Confessions Of A Holiday Let – A True Story And Guest Post By Judith Barrow @judithbarrow77

I’m delighted to welcome Judith Barrow to my blog today, who shares a true story about the perils of holiday letting an apartment.

Having read some of Judith’s other stories of holiday letting, there’s always a humorous side to them which I believe would not only make a fanatics book, but a television comedy show.

Confessions of a Holiday Let – A true story by Judith Barrow

Will Judith’s story have you laughing as much as I did when I read it?

***

For many years we summer let the apartment which is attached to our house.

We had many visitors from other countries staying in our apartment and shared great times with them.

Couples from the USA, Australia enjoyed barbeques on the lawn; long boozy evenings of wine and slightly burned kebabs and steaks, of tall tales and laughter.

Visits to restaurants with people from France and Italy. Long walks and talks on the coastal paths with a couple from New Zealand that we’d met from there on holiday in Christchurch, followed by drinks in local pubs.

We had a German man stay with us for three weeks who’d come to participate in the Iron Man Wales event. He’d worked hard for twelve months, he told us and had to acclimatise himself to the course. Three days before the event, he caught a chest infection and had to drop out. Despite his anti-biotics, he still needed to join Husband in a double whisky that night.

Oh dear, I’m sensing a common theme here.

This is the story of our last visitor for the season one year.

He was a single man. We’ve had people come on holiday alone many times over the years and thought nothing of it. When he arrived, we quickly realised he could only speak a little English, and we couldn’t speak his language at all.

He hadn’t been in the apartment before he came to the door brandishing an empty bottle of washing up liquid.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, “I thought there was plenty in it.”

“Used it.”

An hour later, washing powder was asked for by a demonstration of vigorous scrubbing at a pair of underpants.

“There’s a box of it under the sink.”

“Used it.”

Sunday brought him to the door twice. First, with the sugar bowl.

“Used it.”

Then the salt cellar.

“I thought I’d filled it—”

“Used it.”

‘Used it’ quickly became the watchword whenever we supplied tea bags, vinegar or handing over shoe polish.

Monday, he arrived with an empty tube of glue.

“Sorry, we don’t supply glue.”

He stands, smiling, waggling the tube. “Used it.”

Husband went into his Man Drawer and produced a tube of Super Glue. Scowling. We never found out what the man wanted it for, even though Husband examined everything he could that would need to be stuck the following weekend.

Each day, at least once, the man came to the door to ask for something by waving the empty bottle, carton, container or label at us. Unlike most holidaymakers, he didn’t knock on the back door but always came round to ring the doorbell at the front. In the end, Husband and I would peer through the hall window.

“It’s Mr Used It,” one of us would say. “It’s your turn to go.” Pushing at one another. “You see what he wants this time.”

On Wednesday, he arrived with a cardboard roll.

“There are six more toilet rolls in the bathroom cabinet to the right of the hand basin,” I offered helpfully.

“Used it.”

Seven rolls of toilet paper usually last a couple the whole week. I handed over four more.

“What’s happening in there,” Husband grumbled, “do-it-yourself colonic irrigation?”

On Friday, Husband produced a list. “We should charge for this lot,” he declared. “See?”

It read like a shopping list: milk/salt/sugar/vinegar/butter/tea bags/ coffee/soap/soap powder/toilet paper/shampoo/glue/shoe polish.

“Really?” I said, even though I knew the chap had been a pest. “You’ve been keeping tabs on our guest?”

“Too true.” The husband was indignant. “We could even charge him for overuse of the battery in the doorbell.”

“Except that it’s connected to the electricity.”

“Even worse!” Husband grumped off to his shed.

Saturday morning came, and the doorbell rang. Smiling, the man put his suitcase down onto the ground and, vigorously, shook hands with both of us. He waved towards the apartment.

“Used it,” he said. “Very nice.”

***

Judith Barrow

About Judith Barrow

Judith Barrow is originally from Saddleworth, a group of villages on the edge of the Pennines, in the UK. She now lives with her husband and family in Pembrokeshire, Wales, where she has lived for over forty years.

