Stories of Jancis

Coming Novermber 2010

2010-10-30T23:46:00.002+01:00

You read it during his Gap Year.

You lost interest when he went to university and called the project “a time filler.”

Now marvel as Jancis finally gets round to finishing (and rewriting) the story of “SAMUEL .T. FITCHER, SUPERNATURAL DEALER WITH". (It's what it says on his door!)

BEGINS NOVEMBER 2010.

(NaNoWriMo)

The Curse of Four

2010-07-12T16:35:00.000+01:00

So last Wednesday, I was sat at my friend Milly’s while we watched ‘Mr and Mrs Smith’ (It was on and it’s called being social? Human interaction?....I don’t know.) Anyway, I checked my Facebook on my phone to have this from Amy.
i think i need tom to tell me another bedtime story (:
And then she appealed to me in a way you can never refuse:

Kind sir, I would like to request, if you please, the honour of your storytelling skills upon my status, if you would be so kind it would indeed make this fair maiden very happy :)!

So I wrote the following on my Blackberry as Angelina Jolie shot people.
Once there was a wild dog who hated the spider god Annansi.
So he put a curse on the number four.
How and why he did this is frankly up for much debate. But do so he did.
So the dog got four pots and called to Annansi "How many pots do I have?"
The spider sat on one of the pots and thought deeply. "Friend Dog, there are one, two, three and the one I'm sitting on."... See more
The dog snorted in anger "Get off and count again."
So he did. "Now how many are there?"
"One, two, three and the one I was sat on."
Dog was fuming. "How. Many. Pots?" "Three and one other."
"NO!" screamed Dog "There are four."
And with that, he fell down dead. And the strange thing was that no one had told the Spider God of the curse. He was just a little annoying.
So how about that? That do?

Not too bad for what amounts to a long text.
Now WHY I told her this one is a good question.
I fear I don’t want her sleeping. Which means even more stories. Iz so smarts!
Other news, I have sent in the final first draft of my play. I can have my summer...to write my other scripts.
Might go for a swim.
Who knows?

'Claude the Duck' AND 'The Ghost Party'

2010-07-01T02:26:00.000+01:00

So it looks like I’m back. Hello all.
I’ve been oh so busy writing my script and being in plays and just generally being busy, I have not had much time to scribble stories.
Until a few nights ago.
My friend Amy was unable to sleep. I felt as we were so close (I punched her in the bum to get her up a ladder to get her on the wings of a Hawker Hurricane Mark I; a special bond few share) that I would tell her a story. And...well, this happened!

Once upon a time there was a duck. And the duck’s name was Claude.
Now Claude the duck had a problem. He was missing his wellington boots. Now you might say ‘Tom, ducks do not need booties. They have naturally wet surviving feet’. But Claude was a duck of style and had a fine pair of big red wellies, perfect for marching through the deepest of puddles. Until he lost them.
He looked high and he looked low. He looked under his bed, he looked in his cupboard, he even looked in the fridge.
‘Oh where these wellies be?’ he cried.
He asked the postman ‘Have you seen my wellies?’ But the postman hadn’t seen them.
He asked Mr Hoots, the owl. But the owl had not seen them.
He asked the tugboat captain. But the tugboat captain had not seen them.
Poor little Claude was heartbroken. He sat down on the bank and he began to cry.
‘Why are you crying?’ asked his mother.
‘I have lost my boots’ said Claude.
‘Oh Claude,’ said his mother. ‘I took them to be polished at the bootmakers.’
There were his boots! He hadn’t lost them!
He was so happy!
And Claude stopped crying and marched around all the finest puddles in his shiny red boots.

You asleep yet? Are you?

(... where did THAT come from!? I seem to think you're five! Oh well, glad he found the boots!)

That put her to sleep. But then my other friend Simon (I have never punched him) wanted one. I, thinking a lad would not be so keen on duckie tales, threw out this.

