Muddy Paws the Great Dog Detective – the ear-y case of the missing Wednesday treats

A bit of fun - a bedtime story I wrote for my pups!

Muddy stretched his paws and arched his back easing out the knots of the day. It had been a busy one with a lost poodle found safely – silly girl had gotten herself locked in a shed after hiding from a cat. Seriously! He’d taken the trouble to see the cat off personally, it would be a while before it dared show its feline face in Daisy’s garden again – all part of the service and rather fun with it!

He was readying himself for a nap when a sharp bark announced a visitor to his detective establishment.

He cocked his ears in recognition. Why, if it wasn’t his good friend Molly! He was rather fond of this particular Golden Retriever. He had to admit that her locks and looks were rather compelling, but she was also pretty adorable in most ways. He was a bit smitten! He greeted her with a sniff and some serious tail wagging.

“How can I help you my dear Mollster?” he enquired with a cock of his head. “Or is this merely a social call?” Muddy rather hoped it was the latter. A snooze by the fire with Molly by his side would be most agreeable.

“Somebody keeps stealing my pigs’ ears!” announced his friend. “Every time my humans open the cupboard on Wednesdays…. That’s pigs ear day….. They have mysteriously disappeared!”

Muddy was shocked to the tip of his tail. This was most serious. The theft of a dog’s treat was not to be taken lightly – particularly if this was turning out to be a regular horror. He resolved to take the case immediately. “Leave it with me,” he declared. “I will give it my immediate attention.”

In fact, Muddy had a sneaking suspicion he knew who the culprit was and, picking up a bone to chew over the problem, he retreated to his favourite patch of floor by the fireplace to think things through while Molly headed home.

It was a source of constant surprise to Muddy how much the simple act of gnawing on a bone could help his cognitive process.

After giving his teeth and appetite a whet, Muddy pulled himself up to his not inconsiderable height – he was after all a quarter Great Dane and, putting his best paw forward (that would be front left), he headed out the door on the trail of the thieving culprit.

Following the delectable scent left by the deliciously delightful Molly he headed over to the abode she shared with her humans, canine brother in mischief, Gunner – a somewhat exuberant and rather well-built German Shepherd and a member of the lesser species known as cat.

Gunner greeted Muddy with his usual noise and enthusiasm. Muddy gave him a hard stare that knocked some of that out of him.

“What? Why?” stammered the big beast. Muddy looked deeply into the Shepherd’s brown eyes and slowly said two words. “Pigs ears”. He was testing the waters to see if his suspicions were well-founded. Gunner reacted not with the guilt that Muddy was expecting, instead his face reflecting the same level of consternation as his sister.

“Have you found who stole our pigs’ ears?” Gunner whimpered. Muddy immediately realized his mistake. In his rush to impress Molly, he had forgotten the first rule of detective work – gather all the available facts! He has failed to ask that all important question around if Molly herself had questioned her brother. Clearly, given the look of innocence on his whiskers, he was another victim of the dastardly thief. Muddy was back to the drawing board without so much as a pencil to scribble a theory!

All this consternation he kept to himself though. Instead, he merely sniffed the air to give the indication that he was about important detective business and followed his nose to the treat cupboard where there was alarming scent of cat lurking about. Could he have found the culprit now?

The fiend herself chose that moment to slink through the cat flap. She gave Muddy a look of disdain before beating a hasty retreat to the counter top and hissing at him. Muddy sighed. When would cats learn that they were the inferior species and should be neither seen nor heard? He took a risk and sniffed her, receiving a swipe to his nose in the process. Other than the pervading feline odour which was enough to put any self-respecting dog off his dinner, there was nothing porcine about her. Plus given her size, he did wonder at her capacity to devour one piggies ear, let alone two. Another dead end. This case was turning out to be most troublesome.

At that moment, one of the humans arrived home. As is tradition in the world of woof, much excitement was required to be demonstrated together with a chorus of questions as to why the four-legged members of the household had been abandoned for weeks, months or was it just a few hours? Muddy hid under the table – his presence in the house may have required some explanation which dogs struggle to communicate to their humans, them not yet aware that dogs have careers, let alone ones as detectives. Within a few minutes though the mayhem had eased down a decibel or two and Muddy was able to assess the situation from the shadows. His hound’s nose had detected something rather important that was lurking at the bottom of a shopping bag. Mixed with the scents of tripe, liver and marrowbone was the unmistakable odour of pig! A new supply of ears had arrived. This would be the perfect opportunity to catch the thief in action! He settled down to watch and wait. Fortunately for Muddy it was Wednesday and not Thursday or that could have been a long and hungry stake out!

The female human busied herself in the kitchen. Muddy did not take his eyes off her. A quantity of meat that set Muddy’s saliva glands drooling found a home in the freezer with a tempting pile also left out to reach room temperature. Muddy was glad he was such a trustworthy dog, or he’d be needing to investigate himself for theft! He studiously ignored the gourmet meal defrosting in front of his fangs and refocused his attention on the human. She opened the treat cupboard and in went the bones…

Muddy was vaguely aware of the sound of an engine approaching but failed to realise the significance of the noise until both Molly and Gunner erupted in a further cacophony of barking and bemoaning their abandonment. Poor Muddy’s hit head the underside of the table as he leapt in shock. By the time he had regained his composure and the stars circling his ears had retreated back to the sky, the shopping had all been unpacked and both humans were staring at the picture box in the corner of the room with dogs draped over them in supplicated joy. An ideal time for a thief to strike thought Muddy. He began his stakeout in earnest. The culprit would be caught and held to account – Muddy was determined and when he was in this frame of mind nothing would get in his way!

