Category Archives: Creative Writing

All Because the Lady Loves…. [2022 Edition]

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Some women have it all. They spend their days reclining on plush sofas wearing silk pyjamas, taking selfies for their Instagram feeds, and testing a limitless supply of premium anti-ageing products sent to them by marketing departments in high end stores. If that isn’t enough, they also have gentleman callers dropping at their feet. One such woman is Debbie Von Arlington-Grange who lives in six bedroom neo-Georgian barn conversion, known as ‘Rose Cottage’, just down wind of the Dartford tunnel. She also has a luxury yacht called ‘Hello Dolly’ moored at Dover with obvious Russian connections.
Here we see gentleman caller, Kevoff, desperately trying to keep Debbie sweet. He fearlessly dives off the white cliffs into the shark infested waters of the English Channel. He swims to Debbie’s yacht, climbs aboard, and delivers a perfectly wrapped box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray. Then, without so much as a nibble on a coffee cream, Debbie sends him packing.
Why? Because firstly he didn’t text to inform her of his impending arrival, and furthermore, because he forgot the Champagne, flowers, and the 65″ widescreen TV she wanted; he also forgot her dairy intolerance; and that she prefers Black Magic. To add insult to grievance, he then proceeded to make a soggy mess all over her pink shag pile carpet, AND, quite frankly, she is weary of him trying to convince people that there are sharks in the English Channel.
You’ll be pleased to know that I’m not as high maintenance as Debbie. I enjoy the simple pleasures in life; I don’t have a yacht – I’m quite at home on a lilo, and after a Moscow Mule or two, I might be persuaded to share my strawberry creams, and soft centres, so long as the ironing’s done.

Actually, I am probably more high maintenance than Debbie. Please bring me Lindt chocolate [don’t expect me to share it], and a bottle of whiskey. And what is all this nonsense about a lilo??? AND ironing???

First published on The Scarlet Blue Archive 12th February 2009
Revised and heavily edited in 2022.

Next week: Debbie does Dymchurch.

A Trail of Splinters….

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Charmaine glared up at me, her eyes glowing from a small dark hole in the floor, which we referred to as the cellar, but was actually just a small dark hole in the floor capable of concealing two bodies, or Charmaine.

‘Why have you stopped writing The Sunday Ketchup?’ She hissed.

I shrugged. It was a fair question.

‘Am bored with it; nothing has happened; and I don’t like the word ‘Ketchup’,’ I replied, ‘it’s so Daily Mail.’

Charmaine heaved her way up through the floor and stood in front of my desk dusting herself down.

‘That’s ridiculous, Aunt Scarlet! Just post some pictures! Any pictures!’

And then she stomped off, leaving a trail of splinters in her wake and forgetting to lay the rug back over the hole.

It was true, I did have pictures, but I had no words. The best I could find from my very secret journal was: I think Estee Lauder discontinued Double Wear Light foundation because a little went a long way, hence it wasn’t generating enough repeat buys often enough – that’s my theory. Bastards.

I had written few emails, and the best line I could find was: My walks are fairly long for someone with short legs.

By comparison my calligraphy practice had taken an inventive turn:-

I had also thought ahead regarding The Great Gardening Blogging Event 2022, and had taken a photograph of some Snowdrops:-

AND, I had been sorting through my mother’s old knitting patterns in view of using them for future collages, and I’d found this:-

Maybe Charmaine was right, I did have enough content to make a post. All I had to do now was to spin it together and make some sense of it all….without using the word ‘ketchup’.

Next week: Will Aunt Scarlet write something more interesting? Will her calligraphy become legible? Will she trip on a misplaced rug and fall down a hole? Or will she see sense, stop trying to write sentences, and simply slap up pictures from knitting patterns instead? All will be revealed in the next enthralling post on Wonky Words! Bet you can’t wait.

