Short stories and real-life anecdotes.
It was our family tradition to gather together early in December and prepare our Christmas wish lists. My brother, sister and I would carefully write our lists and hand them over to Mum and Dad to be checked. Then we threw the lists into the fire and let the smoke carry them up the chimney to waft away to Father Christmas.
The latest litany of events in the life of our PM began just two weeks ago. In a rare revelation, Prime Minister Bravo Jollyone talked of his enthusiastic participation in domestic duties. He focused on a recent bout of jam making. Bravo claims that in the short time he was able to spend in the No 10 kitchen one recent Friday evening, he produced 10 jars of jam. As his wife, Carryon, was putting their young children to bed at the time, it seems the PM did most of the task unaided. In typical Bravo style he described it is a, ‘Tour de sauce, one that really hit the sweet spot’.
For years, on the rare occasion when I noticed my car needed a wash, I would get it done manually, for example by the team of guys in the local supermarket car park. Then, one day, I rather rashly decided to go to an automatic mechanised car wash. You know the sort? Well, lucky you as it seems, apparently, I was not as familiar with them as one might expect.
Sally was the second to be born. Her beautiful sister, Sam, emerged on time, perfect in every respect. Sally’s journey was harder, she arrived all battered and bruised. Sally was very large and, it’s true to say, very ugly. People tended to smile at Sam and sigh at Sally.
There once was a land of rolling hills and valleys. At the top of the highest hill lived the King in a grand palace. Nearby, in a castle, lived a Count. His job was to count the King’s money which he kept locked in the castle cellars.
As a child I loved the TV programme The Man from U.N.C.L.E. Illya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo were my absolute heroes. Each episode excited and entertained to the full as they battled those evil enemies from T.H.R.U.S.H.
Since the power cut every clock in the house was wrong. I know – I thought – I’ll phone the speaking clock. Or TIM as my mother used to call it, which was less incongruous when the voice was male. Nothing could be easier – simply dial 123.
But things had changed. The woman was almost singing at me.
‘You have reached the Time Enquiry Service sponsored by Zedog Digital Instruments. If you have a tone phone press the star button now.’
Done.
‘Welcome to the Time Enquiry Service. If you want information about the Zedog product range, please press 1.’
