Aside

I May have #Clothestraphobia.

I have a fear of being stuck in clothes … bear with me … I’m sure I am not the only one. I have been a spectator on many occasions in the past to this phenomenon, as a fashion retail manager. But only this morning, I became the subject of what I believe is Clothestraphobia.

Recently we took a few days away. Whilst we were there I took a liking to a garment. I spied the concoction, through the window of a quirky clothes shop in Bridport Dorset called Butterfly Boho.
https://goo.gl/images/dnDQ2g

After many years as a regional trainer for a luxury brand, my shopping is coloured by how the layout of a shop works, how garments are displayed and windows are dressed; not to mention the service. Needless to say, those things can have me wandering for hours; rarely buying. All of the above baffles the husband. If you are ever around us at such a browsing session, you could possibly hear the words “For goodness sake just buy something” coming from the exasperated husband’s mouth, or the occasional expletive (for f*’s Sake Buy it!). More often than not I go on my own.

Last week he caught me gazing, heard me sigh and followed my look. Grabbing said bull by the horns, he strode in and made a purchase. Looking is not usually a good measure of shape or fit. looking and sighing is, however, a measure of wishing, hoping you would look like that mannequin if … you wore the garment. Bearing in mind you would need to be as firm, as that hard piece of physicality, perfectly shaped and as tall as that mannequin to get the same look … often that gaze and sigh is where it ends.

I thanked him very graciously, all the time hoping he hadn’t wasted his money. Secretly fearing my four-foot-eleven frame and all its wobbly bits would look like a sack of King Edwards, ones that have wrinkled and softened with age. In fact, I hoped I would be blessed by the garment once it was on, suitably disguised and my figure enhanced.

A few days have passed since we returned, ( to give me time for a manic starvation diet and detox) this morning after a bath ( imaginary steaming off/melting more blubber) I donned my prettiest underwear, brushed my flowing hair, and applied lip gloss to give myself the esteem trying on the new dress deserved.

This is where I attached myself to the word ‘Clothestraphobia. The garment is two dresses. One is an underdress, fixed just above the hem on the inside but seperate everywhere else. The top layer is voluminous and has hitches and tucks that make it quirky. Picture of the garment below.

I love the different; after years of looking the part while working in fashion. I now try to be … alternative.
Things didn’t go to plan. The first mistake was stepping into it. Nevertheless, I did. Somehow I dropped the inside layer during entry and put my foot in the underskirts armhole. I know, hard to believe that but I did.

Continuing to pull it up and put my first arm in resulted in the other arm/leg hole tangling around my knee; horrific. By now I could hear the sound of belly scratching, stumbling and yawning as the husband, disturbed no doubt by my grunts and bangs, began to wake. Not wanting to be caught in a state of inelegant pose, I dropped my free arm and head inside. I thrust my hand in the inner skirts free arm hole and tried to stand. Now thoroughly stuck with my arm bent like a flipper above the head which is covered by the outer layer … I begin to move crab-like. With a now inner layer being pulled around my crotch, made tighter by the act of me trying to stand.

Below is a picture was taken of me while trying to show the reproduced moment. Though I really couldn’t get quite as tangled as I truly was.

My face was hot and my husband could be heard flushing the chain. At first, I felt a little bubbling in the depths of my throat, I remember thinking … NO! I shuddered when the filthiest laugh startled me, I hiccupped several times. Uncontrollable laughter took over, I wandered bumping into furniture while trying to twist my body free; doubled up inside the dress.
A tangle of hair, red cheeks and smeared lippy eventually looked into the eyes of a stunned husband. As only Ellen would. I said, “Thank you for that .. tea?” I pulled on my dressing gown without looking at what I know was a bemused face with a crumpled dress in his hand. We Sat, silently sipping our morning tea. You could hear a fly batting off the glass on the stable door.

I sniffed straightened my back and said, “well, things can only improve” he nodded, then slowly shook his head. That dear readers … is “Clothestraphobia”.

Have you suffered this affliction? Or assisted in the extraction of someone suffering? Let me know that I am not alone.

p.s. all photographs are the product of my own zapping.