Sunday Ketchup – The Omicron Week

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So, December started well then, with a brand new Covid variant to send us into panic mode, and Storm Arwen, which plunged many of us into darkness, ahem. Things can only get better?

Meanwhile, I have been pondering my blog – if I am to keep the mantle of ‘Blogger’ I really ought to blog more often; more regularly; MORE CONSISTENTLY! With this in mind I have devised a new hook to hang regular posts on. I will attempt to post every Sunday like wot I used to, and my hook will be called: Sunday Ketchup. It will be a random account of my week and will include quotes from my journal [my very secret journal that I show no-one ever!]; photographs; collages; calligraphy; and, of course, the obligatory piece of Sunday music. How thrilled you must be to read of my good intentions. Again. Let us proceed…

The week began so well, and looked so pink and pretty….

I managed to do some calligraphy for Christmas cards, all was going well…

calligraphy for christmas cards

….but then I wrote this in my journal…

I swear I saw the Grim Reaper, he was driving an old black Audi; he had long black hair, grey skin and very blue eyes. He waved as he drove past – slowly and deliberately. It wasn’t my turn.

….and mid-week I found myself writing this in an email…

This means that on Monday I will ring the Omni Supplier team again, and have another Groundhog conversation with them. I actually don’t think I can bear to do that!

By Friday I was creating collages like this…

…and now I just I want to listen to this…

And that was the week that was. Let’s hope next week turns out better.

Oh, please make a note in your diary – The FGES caption competition will be held on 1st January 2022 and the winner announced on 31st January 2022. Thought I ought to mention that.

Never Knowingly….

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There has been much controversy in the British press regarding the new [now very old!] John Lewis ad, which features the actress/glamour model/author/Olympic gold medallist/circus performer/after dinner speaker/one time MP for Wigglesworth and Bendover, Fanny Mountjoy, who died earlier this year. Critics have accused John Lewis of focussing on the lesser aspects of Fanny’s achievements and in the brief summation of her life they have failed to acknowledge Fanny’s greater accomplishments, such as her much loved symphony in D minor – composed on the glockenspiel, and fondly known to all as ‘Lovelace and St Grace’.
Fanny’s family and friends have hit back arguing that this is how Fanny would like to have been remembered; for them Fanny will always be, first and foremost, a wife; mother; mistress and home-maker; as well as a sister; an aunt; a niece; a cousin; a god-daughter; a god-mother; a grandmother; and when occasion demanded, an uncle.
Critics have countered that John Lewis has undermined Fanny’s memory in the public psyche and have been grossly irresponsible to broadcast such a reduced and sentimental account of Fanny’s life.
Fanny’s family and friends have replied claiming that her family life was more significant than her groundbreaking thesis on high wire acrobatics and aerial fire eating, which led to her being shortlisted for a Nobel prize in chemistry.
Critics have gone on to suggest that family and friends wish to downplay some of Fanny’s more dubious activities, such as the night she is reported to have spent with naked activists at the Mini-Mart on Uppersnatch Common demonstrating over the demolition of an ice cream parlour some 200 miles away in Wigglesworth.
Family and friends [namely Richard Wood – third cousin, twice removed] have scoffed at this suggestion saying that her involvement was greatly overplayed and she was merely a bystander, albeit a naked bystander, photographed with an ice cream cone on her head and a sticky flake in her mitts; Richard claims that it was a very warm evening.
Critics are now meeting to decide their next riposte whilst friends and family have adjourned to their comfortable living rooms to await further developments, and to catch up with Britain’s Got Talent.
And so, dear reader, have John Lewis knowingly undersold Fanny Mountjoy? I’ll leave it to you to decide.

Originally published on The Scarlet Blue Archive 2nd June 2011

What happened in May?

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After several weeks on the fainting chaise I began to feel better. My recovery had been slow, arduous, and beset with challenges, for example I felt as though an ominous cloud had been stalking me daily, I couldn’t shake it, so instead I decided to take a photograph to illustrate the darkness of my unwanted companion.

