Tag Archives: yeah write writing challenge

Cluedo

“I’m not playing anymore, you’re cheating,” Jacob screamed, sending the Cluedo board flying, pieces scattering like confetti across the carpet.

Scarlett looked at the miniature candlestick, as her brother stomped into the kitchen. Hhhhm, Miss Scarlett in the kitchen with the candlestick.

 

This post was originally written for the Yeah Write Gargle Blaster challenge 156, but the grid filled up so quick I missed out! This post has been submitted to the Yeah Write Moonshine Grid 156 instead.

The question this week was ‘Who dunnit?’

 

I want a Shelfie!

20140401_170215Bleary eyed, I sip on my much needed caffeine fix for the morning and log into my Gmail account. A Google advert for ‘Introducing Shelfies: Selfies with personality’ pops up in the middle of my screen.

Ooooh! Never one to turn my nose up at a new feature, I read on …. Google declares: “Selfie custom themes are incredibly popular in Gmail and they just got better. With Shelfies (Shareable Selfies) you can set your own photo as a Gmail custom theme and share it with your friends so they can enjoy looking at you as much as you do.”

Maybe I am inherently too vain, but I felt compelled to set myself up with one of these straight away. I liked the idea of personalising my Gmail a bit and I proceeded to take a big smiley close up to plaster all over my background. Hey, and then I was going to share it with the OH, so he could have my ‘lusciousness’ (ahem!) gazing at him as he works and plays! 🙂 A constant reminder to him that he is ‘being watched!’

So, selfie all prepped and ready to go ….. ‘upload failed’. Sad face ensues and me searching around to find out what I did wrong. During my search I stumble upon a nice little article about Google’s latest April Fools prank.

I think I got reeled in hook, line and sinker……

This post was written for the Yeah Write Challenge #155.

Gargle Blaster Challenge

The dark night sky is alight with the streaming sparkles of a shooting star.

I feel the warm wriggle of my blanketed new-born in my arms. I look down into his huge eyes, the miracle of new life twinkling back at me.

This post has been written as part of the exciting new Yeah Write challenge – The Gargle Blaster! It is not only the Best Drink in Existence, it’s also a high-intensity 42-word micro challenge. Here’s how it works: we give you a question, you give us your answer in 42 words. No more, no less. It’s pretty simple.

This week’s gargleblaster prompt was:

What’s so amazing that keeps us stargazing?

I’m in love with another man

I’ve never paid by the hour for the company of men. But for this man, I could make an exception – he has the most amazing hands.

As he tells me to strip off to my underwear and lay on the bed, I think for ÂŁ35 this better be good. He spends the next hour kneading, manipulating and sticking pins in me like I’m a voodoo doll. Whatever his magic, he’s weaved some kind of spell. I think I’m in love, no one has managed to make me feel like this before. I am floating.

This man is my Osteopath and he is worth every penny. After months of back, hip and leg pain – he has managed what no-one else could. He has started to make me whole again. I thought the light would never be in sight, but now the dark walls of the tunnel are steadily passing me by. Doctors, sports therapists and pilates instructors have nothing on him – he well and truly deserves the pedestal I have quickly ascended him to. As the pain subsides, I start to see my weekends of wistfully watching other runners being a thing of the past. Finally I could be out there again soon. He may never know the impact he is having on my life already – with eased muscles I feel reinvigorated, the motivation returning.

When my work colleague suggested, ‘You need an Osteopath,’ he had no idea he was instigating a match made in heaven.

I have another meeting with him on Tuesday … I am already counting down the hours. I told the OH I’m leaving him for another man – only for an hour a week. He hardly glanced up from his iPad as he murmured an ‘okay’. I can embark on this new affair, safe in the knowledge I have his approval. I can see it being a long-term thing. I need this man in my life …. he’s making me feel like a new woman …. I’m never letting him go.

 

This post has been written for the Yeah Write Writing Challenge #154.

Poker Face

Nandos is a place of sorrow for me, overshadowed by the death of my aunt. I was in the midst of a teenage date when I got the dreaded call. She was like my second mum and was going to leave a huge void behind – I was heartbroken.

‘Are you okay? Come on lets get out of here,’ my boyfriend said.

‘No, no finish your chips, there’s no rush,’ I responded calmly.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

I patiently waited for him to finish eating, willing the chips on his plate to hurry up and disappear, whilst perfectly holding myself together until I got home.

Public displays of emotion do not come naturally to me, preferring to keep the intricacies of my private life at home, safe from the false sympathies of strangers. Only the OH sees my tears, frustrations and true emotions, things I do not share freely with others.

