Friday Fictioneers – Old Habits Die Hard

ff191114The bedside clock glowed ’06:25′; downstairs, the chain on the front door rattled.

‘Is it him again?’ said Kathy.

I rolled out of bed and peered through a small gap in the curtains.

‘It is – could you please ring them, dear?’

On the front doorstep a confused, hollow-cheeked, old man stood staring in silence at his rusted Yale key.

‘Come in,’ I said.

As we sat waiting, he demanded to know who I was, while informing me, in his usual matter-of-fact fashion, that I was squatting illegally in Middleham’s Motors.

I smiled and stroked my father’s hand as bright, white headlights flooded the courtyard.

friday-fictioneers

These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Nicola Sturgeon: on a personal mission

Originally posted on A Burdz Eye View:

When Nicola Sturgeon walked out onto the SNP Conference stage, I cried.  When she paid tribute to Kay Ulrich, whose was the first SNP parliamentary contest she ever campaigned in I cried.  When she paid warm and fulsome tribute to Alex Salmond, I cried.  When he nearly cried at the sustained applause from delegates, I cried.  When Nicola finished her speech just barely holding back her emotion, I cried.  A lot of tears – happy tears – were shed watching Nicola Sturgeon give her first speech to conference as the SNP’s leader.

That in itself is an achievement worth noting and celebrating. Nicola Sturgeon is the first woman to be party leader in its 80 year history.  On Wednesday, she will become Scotland’s first female First Minister and only the second woman anywhere on these islands to hold the highest office.  She will be the only woman elected currently to…

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Friday Fictioneers – One Night in Bangkok

hollywood-crowdThe waking sun crept its way across the crumpled bedclothes. On the floor, my suit lay in a guilty heap. Fleeting personal remorse was easily brushed aside – I’d known what I was doing; I knew what I would find – it didn’t stop me.

From the bathroom I could hear her singing: the broken English, the broken voice, the playful pretence of innocence.

‘Morning, lover’ she said, on returning to the bedroom. ‘I see you at bar tonight?’

She looked painfully beautiful. I nodded and smiled.

As she left, she turned and blew a kiss across the room.

On the table, my pager began to buzz.

friday-fictioneers

These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Friday Fictioneers – Road to Nowhere

ff051114Jake’s family had one of them boneyards – ‘Mini-Mojave‘ they called it. But instead of tired, old planes theirs was full-to-bursting with rusting convertibles, roofless station wagons and so much more.

We’d spend whole summers down there. Whether behind the wheel of a Alaskan snow plough – shorn of its plough – or putting the gas down on a engineless, 100 seater Greyhound, it was our own special place.

It was in the Greyhound they found Jake – his brother said his heart hadn’t been strong enough. He always was a sick looking kid.

I can’t pass one of those yards now without remembering Jake’s smile.

He was my best friend.

friday-fictioneers

These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.