Tag Archives: Charmaine

PART 5 of The Epic Collaboration

Continued from HERE and also from HERE

Charmaine glared at me, and then started speaking louder than necessary.
“Are you going to write part 5 of the epic collaboration with Mr Devine, which YOU instigated, or are you going to drift off into hibernation for the rest of the Autumn?”
I squinted at her, and even through my narrowed eyes she was still the size of a bus. I had grown comfortable lodged on the sofa, eating chocolate and watching TV, and to be honest, I hadn’t a clue what the epic tale was about.
“Remind me, what is the story about?” I asked.
Charmaine’s face reddened like an overripe tomato aloft a lump of lard.
“Oh for God’s sake, Aunt Scarlet, it’s not rocket science! To bring you up to speed it’s kind of a mash up of Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, with a dollop of Alice in Wonderland. All you need to know right now is that Mr Devine and Dinah are travelling on a flying Bathmat to Franconia to turn Mr Mags into Aidan Turner, they will then return in time for the ball at Mogwash Manor. Aidan Turner will then give you your lost wellington boot and you will both live happily ever after, though obviously not together.
“I’m sure you’re missing some detail, surely it can’t be that simple?”
“It has to be simple, there have been complaints,” said Charmaine, stoney faced, “for starters Mistress Maddie is so confused that she’s drinking even more gin than usual, and she’s rather upset because she hasn’t been given a starring role. Dinah is perturbed because she has TOO MUCH of a starring role and feels overexposed, whilst Melanie is politely bemused but is trying her hardest to keep up. Mistress MJ wants to throw cake over the whole sorry affair, though Jon is surprisingly engaged – this is because his award winning back passage has been a major feature in part 3 and part 4. Mitzi is keeping her head down and is studying fractions, whilst Mr Mags is neutral as he would rather sleep. Mr Batarde, Savvy, Kylie, Eryl, Nick, Bill, Looby, and Lulu, are threatening you with legal action should you have any ideas about writing them into any subsequent parts.
So, what does happen in part 5????”

“You want to know what happened up Jon’s award winning back passage in Sarf London?”
“YES!!! I do!!!”
“Well, it was lovely. We sat on his smoking bench surrounded by glorious blooms, whilst sycamore seeds descended from the skies. We listened to Liza Tarbuck on Radio 2 and we had tea and muffins. He gave me two bags of empty wine bottles, I thanked him, and assured him that nothing awful would happen to him in part 5. All was going splendidly until Sid cocked his leg over his Lilium candidum – Jon wasn’t best pleased – there was a lot of hosing down, mopping up, and muttering about acidic soiling, then he threw us out on the street.”

“AND???” Said Charmaine, somewhat exasperated.
“And what?”
“You need to give Mr Devine something to bounce off!”
“He’s fine! He’s floating on a bathmat over Franconia with Dinah – the next time I see either of them will be at the Mogwash Ball when they bring me Aidan Turner. All I can do now is wait patiently on the sofa, and perhaps ask Mistress Maddie, or Jon, to find me a jaw dropping gown.”
“No, that’s not good enough.”
“Okay, okay….. how about… he threw us out on the street just as a large octopus sucker bathmat carrying three people crash landed up his back passage….

“How does this all end?” Asked Charmaine.
“Badly, I imagine.”
“You’ll never make it as a novelist.”
“I know that,” I replied, “but I can still take nice photographs of Sid.”

To be continued over the cusp.

A Trail of Splinters….

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.

Farewell 2020….

….and good riddance. I was going to write some sort of review of my blogging year, but it mostly consisted of storms in February; wild trampolines; a lot of whinging regarding an ongoing cold; and a lot of whining about my teeth. That was it. I was going to contact my doctor today regarding some other complaint, but now I’ve forgotten what it was – possibly something to do with still not being able to chew properly, or somesuch. I’m sure he will be pleased not to hear from me as I’m guessing he might have more pressing matters to attend to.

Meanwhile, I have been asked to judge a Haiku competition. No, I haven’t a clue why either – something to do with Charmaine living it large on a neighbouring Crossword blog, HERE, with cousin Batarde. I have read all the entries, my favourite is by Dtw42 [I accept the edit because I am kind like that and can’t add up either] and is as follows:-

Slate-grey Basingstoke skies;

cold, yet still no snow. The

duvet’s siren call.

I am hoping I am not responsible for supplying the prize?! It’s been one of those years where I’ve said yes to FAR TOO MUCH, and I am STILL suffering the consequences.

And talking of snow…. IT IS SNOWING HERE!!!! I did have a video to upload but none of my devices or apps are talking to each other, perhaps they have locked down to avoid some sort of hideous virus?

So a tune instead – I have been playing this a lot this month, sort of festive, cheerful and the closest I’ll get to a party tonight….

Ha! And I still have that necklace!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!! May it live up to all our expectations!!!

Oh my goodness – did it work? Did I not break anything? Well this must be a first. Crikey.

Swede Dreams

Ilaid back on my chaise longue, which is a worn purple velvet affair swamped with grubby throws and cushions, Charmaine loomed above me – glasses poised at the end of her nose – notebook and pencil in hand.

“I have to practice, Aunt Scarlet, now close your eyes and relax”

I muttered something about wishing I’d taught her modern calligraphy. It was my own fault that I was now being subjected to Charmaine’s latest fancy, which was to train as a dream counsellor.