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Aside

A River Rat #FridayFictioneers

The picture curtesy of https://fatimafakierwrites.com/ #fridayfictioneers 100 word story. Read many more stories “here

River rats we were called, no better than gypsies they would shout. I grew with a chip on my shoulder and a frown on my brow.

I came to Venice; fell for a gondolier or two. Nobody spat on my shoe, my art degree held weight … my purse too.

Some nights when the stench is thick, I hanker after our canal boat, on a canal in England;

with Mum and Dad. Me, throwing my fists, defying the world. A tear Stained face wrapped in muscled arms smelling of old spice and tobacco. I am now a river rat wrapped in Ermine.

Aside

The Escape. #ShortStory

We trundled off in the motor home towards Dorset. A week in the West Country was just the ticket. Easy Rider belted out, Born to be Wild became the anthem of our trip. Four days in Dorset, parked at a clifftop campsite with wonderful views,

We caught up with the husband’s twin brother and wife; sharing food and stories. Laughs came thick and fast with our niece and her partner, we built new memories to last a lifetime. The sun beat down, dragon flies whizzed as stick insects sunned themselves in the bay tree; idyllic.

We Sat under the sunshade together reminiscing as we stuffed our faces, laughed and dozed. A woodpecker hid inside the hollowed Apple tree.

The days passed with a gusto we didn’t want to end.

We packed up and drove on to Salcombe Regis, on Devon’s beautiful coast. You couldn’t ask for a better spot, sunny, green, clean and friendly, a few miles from Sidmouth. We arrived the day of the ‘underwear revolution’ in Colyton (see link). A news worthy story that made us smile for the rest of the week.

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2018/06/12/town-rallies-around-mother-told-not-hang-washing-launching-laundry/

Off to Sidmouth on the local hopper, it was so civilized and easy. We enjoyed wandering around the picturesque Regency seaside town.

Back at the motor home, we familiarised ourselves with the layout, checked out the shower and toilet blocks, putting green and shop. There was a vigorous but pleasant stroll to the view of Salcombe hill and the sea.

Morning arrived, overcast and breezy as Hurricane Hector’s tail whipped through. We chose to get ready and catch a later hopper, giving the weather time to calm. Off I strode to the nearest block.

Most people had long gone, jumped on the bus for their day out; despite the weather ( as we Brits do). I however had choices to make, a wet room or single shower, a cubicle block, toilets with basins and even a bath. The facilities were superb, spotlessly clean, the water hot and it was … empty.

Armed with bubbles and potions I chose the best space and I have to admit to feeling a tiniest bit smug.

(See Giffy image below🔽)

This was where I found myself in a difficult situation. To bypass any visual parts of my ablutions … I sum up by saying, my bag was dropped in a cubicle and I rested my cheeks to porcelain; next door.

On the way in, I noticed the lock turned a couple of times before the latch closed. I ignored the fact that the lever dropped free and rocked as I released it. Both of the above should have made me aware that something was amiss. After a short sitting time, I used the beautifully scented hand foam and checked out the attractive smile of the older woman in the mirror; before moving on to the shower room.

My hand wrapped around the lever and turned … around and around it went, my finger twisted & it spun the lever as if it was a feather. My sports strap alerted me to the rise in my resting heartbeat. My breath gasped, my hands became clammy and a pulse rapidly tapped in my neck.

The bumbag that hung over my hip contained my meds, a phone, a change purse with a debit card and a hair grip. After a few seconds I shook myself and delved into the zips. Phone extracted I tried to call the husband; fifty yards away in the motor home. I stood on the seat with my four-foot eleven stature stretched to the extreme, trying to find a signal. No such luck, finding a phone signal in the countryside is hit or miss at the best of times. Inside a toilet block, in the most rural of spots in the west country is nigh on impossible.

Now serious stuff came into play! With all the prowess of an Enid Blyton famous five character I thrashed out a plan.

