Tag Archives: fiction

Calligraphy Tip no. 58

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You are a silly old bat, Aunt Scarlet!’ Charmaine yelled down from the attic.
I frowned and considered getting some further insulation so that I couldn’t hear the girl whenever she got in a tis.
‘You don’t need a reservoir on a Mitchell broad edge nib!’ she continued, ‘All you need to do is drop some ink in the dimple on the top of the nib and it writes fine.’
I frowned some more, but I was so concerned by her revelation that I roused myself from my chaise longue and wandered into my light and airy studio to test her theory…

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Dimple on the top side of the Mitchell nib.

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The dimple filled with ink

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It works!!!

I frowned some more. I had always wondered what that damn dimple was for. The girl was correct and the only downside to this technique was that the dimple did not hold as much ink as a conventional underside reservoir, thus it needed to be filled more often. This didn’t bother me as I believed it would be an easier for beginners who struggled with the reservoir.

‘And pray tell me Charmaine, from where did you find this tip?’ I shouted up to the attic.
‘Fink it was from Instagram… fink it was Cheryl Dyer’s feed.’

I nodded to myself as I had long been an admirer of Ms Dyer’s work [website HERE] and it didn’t surprise me that she would know such useful things about the mysteries of calligraphy nibs.
I looked around my studio and feeling inspired I sat at my desk to continue working on my own little project…

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My latest masterpiece…. an extract from my favourite book.

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Dear Scarlet….

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Way back in June 2011, Wendy, a regular commenter on my old Scarlet Blue blog, made the following request:-

Scarlet, could you start an agony aunt column? My friends have so many problems and I’m sure your insightful feedback would steer them in the right direction.

For example:-

I’ve got a friend in their late 50’s, very GEEKY with a real anorak, inability to button shirt in the right holes, cardigan, bum-fluff beard, bald, and knows more trivia on Dr Who than the whole Dr Who production team put together. Anyway, he’s in love with Mario (Big Brother contestant last year), and keeps on talking about it. Currently I smile and talk back as if Mario were a friend of my friend. I suspect my friend is internet stalking Mario without realising it.
what should I do? If anything.

Originally I felt overwhelmed by Wendy’s request…. who was I to deal with other people’s problems? Who am I to tell other people what to do with their lives? What do I know? And then I thought, what the hell, I’ll give it a whirl….

Dear Wendy,

Many apologies for such a tardy response. Please do not worry about your friend, he is simply ahead of his time! In 2015, it would be considered odd not to have a passing fancy for Dr Who. As for his dress sense and facial accumulation, well, again, truly ahead of his time, and it’s probable that he was one of the original Shoreditch Hipsters. If I were you I would buy a house next door to him [in Hipster areas house prices tend to go through the roof], and jot down any fashion tips that come your way. Does he now has his own lifestyle blog? Does he wax lyrical about whittling spoons beneath the stars in a Sussex woodland… and then sell them for £1,180 a pop from a stall in Old Spitalfields Market?
I’m sure that back in June 2011 your friend seemed a little incongruous, but in 2015 he fits right in!

Moving on to the Mario situation… Oh!! You mean Mario the Mole!!! Z list celebs such as Mario are created for our entertainment; I am sure they know exactly what they are getting themselves into when they sign up for the BB experience, namely financial reward and fleeting fame. After leaving the BB House they have a porthole of opportunity to cash in on their popularity before public interest wanes. Quite frankly, Mario should be grateful for your friend’s adoration.

I am assuming your friend is male? If your friend is female, and is unhappy, then perhaps a trip to her GP would be advisable? A female with a button disability is worrisome and beyond my remit, I can only suggest velcro.

Warmest Regards,

Scarlet xxx

If anyone would like to feature their problem on this blog then my email address can be found on my ‘About’ page. Thank you, I look forward to reading your dilemmas.

A Sign of Good Taste…

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Another short interlude…

Here we see Darren. He is hoping to be selected as an ambassador for the Littlehampton Confectionery Display Team. He is submitting one of the finest examples of his work in their annual ‘Exposure’ competition. It is a grand affair. It is held in a disused caravan park close to Southend pier, and display enthusiasts come from far and wide to exhibit their elaborate confection. For example, competitor Annie has flown in from Amsterdam and has done something gratuitous with a fudge finger fan, whilst Gavin from Gateshead [the winner in 2006] has been imaginative with a Toffee Crisp and an artfully adapted 12 inch Twirl; Maggie, a mother of three [the winner in 1908, but never since] has chosen a minimalist/conceptual approach – her piece is entitled ‘Red Smartie with Toothpick’.

So far the judges have been less than impressed with the entrées, but Darren is confident that he can lick his rivals. Darren has a secret. Darren has balls, golden balls, and he knows how to arrange them. He waits in the wings as poor Simon, a professional kitchen fitter from Stevenage, sobs and stumbles from the judging panel after his Sherbert Fountain fails to font, and his Lion Bar goes limp.

Darren feels the tension rising – his moment has arrived, he takes a deep breath and walks into the spotlight. His golden balls are piled pyramid high upon a silver platter creating a sophisticated yet captivating display that brings the essence of Egypt to Essex. Darren stands proud. It has only taken a smidgeon of superglue to keep everything erect.

Alas, Darren is unaware of the envious Maggie who will do anything to win, and from the wings she gives Darren an almighty shove sending his nutty nibbles into orbit to splatter down upon the judges heads. Horrified, Judge Erica picks golden nuts from her hair, and exclaims, ‘With your display you are soiling us!’.

