Tag Archives: fiction

Seek and Hide

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Truth

Sebastian sat back in his chair and frowned as he read the open Word document on his computer screen, mentally kicking himself for agreeing to help out with the Mogwash pantomime for the fourth year running. Not only was he expected to be in it, but he was now being asked to help out with writing the script as well. Rupert, the Pantomime director and village overlord, had kindly sent him a rough outline of the plot, it appeared to revolve around a series of clues that would guide the hero to a long lost fortune. Sebastian twitched and reached for his whiskey; what was it with the villagers of Mogwash? First it was Scarlet with her bizarre blog encouraging her readers to follow a series of clues to find a mysterious ‘Bottle of Greed’ – as if – and now Rupert had got in on the act with his clues to find a treasure chest in Never Never Land [loosely based on the Australian outback as an excuse to get someone to dress up as a kangaroo]. Had they all gone completely mad? Were Rupert and Scarlet in league with each other? Was Sebastian really nothing more than a fictional character inhabiting someone else’s narrative? Was the postman going to start giving him thinly disguised directions to the whereabouts of his mail? Had the milkman hidden his semi-skimmed and Greek yoghurt in a location yet to be disclosed? It was all getting out of hand. He wanted to lie down and sleep, he wished to wake up in a world without treasure chests, or bottles of greed; he wished to wake up in a world where everyone said what they meant – in a world without a clue.

Be careful what you wish for, typed Scarlet, sometime later in July 2014.

16 March 2007

How to make friends and influence people (Tales from Luddley-cum-Mogwash, part 2)

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For Sale

My newly acquired status as a forlorn, slightly crazed misfit with a bottle fixation, at last endeared me to the bosom of village life, and I became a prime candidate for Sebastian’s care in the community initiative – a vehicle for him to explore the potential creative diversity among the villagers of Luddley-cum-Mogwash. To showcase our talents the first village fete for over three hundred years was organised in the grounds of No.3 Mogwash Mansions, a mock tudor art deco semi to be found at the edge of the village near the skate park.
Prioritising my position, Sebastian gave me a trestle table set back from the rest of the fete – just down wind of the port-a-loo, so that I could display my bottles in an area that, in his own words, ‘would highlight the strong pervasive feel of alienation inherent within my work, encouraging the viewer towards sympathetic generosity’.
From this I could only deduce that he was finally on my side, obviously finding my work as life enhancing and worthy of promotion as I did. I welcomed his support and flashed him a come hither smile; unfortunately, at this very same moment, he must have gotten an insect in his eye as he appeared to recoil in terror in response to my friendly overture.
Evening entertainment was provided by George, a mild mannered post office manager with a large gnome collection, who for this one night made a miraculous transformation into Georgina, a dangerous diva with an unparalleled talent for outdoor operatics. With an ear splitting heartbreaking rendition of Don’t Stop Believin’, he brought the day’s events to a close.
Finally I felt as if I belonged.

The Cultural Relevance of The Pearl Necklace (Tales From Filching-under-Luddley, part 1)

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Revenge

As the long nights drew in and then drew out again, the ‘bottle of Greed’, now nothing more than a hazy yet somewhat expensive memory, lay undisturbed. A more pressing concern now consumed me. In my haste, whilst creating ‘bottled Revenge’, I had misguidedly seen fit to use my own hair and clothing to produce the wax effigy, all silly superstitious fears had been pushed aside as I dispassionately pierced the effigy of myself with pins. My bravado may have been misplaced because since the creation of ‘bottled Revenge’ I had unwittingly become the initiator of a series of social blunders leaving those around me, hurt, betrayed, confused and perhaps a bit cross. I began to feel that I had been possessed by a demented demon hell bent on malevolent mayhem.
A fine example of this was my first foray into ‘Bottled People’ (a new and exciting concept at www.wonky-words.com) and involved my best friend, Jules. My brief was to bottle her essence, to create a bottled representation of her character, of her soul, of her very being; to produce an object that reflected her innate charm, poise and sophistication. The pearl necklace bursting through the neck of her bottle is obviously symbolic of her sparkling, frothy personality, an idea conceived in what I believe was a moment pure unadulterated artistic genius.
Jules, inexplicably, didn’t see it this way.

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Bottled Jules

first published 2 February 2007

The Big Idea (Tales from Luddley-cum-Mogwash part 5)

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Greed

As Sebastian sat huddled in the bus shelter, drowning his sorrows in a bottle of Campari, hiding from marauding Mogwashian Mimers; Moonchild Etherington-Smythe was conversing with her ironing board and was expressing ironing boardness onto canvas. As Taramind Dewhurst took delivery of twelve pink sponges decorated with assorted plugs and plugholes and puzzled over the instability of representation; I was sitting at my kitchen table next to an ancient Rayburn, in my cosy country kitchen designing a website as an exhibition space for my bottles.