I set the WiFi to search on my smart phone. Soon it offered to sell me WiFi from the campsite. With the debit card extracted the purchase of WiFi complete, I sighed with relief. I sent a text to a friend via Facebook’s messenger. HELP. LOCKED IN LOO. Phone Jay urgently PLEASE. I pressed send as the light in the lavatory timed out.

Back up plan fell into place; “Enid Blyton I love you.”

Clutching a hair grip between my thumb and index finger, I poked as I twisted the lever, I shoved, rammed and scraped about in the vicinity of the latch by the light of my phone; which was clasped in my mouth. I had been incarcerated for fifty minutes! My sport’s strap vibrated and fireworks went off, it obviously believed me to be vigorously exercising. With the battery on my phone now showing five percent I had to move fast. Logged on to Face book I found the campsite page friended the site and sent a private message. Help! Plot 153 locked in toilet. Send! Help. Next I emailed my brother-in-law. Please. Help. Phone Jay. Trapped in the loo. The screen went off just after I pressed send, the room was in complete darkness now; my battery flat.

A second blind (pardon the pun) attempt with the hair grip eventually bore fruit. By now I had been in the loo for an hour! My bladder was swollen, my cheeks damp and my grip ruined as I rushed out and towards the motor home. I thought to sympathy and maybe a touch of pride at my ingenuity.

I heard the ringtone on my approach, then the unnecessary laugher. Soon I looked into the eyes of a very jovial husband. One who pressed his Samsung closer to his ear as I passed him. Relieved to be relieved of the contents of my bladder in the safety of the motor home … with my foot used as a lock on the door. Only the music emanating from the other side of the door was to puncture the relief I felt.

Standing tall (as tall as a four-foot eleven woman can) I walked past ‘The Husband,’ I pushed the charger into my phone. Bleep bleep! My friend answered with ‘are you free yet?

Ring ring!

My brother-in-law howled in unison with his wife on speaker phone.

All the time … ‘The Husband’ sang along to, “Oh dear what can the matter be, three old ladies were locked in the lavatory” whilst wrapping his arms around his aching ribs and wearing the most ridiculous grin.

Once composed, I walked to the reception, reported a faulty toilet lock. Numerous apologies later and the promise of fresh croissants to soften the edges of ‘The Escape.’ I found my own funny. Shhhh! *whispers* We won’t let on at least for a while *Huge grin*.

All photographs are mine taken on location … except the Gif from . https://giphy.com/explore/images

The news link from the telegraph UK. (the link in above text).

The Enid Blyton vintage first edition cover lifted kindly from the internet.

Have you ever used a book you read as a child, for such a good reason as I … ? Leave me something to smile at in the comments, I just love to chat.

Beneath The Deep

He finished his book, watched the moon glow red on the day. With closed eyes, he inhaled … as if in a dream. A flash, then he falls away.

Into the deep, his arms like tentacles flap as if he’s waving goodbye. There’s panic, an unheard scream, bubbles bursting towards the sky.

Down in the grime the muck and the slime beside the hull of an upturned boat, Protrude oars, like arms reaching out … as if to get ahold of his throat.

An eel comes to look at the boy with a book, who into the water was spilt.Who struggles and fights, his legs disturbing the silt.

Deep he plunges, the light disappears in a mist. Like angelic detritus he floats, intoxicated with heavenly bliss.

The dark clears, a nymph beckons with barely a flick of her wrist. A wisp of a thing lures him deep. Her face he tenderly kissed.

He’s now way below,
Where tides

ebb and flow.

And dreams

Reappear

With

The

Fish.

This re worked piece gets a second chance as I attempt to capture something new.

Did my foray into fantasy work? Answers will be most welcome *waves*

Quote

A Little Recognition.

Today I want to …

image

For still being here, staying with me through sporadic posting over the last year. while I learned to cope with my newly diagnosed medical condition. My plan is to come more often, to give consistency a go once more. For me to share a story or a snippet of me … weekly to begin with.

In order to recognise and thank you all I have reworked a post from two years ago as It said everything. So lay back, sit in a comfy chair and enjoy basking in my praise of you.