Judith has an MA in Creative Writing with the University of Wales Trinity St David’s College, Carmarthen. She also has BA (Hons) in Literature with the Open University, a Diploma in Drama from Swansea University.

She is a Creative Writing tutor for Pembrokeshire County Council and holds private one to one workshops on all genres.

She has written all her life and has had short stories, poems, plays, reviews and articles published throughout the British Isles. She only started to seriously write novels after having breast cancer twenty years ago.

When not writing or teaching, she enjoys doing research for her writing, walking the Pembrokeshire coastline and reading and reviewing books.

Connect with Judith

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Judith’s Latest Book – The Heart Stone

The Heart Stone by Judith Barrow

1914 – and everything changes for Jessie on a day trip to Blackpool. She realises her true feelings for her childhood friend, Arthur. Then just as they are travelling home from this rare treat, war is declared.

Arthur lies about his age to join his Pals’ Regiment. Jessie’s widowed mother is so frightened of the future, she agrees to marry the vicious Amos Morgan, making Jessie’s home an unsafe place for her.

Before he leaves, Arthur and Jessie admit their feelings and promise to wait for each other. Arthur gives Jessie a heart-shaped stone to remember him. But with Arthur far away, their love leaves Jessie with a secret that will see her thrown from her home and terribly abused when she can hide the truth no longer. Faced with a desperate choice between love and safety, Jessie must fight for survival, whatever the cost.

Click on the book cover to buy The Heart Stone

More Books from Judith

Saga of the Howard family
The Memory

Click on the book covers to buy Judith’s books.

My thanks to Judith for writing this guest post.

If you have any questions or comments for Judith, please leave them in the comments section. She’d be delighted to hear from you.

Do you have a true story you’d like to share on my blog? Contact me via the ‘Contact Hugh’ button on the menubar.

Copyright © 2021 hughsviewsandnews.com – All rights reserved.

Watch Out For The Matador! – A True Story And Guest Post By Sally Cronin @sgc58

I’m delighted to welcome Sally Cronin to my blog today, sharing a true story that had me laughing all day after I read it. It bought back many happy memories of a similar nature for me, especially some of the parts I played in school plays and amateur dramatics.

Watch Out For The Matador – A True Story by Sally Cronin

Many of you will know Sally from her successful blog where she is constantly helping to promote the works of bloggers, authors and writers alike.

Will Sally’s story have you as staged-struck and laughing in the aisles as I was after reading it?


My two sisters who were ten and eleven years older than I was, both trained as secretaries, which led to them having some interesting and high level jobs over the years.

However, I decided at an early age that I wanted to be a singer and actress! The desire to follow this career path was my mother’s fault really. Apart from the fact that she had a bit of a flair for the dramatic, she manipulated me into being her co-conspirator every Saturday afternoon.

My father loved football, and after he had cooked us one of his Spaghetti Bolognese lunches, followed by steamed treacle duff as he called them, we would retire to the lounge where our television took pride of place. I would have been about seven or eight at the time and my mother would coerce me into facilitating her viewing pleasure; the Saturday afternoon musical on BBC2.

Of course this conflicted with the afternoon football offering by Grandstand on BBC1. Fortunately my father had a weakness. Stoked up with carbohydrates and sugars from lunch, within 10 minutes of the match starting, he would be stretched out in his recliner, snoring.

In the good old days it was necessary to get up and down to switch channels, and this is where I came in.

As soon as my father began snoring, my mother would nudge me, and I would creep across the carpet to turn the channel over to BBC2 and the Saturday musical. Things did get a little hectic at times if there was a temporary change to my father’s breathing. At a shove from my mother, I would leap up from the sofa, dash across the room and switch channels back to the football. My father would watch blearily for about five minutes then resume his afternoon nap.

This would happen several times during the course of the movie, and as the final credits scrolled up the screen, I would turn the channel back over to BBC 1. My father would wake up to enjoy the cup of tea my mother had made, convinced he had watched 90 minutes of fancy footwork, but not the kind we had been watching.