“Would you like to have a go with my vintage 303 nib?” I asked, with a pleading intonation.

Charmaine ignored me and chewed the end of her pencil as she flicked through her notebook. She looked displeased, and in exasperation she threw the notebook aside and took a huge tome from a picnic basket that she had dragged into my studio from the hallway. The huge tome thudded onto my desk causing my collection of tiny bears to topple over.

Opening the Dictionary of Dreams, Charmaine thumbed through the pages in an expert fashion, but couldn’t seem to find what she was looking for. I knew this because her brows had knitted themselves into a puzzled frown.

“So you’re saying that he was creeping up to your house across a muddy field? He looked like a scarecrow and every time you looked out of the window he froze and stood still? He wasn’t chasing you? You were making soup? And you felt strongly that it was Autumn, and that the scarecrow was Swedish?”

“I didn’t say he was Swedish! I said he was a swede! Look you silly girl, it was exactly like this…”

Charmaine’s brows unravelled to reveal a wide-eyed expression and I swear she looked almost relieved, but also a tad annoyed. In my defence I seldom remember my dreams, but she was so keen; I didn’t think it would hurt to be inventive.

gilded-letter-t-contemporary-lettering-and-modern-calligraphy-uk

The Dramatic Entrance….

Charmaine has returned home from her stint at being a genius crossword compiler. Apparently there was an ‘incident’ at Cousin Windsor’s [a right Batarde] that she will not speak of. Knowing my Cousin Windsor, trying to forget about it is the best way forward, and I will not press her further for information. With her she brought a picnic basket, which upon arrival she dumped in the hallway before ascending to her rightful place in my attic. Such a pity that in her absence the attic sprang a leak, so it came as no surprise to hear her shouting, screaming, and possibly stamping a bit before stomping back downstairs to disturb my revelry by bursting into my studio in an overtly stroppy manner.

‘What is the problem, child?’ I asked, barely looking up from whatever I was looking at.

‘The roof is leaking, all my clothes are soaked through and there is bird poo all over my vintage bakelite collection. And I bet you haven’t paid this?’

Charmaine stood in front of my desk waving a piece of paper. It was the electricity bill. I smiled wanly as the lights dimmed and then went out.

‘Obvously not,’ I said.

‘There’s nothing else for it, Aunt Scarlet, you’ll have to reopen the wedding calligraphy business, we can’t carry on living like this.’

And I said, ‘NO, NO, NO!’

I sighed, she did have a point, I had rather let things slide over the past five months, and it was true the roof was leaking, the paint was peeling and, much much worse than this, we were running out of gruel. Thankfully, at the back of my mind I had a spare plan.
I looked Charmaine up and down and considered how much money I could get for her if I advertised her dextrous skills on the right type of Internet site. She could look quite fetching in the dark, it suited her skin tone.

‘NO, NO, NO!’ Shrieked Charmaine as if reading my blog post over my shoulder as I typed.

‘Well, what do you suggest we do?’

‘These,’ said Charmaine, stabbing my latest creations with her stumpy index finger, ‘flog these, everybody loves a bit of gold and a bit of bling.’

gilded-letters-and-modern-calligraphy-uk

Flog these???

‘How?’

‘Don’t worry, Aunt Scarlet, leave the marketing to me, I have ideas, and Asmodeus will help.’

With the hazy image of Asmodeus hanging in the air, Charmaine flounced out of my studio in a purposeful, determined, #girlboss sort of way. Who the hell was Asmodeus? I shook my head dismissively. The girl had obviously gone a bit peculiar, but still, her positive ‘can do’ attitude had made me feel uneasy. Cousin Windsor had obviously instilled these ideas, ideas that were well above her station, and possibly above the steeple at the end of the lane, which was very high above indeed. I shuddered in my seat and felt a little faint because if she was successful it would mean that I would [heaven forbid] have to work.

gilding-the-letter-c-work-in-progress-modern-illuminated-letters-uk

Work in progress…

gilded-letter-c-modern-calligraphy-illumination-uk

Now c ‘ere…

A Brand Spanking New Year

Ihave news!!! I have located Charmaine, after months of traipsing through the internet, following up sightings of her peculiar take on the ancient art of calligraphy, I have located her on a cryptic crossword site run by my cousin Windsor (a right Batarde!). She is masquerading as some sort of genius and giving out clues to fiendishly difficult crosswords like jelly babies. She is also appearing in pantomime as Cinderella at the end of Wigan pier.
I have sent her a letter urging her to return home soon as, with the promise of improved living conditions and use of the black and white telly on Sundays. I have also signed her up for some proper modern calligraphy lessons in London, which I hope she will review for us here. I am sure she will find this offer irresistible as she has had her eye on my black and white telly for some time now.

Meanwhile, there is no news of Harold.

And here is some calligraphy related stuff….

gilded-letters-uk-modern-letters

Four gilded letters…

 

gilded-letter-t-calligraphy-uk

‘t’

gilded-letter-g-modern-calligraphy-uk

‘g’

My resolution for 2016 is to glue more 23 carat gold on paper in a meaningful way.

Happy New Year!!!!!!! I will be pissed later and will probably making gruesome advances to all and sundry – apologies in advance.