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.

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A Suffolk Festival.

The motorhome thumped up the lane rocking and jerking over the hardened earth that shook our jaws. As the last curve was negotiated the campsite spread before us. Flags flapped against the mackerel sky. Swags and flags swirly Twizzlers rattled and spun as did novelty air filled sperm. Campers tugged miniature trailers, all polished looking their best. Unicorns flapped, bunting tangled and faces lit up and grinned.

We strolled around, caught a knowing look or two. Smiles and nods tossed our way, a greeting of strangers linked by destination and sounds. Kids and pups were happily pulled along in trailers packed with stuff for the day.

A squeal from the stage shocked our ears as the thump thump of a base backed the ‘ one two, one two’, called over the mike.

Flowers and glitter in hair and on faces caught the light as hula hoop girls spun in tiny sequined shorts. Toned bodies of aerial dancers arced and rolled precariously. Dancing under steel frames, suspended on strands of purple ribbon.

Goods displayed on trestle tables and rails spewed from the mouths of canvas shops. Old tut from dusty lofts became prized merchandise once more. Hats, bags, wigs and wings, wands and make believe; all at a price. Clothes from eras past with stories sewn into the weave. Love’s lost and consummated in the seams of an old mini skirt and psychedelic clothes. Cheese-cloth shirts and bell-bottom jeans, wait in hope as rushing winds flap at hems, like silent adverts vying for attention.

Giant robotic installations jerked and flashed to the beat. Bubbles shot across the giggling crowds and flames intermittently roared from an arm that shot skyward. Ooh’s and ahh’s join the music at each glow of the flame.

A folly watches from her view point snuggled in the trees. The festival and its entourage playing at her feet. Not so far from the days of Jousts and Jesters that took place in times gone by.

Girls danced with a freedom I long since lost. Dreadlocks and rainbow dyed hair mingled, with the French plaited girlies. Shaved heads bump and grind with hipster bearded men. Some smoke weed or swig artisan gin together. One place, one time, a shared experience. The music built up and bodies moved in unity, the youth and the aged together. All made new connections and memories alike.

Rain splashed bodies ran for shelter and kids tried to catch drops on their tongues. Even the weather became a game. Sticky and tired we turn in and watch the sun setting over Suffolk.

Until sizzling bacon awakened our taste buds then the enthusiasm bubbled up, begging us to do it once more, at a Suffolk festival.

#WhiteNoiseVwFestival #EaustonHallSuffolk

I’m Only Human After All

I called, but your name lodged below my voice box and like a bubble, it floated until it popped.  Slowly I turned back the bed, cotton sheets now held the smell of stale lovemaking sweat and perfume. Bare feet kissed the wooden floors leaving a mist; an impression of where I walked. Across the room down to the utility with my arms full. Once loaded I glanced down, my nose curled, my mouth sticky and memories flooded back. I peeled my dishevelled stained night shirt from my aching self and it joined the sheets. My mind was busy trying not to think as I scrubbed and soothed my flesh, steam covered the pointless tracks on my cheeks as Rag n Bone man’s lyrics pounded over the sound of the shower ‘I’m only human after all. I dropped a pill, swigged stale coffee left on the drainer and sat wrapped in a towel. The dusk alerted the back of my mind it snook in to disturb my … nothing, my emptiness.

This was ridiculous I am a grown woman Out loud I said ‘pull yourself together’. For the next week or so I was working on auto, walking to work doing my admin answering when I had no choice, until  Friday night backpack on ready for home I felt him watching. A damp trickle formed between my breasts as I scanned left to right, I knew he was there somewhere. Head down, my shoes slapped against the damp tarmac, three, four, slap slap, counting, walking determined not to be startled. ‘Hi toots, I thought it was you, fancy a drink’? His voice I was ready for I let a smile touch my lips. ‘No thanks, busy busy’ I strode on. Almost jogging now alongside me breathlessly he stopped me with  ‘Hey hey what’s the hurry, come on we can continue where we left off,’ he twisted a strand of hair by my cheek as he bent at the knees to peer into my face. ‘I said I am busy now please just’ I snatched my shoulder from his grasp and carried on. I didn’t look back, slow down or think about him I just allowed my feet to pound the pavement slap, slap, slap. Ashamed that’s what I was, ashamed and regretful and I couldn’t accept what it was I had done. Weeks had passed since he met me from work but I still felt uneasy, he hadn’t called or text or poked me on Facebook, but still, I was wary. Maybe he didn’t know my name either, I couldn’t remember him using it.

Angie and Jack had been arranged for months dinner with friends that would get some normality back. I tousled my hair and dressed casual but nice, I pouted in the mirror checking my lippy, that was the most relaxed I had been for a month or more. After fajitas, we had tequila and chilli chocolate buns with mallow topping her food amazing as always. Ange and I laughed and reminisced about school, Jack cleared up and Angie and I began to talk freely. ‘What’s doing girly? You have been somewhere else for a while, I thought we trusted each other, told every grizzly detail like we always have’. Jack called through, he was walking to the pub leaving us to our stuff while he indulged in a lairy game of pool. Ange followed for a kiss she grinned and mouthed thanks as she closed the door. ‘Well … I’m listening’. She did that thing, that glaring eye staring folding arm thing that she does when she’s mad.