A couple of years ago I was walking along an old country lane just minding my own business when I saw a woman in a flowing dress crying on the side of the road.
Being the gent I am, I stopped and said ‘Why are you crying, miss?’
She looked up, her eyes full of tears and I could see right to the road behind her.
‘Oh, sir,’ says she ‘I am supposed to... See more go to the Haunted Party with a vampire boy but he has decided to leave me sitting on this stone.’
I scratched my chin. ‘I’m free tonight. Would you like to go with me?’
The ghost smiled. ‘Oh yes!’
So we went to the spooky party. There were monsters of all shapes and sizes and all the lemonade we could want.
The ghost suddenly gasped during the waltz. ‘There is that mean old vampire.’
He was surrounded by his friends and when he saw my friend he put back his head and laughed like this ‘BWAH HA HA!’
I frowned at his rudeness and went over.
‘Sir, you have insulted this fine spectre.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Und vhat do you intend to do, human?’
‘I boxed at Eaton’ says I and poked him in the nose. (Don’t hit people kids. It is bad. I can only do so because he was a vampire.)
‘Now say you’re sorry,’ I said.
‘Soggy!’ he grumbled.
‘Like you mean it,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the vampire.
‘I forgive you ‘ said the ghost.
‘Vould you like to dance?’ asked the vampire.
She did and first she thanked me. ‘I am sorry that I made you come here tonight.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said ‘It was a lovely time and anyway, it is a terrible thing to go to a party with no-BODY.’

Now off to bed, ya wee scamps.
*sniff* They grow so fast.

O-HO! Awful puns for all.
Okay, so...just thought I’d tell you my stories.
...
How are you?

Character Blog: LAST TIME I ORDER CHINESE!

2009-10-07T23:50:00.001+01:00

Been a wee bit lax with the writing.
BUT!
You can enjoy THIS which is a link to a ‘in-character blog’ for Angel Between the Lines.
SUBSCRIBE NOW!

Promise I will write something else soon.
NaNoWriMo is coming up anyway so look forward to that!

Let's To It Pell-Mell

2009-06-25T02:50:00.000+01:00

This is an entry in a competition about something falling or been thrown off a roof.
My original idea was two mobsters tussling on the edge of a roof.
The title comes from the ending of the film of "Richard III".
After helping Ben with his presentation and seeing that bit thirty times it kinda of stuck with me as the ultimate “I’m going to fall off the roof” line.

N.B Jancis' Ficly as a woman… AND IT’S EXACTLY THE SAME AS HIS MALE VOICE. SUCH TALENT!!!1

Let's To It Pell-Mell
“Revenge,” I say simply.
My father turns to look at me, beer in hand.
“What did you just say?” he asks taking a sip while admiring the view from my rooftop garden. We can see all the way to the 02 arena from up here.
“I know what happened.” I take a breath and close my eyes. “I know what happened to Mike. What happened to him on that fishing trip. Hell, I know what happened on all those ‘fishing trips’.”
When I open my eyes he’s looking at me with fear and know it’s true. I know what I need do.
“Lucy, I,” he begins.
With a feral yell, I charge him. Momentum carries me on and I have a pleasing pain in my fist as I smack him.
He grabs at me and drags me back with him. I slap at him and he careens over the edge.
My arms windmill in the air as I try to balance.
I have one last delicious moment as I watch my dear old dad break on the pavement below me before I too succumb to the drag of the ground.
I try to remember a proverb I once heard about digging two graves but frankly it doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

How I Met Your Mother

2009-06-25T01:40:00.000+01:00

When I have the misfortune/great joy (in that order) of having kids, they will ask me "Papa. How did you meet Mama?" (some reason I have French kids...I don't know. Just go with it.)
Anyway, I shall take them on my knee and say “My children. My precious Babushkas.” (I have poor understanding of Russian) “Let me tell you the story. And, for added fun, I shall do it in six words.”

How I Met Your Mother
She stole my heart and wallet.

Please note the ramble is 13 times longer than the story. Funny that. (It's really not.)
Anyway, Orwell is famous for his six word story “For sale: baby shoes, never worn."
This was mine for a challenge.