On my blog I lay a cornucopia of words. This site is (or will be) costantly replenished, offering a buffet of stories, a picnic of poetry, prose and pieces of me.

This is a place where I choose to show the shape of me. Not my figure … that like a shape-shifter, changes by the hour with age and gravity. No, here I show the shape of the soul of me, my words and machinations.

image

As I edit my first full manuscript and one day soon novel, I try to grow and make connections. Coming here to breathe on my blog when the edit bites my bum and frustrates me, this gives me the distraction I need. I read and reply to comments left here, many urge me on and inspire confidence; I learn from you all. I seek out more followers, visit blogs and join conversations, in hope that they/ you appreciate something I write, or maybe begin to hear my voice or see my shape.

Like fallow Deer i am inquisitive, on the brink of that leap. The excitement is palpable when I read something fresh … stumble across a post or a someone I connect with.

I follow places and like minded people, honest writers and bloggers with passion and soul. “I thank you from me” for accommodating me and allowing my presence in your space.

To all who share and promote and care, those that take time to comment, I drop a curtsie, bend a knee, and thank you, I recognise your talent and appreciate your time.

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If I could see you all gathered in one place I would share my picnic with you all.
Now if I did, what would you bring to my blanket? Let me know in the comments. Bye for now and keep coming and sharing as I do. 😘Mostly keep coming back.

Aside

Different Can Be Good.

This morning he made me a cuppa; called upstairs to let me know. Gazing out the window into the sunlight, he stood pressed against the sink, my tea sat alone on the worktop. Silently I took in the shape of him, placed my flat palm in the arch of his back. Pressing firmly I rubbed slowly towards the back of his neck and twiddled the edges of his hair damp from his morning ablutions. I closed my eyes as my cheek found a space just the right shape; between his shoulder blades. I whispered softly, “I do love you” as my nostrils sucked in his fresh morning scent. The husband, (as I often refer to him) gave a low chuckle “Jolly good” he said. This was a response I had almost got used to, a tongue in cheek remark that sometimes … slips under my skin.

The thing is when you move and breathe in unison when you know what is about to be said … just once, you’d like something different, a fresh surprising thing. Aware as I was that although he did not want tea himself … he thought of me. Though he could have said I love you too, it would have been what many would have said. He chose to say something that he knew I would recognise as his. Even so, deep down, I would have been excited by a new response.

At the end of a special dinner, I know he enjoys a cheese board with all manner of pomp and smell. But just occasionally I surprise him with sticky toffee pudding made from scratch. I Serve it with a salted caramel sauce and fresh cream; in potbellied jugs. But this day, the one about which I write … I purchased a bun from the baker, one that I myself can’t eat.

He cooked us a roast with all the trimmings. We laughed at what we had both read and had done during our day. I spoke to him about his response this morning, how occasionally it would be good to be different, how different is sometimes nice. Not something you’d want too much of you understand, but good to be surprised with occasionally.

Then I presented him a warm hot cross bun, after all, it is Easter.

I listened to the locks turn as I climbed into our bed, I can hear him muttering something under his breath. Once settled we chat about everything and nothing; “Goodnight Husband, that I love” we kiss and squeeze. He wriggles closer, traps me from behind with both arms and legs. “Till morning you funny old thing.” As he blew a raspberry on the back of my neck. “That different enough for you.”

“Perfect,” I said.

Click on ‘Stream of consciouciousness Saturday to join or read other responses. SoCs the prompt was ‘Bun’. I hope you enjoyed my response.

Do you think we need to make the effort to be spontaneous … occasionally. Leave me a comment I can’t wait to read.

Aside

The Look That Said It All.

Monday morning and postie arrived. The Husband smiled as he signed for the new lights he had made for his car; three weeks they took to arrive.
When he came back his face altered, gone was the smile put in place for the postman, his bottom lip bulged and his voice sulked. “it’s too cold to put them on outside.” I frown and feel my ears stick up like a Hare on hearing a fox. I can feel it, something is coming … Together we gaze through the bifold doors to the garden, him clutching his parcel and thinking, me checking the birds still have food in the feeders. Suddenly he perked up, became animated, “I wonder, if I opened the doors and drove carefully over the deck, it’s not like its a scrappy old car. ”

He didn’t finish.
I spun to face him, a nerve in my cheek began to tic, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and I shivered, like someone walked over my grave. We silently faced each other for what seemed to be an imesurable amount of time.