Rarely able to call on others for help, for fear of showing weakness – now a desperate woman, my life-long friend came rushing to my side. Relocated to the other side of the country and with a young son to look after, the hospitalisation of both my OH and father at the same time, I caved in and asked for some support. One night she relayed to me a conversation with her family, who were asking how I was coping. Her response to them – ‘it’s tough on her, but she’s not crying on my shoulder or anything – that’s not her style!’ The tears I shed that week were done in complete privacy.

In times gone past I wouldn’t even talk about personal matters with close friends. Increasingly I have recognised this attribute of my character and something strange happened a few years ago – I started to open up a little bit. You still won’t get true emotion out of me often, but beginning to share my frustrations is strangely therapeutic.

I used to think it was brave to not show emotion, but in reality it is worse than letting it all out with a good cry. All those bottled up feelings, with nowhere to escape, feels like I might implode. In some ways our characters are set from an early age, but I am seeing small improvements and maybe one day I won’t be ashamed to cry in the middle of Nandos.

This post was written for submission to the Yeah Write Writing Challenge #152.

Little Sponge Ears

imagesEnjoying the chill of the freezers, I meander up and down the frozen food aisle of the Coles supermarket. The cool air is a welcome relief and I eye up the ice-cream cones longingly. A feral looking woman walks past me, scruffy in her tracksuit bottoms and flip flops. A young girl is being dragged along by her side, dirty blonde hair scraped into pig tails at the sides of her head. A few feet behind them follows a small boy on his scooter, in no particular hurry.

‘Get a move on you little c**t,’ a female Australian voice shrieks.

I realise it is the woman who has just walked past, calling to her young son. It doesn’t happen often, but I am momentarily lost for words. A young, childless, twenty-something, with idealistic views, I can’t help but pass judgement on her bad-parenting.

A few years pass and I now have a toddler of my own. Those rose-tinted spectacles have been discarded, as I’ve learnt that parenting is far more fluid in nature.

Becoming a mum and with young ears now in my presence I make deliberate steps to reign in my pre-mummy swearing. After all, I don’t want my son to be that little boy in the supermarket, who then goes on to shout obscenities at others. It might have been slightly amusing in the early days, when the cute garbled baby noises sounded like ‘bugger’, but now as toddler years are here, we have a little parrot in our midst.

There was the time we took our 18-month-old son to the local country show. The OH took him over to look at the remote controlled boats. Within minutes they were quickly shuffling back, little one with a big smile on his face. The OH’s head hung in embarrassment. The tale was re-told of how, at the top of his voice, our son had announced to all and sundry ‘ Snap, crackle, bollocks.’

I have never laughed so hard … but deep down I knew it would come back to bite me!

Now 3 years old, my son’s speech is developing day by day, with him desperately seeking out new words to add to his growing repertoire. We went for lunch last week in the local diner. After stuffing our faces with burgers, we headed over to the bar area to pay. My son perched on the bar stool, chatting away to himself whilst I swipe my plastic and settle the bill. As he climbs down from the stool, he loses his footing and stumbles a little. He looks up at me, huge grin on his face and announces, in perfect context, ‘I’m pissed!’

I hang my head in shame and shoo him out of there as fast as his little legs can carry him. I pray that no-one heard. I can just imagine the wagging tongues – tutting at such shocking language, labelling me a terrible mother!

Now, as I impatiently drag my son round the supermarket, moaning at him to get a move on, I’m not sure if it’s the freezer aisle or the memories of the scruffy Australian woman that makes my neck hair stand on end. ‘Come on you little monkey,’ I call. A huge grin lights up his face as he cheekily responds, ‘coming Mama.’

This post was written for the Yeah Write Weekly Challenge #151.

The Gypsy in me

‘Hey, come and look at this one,’ the OH calls from the kitchen.

I push myself tentatively up from the sofa, pain coursing down my left calf. Feeling like an old granny I hobble into the kitchen, struggling with the sharp jab in my leg. I peer over Rob’s shoulder to see the pictures of an attractive three bedroom house on his iPad. ‘That looks nice,’ I comment.

‘There are plenty of rentals out there for the same as what we pay now.’

It has been six months since we moved into our new home, excited at the prospect of being the first people to live in it. As the trucks and diggers rumbled past, we were confident that within a couple of months we would be amidst a brand spanking new housing estate, with prime position opposite the new park area.

This morning, I lost my footing on the half tarmaced driveway of the building site we still live on. A rather undignified fall and a few pulled muscles later, I feel like it might be the final nail in the coffin. Frustrated at the constant stream of mud, work machinery and builders, home isn’t feeling all that homely!

