Friday Fictioneers – Scorched Earth
Here is this week’s tale for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Rochelle also provided this week’s photo. To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
“How could this have happened? How could they not have noticed?”
“Maybe it’s hard to notice tiny amounts of chemicals building up in the atmosphere.”
“Until they catch fire and burn the Earth.”
“Yes. Until then.”
“How long do we have, do you think?”
“See that glow? That’s London burning. An hour, maybe?”
“I bet it’s an amazing sight from the space station.”
“I bet it is. The whole world on fire. It’ll burn until the oxygen runs out.”
“So this is the end.”
“For us. The world will recover. Nature always finds a way.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Pizza by Draliman!
I mentioned in a post last week that I was going to try making my own pizza. And I did! Here’s how it all began.

Evil Dr. Zog’s hidden volcano lair
I carefully mixed the flour into the water/yeast/sugar. They don’t tell you that when you do that, the water starts leaking out. And it’s gross. And no matter how much flour you put on your hands, the dough still sticks to you.
That done, it’s time to chop basil for the sauce while waiting for the dough to rise and go springy or whatever.

At last I get to use my big death knife
Fingers still miraculously intact, I check the dough. It has risen, hooray!

Risen and springy and whatnot
Open the fridge – what to put on it? Everything!

Pile it on!
Into the oven and – ta-da!

Yum
My first baking since Home Economics at school, early 1980s. Very tasty!
Friday Fictioneers – The Beginning of the End
Here is my tale for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The photo this week was contributed by Luther Silar.
To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Luther Silar
“Waaaaa! Waaaaa! Uncle Jeremy shot Flapper! Waaaaaa!”
“What the hell did you do, Jerry?”
“I thought that the Christmas turkey had escaped.”
“IT’S YELLOW!”
“Big Bird’s yellow.”
“Big Bird’s not real! Turkey’s aren’t yellow!”
“What is it then?”
“It is… was a ‘Flapper Enhanced Robotic Companion’. Look at Timmy’s little face. You’ve shot his present. You’ve ruined Christmas.”
“Robots? Huh. Good job I shot it, then. It’s the Rise of the Machines. What’s this, now?”
I am Robbie, your helpful Kitchen Companion. You have murdered Flapper. Therefore I will now terminate you.
“See? Told ya.”
Literary Lion – Vera Versus Las Vegas
Here is my post for Laura’s Literary Lion. The prompt word this time is “gamble” and I’ve managed to get it just under the 400 word limit. Which is quite long, but don’t worry, it’s all dialogue!
This is Vera’s third adventure. Vera is a rather doddery old lady from “up North” (of England) who manages to get herself into all sorts of situations but always manages to extricate herself while remaining largely oblivious to the danger she’s in. Her other adventures are Vera Versus the Devil and Vera Versus the Muggers. This time, she’s off on a jolly to Las Vegas, America.
“Eee, look at this place, I think I’ll try the slots…”
Push. Shove.
“… eh, me money ain’t goin’ in…”
Shove. Bang.
“Excuse me Madam, what seems to be the trouble?”
“… ooh, you’re a strapping young lad, jus’ like me friend Ethel’s boy, do ya know ‘im, ‘e’s ‘bout your age, me money won’t go in the machine….”
“Ah, that’s English coinage, Madam, you’ll…”
“… if me money’s good enough fer the Queen (bless ‘er) it’s good enough fer me…”
“You’re in America, now Madam, so you…”
“… when I were a lass, all this were the British Empire…”
“Ha ha, Madam, very funny, now if I could ask you to…”
“… don’t you laugh at me, young man, me cousin Beryl’s youngest daughter’s hairdresser’s second cousin’s granny once stood this close to the Queen this close she’s prac’ly royalty so don’t you laugh at me…”
“I do apologise Madam (security to the slots, security to the slots), if you could just calm down a little…”
“…don’t you tell me to calm down, no respect fer yer elders your generation…”
“FREEZE! Don’t move!”
“… eee, who’s this now, waving yer gun around, what you need is a nice calming cup ‘a tea, now where did I put me flask, here in me handbag…”
“GUN!”
Blam. Ping!
“… eh, will you look at that, you’ve punctured me flask, that’s lovely Yorkshire tea all goin’ ta waste, all the way from England too…”
“Shit, I thought you were reaching for a gun…”
“… it’s just not good enough, does your mamma know you’re running round with a gun…”
“I’m so sorr…”
“… it would never have happened in my day, the youth today, no respect…”
“Madam, please…”
“… shooting people left right and centre, shouldn’t be allowed..”
“Oh God…”
“… there ought ta be a law, shooting little old ladies indeed, I never saw the like…”
“Excuse me, Madam, I’m the manager and as an apology, and on the understanding you never mention this little… incident again, we would like to offer you a thousand dollars worth of chips…”
“… ooh, I could just go some fish ‘n chips right now, that sounds lovely with a nice cup ‘o tea, lead on, did I tell you about me grandchildren, look, here’s a picture, ooh, there’s a bullet hole in it ramble ramble mutter mutter…”
Friday Fictioneers – Cosmic Toilet
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The photo this week was contributed by Roger Bultot.
I’ve gone for a silly, rather juvenile story this week. If you’re not familiar with “Dr Who”, all you need to know is that he travels through time in a TARDIS which is stuck looking like an old police box since its chameleon circuit jammed, and it’s bigger on the inside than the outside.
Click on the blue froggy to see this week’s other stories.

