Tag Archives: fiction

An Extract from a newspaper article – November 2045

…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…

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….

The Wednesday Post

Iwoke this morning with a heavy head, remembering that at some point in the distant past I had made a well intentioned, over enthusiastic, yet irrational declaration of intent – apparently I had promised to publish a post every Wednesday on my Wonky Words blog. How had this happened? I sighed and dragged myself out of bed, what the hell was I going to write about? There was Charmaine, of course, and her inky dabblings with italic calligraphy, and I could make mention of Harold, the Spanish flamenco dancer who was also locked in my attic fiddling with his self styled pointed nib….

On Tuesday evening before last Sunday, Harold and I argued ferociously, in an equally determined fashion, with regard to his refusal to learn any broad pen lettering. He believed a copperplate style would befit his passion for all things flamboyant and flouncy. In the end I let him have his way as I wanted to watch Eastenders and Holby City, but I refused to give him access to my extensive supply of pointed nibs and I made a note not to give him a bowl with his gruel the following morning, I also considered withholding the spoon.

So anyway, here we are, it is Wednesday and I am posting Charmaine’s first attempts at italic, and Harold’s first calligraphic marks with a pointed piece of wire that he picked out from an old electricity cable, which he found protruding from the attic wall.

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Charmaine’s first attempt!!

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Harold’s copper ‘wire’ plate….

Charmaine, bless her, is learning some lettering history as she practices, which I think is a rather noble endeavour, although I doubt very much that she will remember anything worthwhile – she may be a sphinx like beauty but she has the memory of a fish. Harold, on the other hand, being the artistic sensitive type, is writing any old random phrase that pops into his head, and claims to prefer using an expressive stream of consciousness for his practice material… personally, I think he is spending far too much time staring at Charmaine’s chest.

A Mogwash Newsflash

News reaches us of the strange disappearance of Richard Etherington-Smythe. Speculation has it that the sat nav system on his ride on mower malfunctioned and he was last seen by friends and neighbours mowing his way through the Butterfly Sanctuary and Bee Reserve at Moggins Meadow, 5 miles south of his 25 acre ornamental gardens at Mogs Mill Manor. In the unlikely event of anyone finding Mr Etherington-Smythe, please telephone the news desk at The Mogwash Mouthpiece immediately. Please note, he is not thought to be dangerous.

Also worthy of mention is the aspiring graffiti artist who, in an attempt to emulate the popular artist Banksy, has been using his mother’s Cath Kidston stenciling set to leave his tags across the village, most extensively in the bus shelter, in the grade II listed phone box, and all over Mrs Fitzpatrick’s hand built alpine rockery [with water feature]. Please note that we at The Mogwash Mouthpiece will not tolerate such blatant misbehaviour; we know who is responsible for these senseless acts vandalism and will be passing on the relevant details on to the appropriate authorities in due course.

Finally, we have received several complaints regarding a website known as Wonky Words. Does anyone know what this site is supposed to be about? The Mogwash Mouthpiece feels that this site is in some way responsible for the German archaeologist who has begun excavation work in the car park next to the scout hut. His name is Mago and he claims that he has been given permission to dig for ancient artifacts in the area known as Mogwash. We would like to assure residents that we are looking into this matter and will report our findings in the Christmas edition of the Mogwash Mouthpiece – on sale in the newsagents from October 21st.

A New Day, A New Bottle…

As a new day dawned over Mogwash, I resolved to put petty grievances aside. Sebastian and I could spat no longer seeing as our latest altercation had led to a ripped pair of lycra bell bottoms and an unromantic scuffle on the village green – we both agreed that writing any sort of sex scene purely to gain readership would be embarrassing, unseemly, and completely out of character… yet, somehow, the contents of Bottled Truth had been retrieved.

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The Joker Bottle

As for the bottle of greed, it still lay undiscovered, dirty and abandoned, hidden in the hole where I had left it many months previous. It was time to be open and honest. The stark truth was that I had not left any clues on my blog. I understood that my legions of fans would be devastated and disappointed by this revelation. Those that followed my ramblings with almost religious relish, would feel duped and cheated. I had been brought to my senses by impending legal action – an overzealous fan had misinterpreted one of my quirky quotations as being a grid reference for a property just outside of Greater Manchester. Five prize winning flower beds, three ornamental rose trees and a garden gnome had been destroyed in less than twenty minutes. Naturally I would take full responsibility, but this madness had to stop… it was time to come clean, time to get serious, time to make riddles with real clues…

An extract from a newspaper article – November 2045

….she staged what was to become her most controversial piece of work. In May 2007 she was discovered to be writing a blog that alluded to the possibility of a bottle filled with priceless jewellery being buried somewhere within the vicinity of Luddley-cum-Mogwash. Pantomime writer, Sebastian St. Johnson, revealed this to be a hoax after he broke into her home and stole the Bottle of Truth. He smashed the bottle open only to find a message that read: ‘To whom it may concern….