This Saturday afternoon ritual fuelled my love of dancing and singing. My heart and soul burned to be the lead, dancing and singing my way through the performances like Ginger Rogers, Esther Williams (yes I would have done synchronised swimming if called for) Deborah Kerr, Mitzi Gaynor etc.

I had seen South Pacific at age ten and I would have even taken the role of Bloody Mary given half the chance. I knew all the lyrics from all the popular musicals of the day and wept buckets as John Kerr lip synched to “Younger than Springtime”; and I could perform all the songs from the Sound of Music.

Over the next few years I was lucky enough to be cast in a number of school plays. Being tall for my age, it usually involved me standing completely still for thirty minutes in the guise of a tree or some other inanimate object.

I did attempt to achieve some form of recognition for my talents, which included dressing in Swiss costume and dragging one of my friends around to old people’s homes to entertain the residents with the songs from The Sound of Music (they were very appreciative, let me tell you!).

This did not impress my parents, who were adamant that when I left school, I must train as a secretary, as drama was not a profession to be relied on.

Sally – aged 16

I left school in September 1969 at age 16 and enrolled in technical college for a year’s secretarial course. Over the course of the next twelve months, I became very proficient in shorthand and typing, but it was the extra classes we took in English that I enjoyed the most.

Our teacher also taught drama, and had trained more than a few successful actors and actresses over the years. To my delight, she was casting for that year’s drama production which was the operetta “Passion Flower”, based on the story of Carmen, but adapted for the amateur stage.

Without informing my parents I auditioned. I was rather expecting to be cast as part of the scenery again, but you can imagine my absolute thrill when our producer chose me to play Micaela – Carmen’s rival for the matador’s affections. Something that I kept from my parents, and they assumed I would be part of the chorus as usual.

Police cadets did their initial training at the college, and several of these were roped in to play the soldiers. Our producer recruited outside talent from her drama group to play the leads including an Australian dentist in his mid-thirties who took on the role of the matador, Escamillo, and a wonderful young singer called Julie took the part of Carmen.

The performances ran for three nights, and by the final evening I had almost conquered my nerves, despite the fact there were two very important people in the audience. I had persuaded my parents to come on the last night, with the expectation that it was likely to be the most flawless performance of the three.

I was desperately hoping that if they saw how passionate I was about acting (and my talent); they might relent in their objections to me attending drama school.

I can still remember standing in the wings that night, knees quaking as I prepared for the cat fight with Carmen, followed by being manhandled by the soldiers as they pulled us apart enthusiastically.

All was going very well until we reached the final scene when Escamillo threw a rose onto poor dead Carmen’s body, having been stabbed by a former lover, and then pulled me into his arms for a passionate kiss!

Unbeknownst to the rest of the cast, our lead actor had been celebrating the end to the run by consuming a number of cans of beer hidden in the wings. This certainly gave his performance some extra gusto which our producer put down to exuberance. As I swanned across the stage and into his arms for the expected stage kiss, he bent me over backwards and gave me a hearty smacker, before picking me up and rushing off stage.

Cue a very loud gasp from the cast clustered around poor Carmen’s corpse and from the front row where my mother and father were seated with other VIP guests. I can only assume they had already been taken aback by my starring role as a floozy, in an off the shoulder blouse, big earrings and a penchant for men in uniform.

I also had an inkling that these last few minutes had not gone down well. My erstwhile suitor and I joined the cast and clasped hands, bowing in appreciation of the applause. All I could focus on was my father, arms crossed with a very frosty look on his face.

My mother told me later that my father had turned to her and shouted over the applause, ‘Who is that man and what was he up to with our daughter?”  At this point, a woman who was sat next to my mother announced furiously ‘That would be my husband.”

As you can imagine, this fiasco did not further my ambitions to be allowed to attend drama school. Two weeks later, when I had graduated with my secretarial diploma, the evening paper’s employment section was strategically placed next to my beans on toast for supper. Probably for the best, as I have enjoyed a wonderful variety of jobs across a number of industries including broadcasting.

