Inspiration, Laughter, real life, Uncategorized, Whatever, women, Writing

Is it twilight or night time?

That time of night when the bedroom is dark, but just light enough for you to get out of bed without banging your foot on the bed side table, or falling over the random pair of shoes you have left under the radiator.

Enough light for you to head down the stairs to the peace of the kitchen to make a sneaky cup of tea and toast.

What are you doing!!!!! It 4am.

It shouldn’t be any time to be creeping around the house. It should be the time you are snuggled up in bed – asleep. Not tonight though. You wake up for some unknown reason, and that’s it…..

If you were an author and writing a book about those romantic twilight hours when the world is asleep, but animals and young lovers are bight eyed and busy tailed, it would sound plausible. But I’m not an author. I’m not writing a book about the misty twilight hours. I’m writing about the night time- yes lets address this as it is. The middle of the night when the rest of the northern hemisphere should be asleep – and you are awake!

Shall we start this again?

That time of night when the bedroom is dark, and cold. The light from outside fights its way through the blinds, and as you turn around in bed for the 10th time at 3.30am it shines right in your eyes! Your husband’s phone has pinged a few times, and when you unplug your phone from the charger a WhatsApp message comes up and lights up the whole room. It’s from your son telling you he has landed in some far off place at 2.30! No wonder you are awake – it’s like Piccadilly Circus.

That’s its then. The ‘thought worm’ enters your head – well to be honest he is actually always there, but he loves the twilight hours! There is absolutely no chance of any sleep now.

Good Morning!

 

 

 

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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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