Darren hangs his head in shame, but he is not downhearted. There is always next year when he is planning an ambitious assemblage with Annie, they are hoping to cause an extravagance of good taste with a giant curly wurly and a custard cream flan.

First published on the Scarlet Blue Archive 8th January 2010 12:45 BST

Drive Sexy….

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Ihave a headache this week. I am also bone idle. So I thought I would take this as an opportunity to take a brief interlude. There may be further interludes. This interlude takes the form of a re-post from 2009 – Back in the days when my face had more elastic than my knickers.

Here we see Maureen from Margate. Despite eating five pots of yoghurt a day, Maureen is still feisty and has plenty of verve. She has just stolen a wedding dress; a white dinner jacket; a picnic hamper, and a Val Doonican CD from Bhs, and is now cruising in her brand new Peugeot with the intent of snaring a man with whom she can share her booty. After turning right at the traffic lights at the top of Bromley High Street, Maureen finds herself on the A30 where she spots hitchhiker Gavin.

Gavin is an unemployed petrol pump attendant from Plymouth, seeking work on Bodmin moor. He has not been lucky. As he recovers from being knocked over by a coach load of pensioners on a day trip to Glasgow, he is attracted by the sight of Maureen’s bumpers as they are wonky and need realigning. Pleased with Gavin’s attentions, Maureen lifts her bonnet and displays her engine. Gavin is immediately drawn to her magnetic stack and her reciprocating pistons. After checking her gear head efficiency, oiling her big end, and playing with her hooters, Gavin collapses in the passenger seat and prepares for Maureen to give him the drive of his life. She does several miles down Fanny Avenue; enters Butt Hole Road; gets a bit lost in Lickfold before leading him astray in Ladygate Lane. Gavin is quite relieved when they arrive in Cardiff.

In Gretna Green, Mike, the Mexican Priest, is waiting to perform the wedding ceremony for Gavin and Maureen. He is fond of his nuptials. When they arrive he does his best Elvis impersonation, he wiggles his turbo, reaches a point of high excitation and blesses their future by writing a heartfelt message on the rear window of the now grubby 207. Finally, they are wed. And Maureen is happy that she took lessons in learning to drive sexy.

First Published on The Scarlet Blue Archive 23/09/2009 21:36 BST – but with less punctuation.

I was very peppy back then. Where has my pep gone???? I blame the adverts, they just don’t make them how they used to. Bastards.

An Extract from a newspaper article – November 2045

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…smashed the bottle open only to find a message that read:

To whom it may concern….

Please Mind The Gap.

St. Johnson was adamant that this message proved beyond doubt that the Bottle of Greed was merely a result of Blue’s imagination, and her affection for pseudo-intellectual flimflam. When confronted with St. Johnson’s accusations regarding her subterfuge, Blue was reported to have smiled wryly and hinted at the possibility of there being numerous Truths.

With the benefit of hindsight it is easy for us to mock the doubting St. Johnson, he was, after all, a catalyst character for many of Blue’s improbable plot twists, which saw him drunk and slumped in a bus shelter; performing robust Abba impersonations in the Mogwash Arms, or being arrested for assault. It is easy to understand why St. Johnson has spent so many years trying to discredit Blue, and why he was inspired to write the best selling pantomime script Please Can You Make it Wear Big Pants. And a Knitting Pattern Would Be Nice. Considering the animosity between the pair it came as something of a welcome surprise to see them reunited for the first time in more than 20 years at last night’s opening show.

Peripheral characters at the event included Taramind Dewhurst, Moonchild Etherington-Smythe and Mrs Fitzpatrick, who elbowed each other for paragraph space, and were as eager as the rest of the gathered crowd to hear….

The Wednesday Promise… and a vague recap…

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From the Scarlet Blue Journals 25/10/2032

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The haunting….

It is all very well to make promises, keeping them is altogether another matter. Somehow I have to remember who I am, where I am, and what I am supposed to be writing about. This might be easy for most people, but it isn’t for me.

During the long hot/cold/windy/rainy British summer/winter of 2007 I was involved in a dramatic incident that left me with a fatal head injury and a not unattractive limp. Since this incident I have been trying to piece together fragments of a cherished project that I had been working on prior to this life changing event.

Sometimes I am haunted by black and white images featuring bottles. Sometimes I feel a compulsive urge to address grey envelopes, with white calligraphy, to long lost strangers who lurk in the smutted crevices of my memory. Sometimes I have completely lucid moments when I can recall the names of characters who are relevant to the plot… such as Sebastian, Moonchild, Rupert Etherington-Smythe… and there is another indistinct character I see, a character who digs up a car park next to a scout hut in a place called Mogwash… yes, I remember — a German archaeologist called Mago. Lovely Mago! And he is searching for something! After reading a series of nonsensical ramblings on a disused WordPress blog he came to believe that a great fortune was buried within the vicinity of a small English village called Luddley-cum-Mogwash. I see him with a map which, after a scuffle and some energetic Morris dancing, was taken from him, confiscated before he was deported.

Oh what a fuss that old blog caused!

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An Incident…

In my darkest hour I remember that it is I who is responsible for creating this pother; this tumult; this pandemonium. In my darkest hour I remember that it was I who created, and buried, the Bottle of Greed….