‘Nothing to say really, I just, well I was stupid, a slut and I, I am ashamed. After Todd and I finished I felt lost, God that is so clichĂŠ, but I didn’t feel attractive or wanted…’ I dropped my head in my hands roughly rubbed my cropped hair and grunted.’ Ange plopped on the edge of the chair with me rubbed my shoulders as I released a  yowl so guttural  I startled myself. ‘C’mon you’ll feel better, I won’t judge you-you know me better than that’.  I scrubbed my face with my palms and wiped them down my thighs. ‘I went to that club on the corner the one with the tattooed bouncer the cut gay guy… I had some jagger bombs and I … began to dance winding myself round guys legs rubbing up behind them. They didn’t know me nor me them, it was sort of a freedom a liberating sexy I know, a slutty thing to do. The bouncer Jason pulled some guy off me for stuffing his hand up my skirt, he tried to call a cab but I wasn’t having any of that. In my head, I was showing Todd even though he wasn’t there. Next thing I know is I take this guy Marks mouth in mine and he mouthed a wafer under my tongue… don’t get me wrong I wanted, I was reckless. I’ve been having flashes come back to me of the stuff we did, the table the kitchen outside the front door for god’s sake. He met me from work one night a week or so later it freaked me out, how could I be so stupid, it was fine he just wanted … more he hasn’t been back. I’ve been petrified, I took him home, the things we did, don’t say anything I can’t cope with your disgust too.’ We sat for a while with a box of tissues between us Ange crying for and with me, me crying out of self-pity and shame. ‘I went to the clinic on Duke Street and had tests… well you just don’t know, do you. I find out in a fortnight but so far several are back and I’m clean just waiting on Hepatitis and HIV. I would not hold it against you if you never spoke to me again.’

Clearing the dinner debris and emptying the dishwasher although together, it was completed in silence. We made coffee and Jack came in the front door pink-faced, smiling and relaxed, he pulled a face pouted his bottom lip and said ‘I am going up bye then’ and he gently closed the door. Red-eyed and nervous I said ‘I can not cope without your friendship please don’t hate me’. I held both her hands and stared into her face. ‘For the last time I will not ever hate you, but I am hurt, hurt because I was too busy to see the effect Todd’s affair had on you because  you felt you couldn’t come to me, I  let you down and you put yourself at risk’. Sometimes we do stupid things, sometimes it is no one’s fault but our own… and sometimes we are lucky enough to walk away unscathed. I Jane Masters, head of finance, single thirtysomething female, should have known better but I won’t get it wrong twice, but as the song says … I’m only human after all.

Flower photo borrowed /thieved temporarily from Geoff LePard I thank you, Geoff. Press here to visit the master🔜 here🔚

A new venture into a different genre yet again inspired by the magnificent  Rag n Bone man song I hope you enjoyed both the song and the story I look forward to your comments *waves*.

Merry Merry Christmas.

For my virtual friends all over the world “Merry Christmas” Happy Holiday’s whatever your beliefs be kind to each other. To you all “Peace on Earth”.

I will be away for a while but will See you next year. Xxx.

Our Christmas tree.

https://www.google.co.uk/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=video&cd=2&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjU0p3zlvzQAhVYNVAKHdp9AJMQtwIIIDAB&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DJKJExBXRorA&usg=AFQjCNGwQn0b_e4u8wmmelaZYT0v55eqnQ&sig2=50zeOoKehYeOiiJSy0nO7Q&bvm=bv.142059868,d.ZWM

Enjoy festive music if you can keep your eyes off Mariah’s chest… ooooherrr missus.

Happiness Tag.

Being nominated for a happiness tag is charming, I thank
https://beeorganizedwithpamela.com/
Pamela said coming to my blog always made her happy.
To Have the happieness tag you must list
5. Things that make you happy.
5. Songs that make you happy.
5. Bloggers that make you happy.
Let them know you nominate them and you are done.
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No1. My Husband makes me happy
No2. My immediate family make me happy
No3. My writing makes me happy
No.4 My life makes me happy
No5. I! make me happy.
In truth I am the happiest I have ever been, I love life, I make everyone smile, (except for those who don’t know me) maybe I am funny, who knows or cares. I am just me, HAPPY!

No1. The Cure this reminds me especially on Fridays.


No.2. T. Rex I love to Booggie and this scene in Billy Elliot together have me singing (very badly) and dancing (like a sugar Plum fairy ) at the first note.

No.3. Because my Dad loved this and it’s my second Fathers day (in England)without him on the 19th June. I will be happy remembering how happy it made him.

No4. I just love this.

No.5. Cold play always make me happy and I particulary like yellow.

