Laughter, Uncategorized, Writing

Knock knock, who’s there?

They turned up at the group, the usual suspects. They stood outside the meeting place, hands in pockets, shuffling around, looking shiftily at one another, nodding as a new person joined the troupe.

‘Cold tonight’ one said – the breath blowing out of their mouth like smoke from a steam train.

Of course it was cold, it was December, and it was Surbiton!

The boss turned up, keys in hand, fingerless gloves, and scarf covering half their face. They weren’t sure who it was letting them in, they were confident it was the boss. They nodded in acknowledgment.

‘Cold tonight’ the boss said – obviously, it was December and it was Surbiton.

The room was cold, but they had made a determined effort to meet for the last time. Well, the last time before Christmas that was. The blinds were closed, it afforded them some privacy. The door shut behind the last member.  Click.

They sat on the hard chairs made of ice, ice coloured metal, frosty blue, slate grey, snow white. She wasn’t there- but had left her chair behind on her last visit! They shuffled about, making themselves comfortable, they would be shuffling for a long time!

Knock. Knock. Knock.

They looked around the table at one another, shrugged, and carried on.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Must be the heating – they said.

What heating – it was freezing, it was December and it was Surbiton!

Knock. Knock. Knock.

They decided to investigate – pushing their chairs back, they moved en-mass towards the cellar door, seemingly where the noise was coming from.

Left right, left right they moved down the stairs as one, into the dark cold room.

Of course it was cold, it was December and it was Surbiton!

‘I’ve got a torch’ one of them said, and dragged the huge bunch of jailers’ keys from her bag. A tiny little key fob torch lit the far wall.

Knock. Knock. Knock!  Insistent.

Panning the white back wall, the pin point of light shining at…nothing….except a huge safe. Green like a sullen giant in the corner. Its big bulk casting shadows over the cold slate floor.

Of course it was cold, there was no heat, they were in the cellar, it was December and it was Surbiton!

The safe door was open, slowly creaking back and fore on its hinges, a crumpled piece of paper lay in front of the swinging door, on the floor. The boss walked over and picked it up, smoothing it out with the fingerless finger gloved hands! It read simply –

Don’t forget Monday 5th December.

They looked at one another.

That was today. They realised the knocking at stopped. They looked at one another again, a look of confusion and fear on their faces. What was going to happen today? Where was the knocking coming from! They turned and moved quickly to the stairs, at the same time as they heard a crash from the room upstairs.

The cellar suddenly became colder, if that was possible. After all it was December and they were in Surbiton!

As quickly as their quaking legs would move, they left right, left righted up the stairs, and into the bright light of the main room. They looked at one other, and looked around. The lady with the light pointed to the table. ‘Look’ her voice quavering. There – in the middle was a tin. A gaudy Christmas tin. They looked at one another again, a look of horror on their faces.

Questions they wanted to ask. What was the strange knocking? Where had the mysterious tin appeared from? What was in it?

Why it was so cold all of a sudden, was it just because it was December and it was Surbiton? Would they ever know!

Walking down the street, wrapped in a long coat of red velvet was a whitehaired man, his wispy beard waving in the cold wind. It was December and it was Surbiton. He scratched his head in confusion, as he made his way to the local hostelry looking for some comfort and a warm drink of something.

‘Funny’ he said, I’m sure they would have been there tonight. I wonder where they have gone.

Gone for a walk probably, although its cold, its December and we are in Surbiton!

Oh well, someone will eat the mince pies I’m sure.

 

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Uncategorized

The Seethingographer, Issue 1, Winter 2016

And what a 6 months of inspiration it has been! I have certainly been in awe of the talent and diversity of styles of my co-writers in the group. You are all truly wordsmiths. From the poets who dig deep in their soul to the eloquent snippets of disjointed single words that flow together and make us thoughtful. From the comedy writers to the collectors of thoughts! The doodlers and the artists, together we are magical. And you all give me inspiration!

seethingography

The Seethingographer Chapbook The Seethingographer Chapbook

The Seethingographer is a ‘compact and bijou’ anthology of some of the writing and images from the Seethingography blog, written by Seething Writers, or about Seething in some way (which of course, has no boundaries…). With contributions from Sharon Zeqiri, Sinead Keegan, Lisa Davison, Simon Tyrrell, The Historier, Paul Miner, Robin Rutherford and Katharine Scott.

This is an A6, full colour chapbook, published by Sampson Low Ltd, under the brand new Seethingography imprint, where more work by Seething Writers, or about Seething will be published in the future.

The chapbook was launched on Thursday December 1st, as part of the fantastic Collect Connect retrospective exhibition currently on at Kensington and Chelsea College.

There will also be a Seethingographer launch at the Seething Writers Make Merry event, which is FREE, and takes place on Monday 5th December at the Museum of Futures in Surbiton, from 7.30pm…

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