To illustrate a post featuring a sky.

To escape the cloud I hid indoors and pretended it wasn’t there, although I could still hear it leaking into my conservatory. I tried to make a note to get my roof fixed, but couldn’t decide whether to use copperplate, italic, or a modern calligraphy style. I concluded that my indecision was because it was all getting a little bit too much. I decided to stick my thoughts together with a drawing of a crow, as this was obviously the best way to make a note.

Though in the midst of muddlement, I knew there was a course of therapeutic action available to me, which was to lay quietly on the fainting chaise and read a pile of books [one at a time, NOT consecutively].

And lo, after several weeks I did begin feel better though less than robust, after all, I did still have a Temporomandibular joint disorder; Tinnitus; and a misdiagnosed knee condition, but, I also had a theory: my chronic ailments were somehow related to that damn wax effigy I’d sealed in a bottle back in 2006. I had unwisely used my own hair, and material from my clothes to make this glorious work of art…. blah, blah, blah… I think we have been here before….

wax-effigy-in-bottle-on-mantelpiece

Please note that the pin located on the right of the doll’s head [my left] and the pin stabbed into the left knee [my right], correspond anatomically [within accepted parameters] to my current jaw and knee issues.

I concluded that the only way to be completely well again would be to break the bottle and remove the pins from the effigy – plus, if my theory was correct, then did I really want to find out what the remaining pins would do?

It is now June 2021, and I am still a bit nuts.

A Festive Flashback…. [The Ghost of Christmas Past]

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Time to get in a festive mood, so here is a flashback from November 2008 – HERE

‘Here come the girls…’ is the chant from the new Boots Christmas advert, obviously pandering to it’s female market by illustrating how women are better at organisation than men.

To do this Boots have made a short ‘fly-on-the-wall’ documentary about a group of women who are in the advanced stages of ‘Secret Santa’.  Each woman has pulled a colleague’s name out of Santa hat, and now they’re stampeding, like a cattle dressed in tinsel, to Boots to buy cheap and cheerful goods for Christmas. One of the token blokes is shown as being so incompetent that he is seen trying to gift wrap a stapler.

Part of me dislikes this ad because I think it encourages men to wallow in the myth that they are  incapable at choosing suitable gifts, and thus it discourages them from putting any effort into doing any Christmas shopping. Basically, women get lumbered with present finding. It’s not on. Being a man is not an excuse to be useless.

Anyhow, I do like that this ad is set in an office, and I like the tune, but I think that Boots are missing out all the good bits that only happen at Christmas, so I suggest a ‘Here come the girls’ sequel. In the sequel, Boots join forces with the people who make the alcohol awareness information films and together they show the true horrors that are unwrapped at the annual office party.

Firstly there is always a weeping wailing woman who sobs into her soup for 3hrs, making horrible stains across the tablecloth. In a drunken stupor she confesses loudly that she has been sleeping with the Group Operations Director for the last 3 months, but now he’s dumped her for a bright and shiny 18yr old receptionist. Nobody is surprised by this revelation as the GOD has form.

Then focus should shift to the couple who throughout the year have been working each other up into a sexual frenzy with furtive glances and breathy tension. At the Christmas party they cross the line of no return resulting in a ripped shirt, laddered tights and a pair of lost knickers. The next day he brags, and she denies. It takes another 6 months of furtive glances and breathy tension before they do the exact same thing at the company cheese and wine party. Six years later they get married. And buy a bungalow.

Finally there’s the drunken blonde floosey whose party piece is to snog everyone under the mistletoe and declare undying love, forever and ever, to anyone who’ll listen. She then takes it upon herself to entertain her colleagues by scrambling unassisted onto the table to belt out a rousing chorus of ‘I Will Survive’, just before flashing her tits at her boss and throwing up in his lap . Oops.

At least we don’t have to put up with this nightmare in 2020.