However, my love of musicals has never diminished, and who knows… maybe one day!

***

#books #authors #author
Author, writer and blogger, Sally Cronin

About Sally Cronin

After a career in customer facing roles in the hospitality, retail, advertising and telecommunications industry, Sally wrote and published her first book in 1999 called Size Matters, about her weight loss journey, losing 150lbs in 18 months. This was followed by 13 further fiction and non-fiction books, including a number of short story collections.

Sally’s aim was to create a watering hole on her blog to provide a wide number of topics to chat about…..This year in September 2021, Smorgasbord in its current format, celebrated its 8th anniversary.

As important as her own promotion is, Sally believes it’s important to support others within our community. She offers a number of FREE promotional opportunities on her blog, linked to social media.

Having lived a nomadic existence most of her life, Sally is now settled on the coast of Wexford in Southern Ireland with her husband of 40 years, enjoying the odd sunny day and the rain that puts the Emerald in the Isles.

Connect with Sally

Blog

Amazon

Goodreads

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Sally’s Latest Book – Life is Like a Bowl of Cherries: Sometimes Bitter, Sometimes Sweet

Life is like a bowl of cherries

Life is Like a Bowl of Cherries: Sometimes Bitter, Sometimes Sweet is a collection of short stories with scattered poetry, reflecting the complexities of life, love and loss.

The stories in the collection dip into the lives of men and women who are faced with an ‘event’ that is challenging and in some cases life changing.

Even something as straightforward as grocery shopping online can be frustrating, and a DNA test produces surprise results, the past reaches out to embrace the present, and a gardening assistant is an unlikely grief counsellor. Romance is not always for the faint-hearted and you are never too old for love. Random acts of kindness have far reaching consequences and some people discover they are on a lucky streak. There are those watching over us who wish us well, and those in our lives who wish us harm.

Click here to buy Sally’s latest book

More books from Sally

More books from Sally

My thanks to Sally for writing this guest post.

If you have any questions or comments for Sally, please leave them in the comments section. She’d be delighted to hear from you.

Do you have a true story you’d like to share on my blog? Contact me via the ‘Contact Hugh’ button on the menubar.

Copyright © 2021 hughsviewsandnews.com – All rights reserved.

The Shocking Truth Found Inside Men’s Underpants

I wasn’t even looking for underpants, but something drew my eyes to the underwear section of the website I was looking at. For some strange reason, I could not take my eyes off what was in front of me.

#shopping #humour #clothes

Before you ask, it was an entirely safe and well-known website but, one hour and forty-five minutes later, there was still nothing in my checkout basket. Had I really spent all that time admiring all the eye-candy underpants on offer, or had I fallen asleep at the computer, bored at the prospect of buying what I had intended coming here for?

It wasn’t long before I started asking myself questions such as why do the eye-candy models have to be semi-naked when modelling underpants? I even discovered that when I hovered my mouse over one of the models, he would spin around for me and show me the view from behind. That’s quite a handy little tool, don’t you think? How many times have you asked yourself what your ‘Mr Man’ socks look like when viewed from behind?

Then I asked myself if I would have been spending as much time as I was in the men’s underwear section of this website if all the models were like our postman, Pete? (or ‘Pop it in Pete’, as I like to call him). He can be very chatty when he hands me something too large to go through the slot. However, I decided that I’d asked myself a difficult question, so I moved on and remembered what I had come to the website for.

Before I knew it, I started asking myself if Pete would spend as much time as me in the men’s underwear section of this website? Probably not, given that he’s told me about his two grownup daughters, although he does like listening to Kylie and watching ‘Will and Grace’ on a Friday night.

Pete wasn’t a good example so I wondered if our plumber, Roger, would spend as much time as I was in the men’s underwear section? Do tradesmen like going shopping for themselves given, that when I worked in retail, some men leave it until the last minute to buy that perfect gift for their wife/girlfriend/partner? Knowing that Roger doesn’t like shopping, which he mentioned to me whilst nibbling on a whole packet of custard creams, would he ever buy his own underpants?