“Sigh … okay it was only a thought” The zip nicked under his chin and drew blood as he fastened his jacket. His boots cracked the ice as they were slapped over the deck. I began to steady my breath. Then I recalled receiving such a look, it was delivered over half moon specticles and then knew … I had inherited The Look.

Have you used such a powerful look? Did it work. Leave me a comment I love to connect.

The photo’s were borrowed from adverts, thank you (Hadley glass and Auto trader) as I hadn’t cleaned the ducks calling card from the glass on the garden room and mister wasn’t keen on the numberplate showing or me sullying his car with a label saying not on my watch!

No One Was in The Room But the Corpse

The telephone bell was ringing wildly, but without result, since there was no-one in the room but the corpse. –War in Heaven by Charles Williams

The writing readers prompt from last year was ‘take the first line of the above and begin.’ A refreshed version of my original waits to see if you like my take on it, a very different direction for me and my first stab at writing this year.

The telephone was ringing wildly but without result since there was no-one in the room … but the corpse. I fumbled for my passcard hands fidgeting in each pocket. Once located I waved it in front of the fob. The panel slid left to reveal an image collector, the incessant ring made my ears throb. I pressed my eye to the lens then a swish, the security glass door released. Ring, ring, ring, “Shut up” I shouted as it continued to break the silence. Before a console, I stopped, slid my fingers in the fixed knuckle duster like holder. I hear it ping and pull my fingers free; wipe them clean on the dispensed tissue. I grasped the handle; one twist and I was in.

” Whoever chose this green antique needs hanging.” I say to the room as I unbutton my coat tug at my scarf pushing them together on the hook, ‘ring ring, ring ring’ … “Shut the bugger up.” It rang on while I fastened a white coat; covered it with a rubber apron, pulled surgical gloves into place, once the mask at my neck was tied I was ready for action.

My journey to the wildly ringing beast took forever with polythene goloshes over my shoes. snatched the handset from the cradle as it stopped. An eerie peace fell over the room my heartbeat seemed to echo and bounce off the white walls.exasperated I went to the trolley, wrapped the mike around my ear and began.

“I am unzipping the shroud from the cadaver, still warm to the touch 12° Celsius, samples drawn, toxicological, biochemical and genetic testing is underway along with fluid samples. It is 0600 hours 23rd December 2050, twenty-eight hours since dispatch.   X-ray’s, MRI and cat scans completed, copies have been sent by secure imaging to (SIS) and Downing Street.”

My mind focussed and the world shutout once in the flow, the zone I let nothing else penetrate. “External examination. The outer coating as seen has a prominent vein-like structure running just below the dermal membrane. The outer layer has an ashen tinge with some oedema present, on each of the four limbs and rear appendage. Three elongated digits on each limb at angles. Soft tissue is uncovered; no nail or nail bed present; professor  Jacobs breaking off at 8.22.”

‘Click’ I pull the microphone from my ear and place it (still running) on the trolly, peel off my gloves and bin them; I rotate my shoulders and stretch my neck feeling a silent click release. In the office area, I open the fridge and retrieve some water. My backside hit the chair; my mind took over. This way of working was intense.

The situation was unbelievable, I still hadn’t got my head around any of it. A car came for me and the official secrets act was sworn and signed before a QC across the City, recalling the facts; seemed so surreal now. I shook my head and stood up stretching. With no time to waste, I set to, putting my mind to the task.

