Having A Chin wag.

Having a chin wag means to chat, talk or gossip. I try to paint a picture of an area of an industrial town in Northern England in the 1950s. I am using a smattering of dialect to paint a picture.

My question is was it enough? Would it be better without? Looking forward to your answers in the comments. “As I am known to enjoy a bit of a *chin-wag* with you.”

There they were the two of em, hanging over the garden fence; arms folded. Florrie’s were under her tiny breasts; maybe to push them up; pretend like, making out she had more. She was long, stringy almost, she wore a pinny and a cotton square covered her hair. Mum, though she was no better than she should be … flaunting her coral lip stain and seamed stockings. What I could see of it her hair was yellow, oh and them teeth … they jiggled about as she spoke; *me mam* said it made her retch. Then Mum would.

Mavis well she was different, Gramps would say “like chalk and cheese those two” I love Granddad, Me Pops as I call him, he had lots of funny sayings. If he liked something he would slap his knees double-handed and call out “That’s champion *lass*, rite *champion*.”

Down the Ginel.

‘Anyhow, back on track, where were I, Oh yes, Mavis. Short n’ stocky with fat knees. You’d see them knees, when she cleaned the windows, dimpled like dumplings. The lads down the Ginel said they looked through letterbox last Summer, seen her naked thighs as she washed by the kitchen sink. “Like *gert* big hands of ham they were” laughed Smithy. My Mum says it isn’t often you’d see them knees … because she’s not too particular about the housework. Then Mum would, she has a sharp tongue, my Mum. Mavis has pin curls peeking from under her scarf. Tinged, more of a dirty grey colour, from the coal fire I expect. That lass is as short as she is wide, wears a fancy wrap around pinny; not many had one of them. I can’t help me sen, so I snigger at her wrinkled stockings and get a clip round the *earlug*; a backhander for doing so. Her roundness comes from having ten kids. Six were lads, all gone and grown now. We live in back to back houses, terraces with Ginels behind. On Monday Morning if School was out, I’d sit astride the sill with a book; the sun warms my skin right through the glass. Mum told us when we were kids “It’s God kissing you.” I am not so sure about that.

They, Florrie and Mavis, think I’m reading. Really I am watching, and listening, you’d be surprised what I hear; looking down at the backs. Those two, over the fence putting the world to rites … having a good old chin-wag. Got to go now, Mam’s got my Pop’s snapping ready, I’ll take it up the allotment to him, he is busy after all; digging us tea. I better have my wits about me in the Ginnel, that Smithy boy, he’d likely have his hand in my liberty-bodice if I loitered. Catch you another time tatty bye.                 

No copyright infringement intended.

This post was very different first time around. Reworked, new dialogue and a new character in Old Jack. I hope you enjoy the changes as much as I. “comment please it is fun to talk.”

*earlug* = ear, *Gert* = big, *Champion* = magnificent, *Tatty bye* = farewell, for now, *Ginel* = secreted alley, *lass*= young girl, Having a *chin-wag* = a gossip or a chat.

Four Wasted Days.

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Rochelle’s newest prompt is live #FridayFictioneers have on loan the picture below, many thanks to Yvette Prior who owns the copyright. Click HERE to read more or join in the fun.

Charlotte looked at her coffee table disgusted. In the otherwise pristine apartment, the table was Alien to her. Clutching her head in her hands she rocked, gently wiped her face with an old sodden discarded tissue. She threw it as viciously as anyone could. Another fad diet from her latest magazine, four days of cigarettes, whiskey and sugar lay next to the vomit bowl. How gullible am I that I would even try it, she cried. Charlotte only needed to lose two stone to fit in the bridesmaids dress, to be perfect for once. Or so she thought.

Have you gone to extreme’s to lose weight? Been sucked in by bogus fad diets? I would love to hear from you, drop it in the comments I will get back quick smart!

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.

The Rendezvous.

Join in by February 22nd #writephoto here Thank you Sue Vincent, your prompts always inspire.

At sunset, the summer-house looked beautiful. Scared to be first in case she was stood up, Rebecca held herself tight to the trunk of the aged oak. She watched the darkness and waited while trying to control her breath and her thoughts that made her tremble. Out of the shadow, a figure appeared moving with urgency until it vanished inside.

“Breathe just breathe,” She whispered as she shook her fingers and straightened her back. Heat burned her throat and bile filled her mouth, bent at the waist she spat into the undergrowth. Found a mint in her pocket and placed it on her tongue. Once composed she tugged the hem of her skirt and walked forward.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust but she instinctively knew where her lover was. “You came then, I was scared you wouldn’t,” fingers tangled with hers and felt like sparks shooting up her arm, this couldn’t be wrong it felt so beautiful. She didn’t speak just let things silently take over.

After, when tangled in the blanket on the floor, breasts glistened and chests heaved as they shuddered in unison. Watching the sky alter from gold to deepest mauve Rebecca spoke. “It is so beautiful, everything is perfect, I will never forget this” Tears glistened on her lashes as they squeezed each other’s hands and pledged undying love.

“I know, first times are meant to be perfect and it is. I thought you were struck dumb, that I was destined not to hear your voice tonight.” Rebecca’s laugh tinkled and she covered her face with the blanket wiggling her feet.

As the sky darkened they gathered themselves, collected the evidence, leaving the summer-house as it was found, without signs of their rendezvous. Hand in hand they walked to the clearing one last kiss before they reluctantly parted. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” said Rebecca walking backwards twisting a curl around her finger as she went. “I can’t wait whispered Sarah” both wearing grins big enough to shame a Cheshire cat.

I hope in this day and age we all understand love and kindness come in many guises. My question today is “Do you remember the first flutter of love and was it in a secret place?” please leave your answer or observations in the comments… I will come back to read them soon.

The letter.

Press 🔜here🔙 to join in thank you Sacha Black for the prompt.

The distance between.

It lay taunting me, i hear the voice whining ‘open me please’. I hide, ducking my head round the door to peep. The distance between my feet and the letter will change my life for ever. Deep breath in and go! ‘Rip!’ Scan words, wipe tears, *punches air* manuscript accepted ‘YES’. 💪

Do you remember that fear… the fear of opening results? Did you get someone else to read it for you? Leave me a comment i will get back quick!     P. S. One day it will be a yes in the envelope for me! 

Acoustically speaking.

“A badly timed Trump” a prompt from Sacha to be complete in 52 words . Press here to join in the fun.

It was a sombre occasion, you could see your breath leave your mouth. The pews all waxed and lillies beautifully bookended the pulpit. A vicar as old as the church itself went up the steps, releasing a loud trump which riccochet off the walls. He  sniffed.loudly as the funeral march began.

In England it is another word for flatulence! I do believe it has the same meaning globally *wink wink*

Have you held back a titter, stiffled a smirk or guffawed in the wrong moment? Tell me in the comments I can’t wait to reply.