Shaking thoughts of Pete and Roger from my head, I then noticed that most of the underpants on the website were on sale. Great, I could bag myself a bargain before looking for that item I’d come here to buy. Now, this is when the real problems started because there were so many shapes and styles of underpants, to keep your crown jewels safe, that I really started getting confused.

Boxers, briefs, V-shaped, hipster, ribbed (ribbed? I thought you only found ribbed on—) trunks, G-String, jocks; the list seemed endless. I decided that it would be better for me to go to the shopping centre (because I’d be told that men’s underpants were down in Marks & Spencer) and try on all these different styles of underpants so I would know which suited me and the crown jewels best.

IMG_7627

My trip to Marks & Spencer was short-lived when an elderly lady, who had evidently mistaken me for a shop assistant, approached me and asked, “where do you keep your knickers, love?” When I was later told that I was not allowed to try on any of the underwear for hygienic reasons (I did explain to the lady outside the men’s changing rooms that I had showered before coming out), coming to a shopping centre to do my shopping was a mistake. I decided to head home again and do what I always do when it comes to shopping – do it online!

By this time, the whole day had just about disappeared, and I decided I didn’t need to buy any underpants after all because I’d had some given to me for Christmas! Phew, that was lucky, but then I started asking myself how Santa always got the size right?

Gentlemen – do you encounter any of these problems when buying your underpants, or do you save time and get somebody to buy them for you?

Ladies – who is the buyer of the underpants for the men in your household, and do you encounter as many problems as I do when shopping for underpants?

© 2018 Copyright-All rights reserved-hughsviewsandnews.com.

Comfort Food #flashfiction

“Strawberry cheesecake ice cream? A family-sized fruit and nut chocolate bar? Iced-coconut sponge? What the heck is going on, Simon?”

“Comfort, you said, so I got you some of your favourite comfort foods. I thought the popcorn would bring back memories of our first date. These will all make you feel better. Oh, there’s one more thing.”

Julia rummaged around the shopping bag, hoping he’d got her what she wanted.

“Hot-cross buns? Are you kidding me? When I said comfort, I meant something I could put on my piles so I could sit down and be more comfortable!”

***

Written in response to Charli Mills 99-word flash fiction challenge with the theme of comfort food.

#flashfiction #challenge #food

© 2017 Copyright-All rights reserved-hughsviewsandnews.com.

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Fluff #flashfiction

“Oh, my goodness, what are you doing?”

“Well, you did say you wanted me to help get the fluff out.”

“Yes, but not with a screwdriver. Is there anything else you can use?”

“No. Nothing to hand. Now, do you want me to remove the fluff from your belly button?”

“Yes, but I’m sure I can hear something creaking.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Right, here we go. Ready? A slight twist, and it should be out.”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I never expected that to happen. Allow me to pick up your bum and screw it back on.”

***

The moral of the story – never insert a screwdriver into your belly button and twist because your bum will fall off!

Written in response to Charli Mills 99 word flash fiction challenge with the theme of Navel.

Charli Mills 99 word #flashfiction challenge - Navel

© 2017 Copyright-All rights reserved-hughsviewsandnews.com.

 

Audrey Hepburn & The Chocolate Bar – What Happened Next?

My recent post, The Trouble With Chocolate, where I dissected a commercial for a bar of Galaxy chocolate (Dove in the U.S.A), which features an Audrey Hepburn look-a-like, had me wondering what on earth happened to Audrey after she got in that strange man’s car.

HERE IS THE COMMERCIAL AGAIN before I give you my version of what I think happened. Have a look at it, and then allow me to pick up the story for you.

 

The cool breeze passed Audrey’s face. The area around her mouth, now covered with chocolate, felt a little stiff but smelled heavenly.