You Get What You Pay For

2009-06-24T19:56:00.000+01:00

The idea for this one came to me around four o’clock on a sleepless night with the immortal words “Well, it’s not murder if they’re already dead”.
You Get What You Pay For
I open the door and the girl enters.
She is pale with long dark red hair. Can’t be a day over nineteen.
I close the door.
“I,” she starts but I wave my hand.
“Take your clothes off,” I command.
She removes her tank top and skirt as I slip off my belt.
“Lie down.”
She makes to but I quickly whip the belt around her slender neck and pull.
She thrashes but I don’t stop until she is still.

When I return from the bathroom, the girl is sitting up, belt still around her neck.
She smiles nervously and I throw the money at her.
She counts quickly then slowly looks up at me.
“Can,” she pauses and looks up at my wrist “Can I?”
Sighing, I pull up my sleeve and fall limply into the chair.
“Knock yourself out,” I mutter.
With a squeal the girl climbs off the bed.
She kisses the underside of my wrist and I feel it going numb.
Then she bites down into my flesh and begins to suckle.

I know I am wrong and twisted.
I know I shouldn’t get my thrills like this.
Might as well do it on someone who’s not going to complain.

The Violet Fox

2009-06-24T19:44:00.000+01:00

Hey folks. Long time eh. Miss me?
I have now signed onto the website Ficly but I am doing my usual fun commentary by reposting them here.
So here we go.
Story Uno.

I was browsing Facebook when I saw a girl named Violet Fox. “What a great name,” says I.
Then Tim made an ungodly noise, a scream like a pig in pain. This was clearly the creature’s call!
Thus was born the abomination known as only as “The Violet Fox”.
Tim has also written a story and forced me to make it as a drabble (100 word story).
Enjoy.

The Violet Fox
The creature was of such beauty that my heart stopped for a few seconds.
I was in the woods hunting for deer, using a longbow. After hiding for hours I was shocked when the fox wandered up to me.
It was like a normal fox, small and bushy except for where it should have been red, it was a beautiful violet.
It opened its mouth and a high guttural shriek filled the forest. In my shock and terror I let my fingers go and an arrow pierced the creature’s skull.
I think it was for the best.

The Missing Chapter of ‘The Fall of Ethan Quayle (Evil Scientist)’.

2009-02-07T16:16:00.000Z

So it finally comes to this.
The moment you have been waiting for.
An extract from my book ‘The Fall of Ethan Quayle (Evil Scientist)’.
Well…thing is…this isn’t going to be in the book.
I know. I know. Stop yelling.

What happened was this:
The chapter falls at 21 of the 46 chapters (excluding the Interludes, the Prologue and the Epilogue).
When I was writing it, I was getting tired and was getting to the hump point. Do I break through the wall or just quit?
So I wrote a completely zany and pointless chapter. No plot, no characterisation, just a random interlude in Ethan’s life.
Now, this still happened in the story. It’s just not in the book. Consider this an episode of Quayle: Between the Lines. (Don’t. Tabz would sue me for taking the name. She would do so very nicely but still I would lose.)

Another way I kept myself sane was by creating cameos in the book. Sarah and Mark I went to school with. (Sarah just might make an army if given the chance.)
Roy is on my Performance Course.

So sit back, get some hot chocolate and enjoy.