Although viewing life from different perspectives, what Sebastian, Moonchild, Taramind and myself all shared was belief in our own personal vision. At long last I had conceived what I considered to be ‘The Big Idea’. In my hands I held a glittering bottle, a smorgasbord of treasured trinkets, a bottle filled with priceless family heirlooms. This was a bottle of ‘Greed’. It was time (1.05am) to hide this bottle within the vicinity of Luddley-cum-Mogwash . . . time to put my cunning plan into action . . . of course it’d been done before, but what the hell . . .

Overwhelmed with gleeful delight at my sheer brilliance, I buried the bottle of Greed. It was sometime later that the fatal flaw, or to be more precise, flaws in my plan became apparent to me. In my excitement I had neglected to tell anyone of my fiendish scheme, furthermore, even if I had, I had left no indication as to how the bottle could be located. I hung my head in shame, how could I have been so stupid?

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Greed

And so was born the cunning plan within the cunning plan. Via my excellent website www.wonky-words.com I would leave my faithful loyal viewers a series of ingenious clues, engaging them in a fascinating, insightful, often informative, and some might say challenging journey, which would eventually lead to the ultimate reward, the bottle of Greed . . .

29 November 2006

How To Make Friends and Influence People (Tales from Luddley-cum-Mogwash, part 1)

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10 November 2006

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Cruelty

My arrival in the village of Luddley-cum-Mogwash was greeted with general indifference from the local community, I tried to join village societies but more often than not the help I offered was firmly rejected. I secretly hoped that this was because I was more Top-Shop Treacle Tart in a clapped out Peugeot than Boden Yummy Mummy in a Sherman Tank, but, in fairness, I think it had more to do with me being a complete outsider and interloper. Indeed, because of my lowly status it had become something of a village sport to avoid all forms of communication with me; maximum points were awarded to those who could tease me with overtures of friendship, luring me into the trap of leaving never to be returned messages on answering machines.

One neighbour however, had noticed my plight. Sebastian St. Johnson, a lentil munching, idealistic sociology graduate adopted me as his ‘good cause’. Believing that I was from Essex, he had taken it upon himself to extend the breadth of my general knowledge. Speaking deliberately slowly and dropping the odd ‘aitch so as not to intimidate me, he explained to me complicated concepts such as ‘democracy’, ’social identity’ and the cultural relevance of ‘The Archers’.

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Cruelty

Sebastian was a newcomer himself, blessed with boyish good looks and considerable charm; it was with envy that I witnessed his meteoric rise through the echelons of village power. Within six months of his arrival he had taken control of several important committees including: The Used T-bag Collectors Club, The Mogwash Mimers and the Watercolourists by Moonlight Society. All this, it later transpired, so that he could gain a seat on the parish council, his first step on the political rung to possible World domination.

I considered my position and realised my predicament… it was highly likely that I would be a good six foot under before being clasped to the bosom of the Mogwash community…  presuming that they would allow me into the cemetery….

How To Make Money From Art

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2nd November 2006

When I had at last mastered the art of bottling I focussed my energies on artistic creativity; I retreated to my purpose built garret at the bottom of the garden and awaited inspiration. Crawling through the back passage of my emotions, I re-experienced hideous moments of my life that are probably best forgotten, it was a long painful journey, not without misgivings, but I was determined to suffer for my art, if I had to lie on a bed of nails and walk bare foot over burning coals, then so be it. Finally, when the sun was parallel to Pluto and Uranus was rising, my work was done. Ten bottles of feeling stood before me and I was a shadow of my former self, but there was no time for me to rest on my laurels, I had to show these masterpieces to the world….

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Temptation

‘Viridian Venus’ is a small local gallery run by Moonchild Etherington -Smythe, who in her own words is a ‘Visionary Artist’, to quote further, her works are ‘a product of innate personal vision’. In Moonchild’s case, these visions manifest themselves as childlike impressions of angels. Appearing well-groomed at all times, she strikes the perfect balance between ethnic charm and middle England authority…

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Bottled Temptation

Moonchild was not overly keen on my bottles, she exclaimed that my soul was barren, that it was imperative that I release my bottled feelings immediately if I was to ever re-connect with my inner child. All I needed to do was sign up for one of her Visionary Workshops, it would only cost £500 and she would teach me to express the sound of a vacuum cleaner through the medium of paint.
I declined, I left her gallery leaving her to re-arrange her crystals; I was worried, confused, slightly disturbed whilst at the same time seriously impressed by her visionary commercial sense.