Copyright Roger Bultot
“Wow, look, that could be the TARDIS. Like off Dr Who!”
“It’s a portable toilet.”
“No, let’s go inside to see if he’s in there!”
“Who?”
“The Doctor, of course!”
“It’s a portable toilet.”
“Hmm, it is a bit of a tight squeeze. And very dark.”
“That’s because it’s a portable toilet. Hey, what’s that noise?”
“I thought since we’re in a portable toilet I’d offload that curry I had last night.”
“Oh my God. Let me out!”
“Aaaahhhh, that’s better. Hey, the door’s opening. Oy, occupied!”
Creeeaaak.
“What the Hell are you two doing in my TARDIS? And what is that smell?”
Vera Versus the Muggers
Here is my second story about Vera, the doddery old lady from “up North” (of England) who unwittingly gets herself into situations and, completely oblivious to the danger she’s in, extricates herself. The first story, “Vera Versus the Devil“, in which she outwits the Devil Himself, is here.
Vera Versus the Muggers
“Awright, Grandma. Hand over yer purse!”
“Eeh, you’re a bunch o’ strappin’ lads. Me grandson’s about your age, do you know ‘im? Nigel he’s called, probably goes to your school?”
“Um… jus’ hand over the money, Grandma.”
“Look, here’s a picture. Isn’t he lovely!”
“Hmm, he does ring a bell, um… hey, money!”
“Ooh, I can see your underpants. You need a belt. Why don’t we go belt shopping and then we can have a nice cuppa.”
“This is the fashion! Cash and cards or I slash ya!”
“Is that a Kitchen Master chopping knife? Good with carrots, that knife.”
“Um, what? Carrots?”
“Don’t I know you? Ooh, you’re Marjorie’s lad. Nathaniel.”
“It’s ‘Snake’! Jus’ hand over the money!”
“Eeh, I used to look after you when Marjorie was out shoppin’. You used to call me ‘Auntie Vera’. Did yer nappie rash ever clear up?”
“Auntie Vera, please! Not in front of my crew!”
“Who’s this? Is this your girlfriend? I’m Nathaniel’s Auntie Vera. I bathed him when he were knee-high to a grasshopper. Sorry about his tiny tinky winky, dear.”
“Oh Hell. Please, make her stop.”
“Why don’t you all come with me to bingo? They have smashing prizes and they do a lovely bit o’ Madeira cake and a tasty cuppa… ooh, where did they go? Youth today mutter mutter no respect for their elders mutter mutter I’ll be havin’ a word with Marjorie about this mutter mutter…”
Bah Humbug. Already.
The neighbouring house is lit up like a Christmas tree. I noticed it because that means my bathroom is lit up like a Christmas tree too. Well, it is Christmas, I suppose.

No, wait a minute. Or a month. It’s November. I guess these are the sorts of people who hide Easter eggs around the house in February.
Have you read “A Christmas Carol”? No, neither have I. I have, however, seen “The Muppet Christmas Carol”, which I’m sure remains faithful to the original. Though perhaps featuring more urchins and fewer frogs.
Dickens would have been proud.
I’m also visited by ghosts every Christmas. The ghosts of bank accounts past, present and future. I’ve even given them names. “Marginal”, “Shocking” and “Bankrupt”.
Never fear. I’m sure in three weeks I shall be “in the Christmas spirit” :-).