Chapter 21- In Which I Have One of the Strangest Days of my Life
I was sitting in a coffee bar watching a couple slowly kiss. Not that I went to coffee bars for that sort of thing. It was just that they were making such a spectacle of themselves I couldn’t help but watch. I turned away from them to admire the view outside. People walking back and forth in the street. Fascinating.
I was about to turn back to the couple when I spotted something move out of the corner of my eye. It looked like a black dome walking past the window. People in the street were stopping and looking amazed at the dome. Getting to my feet I went outside to investigate.
It was a penguin. The location, the temperature, the pure improbability? What were the chances? Many things were amazing about all of this. But here it was. There was a penguin in the middle of the street.
Around me I heard the cars slow down and the click of camera phones.
“Has it escaped from the zoo?” a business woman asked.
“Why is there a penguin?” a school kid questioned.
“SATAN! EVIL! SPAWN” screamed the homeless guy who had been panhandling before something more interesting distracted his potential benefactors from his craziness.
“Should we call the police or something?” a builder inquired.
“AND SHRIMP!” the homeless man contributed.
“Do not fear my penguin” came a voice from above us.
The crowd looked up at the roof of the coffee shop. A woman was standing there, her arms on her hips in the traditional heroic manner. She even had a costume consisting of a large cloak of black and white feathers. This was over her rather disappointingly pedestrian jeans and t-shirt combination. Seeing that we were looking at her, she smiled a cocky smile.
“Don’t be scared. My army of penguins have taken this city with their waddling powers.”
She pointed dramatically at the shop window across the road. All of a sudden, four penguins waddled from the alleyway. They looked up at her and when she gave the nod they leapt at the window. It shattered and the crowd gasped.
“PRUNES!” the homeless guy yelled.
We were all relieved when all four popped back up, unharmed. Because who cares about property damage if some cute birds are hurt?
“My feathered horde,” the woman looked confused for a moment as she scanned the crowd, until her eyes settled on the businesswoman and she commanded “take that woman’s purse.”
The businesswoman held her bag to her chest and looked irritated. She began to kick at the birds that were vainly trying to get to the bag by jumping and flapping. Their lack of flight was clearly hindering their mugging abilities.
We booed as she got in a hard kick on the face of one of the shortest penguins. It fell over and landed on its bum. A small girl hurried over and took the bird in her arms.
“You meanie,” she whined at the businesswoman, who look incensed that the crowd was turning against her.
“Does no one care I’m being robbed?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
She snarled at me. I shrugged unapologetically.
“It’s true. They care much more about the tiny little birds than your purse.”

“Sarah?” came a voice from the back of the crowd.
The crowd parted to reveal the speaker. He was a bearded student who appeared to be holding a bag of clothes.
“Mark?” the woman called.
“What you doing on the roof?” Mark asked, hands cupped to his mouth.
“I’m leading my penguin forces to ensure the downfall of the Western World.” Sarah pointed to a bin that one of the penguins had kicked over.
“You are teaching them to litter?” Mark asked, confused.
Sarah looked around embarrassed.
“I used that to prove a point.”
“You’re stupid,” Mark said, bluntly.
Sarah nodded at this and smiled.
Interesting relationship.
“Are you coming down?” Mark asked as he righted the bin. The penguin kicked it over again.
Sarah just pointed at the businesswoman who was leapt on by the birds. With a scream the woman disappeared in the pile. Within seconds, one of the birds popped up with the purse in its beak.

A young man with long hair stepped out of the crowd.
“I can help,” he said quietly.
Mark looked at him and nodded.
“Roy,” the man said as they shook hands.
Slipping his backpack off, he walked down the road and stopped in front of one of the buildings. He checked the wall for handholds and began to climb.
“What is going on down there?” Sarah yelled.
“We’re standing down here being amazed by the awesomeness of your birds.” Mark called.
“My Spheniscidae Soldiers,” she corrected.
“Sure,” Mark said.

As we watched, Roy climbed up onto the roof. We held our collective breaths as he crept up behind the woman. With a yell, he leapt and ripped her cloak off.
Sarah let out a gasp of surprise.
“Why did you that?”
He threw the cloak over the side of the building.
Sarah watched it fall into the garbage water below.
“Why did you do THAT?” she asked.
She looked around.
“Get him.”
The penguins climbed off the squished businesswoman and began to try get up to the roof. They gave up after a while. No flight or opposable thumbs.
“I thought the cloak was the source of your power,” Roy said amazed.

Sarah just pushed him off the roof.
“Not cool Sarah,” Mark yelled as we hurried for to see if the climber was okay.
“I panicked.” She seemed to be truly upset. I can attest to the annoyance of your plans being hindered by pesky passers-by.
Roy was lying on the cloak.
“I’m alright,” he murmured.
“Your arm’s broken,” I said. I just knew. I’m that good. That and the shiny white gleam visible through his shirt.
“It’s ok-“ he let out a small moan as he tried to move it “I’m okay. I do Parquor. I’ve done worse.”
“Par-what? I never heard of it” said the homeless guy whose insanity had been overwhelmed by events.
“Parquor. It means he climbs buildings for kicks,” one of the coffeeshop workers said.
“You want me to fix it?” I asked.
“Can you?” he replied.