I think me and the OH must have some Gypsy heritage running through our veins, unable to settle anywhere for too long. Six to twelve months is the norm. We did manage a whole two years in one place once. Then there was the time we moved into a caravan as a temporary measure for a couple of weeks – a good few months later, we were still living in our cosy little home.

It’s been six months now …. are our feet getting jittery again, all under the guise of frustration at living amongst the outside mess and chaos. I think some seeds have been planted, the first steps of keeping our options open. Another couple of years and we will be tied to the strings of a local school for our little boy. Perhaps we should pack up, buy a caravan and wear off some of the jittery feelings! Or maybe we should just move house again – one last time! 🙂

This post was written for the Yeah Write Moonshine Grid no. 150.

Life is like a cocktail …

untitledI am armed with the cocktail shaker in one hand and the champers in the other. ‘Fancy a Bellini?’ ‘Oh, go on then,’ Jane responds. We’re kitted out in our finest attire, ready for a girly night of cocktail shenanigans. We’ve been planning this night for ages – no kids, no men, just lots of cocktails and a good girly natter.

There’s a knock at the door. I open it and the first thing I see is the comical sunglasses perched on the end of Janine’s nose. Brightly coloured – tropical pink and green numbers – framed with a palm tree on one side and a flamingo the other. ‘They’re amazing. I love them,’ I shriek. Opening her bag, she pulls out three more pairs. ‘I got some for us all.’ By the time Sarah turns up, I even have the sparklers out – this is going to be a night to remember.

‘Are you doing sex on the beach?’ Janine asks.

‘Yes, yes ….’ I can’t help but give a cheeky smirk. She’s mentioned it enough times throughout the preparations for tonight. I find myself wondering if her preferred cocktail of choice is any reflection on her life. I know I could do with a bit of that. It gets me thinking, if I could pick a cocktail that represents my life what would it be? I decide that, like any good cocktail night, you can’t just have one. So this would be my cocktail menu:

Happy Youth (Champagne, Brandy, Cherry Brand and Sugar Cube) – It was all so easy back then. I had a blank canvas to start with and a whole life ahead of me. No financial worries, no responsibilities, just a few romantic dramas and the world at my feet.

California Dream (Tequila, Sweet Vermouth and Dry Vermouth) – I spent a large part of my early twenties looking for the dream! I was stifled and unhappy in the UK – so we planned our escape to Australia. Life was on hold for a few years, whilst we jumped through hoops of the visa process and saved for our new life. After 18 months, not all it was cracked up to be, we returned back to the UK.

City Slicker (Brandy, Triple Sec and lemon juice) – The career focused part of my life – with career experience across the globe under my belt I returned with a fire in my belly. I spent a few years doing the London commute – earning good money, but having little time for a life.

Bloody Mary (Vodka, Worcester sauce, tomato juice lemon juice and salt) – How did that happen? I was pregnant. Okay I know how it ‘happened’, but it wasn’t completely expected. I spent the next nine months in a phase of ‘bloody Mary’, whilst I tried to absorb how much our lives were going to change.

Brass Monkey (White rum, Vodka, orange juice) – Maternity leave over, I couldn’t bear to return to work and leave the little one behind, so I gave it up for nearly three years. Only one income and an economically crippling baby, we were ‘brassic’ for a while. But we had a new little cheeky money in our midst.

Chocolate kiss (Peppermint Schnapps, coffee liqueur, hot chocolate and whipped cream) – Life’s started getting back on track. It’s sweet most of the time and a bit murky at others. The cream on the top – my family.

Long Island Ice Tea (Gin, White rum, Tequila, Vodka, Triple Sec, Cola, lemon juice and sugar syrup) – This will be my retirement – a cocktail with a little bit of everything. A time to relax and reflect on a fulfilling life full of experiences.

Goodnight kiss (Champagne, Angostura bitters and Campari) – The time will come when it’s time to say goodbye to my sweet life.

The Ghost (Champagne and Midori) – For those of you who cross me, I could be back to haunt you.

Hell, if I can throw in a bit of Sex on the Beach along the way, it’ll be all the merrier.

This post was written for submission to the Yeah Write Challenge Grid #150.

I Bruise Easily – The Moonshine Grid

As I close the blinds in the kitchen and pull down my pyjama bottoms, I’m sure I see a hopeful glint in Rob’s eyes. Just as quickly the glint is extinguished as he looks down at the state of my legs. ‘Have you seen the size of this bruise?’ I ask. I turn my head and look down at the garish purple monstrosity on the back of my leg. In the middle, a nice gash, which I am now prodding to see if it hurts!