She looked down as the stranger driving the car stared at her through the rear-view mirror. His eyes were a deep, dark brown, almost the same colour as the chocolate smothered across her face. She looked up again and wondered why he was driving a right-hand drive vehicle when they were in Italy? Then she remembered, but the answer disappeared as quickly as the chocolate had, once she had got the wrapper off. She still held the world record for eating a bar of Galaxy.

The stranger could not take his eyes off her, narrowly missing a group of chickens and a lady balancing a wheelbarrow on one eyebrow while standing on one leg. Even with her face and dress covered in melted chocolate, he still thought she was beautiful.

He remembered the day he had seen her buying that dress. Blowing kisses at him, she had flirted with him in front of other customers in the shop while he strolled around looking for somewhere to sit down. Then, unfortunately, he had mistakenly walked into a double D cup being worn by a mannequin at least a foot taller than him. The bra had made direct contact with his right eyeball, causing to him shout “ouch” and startle several other customers. By the time he had wiped away the tears, she had gone into the fitting room.

I’ll have to buy a new pair of gloves, she thought to herself, after using them to wipe away the chocolate off her face. Oh, how she wished somebody had invented stain remover. Then she thought she’d try to get away with giving them a quick rinse under the garden tap. “Damn!” she said to herself, having remembered she’d forgotten to bring her heartburn tablets off the old man sitting next to her on the bus.

The stranger blew her a kiss in the rear-view mirror, and she raised a hand to catch it, but a gust of wind caught one of the loose gloves in her hand, and she turned her head and watched it come to rest on the road. He did not stop the car, for he was full of excitement and wanted to get her to the other side of the hill as quickly as he could. He had big plans for the evening, so he put a little more pressure on the accelerator pedal.

No words had passed between them when the car finally came to a stop. He looked at her once more through the rear-view mirror while she picked up her handbag and fumbled inside it. She finally looked up at the building, now in front of her, her glance immediately going to the upstairs windows where she knew the excitement would begin. She felt so excited by the thought of what was about to happen; the heartburn tablets and the woman with the yellow bowl stuck on her head on the bus no longer mattered.

He finally got out of the driver’s seat and walked around, opening the door for her so she could step out. She was totally unaware that the wrapper from the chocolate bar was stuck to the back of her dress as she rose herself up from the back seat.

He put out his hand to help her out, and melted chocolate passed from her hand to his. The excitement for both was now nearing take off. It would not be long before they were inside the beautiful villa where all the waiting would finally come to an end. She looked up at him as he wiped his hand on the back of her dress.

“Why did you accelerate so quickly to get us here? I was enjoying the ride,” she romantically whispered to him.

Putting his solid and rugged arms around her and looking her straight in the eyes, the stranger finally spoke to her.

“The soft top of the car hood is stuck again, and the garage couldn’t fix it. Plus, I think there’s rain on the way because my knees have gone a little stiff. I’m off to watch the football. Stick the car in the garage will you before you have your bath. Your mother is dropping off the kids in ten minutes, and the dog needs walking.”

Audrey’s chocolate-scented bubble bath would have to wait.

-The End-

brown chocolate bar
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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The Trouble With Chocolate

Can chocolate be trouble? Yes, in my books, it can, and Audrey Hepburn is to blame!

I’m really bothered, severely troubled, and it’s all to do with this commercial.

 

So there you have it. Cute commercial, yes? But, where does the word ‘trouble’ come into it and why am I bothered by what Audrey Hepburn is up to on that bus?

Now, I know some of you are shaking your heads and looking at me as if I’ve just announced I’ve purchased a cat flap for a submarine, but please stay with me on this and let me tell you why I think that commercial has made me believe chocolate is nothing but trouble.

Maybe the trouble is to do with the beautiful scenery right at the beginning?

Is it the beautiful Audrey Hepburn look-a-like sat on the bus? She does have incredible eyes, doesn’t she? All sort of puppy looking and adorable.

Is it what she reveals is inside her handbag when she opens it?