Ripping up his shirt, I succeeded in making a sling for him. He thanked me and with the help of some of the crowd was taken to see a doctor.

“Is he okay?” Sarah called.
“How did you get up there in the first place?” Mark asked.
“That ladder,” she said pointing to the corner of the roof.
There was a scuffle as some uniformed police burst from the crowd and headed for the ladder.
Sarah gaped at this turn of events.
With a whistle, she ran for the edge of the roof and swandived. The birds caught up below her perfectly and she landed on their backs.
She looked around until she saw her boyfriend.
“Mark,” she said holding out her hand.
He glanced around until his eyes settled on me.

I smiled sadly and nodded.
He smiled slightly and took her hand. They rode the army of twenty penguins down the high street pursued by policemen on feet.
The crowd didn’t disperse, still shaken by the events of the day.
“There she goes,” I said finally.
The homeless man nodded slowly.
“Too feathery to live, too flightless to die,” he said, very solemnly.
We all stood in awe of the deepness of the man’s philosophical insanity.

Silky Eyes

2009-01-22T22:11:00.000Z

Dated 22/01/09

This one is dedicated to Craig.
We were in a Burger King and I saw the girl behind the counter. She was kind of cute.
So I said to Craig ‘You know that a guy who works in this sort of place will never get a girl because he smells of grease. Yet the cute girls get hit on all the time.’
‘Not true. I pulled twice when I worked in McDonalds,’ he replies.
So I started to think about what I would say to this girl and what comes up in my mind but ‘She has silky eyes.’
Over the course of a Whopper I created something that resembles this story.
And then Craig said the vital words to me.
‘You really should write these things down, Jancis.’

Burger King Girl, you will probably never read this. You won’t remember me. But you were in the right place at the right time. And for that, you will have a spot in my heart.
(Also, I half dedicate this one to Niamh. She knew what the Selkie were as we hurried through the pouring rain. For what is better to hurry home through the rain then to do so with the offspring of the Sea Goddess?)

‘That woman has silky eyes’ Jancis says as we slip into the booth.
I put my tray on the table and look at him, bemused.
He nods his head to a point behind me. I turn around to look at where he is gesturing.
Behind the counter stands the server. She is about nineteen with dark hair pulled up. I can’t really judge her eyes from this distance.
Jancis raises an eyebrow at me as I turn back.
I shrug and he looks slightly putout by this.
Taking a bite of the burger, he tells me to go look.
‘And then what?’ I snort. ‘Say “Hey. Can I have your number and by the way did you know my friend thinks your eyes are like silk?”’
‘I would,’ he says finishing his mouthful.
‘Yes.’ I say sarcastically. ‘You would.’

We continue to eat our meal but soon we walk over to the side stand. I look around at the tubs of salt and sugar.
‘Where’s the ketchup?’ I ask.
Jancis gestures with his hand at the counter.
‘It’s behind the counter where it’s safe.’
I snort.
‘With the shotgun?’
Jancis gets that look in his eyes. As if to say ‘you have given me something to run wild with. Good on you!’ I hate that look sometimes. Earlier that day, he had managed to talk on and off for an hour about a guy being chased by a jealous Pegasus. And THAT had come about because he had claimed that there was no such thing as a white horse the day before.
Suffice to say, when Jancis gets one of those looks, you just let him rant until he catches up with himself and stops.
‘Yeah,’ he begins. ‘If this place gets knocked over, the ketchup’s the first thing they go for. With that stuff they don’t have to buy Heinz for months. A desperate commodity.’