‘It’s a bit sore,’ I determine on closer inspection.

‘It looks it. You really do bruise far to easily,’ Rob responds.

I look down at the rest of my legs. Oh dear, it does look bad. If anyone sees me, they’ll think I’m a battered wife!

I feel frustrated that my ‘get fit’ attempts always seem to be thrown back in my face. These latest badges of honour are proof of my most recent obstacle course race. Who would have guessed that chasing a yeti could be so damaging for my health! I think back to the time I knocked my shin on the coffee table. Ignoring the bruise, I went for a run …. only to be faced with crippling pain and the golf ball sized lump of a hematoma! Cue …. me unable to walk, iced up to the nines and leg elevated for the next week! Then there was when I took up pole dancing. Two classes in, my legs looked like I’d had a serious disagreement with the pole! Cue …. a fond farewell to that hobby!

Rob’s words of wisdom – ‘Stop trying to be something you’re not. I’m not being nasty, but your body obviously just wasn’t made for being fit.’ Well, what was it made for exactly? Being fat and knackered? Destined to be a couch potato, dying a horrible death drowning in a bowl of popcorn?

I find myself reflecting on his unhelpful comment. Maybe I do struggle with my weight! Maybe I’m not overly fit! But what defines my capabilities? Should I give up at the first hurdle? What would the face of elite running look like today if Paula Radcliffe and Mo Farah had thrown in the towel every time they had an ache or pain.

Others may struggle with my ‘lack of fitting’ into my predefined societal box, but surely that is their issue? I know I’m overweight. I know I’m slow. I know I bruise easily! So, do I just say, ‘sod it, pass me the chocolate!’ and prove them all right? I’m not trying to be something I’m not. I’m just trying to make a few healthy improvements!

I might be 5 stone overweight – yet I wade through freezing lakes, climb over 20 foot cargo nets, run half marathons and chase yeti’s in the height of winter …. I am not a stereotype! I am ME! 🙂

In the words of the 19th century Danish philosopher and theologian, Søren Kierkegaard: “Once you label me you negate me.”

I humph off, my feet stomping up the stairs as I go.

‘What are you doing?’ Rob calls.

‘Getting ready to go for a run.’

I just hope this time it doesn’t bring on a hematoma!

Bring it on!
Bring it on!
My badges of honour!
My badges of honour!

This post has been edited in line with recommendations from the Yeah Write weekly challenge team for submission to this weekend’s Moonshine Grid.

I Bruise Easily

As I close the blinds in the kitchen and pull down my pyjama bottoms, I’m sure I see a questioning glint in Rob’s eyes. Just as quickly the glint is extinguished as he looks down at the state of my legs. ‘Have you seen the size of this bruise?’ I ask. I turn my head and look down at the garish purple monstrosity on the back on my leg. In the middle, a nice gash, which I am now prodding to see if it hurts!

‘It’s a bit sore,’ I determine on closer inspection.

‘It looks it. You really do bruise far to easily,’ Rob responds.

I look down at the rest of my legs. Oh dear, it does look bad. If anyone sees me, they’ll think I’m a battered wife!

I feel frustrated that my attempts at getting fit always seem to be thrown back in my face. These latest badges of honour are proof of my most recent obstacle course race. Who would have guessed that chasing a yeti could be so damaging for my health! I think back to the time I knocked my shin on the coffee table. Ignoring the bruise, I went for a run …. only to be faced with crippling pain and the golf ball sized lump of a hematoma! Cue …. me unable to walk, iced up to the nines and leg elevated for the next week! Then there was when I took up pole dancing. Two classes in, my legs looked like I’d had a serious disagreement with the pole! Cue …. a fond farewell to that hobby!

Rob’s words of wisdom – ‘Stop trying to be something you’re not. I’m not being nasty, but your body obviously just wasn’t made for being fit.’ Well, what was it made for exactly? Being fat and knackered? Destined to be a couch potato, dying a horrible death drowning in a bowl of popcorn? I find myself thinking about my latest ‘sport’. Maybe I should tone things down a bit? No, wait, I enjoy it. How am I ever going to overcome these impediments if I don’t persevere? I wade through freezing lakes, climb over 20 foot cargo nets and chase yeti’s in the height of winter …. I am not someone who gives up at the first hurdle. My new motto is going to be – ‘adapt, improvise and overcome!’

I humph off, my feet stomping up the stairs as I go.

‘What are you doing?’ Rob calls.

‘Getting ready to go for a run.’

I just hope this time I don’t bring on another hematoma!

Bring it on!
Bring it on!
My badges of honour!
My badges of honour!