“The key to number eight”, said the realtor, “sorry, I can’t accompany you”. He appeared anxious.
I unlocked the weatherworn door and tumbled inside. It was gloomy, smelled rancid. Wallpaper hung from the walls, a chandeleir swayed to-and-fro. A clock tick-tocked. I drew a curtain, it fell to the floor. Before me, a child. His eyes burned into mine, I stepped back stumbled and fell.
My phone rang. I was in my armchair. Surely, I’d been dreaming.
“Realtor here, I have your umbrella, you left it at number eight”.
It was another evening at The Baaamy Inn and Arthur was shuffling his way from the bar to the farmer’s table with a pint in one hand and a wodge of money in the other, “you won the lottery, Arthur?”, quipped Babs, “no, Len just paid me what he owes me”, he replied – he’s been supplying the pub with produce from his poultry farm for years, first eggs then chicken, or first chicken then eggs, whatever!
“I’ve got a great big new cock”, he said, “stop grinning, Babs, I’m being serious…the other chickens love my new cockerel, he likes nothing more than to jump onto the roof of his coop and sing to them the way cockadoodles do, they all shuffle forward and bob their little heads up and down, it’s like a crazy hen party – he really rules the roost!
“That reminds me”, said Suzie at the next table, “there was a karaoke session at the church hall the other night so I thought it might be fun to go along; I assumed we’d be singing hymns so I popped into the church and nicked a hymn book (Dick the Vic who was sitting in the corner writing a sermon looked up and frowned at her) but I was wrong, we were singing proper songs – Poppy Perkins was there, she has the voice of an angel and she sang Bat out of Hell, Undertaker Digger Hole sang Another One Bites the Dust and I performed the Harlem Shuffle, dance moves and all – yeah yeah yeah do the harlem shuffle….”
Ted was giving a pack of playing cards a shuffle, “my grandson taught me a magic trick”, he said, “this will amaze you”; he walked over to the knitting circle and asked Natalie to choose any card and place it face down on the table, then over to Dick the Vic, then barmaid Brenda and finally Bert, “now all raise your cards and it will display my date of birth…go…that’s 5-4-7-6!” – “May the fourth 1976, you’re not fifty”, said Arthur “- “oh, no, wrong way round, 6-7-4-5!”
It was joker Colin’s turn to steal the show – “I ran a dating agency for chickens but I struggled to make hens meet – I dreamt about dancing chickens, it was poultry in motion – what type of poultry dances the best? twerkey – there’s a chicken that writes detective sories, Eggatha Christie – my wife refuses to go to Karaoke with me, I have to duet alone – I heard several Tom Jones’ songs at the karaoke the other night, it’s not unusual – the Beatles judged a singing contest, they were Hey-Judeicators – we say Amen not Awomen because we sing hymns not hers – the Magician that lost his magic is Ian – I have a phobia of playing cards but I’m dealing with it – the magic tractor turned into a field – there’s a sad magician called Boo Hoo Dini – the Spanish magician said ‘uno, dos’, then disappeared without a tres…..”
It’s the time of year when Landlord Len adds some Spring Specials to the Baaamy menu including his prawn cocktail which has one secret ingredient – everyone knows what it is, but they haven’t the heart to let on – and there’s Arthur’s stuffed chicken breasts, aka, birdy boobies, and best of all, dearly departed Maggie’s mint chocolate cheesecake – cook Chrissie came upon the recipe when clearing out a drawer, so this year it’s returning again in all it’s glory; “what do you think Maggie?” muttered Len, ‘it’s sweet’’, she whispered in his ear.
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Thanks to Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge for hosting Six Sentence Stories where this weeks prompt word is Shuffle.
Last Saturday, I invited one daughter and two nieces to try out The Baaamy Inn Spring Specials.
What a cheek! Okay, I’ve put on some weight of late, but to prod me in the tummy then tell me to diet wasn’t on. I don’t prod her bulbous you-know-whats and tell her they need reducing.
But, as usual I gave in. She’s so persuasive,
I’m to eat more fruit.
I’m to drink more juice.
I’m to count calories.
I’m to dispose of anything overly calorific.
I’m to photograph my grub and WhatsApp the pictures to her.
Here goes. Healthy meal – snap – send – done. One outa’ five aint bad!
Right, I’m off to the greasy spoon for a fry-up! Coming?
I crossed the road to the park yesterday. Suddenly there are flowers everywhere. Needless to say, I took a ridiculous amount of pictures with my phone! These are my favourites – I’m afraid there are quite a few, I just didn’t know which ones to delete. See you down below, if you make it that far!