Oh, wait! What about the handsome chap who pulls up in the car beside the bus? No, he’s not my type, and why is there a woman sitting on the bus with a yellow bowl on her head? Did you see her? Yes?

Now, where was I? Oh yes, what was inside Audrey’s handbag. Now considering she’s sat on a hot bus (because it’s a beautiful sunny day outside and the commercial is set in a hot country), should that chocolate bar not have melted in her handbag? Does the guy sitting next to her look like he needs some Gaviscon? To me, it seems like he has heartburn. Are you still shaking your head?

Is it the music and the song, Moon River, that is the problem, or what about the singer’s voice? Beautiful voice, yeah, but wouldn’t make it on X-Factor or The Voice. Besides, I prefer the original version.

Then there’s that guy in the car. He may be good-looking, but, believe me, I don’t think he’s the one who is trouble. OK, I wouldn’t turn down an offer of a beer with him just to find out what hair products he uses and discuss why Barbie and Ken never got married, but, believe me, it’s not him.

Right, back to the commercial. Is that a pumpkin on the road Audrey passes when she gets off the bus? Did they have big ripe pumpkins in the middle of summer in the 1950s, and why has somebody painted what looks like two caterpillars above Audrey’s eyes? I’m sure they’re moving around her face.

Could it be the rugged bus driver that is the trouble? Is it him I want to see in place of Audrey on the bus? Well, no, because who would then drive the bus? Audrey? Not with the shoes she’s wearing. No way! I’d be off that bus quicker than my Aunt Mary being chased down Dagenham High Street by two Store Detectives after sticking a frozen turkey up her jumper and making a run for it.

Now, back to the good-looking man in the car. Do you think he has a big head? I only ask, as when Audrey puts the bus driver’s cap on him before getting into his car, it looks at least two sizes too small for him. On the other hand, maybe the bus driver has a small head? After all, he is bald. Perhaps that is why the cap is far too small for the good-looking man driving the car? What do you think?

How on earth did Audrey get the chocolate bar out of her handbag as the good-looking man whisked her off in his car? I never saw her open her bag and get the chocolate out. Did you? And, come on, Audrey, would you really get into a strange man’s car without even asking his name?

Want to know what happened to Audrey after being driven off in that strange man’s car? Was there really romance in the air? Click here for all the details.

Do you ever have problems with chocolate?

heart shaped chocolates
Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

© 2017 Copyright-All rights reserved-hughsviewsandnews.com.

 

How To Spend A Restful Few Minutes Over A Cup Of Coffee

I’d just sat down to a nice cup of coffee.

Two sachets of sugar are on the saucer. The teaspoon looks rusty and dirty from too many washes in the dishwasher and is not being wiped clean! Never mind, the coffee looks good, and it’s a beautiful day here on Mumbles seafront.

I take my first sip, and then it begins.

“Hello, Brian, can you hear me……I’m on the mobile……can you hear me, Brian?”

Bit of a pause.

“Brian, can you……what?…….what did you say, Brian?”

Longer pause.

“I’m ringing to find out if…….Brian, are you still there?”

Bit of a pause.

“OK, I’m waving now. Can you see me?”

Pause

“Well, I’m waving. Hold on, I’ll get Margaret to wave.”

Margaret starts to wave her hand.

“Can you see us?”

Pause

“Well, I can’t understand it; we’re both waving. Are you there, Brian? Can you hear me?”

Pause

“Yes, I was ringing to find out if it was working?”

Pause

“No, I said, I was ringing…….Brian, can you hear me? Perhaps you can’t hear what I’m saying?”

Pause.

“OK, I’ll get Margaret to wave again, hold on.”

Margaret waves again, and a small girl passing by, licking an ice cream cone, waves back at her.

“Can you see her waving, Brian? I’m waving now as well. Can you see us?”

Pause.

“No, I’ve been to Spec Savers, and my eyes are OK. I wasn’t ringing about that; I was ringing about the……”

Longer pause.

“No, my eyes are fine, they said I could continue with the glasses I’ve had for the last……..hello…Brian, can you hear me? Are you still there, Brian?”