He stops as a woman gives him an incredulous look as she walked towards the counter.
Jancis stares after the woman and watches as she is served by Silky Eyes.
‘I’m getting some ketchup,’ I say.
Jancis grins.
‘Tell her-’
‘No,’ I call over my shoulder as I walk over.
‘Hi’ I smile.
Silky just looks at me. I get a good look at her eyes. She seems sad and bored.
‘Can I have a packet of ketchup?’
Wordlessly, she ducks under the counter and deposits four sachets into my hand. We stand there for a second. The eyes seem expressive. They remind me of a puppy’s. I repress this thought and walk back to the table.

Jancis grins.
‘Well?’
I deposit the ketchup on the table as I slip back into my seat.
‘You were right. They DO keep the ketchup behind the counter.’
He swipes in my general direction with a snort of mock annoyance.
‘Not that. The eyes, man. The eyes!’
I squeeze the sauce over my bun.
‘Sure, they were nice. The whole package was nice. But silky? I wouldn’t say so.’ I shrug and take a bite.
Jancis leans back, stroking his chin. He seems to be contemplating this final piece of info. Within in twenty seconds he’s back.
He snaps his fingers, smacks the table and then points at me.
‘Not silky’ he whispers. ‘No. Not silky. Selkie.’

He says this as if this was supposed to mean something to me.
He moves his hand in a circle gesturing me to catch up with his logic.
‘Sel…kie?’ he says slowly.
‘Saying it slower isn’t going to make me remember, Jancis.’ I say drinking my coffee.
He rolls his eyes.
‘You don’t know about Selkies?’
I slurp the warm drink.
‘I take you are going to tell me all about them?’
‘Yep.’ He cracks his knuckles and starts.

‘Many years ago, this part of England was renowned for its seals. Fishermen would marvel, as the creatures would swim right next to their boats. It was believed they brought good luck to the town and to kill a seal was akin to sinning.
‘So it was that one moonlight, a fisherman named Joshua was walking along the beach when he heard the sound of female laughter. He looked around and realised it was coming from the other side of a sandy dune. So he crawled to the top to look down.’

I have to stop him.
‘Sandy? Jancis, have you SEEN the beaches around here?’
He glares at me. I put my hands up in surrender and he continues.

‘As I was saying, Joshua was hiding behind a SANDDUNE. So as he peered over the top, he was presented with a marvellous sight. Playing in the surf was a dozen naked women. Josh believed them to be the most beautiful woman he had even seen. They all have long flowing black dark hair and lithe athletic bodies. None of them looked a day over twenty-four.
‘The girls splashed in the ocean and ran about. Joshua crawled slightly higher to get a better view. In doing so, he saw that the other side of the dune was covered in large grey rugs. As he got closer, he could see that the rugs were in fact sealskins. Shocked, he grabbed one and lifted it up. He crawled slowly back down the dunes. Joshua intended to take it to the elders and report that someone had killed the city’s seals.
‘But he would have to wait for the morning when the town hall opened and so Joshua hid the skin in the attic. It was to his great shock that he was awoken from his slumber by a knocking at the door.
‘As he opened it, he saw that there was a woman at the door. She had long dark hair, smelt of seaweed and had large eyes full with sadness. She was also completely naked.
‘‘You have my skin,’ the girl said on the verge of tears.
‘Joshua blinked a few times wondering if he was dreaming.
‘‘Where have you hid it?’ the girl whimpered. ‘I want to go home.’
‘And so Joshua knew before him stood a Selkie, one of the mythical creatures able to turn from a seal to a human. He had rumours of their beauty and now there was one standing naked on his doorstep.
‘Now if you were presented with this predicament what would you do? Would you allow such a beautiful girl out of your reaches?’

He pauses and stares at me.
I am slightly startled by the intensity of the look as well as the sudden stop in the story.
‘Of course I would.’ I reply quickly.
Jancis nods. Clearly I have passed the test.
‘Point.’
I laugh in surprise.
‘For having morals?’
A shrug.
‘They deserve to be rewarded.’
Our meal is finished but Jancis isn’t.
He continues.

