Brrr – It’s Cold!
It’s only just Autumn, and look at the temperature when I stopped for petrol at 0710 this morning. Even the frost warning light came on! Yeeks :-(. (Google tells me that’s 39F.)
Sunrise at Work
I took a couple of photos of yesterday’s sunrise! I only had my phone camera because I was arriving at work and it’s made the sun look like a huge explosion away in the distance :-). I should probably post-process it but I don’t have Photoshop. And I can’t be bothered.
Friday Fictioneers – To Any Lengths
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, the weekly flash fiction challenge hosted by Rochelle. The photo this week was contributed by The Reclining Gentleman. My genre for this week is “craziness!” :-).
To read this week’s other stories click on the blue froggy.
Copyright The Reclining Gentleman
Jedd increased speed as his pursuer swerved around another vehicle. Terrified, he threw caution to the winds, flooring the accelerator.
Who could want him so badly?
So preoccupied was he that he missed the brake lights ahead. At the last second, screaming, he swerved into the crash barrier. Legs crushed, terrified, helpless, he saw a shadowy figure approach. It rapped on the side window, which promptly shattered. He saw the face of… his dear old mum!
“Sorry about that, dearie. You forgot your packed lunch!” she said brightly, handing him his sandwiches before roaring off again. Jedd began to cry.
Photo Challenge – Grid
I noticed that this week’s Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge has the subject “Grid” this week and realised I have just the photo!
This photo was taken inside St. Michael’s Mount, looking out through a window.
MFTS – Proud to be Different
Here is my story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. We get a photo and an opening sentence to write 100-150 words. The supplied sentence is in bold in my story.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright B.W. Beacham
She lived in a mango tree. She was shunned for it. Others turned their noses up, crossed the street when they saw her coming.
She’d known she was different from an early age. She didn’t feel she belonged. Nothing seemed quite… right.
It hadn’t always been this way, of course. When she was little she’d lived with her parents in an apple tree, just like everyone else. But when she came of age, she’d found herself a nice mango tree to call her own.
During the Great Apple Blight of 1973, people came from all around. They were happy for her mangoes then, oh yes. But once the blight passed they went right back to spurning her.
Every year she participated in the Mango Pride March. Times were changing, every year there were more marching with her. One day apple and mango-dwellers would stand together. But until then, she was proud to be different.
St. Michael’s Mount Part 3
We’re nearing the end of our journey around St. Michael’s Mount. Here are my final photos! I uploaded them full size again because I can’t be bothered fiddling about :-).
A bit more impressive than my mantelpiece.
Back outside, but still up on the Mount.
A view down to the gardens, which unfortunately were closed on the day I visited. It looks like they’re doing some work down there.
A lovely view out across to Marazion.
The little ferry boats are still running but it looks like the tide has gone out and the causeway is open!
A final look out across the bay. I wouldn’t want to brave those cannons if I were invading.
Yep, the causeway is open. I get to walk back.
View from the causeway.
A final look back. Goodbye, St. Michael’s Mount!
I hope you enjoyed my little 3 part tour around St. Michael’s Mount!
Sharing My World 2015 Week 37
Here is my post for Cee’s Share Your World.
If you could have three wishes granted for you alone, what would they be?
Ah, for me alone. Finally a “wishes” question where I can be selfish and not wish for world peace and the desire to open a donkey sanctuary.
I wish for the power to bend the universe to my will bwahahaha. I don’t need the other two wishes, since I can now do anything I want with the first one.
What is the most incredible natural venue that you’ve ever seen in person?
I’ve seen so many great places, it’s hard to choose. I don’t know that they would classify as “incredible”, rather “beautiful”. I’ll go for St. Nectan’s glen, since I have some pictures handy. Obviously the little cairns and tree decorations were put there by humans, but the glen itself is natural.
Now, the definition of venue is “the scene or setting in which something takes place”. So let’s make this a “venue” by imagining that in days gone by, pagan ceremonies were conducted here. Probably witches dancing around naked :-).
Is your hair short (total neck and ear showing), medium (covering ears and neck), long (below shoulders) or extra long (at least halfway down your back)?
Short. I tell the barber “8 on top, 4 on the back and sides” (that’s 8th’s of an inch I think). I have it cut every 4-5 weeks so it stays pretty short.
List some of your favourite blogs.
Ooh, I can’t do that! I’d hate to miss any out. I follow a lot of people who write for Friday Fictioneers and Mondays Finish the Story, plus a number of other blogs. I’m sure you’ll see my little gravatar around the place!
St Michael’s Mount Part 2
In my second (of three) posts featuring pictures taken at St. Michael’s Mount off the Cornish coast, we’ll have a last look around outside and then venture into the house itself. I accidentally uploaded these photos full size, so be careful if you want to make them bigger and you’re not on a fast connection.
A nice view out across the bay, or sea, or whatever it is.
Were going inside here in a minute!
They have strange taste in sculptures.
Getting closer to the house.
One last look back at Marazion before we go inside.
Inside looking out.
An impressive library.
Now that’s what I call a ceiling.
Inside the little church. Wow, they have their own church!
That’s quite the impressive organ :-).
This is probably St. Michael defeating Satan, or something. Maybe I should have read the guide leaflet or some of the little plaques dotted around the place.
His and hers royal waiting chairs. That’s Queen Elizabeth II on the left (our reigning monarch) and on the right, presumably her dad, King George VI.
Next time we’ll see some more photos outside, including my harrowing walk back across the Causeway of Doom (it’s not called that, I made that up).
St Michael’s Mount Part 1
Here are some photos I took on a trip to St Michael’s Mount a couple of weeks ago. It’s off the south coast of Cornwall, near Marazion. I was given a guide leaflet which probably had some history in it, which I didn’t read :-).
I’ll do this in a few parts as I can’t choose between all the photos I took.
I parked up the beach a mile or so away to avoid the tourist traffic, so I had a nice little walk. There it is in the distance.
The tide is in so it looks like I will have to brave the high seas to get there.
And so we set sail in the mighty ship “Sea Mist”. I hope we don’t sink!
At last, after a long and harrowing sea voyage (3 minutes), tired but victorious, we reached our destination.
Hmm, looks like a bit of a climb.
Up I go, stopping often to take in the view (and catch my breath).
If that tiny hatch leads to the Giant’s Well, I’m guessing he was often thirsty.
The Cornish flag flies proudly over a bunch of slightly dodgy-looking cannons. Let’s hope we don’t have to repel invaders!
Next time we’ll take a look at the view and then enter the house (where photography was allowed!).
Friday Fictioneers – Dead End Street
Here is my story for Fridy Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The photo was contributed by David Stewart.
This week I went for “gritty reality”. It’s a bit clunky but it’s good to try something other than “humorous dialogue” once in a while.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright David Stewart
Rusted cars line the curb-side, burnt-out shells long abandoned. A starving tabby scrabbles for morsels in the long grass, forgotten by apathetic owners. Half-dressed women stand on the corner promising excitement with dead eyes while their watchers, dressed in leather and gold, control their next fix, their lives. A young man staggers against an ageing fence, his pockmarked face and spider-veined arms mute testimony to his addiction, the infection in his lungs only hastening his demise.
People look but don’t see.
People hear but don’t listen.
People speak but say nothing.
This is life on Dead End Street.
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