Thankyou.
I nominate for the happieness tag
No.1 Lucy. She is funny and upbeat and makes me laugh.press here to read her
blog.
No.2. Chris the story reading ape has made me happy by helping me with ping backs and all things bloggy, Chris’s blog posts often make me laugh.
Press here to join Chris and his blog.
No.3. Steph Richmond , she has a wicked sence of fun and her book is super too “the community ” https://scrichmondblog.wordpress.com/blog/
No.4 Erica kind because she just is. Press now to visit.
No.5 Coleen of silver threading press here to go and feel happy

Thank you every one please let me know if you left here happy 😀 😄 🙂 😉 😇

An Artists Rap.

Coleen and Ronavon have challenged writers quote Wednesday with the word Artist or art press  here to join in or read the challenges.

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Here follows my attempt.

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We have graffiti on the walls,
Coloured words flying birds.
We was ere, painted on malls
Coloured scenes and words.

Artists creep out of sight
Put tags where they’re seen.
Painted in dead of night,
So we know they’ve been.

Is it art they paint
Or walls they abuse.
And space they taint
What have they to loose.

Fill  walls or hoardings
Choose their own looks.
Like musicians recordings,
Writers  words in books.

They’re  artists not chancers,
Composers, authors, sculpters,
Actors,  Painters and dancers
Song writers and customisers.

All with a message to leave,
Credible, deserving a place.
Grafiti gives room to breathe,
Not compramising the space.

In the mood of a rap, another risk I take a challenge to push me, genre free on my blog. Please comment, You won’t offend me, I look forward to reading your views.

A Musical Reminder For A Valentine’s Weekend.

If this is the pain of love does it mean that it will make me sing like this? A fantastic voice and magnificent artistry.
On Valintines weekend we must recognise the pain
Please press the link there is no filth not on my watch, just an over cautious censorship scantily clad couple but no “Bits showing” please enjoy her voice is amazing.
Mix – Paloma Faith: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PaKr9gWqwl4&list=RDEM_u1Z4hWjcHRotgPSJynsRQ

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A match made in eutopia?
Oh my, a Valentines mischeif is afoot.
Please let me know what you think of my song choice
then pop across here to join the valantines party here with Jaquie here
Also right on this link is a wonderful musical blog share why not join in leave a like or a favorite song.
https://jenslyon.wordpress.com/2016/02/13/valentines-day-weekend-blogshare/

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Sharing Some True Valentine Love

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Bertie excited about his valentine date, dresses for the occasion and leaves a token of love on the table.

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‘Potato’
imageBetty not impressed with Berties gift decides she’d  play hard to get!

Have you ever had cause to feel like Betty?

Are you a Bertie who was penalised when you had  done your best?

Leave your comments let me be your agony aunt.

Join the fun at the Valentines blog party  “party

 

The Richness of voice.


I wanted to celebrate with a post, the voices or sounds that have moved me and stayed with me since the first words I heard come from their mouths.

The voices of mesmerising qualities that we can hear in these two men are simply beautiful. There are others who have the “Voicefactor”, the qualities which make whatever they read feel true, and absolutely believable; the ability to make your legs wobble. The celebration of sound and tone of the ones I am sharing today, for me at least stand out as exceptional.
Not being able to show them all here today saddens me, but the wonderful tone of Dame Maggie Smith (just showing I’m not sexist ageist or anyother geist) Betty Davis another such voice, one that curled your toes and made a thousand new born spiders run up your neck ( metaphorically speaking ).

Some not many, but some singers voices resonate, and are remembered more for their voice than the music. Louis Armstrong, Barry White, Leonard Choen and the wonderful Joe Cocker. I am not sexist there are superb females with the same qualities Janice Joplin springs to mind.

Leave a word, be kind, let me know your feelings; do you disagree or know better?
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A little Reggae

14 year old girl from the Solomon Islands sings Adele.

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I haven’t really listened to much Reggae music since the time my sisters and I danced the same moves in a line to the Four Tops , Jackson five or Jimmy Ruffin. My memories come flooding back, the Crombie jackets and two tone clothes, the way I would slip between the smart mother requires me to wear clothes, into hippie psychedelic wear, and the “fashion” worn by my peers.

How I ever got my own identity I am unsure, with a sister who was a faded hippy come rock queen and one a smooth looking crop haired fashionista; then me. Still having hand me downs from above and, too young to stamp my metaphorical foot and complain; I hovered betwixt and between.

Today when I heard this song although fresh and exciting, not quite mainstream and not old style either, I realised those other times, those youth making confusing days were just not my time, I didn’t fit in any pigeon hole. Because I am a quirky hippy type non conformist that at times is a conventional styler. A girl/woman who loves blues, soul and smooth Jazz, reggae, Motown, swing, rock, opera and  don’t forget country; and all the stuff that sits between.

Music for me is just an extension of writing, reading, talking and all other wordy things. It has never been about fashion or what is right, it has always been about the movement of words. This is why my eclectic taste in clothes and music are more about inspiration and motivation. If you thought you’d get the measure of me by just looking, or guess my era by the music in my car you would be mistaken. A chameleon probably describes me best, but not in my nature that is even very rarely swings up or down.

For today I hope you will listen and let me know what you think, did you find inspiration in the music? or not?   Why don’t you tell me what motivates your creativity.