Click pics once or twice to enlarge and improve.
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…and finally, some dandelions pretending to be roses!
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There were also lots of trees showing off their blossom! I’m saving those for next week.
Not everybody sees her. I do. She’s over there. In that window, opposite mine. There.
When I look into her eyes, she gazes into mine. She reads my thoughts, knows my mood, understands me. Sometimes there is a hint of a smile, sometimes a sorrowful demeanour. Often she cheers me, encourages me. Helps me. She comforts me, sheds a tear with me. I think I cheer her too, I hope so.
Who she is, I know not. Why I can see her and others can’t is a mystery. I don’t imagine her. I don’t. We are soulmates. We are here for each other.
There she is again, in that window, opposite mine. There.
It had been a busy Easter weekend at The Baaamy Inn, especially Saturday when Landlord Len laid on his annual events including the Beer Relay Race when three teams of three run around the pub, passing on a tankard of ale; this year it was the Knitwits, the Baaamy Staff and The Farmers that took part, the latter knew they didn’t stand a chance of coming in first so they just trotted around drinking a third of a pint each – as Arthur said, ‘it’s not the winning that counts, it’s the drinking part!’
As usual Suzie from the next table dressed up in her bunny rabbit costume and watched over the children’s Easter egg hunt, they still talk about the time Len thought his dearly departed Maggie had hidden the chockie eggs and she thought he had, in the end each kid was given one – there was also an egg and spoon race, joker Colin thought it would be funny to attach his egg with some sticky stuff, but it all went wrong when he stumbled and landed with egg on his face, literally!
The ladies of the knitting circle were reminiscing about the Easter Bonnet competition that Maggie used to hold , “I can still see you wearing those rabbit ears you knitted, Natilie”, said Polly, “and you Millie, your hat festooned with flowers, and as for farmer Bab’s over there, she once made one from straw that resembled a birds nest and she plonked a road-killed pheasant on top – it must have been dead for ages because it stank the pub out!”
Ted thought he’d relay he story of what happened to him on Saturday, “for some reason I woke up at four in the morning, I noticed it was the fourth day of the fourth month, later when I went shopping a number four bus came past and after I’d visited four shops I had a coffee that cost four pounds and I thought to myself ‘perhaps four is today’s jucky number’ so decided to go to the bookies and bet four pounds on the fourth horse in the forth race”; “did you win?” asked Babs, “no, it came fourth”, he replied.
Colin could hardly wait to get going, “relay runners, you’ve got to hand it to them – the relay race was close, for a while it was touch and go – a barber won a race because he knew a short cut – two vampires had a race and finished neck to neck – the Easter bunny met a rabbit of his dreams and they lived hoppily ever after – one broke a leg, he was a hoppless romantic – a jockey broke a leg, I asked him how he was getting on – you make Easter easier by un-crossing the T and dotting it instead – the Easter Bunny joined the Olympics because he heard first place gets 24 carrots – to race a horse or not to race a horse, that is equestrian – a guy had two race horses called One-one and Two-two, One-one won a race and 22112 – horse manure is excellent for strawberries, but I still prefer whipped cream……..!
Tomorrow, gardener Gary will be coming to get the outside area ready for summer and Len was writing a list of things he needed doing like planting petunias, giving the lawn it’s first trim and repainting the benches; as he did so he sensed his dearly departed Maggie was looking over his shoulder – ‘he needs to relay the paving slabs’, she whispered in his ear, ‘even I managed to trip up just now!
Why did I let her persuade me? She knows I get seasick.
Right. Mind over matter. I won’t be sick, I won’t be sick, I will not be – woooo!
Hold on to the rail. Tight. That’s better. I’m OK now. Oh, nono no, we are going down – eeeeeeek – now we are going up – oooooo – I left my tummy behind!
Oh, watch out, the boom’s swinging across, duck!
That’s better, we’re going in a different direction, we’re not rolling sooooo much nowwwwwwwww – wrong – help….!
The kitchen floor was strewn with slices of toast, a smashed jam jar, a shattered mug and an upturned chair. In the corner, an envelope and a screwed up piece of paper.
It was stupid to think she could love him. Everyone said she was out of his league. But to end it with a scribbled note? To say nothing?
She had become his reason for living, everything he did he did for her. He sacrificed so much to make her happy. But it seems she saw it as nothing more than a game.
He stepped outside and strolled to the park. They spent many a happy hour there, or so he thought. Children were merrily playing, but the only laughter he heard was that of her mocking him, echoing in his mind.