‘Anyway, Joshua was more of a son of a bitch then you are. He promised her the return of her skin if she was to do one small thing.
‘And that small thing, heh small thing. Anyway, having done the task, ha done. No, focus. Having completed the appointed task, Joshua dressed the girl. She struggled and kicked but eventually he was able to slip her into a very nice dress. That he appears to have kicking around. Like you do.
‘He named the girl Maria and the following day he took her to the local church. Because you are going to kidnap a mythical being, might as well clear it in the eyes of the Lord.
‘Every day Maria would ask ‘Please return my skin.’ And Joshua would say ‘Tomorrow. I shall do it tomorrow.’
‘For years this went on. Eventually Maria would stop asking for a skin but she would walk down to the beach and stare at the ocean. Many was the time Joshua paced the floor in worry just to have his wife return past midnight soaked to her shoes in brine.
‘The remains of her Selkie blood meant that Maria could not age. Eventually her children looked older then her and Joshua claimed she was his daughter.’

We really should be getting to our workshop and so I swallow this last amount of my coffee.
‘Let me guess.’ I say ‘She does some housework and finds the skin in the roof. So she returns to her home in the ocean?’
Jancis shakes his head slow and sadly.
‘Joshua had moved the skin to a secret hiding place the day he was married. He had been planning to tell Maria one day but he was killed tragically in a fishing accident. No matter how hard she looked she could never find that skin.’
Jancis leans back in his seat.
‘She tried for years and years and now she is stuck having to sell burgers to obese chavs.
‘Anyways, the Solent no longer has seals and the ocean is so polluted I don’t think she could return if she wanted.’
He looks up again at Silky Eyes, his own eyes looking forlorn at the girl.
Eventually he smiles a small smile and shakes his head.
‘Of course that’s my theory. Maybe she’s just a sad looking teenager getting a bit of cash?’
He gets to his feet and we head for the door.
We both nod deeply to Silky. She looks startled and manages a small wave.
We walk out into the cold January night but just before the door closes I swear I catch the smell of seaweed.

My Coat Poem

2009-01-21T22:33:00.000Z

Dated 11/01/09
When someone asks you about a possession, for example your coat, and how you got it you have two choices.
Sometimes you want to tell him or her about it. The way you like the shape and colour and pockets.
And sometimes you want to sit down and write a poem to the beat of ‘The Irish Rover’ at two in the morning.
This was one of the later moments.

My jacket eh?
It's quite a tale.

It was the year of our lord two thousand and four
I’d set sail from the cold quay of Poole.
I had boarded a ship to get off shore
And fled to the sea like a fool.

I got one good look and with anger I shook
While cursing my poor luck.
It was a hobbled old craft and had one life raft
And they called “The Crippled Duck”

It was a hellish old trip
And I worked as a cook.
I paid my way with three meals a day.
Most of which I got from a book.

“How to Serve Man”. At least that was the plan.
I tried to keep it fresh
But the crew did riot and I had to change the diet.
They had got sick of mouldy manflesh.

I got bored one day and went down below
And what was it that I did see?
A fine trenchcoat and slipping it on I did gloat
Crying “This here is the coat for me!”

Then I felt a hand on my back. Across my jaw, I was smack.
I felt this was a little hostile.
I was dragged back above and hit the deck with a shove
So I stood there on trial.

“We have a thief!” the crew did yell.
I was to be to hoisted up on the mast.
The captainman roared “Toss him overboard.”
I had to think of a plan quick fast

I grabbed some broken glass and woe and alas,
I slit the bugger’s throat
I swam for the shore and I don’t sail no more.
And that is how I got my coat.

Yet another blog?

2009-01-21T22:16:00.000Z

Yes.
Another blog.
But why?
Good question.
Now the thing is, you see, I am a writer.
Shocker. I know.
Yet I continue on.
You see, I don’t have anywhere to put all the little things I write.
(All the non-Fitcher files things that is. Can you say indefinite hiatus?)
So I want to keep my main blog about me.
So this one is now about me. But not.
Which is awesome.

If I should so feel like it, maybe I’ll even toss in a commentary or two.

In simple words, I need another outlet to show off in.
So enjoy.