction of shut.

"Tell me," I said as the last drops of spittle were wiped from her chin "how did you come into possession of the knowledge which you know of my hairyness"?

"Sir," she said pronouncing the comma, "I must confess that I did not know of your hairyness and that I used that merely as a ruse to gain access to your home".

"Well it worked" I answered somewhat jealously as I did not have a comma in my statement that I could pronounce as well as she had pronounced hers.

"I am in fact your local neighborhood murderer from London" she stated calmly pulling out a huge knife of minute proportions "and I have come to extract revenge on you, Arthur Plunger, for sneakily telling the law publicly who I am."

"But I live in Cardiff and my name is Daffydd Murgatroyd!" I spluttered again handing her the towel.

"Plunger wasn't at home!" she said calmly.

I stood, nervously hopping from foot to foot and said "I have no more dialogue."

"Neither have I" she answered.

"Are we done then” I asked.

"Suppose so" she said.

We retired to the billiard room which wasn't there yesterday and agreed totally with each other that it was a peculiar ending to a promising start and mediocre middle.

"We should have done the 'Four Candles' sketch" I said.

"Been done" she answered bitterly.

Together we sidled from the page and out of view of the reader.

"That was embarrassing" we said together as the author closed the editor and saved his work.

I Make It All Up As I Go, You Know!

The tall, yet portly figure of Mr Pontebellis walked slowly down the dimly lit staircase.
"It would appear, Mr Slim, that our quarry has evaded us. There is no one upstairs", he said as his and vastly larger waisted partner, Mr Slim exited the living room.
"Most unfortunate, Mr Pontebellis. Most unfortunate indeed" said Slim. "One must assume, must one not, that  Mr Quirk was tipped off as to our proximity and he, to use commoner-speak, did a runner".
"That would certainly appear to be true, but I feel confident that we shall meet Mr Quirk very soon" said Pontebellis as he rounded the bannister at the foot of the stairs.
"Our client may not approve of this development, Mr Pontebellis. We did, as I recall, assure him that we would  expedite matters before paragraph five".
"Rest assured Mr Slim, we shall no doubt make Mr Quirk's acquaintance before the end of the third paragraph" answered Pontebellis as he looked up. Something went 'Zinggggg' and a large knife appeared in Pontebellis's hand. "Is that not so, Mr Author"?
I'll see what can be done
"You are most kind. Come, Mr Slim, we shall await Mr Quirk in the third paragraph".

~~~~~~~~

Quirk ran down Sickle Rd. and turned left into paragraph two.
"Who are those two and what do they want from me?" he asked to the air.
Well, said the Author, it's like this ... it's something to do with an amount of money which you borrowed. They probably want it back. Therefore, as  you haven't got it, you have to run away.
"I don't recall borrowing money from anyone" said a panting Quirk. "Why would I do that?"
A very good question, to which I have no satisfactory answer, because I'm writing this on the fly.
"But you're the author! You must know!"
Sorry! As I said, I'm just making this up as I go!
"What'll they do to me if they catch me?"
Honestly, I haven't thought that far ahead yet.
Quirk ran on, evading the last few sentences and rounded another corner into paragraph three.

~~~~~~~~

"Mr Pontebellis, I do declare, you are a genius! Here comes our quarry! Right on tome to enter the paragraph" said Mr Slim.
"Why, thank you, Mr Slim. Let us make ready to welcome our new friend".
"My knives are already so sharp as to be able to cut fog, Mr Pontebellis".
"Ah, I fear there will be no cutting in this, or any other paragraph, Mr Slim. Children may be reading. However, if you so wish, you may, as it were, insinuate the possibility of violence with knives by using them to excavate dirt from beneath your fingernails".
"I shall insinuate for all I am worth, Mr Pontebellis.You can rely on me".
"I am aware of that fact Mr Slim, and I am genuinely grateful".
Quirk stopped directly ahead of Mr Pontebellis and Mr Slim.
"I don't care what you do to me" he cried. "I can't repay the money! I don't have it, so do your worst" he cried.
"My, my! I do rather think that you are quite possibly taking this a little too seriously, Mr Quirk. We are educated ..."
"Educated!" said Mr Slim.
"... and sophisticated ..."
"Sophisticated!" added Slim.
"... gentlemen ... repeat me at your peril, Mr Slim! ... and we are certainly not monsters, although my friend and I do, on rare occasions, indulge in the physical alteration of those who upset us n some way, we are not intrinsically violent people".
Quirk fell to his knees as Pontebellis and Slim approached.
"Make it quick ... and preferably painless" he sobbed.
"We are processionals, you know" said Slim.
"We are indeed, Mr Slim. We are indeed".
Quirk closed his eyes. "Do it!"
"Certainly", said Mr Pontebellis. "Here!"
"What?" said Quirk opening his eyes.
Pontebellis handed Quirk an envelope.
"What's this?"
"Why, it's the money! The money you borrowed from Mr Crawly at the bank. You left it on his desk by mistake".
Mr Pontebellis looked out of the paragraph and off the page.
"Not what you were expecting, hmmm?" he said the readers. "Come along, Mr Slim. Our work here is done".

72 Hours!

I'm sorry folks!

72 hour weeks are draining and I just haven't had the energy to sit and write lately.

Hence the rather lame pictures

My bosses don't take account of the hours I (we) have to drive each day.  On average you can add two hours to my day. As I've been working 7 day weeks lately, that's an extra 14 hours on my week that goes unpaid.

I'm tired ...

... tired of pasting a smile on my face every time I see a client
    (it's not their fault so I can't growl at them)...
... tired of 25 mile drives to see someone that has already gone
    out because he forgot I was coming...
... tired of being tired ...
... and tired of 5am starts.

As I said ... I'm tired!

Another week of this regime to go before I get another day off!
That's NEXT WEEK! Not this week!

Wish me luck and hope that I don't lose the plot and do something silly!