The external exam complete, I was ready to begin the cut. This part of the process was to be documented and observed by an external anatomical pathology scientist. On reaching for the phone it began to ring, I physically jumped, the sound echoed around me, once I was steady I picked up the receiver. “Professor Jacobs lab” three, four minutes passed with me repeating the greeting, I stared down the earpiece; willing a reply. I was squinting so hard my head hurt; it felt uncomfortable, I dropped the phone back on the cradle. My frown stayed when I dialled reception, I was massaging my temples with a free hand, ‘click’ … “Jacobs lab here, I got cut off? Please re-connect my caller.” … Silence ensued “Hello, hello.” There was dead air, no background noise, which would be normal in a busy reception. Once again the handset replaced and my face wore it’s now familiar frown. Throwing a pencil on my desk I said to the room “Sheila’s probably doing her nails… I’ll collect the observer myself while she calls the tech to fix the damn phone, who knows I may get a smart one ‘Huh,’ I logged out once more and walked to the lift. Once more the phone ‘rang and rang and rang, and rang’  but no one was in the room but the corpse.

http://www.animatedimages.org/.

What did you think was occurring? Let me know in the comments, I will get back quick smart…

What Colour is Christmas

Inside a tiny house, nestled in the suburbs of London. Emma looked up at her Mum. “Mummy the sunshine in my picture,” she said pointing to the drawing on the fridge door. “It is sunshine colour, isn’t it? The grass, with Daddy and Mummy, it is grass colour… isn’t it?” A frown sat on her face as she waited for an answer. Emma’s neck was stretched to its full length, her lips pursed and a chubby finger was pointed at her drawing. Mary crouched beside her daughter and explained about colour and name. She drew a colour chart for her, while her little brother straddled Mary’s hip. Mary told her the colours of their clothes and the cushions on the sofa. During the day they sang songs and told stories, together drew rainbows to add to the already crowded fridge door. Emma and Tom Carpenter, went to bed that night tired and happy, knowing that tomorrow would be Christmas. Both anticipating the excitement and their children’s reactions to the parcels beneath the tree.

On Christmas morning Emma skipped into the Kitchen. “What colour is today mummy?” Mary lifted her head, wearing a huge smile. Her eyes crinkled as they met that face. Her five-year-old was clutching pencils and pursing her lips. Mary’s pride shone from her face, as she wiped her forehead with the back of her flour encrusted hand and bent to her daughter’s height. “What colour do you think it is?” Emma screwed her brow and as if contemplating the world and left the room.

Mary wiggled and hummed to the music on the radio as she cut the last sausage roll and wiped her hands on the tea towel stuck in her waistband. Throughout the house, the air was thick with the scent of pastry and cinnamon and the sounds of happiness. The question forgot in the excitement of the day.

Tom crawled up the hall chasing his new train blowing spit bubbles; giggling as he went.
Dad burst through the front door stamped his feet and brushed a light dusting of snow from his hair. Joe’s nose was red and he rubbed his hands briskly to warm them.”Kisses” he called as he smacked his lips and waved mistletoe above his head.”Kisses I want kisses” he roared. Emma and Tom rushed to be lifted in a sloppy lip smacking embrace.
There were lanterns, twinkling lights and paper decorations dangling from every space in the little house. Carols rang out from the kitchen radio and sparks snapped against the guard on their open fire.
Dropping everything Mary ran to join Joe for a kiss; Singing as she went. Flour covered kisses ended in chuckling and tickles. With all four sat breathlessly on the floor. Emma looked up into her Mothers eyes and quietly said
” I think the colour is Christmas mummy”.

This is a story I wrote a while ago, revamped, extended and wearing its very best party frock I have bought it back. I hope that you like it and it gives you all you need to put you firmly in the seasonal mood.

Merry Christmas to you all, followers, friends and visiting readers.

Do leave me a comment I love to chat.

Aside

Finding Magic.

Once in a moon
you walk in a room,
With feelings
like you belong.

Once or twice in a life,
When the weather is nice,
And the sun heats up the sky
You will hear a unicorn sigh.

Just now and then
for a smidgen of time
You believe you are
The subject of a song.

If you lay, for a week and a day,
Watch the sun play in the trees.
You’ll see faeries take up a dance,
On the warmth of the incoming breeze.

By holding the thread at end of your bed,
You get to tug it once in your dreams.
The world turns blue especially for you,
And magic exists … So it seems.

pictures by pixabay