He looks at the phone.

“I think he’s gone, Margaret.”

He puts the phone back to his ear.

“Brian, are you still there?”

By this time, I quickly gulped my coffee down, wanting to get away, but then he looked at the phone again, and this time he closed it up as it was one of those clam style phones. I thought about getting another coffee and maybe a cake to continue with my people watching, but then his phone rang.

“Hello…Brian, is that you? Can you hear me?”

Not wanting to find out what he wanted to know was working, Toby and I made a rapid departure.

We enjoyed a lovely quiet walk home along the beach without the sound of any mobiles phones going off.

Toby on the beach

Have you ever overheard a one-sided conversation? What was it about?

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The Day I Almost Married Lara Croft

What? I almost married Lara Croft? OK, I don’t mean, ‘the’, Lara Croft, do I, just somebody else with the same name as her?

Well, no, I mean the most famous Lara Croft there has ever been; she is a full-time tomb raider; she has the body most men desire, and most women envy.

Our relationship started back in August 1997 when a friend of mine loaned me a copy of “Tomb Raider” for the Sony PlayStation 1. I’d had the Playstation for some months but was already getting bored with it, that is until my friend introduced me to Lara Croft.

From the moment I inserted the game disc into the PlayStation and pressed the play button, I’d fallen in love with the one and only woman who would ever pull at my heartstrings.

I would spend countless evenings, nights, and weekends with Lara. It even got to the point that I would no longer go out on a Saturday night. Instead, I would spend the evening at home with Lara while my friends danced the night away, having fun, socialising, meeting new people, enjoying each others company, while I only had eyes for Lara.

She’d take me too far off places around the world, Peru, Mongolia, Egypt, India, to name but a few. She’d protect me from killer bats, bears, lions and weird monsters I never knew existed. I followed her everywhere and ensured nothing horrible happened to her while on our travels.

I even remember that Saturday afternoon I sat down with her at 5:15 and, before we knew it, the clock told us it was 4.05 Sunday morning. But it didn’t matter then as we were both in love with each other and saw each other every day.

The day we got engaged was beautiful. By now, I knew I had met the perfect woman, and I was pretty sure that Lara felt the same way about me. Why wouldn’t she? After all, I’d spend all my free time with her, and I’d even told my work colleagues about her. I know some of them envied me for having caught myself one of the most beautiful and sexiest women in the world, but others were happy for me and wanted to hear more of the adventures Lara and I were having.

I begged Lara to let me buy her an engagement ring, but she had none of it. Well, not at that moment anyway, as she had dangerous work to do and would never forgive herself if she lost the ring while working. She promised me I could buy her an engagement ring just as soon as she had solved the mystery she was working on. But that day never came, and it wasn’t long after when things started to go downhill, and our Wedding day kept getting further and further away.

I’d gone everywhere with her on her first two adventures. While she worked at solving mysteries and puzzles, I earned the money that would pay for our wedding and first home together. We both knew that nothing could part us when she started her third adventure, but how wrong we would be. I’ll be honest and say that her experiences were getting too difficult for me. But that was because I’d started going out again, socialising, meeting friends, having a real laugh, enjoying the actual world around me, catching up on gossip, TV and the movies. Meanwhile, Lara continued her adventures without me, not ever wanting to come with me.

“Most of your friends don’t like me”, she’d told me the day it all went pear-shaped, and I’d realised that she was right. I also learned that Lara had put quite a big gap between my friends and me and that I was almost losing them and my life! Not only that, but she’d also put a strain on another relationship, the most important one, the one I’d had since 1993 and, to this day, is stronger than ever. Would John ever forgive me?

I finally put an end to my relationship with Lara and called off the wedding. I thought she’d be distraught, especially when I told her I was also selling my Playstation. But, she simply walked away with the man who had purchased the PlayStation from me, and I never heard from her again.

Do I have any regrets about what happened? No. I’m just happy that I found my life again and have never been tempted to contact Lara…Ever!

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