“Did you give the dogs their pig ears?” asked the male human of the female. “No, I just put them away” she replied. “I actually forgot it was Wednesday!” The man moaned a bit then creaked his body into a standing position and shuffled into the kitchen in the direction of the cupboard. Muddy was confident that all would be well. This week at least Molly and Gunner would be chewing happily on the greasy gristle.

However, Muddy could not have been more wrong! The human was rummaging in the cupboard for far too long. He pulled out biscuits and bones and even food for the cat. Muddy couldn’t believe his whiskers. The pigs ears had gone again – and right under his nose! It couldn’t be happening! His reputation would be in tatters. Not only had he failed to apprehend the criminal but had allowed them to strike while he was on duty. He was so flabbergasted that he forgot his stealth mission and broke cover much to the confusion of the humans who had never met a dog detective before, let alone one of Muddy’s standing and size.

Of course, a situation such as this required a great deal of barking and it took a while for the humans to realise that Muddy was friend rather than foe. Thankfully Molly’s wagging tail helped eventually convince them of this fact; that and the fact that Gunner was sucking his bear and not the life out of Muddy. Just to be on the safe side, Muddy also employed his big soft-eyed look and rolled over on his back presenting his ample belly for a tickle. In fact, this tactic was so successful that it resulted in the somewhat surprising solving of the case and, more importantly, something rather delicious for Muddy.

The female human was so taken by Muddy’s behaviour that she offered to fetch him a pig’s ear! Seems that she had discovered something of a glut of them in the house. Unbeknown to anyone else in the family, she had – for reasons which are the sole preserve of the female human species and remain a mystery to both dogs and men alike – CHANGED THE PLACE WHERE THE PIGS EARS WERE KEPT! And worse, she had put them inside an airtight container thus hiding both sight and smell of the Wednesday treats. There was no and never had been a thief!

For some time after there was no sound in the house but the contented chewing of three large ears. Shortly after that, Muddy’s humans appeared at the door having been summoned by calling his office number (worn proudly on his collar). He bade his farewells to his hosts promising to keep an eye out for his pals in the park over the coming days when they could relive the tale and taste of the adventure!

As he settled into the warm and slightly smelly comfort of his bed that night, Muddy reflected on the day and the mysterious behaviour of humans. Frankly he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to put a pig’s ear anywhere other than in a dog’s mouth in the first place but his was not to reason why! He gave a big yawn and a sleepy wag of his tail, rested his head on his tatty stuffed bear – called Sherlock naturally – and fell fast asleep!

The End.

 

The offensive

 The soldiers silently waited, ready for the signal that would start the offensive.

The mission was one of attack and rescue. It was one they had done before, in fact many times. It should be straightforward. In. Out. Home.

Sarge looked at the motley crew that made up his squadron. They hadn’t lost a man yet and they didn’t intend to tonight. Sure, there were a few battle scars between them, but they were worn like badges of honour – with true pride. His men were made of stern stuff, they trusted each other more than family. It was what kept them alive.

They were hidden in the undergrowth. Corporal Jones was their eyes, his long-range binoculars trained on the enemy position. He reported that two guards patrolled the perimeter, but other than that security seemed lax.

Sarge didn’t like that. He smelt the sweet stench of a trap. He was no fool. They would approach assuming the worst.

Darkness fell and the troop grew restless. At last it was time. One by one each of the soldiers crept forward across the rough terrain. Silent as stars they moved undetected, their camouflage blending them perfectly into their surroundings. Using owl hoots and a series of harmless-sounding chirps they communicated their progress to each other.

Slowly, stealthily they approached their targets.

Meanwhile Jessie, tied up and alone in the dark was trying in vain to escape from the tough old ropes that bound her to the chair. She slumped down feigning exhaustion in the hope that her captors might leave her alone. All afternoon she had held out as they determined to discover her true identity. It would not be long before she broke… She only hoped that help was on its way.

It was.

Right at that moment Sarge and his troop were scaling the sofa. Mrs Potato Head was climbing on Ellie’s back, using her trunk as leverage. Cheeky Monkey swung up the cushions with Sarge hanging onto his tail and Tigger bounced right on up as if he scaled impenetrable fortresses every day!

The guards didn’t stand a chance. Eeyore just lay down and went to sleep and Sammy the snake slithered off down the back of the sofa to hide among the crumbs and pennies.

Billy reached under the old shoe box and grabbed Jessie. At that moment Wendy came into the lounge and, taking one look at her beloved Jessie tied up in a chair, burst into tears…

“Mum” she wailed. Billy’s been kidnapping Jessie again…

Billy sighed and thought that maybe next time he’d use tell-tale Wendy as his kidnap victim. And he’d tell Sarge to take his time over the rescue…

Fact or Fiction?

 

I love to draw and paint faces. It’s an act of creation, of bringing a person to life. I rarely paint ‘real’ people though, instead preferring to allow a form of fiction to tell its story through colour and line. Seeing an eye peer at me from the page really does open a window to a soul revealed. I like it when they smirk at me too as if hiding their secrets from the vessel that pulled them from a hidden place and gave them form.

Last week though I took a break from pencils and brushes and my ‘art’ came to me through my fingertips when personalities were created by tapping out their DNA on the keyboard.

When I’m in the fiction flow the characters more often than not create themselves. I sometimes read stuff back and wonder where on earth it came from. These mystical folk seem to tell me who they are and who they are going to be. Their features take shape in my imagination without any help from me. It’s as if they have been waiting in the wings for their cue. They know their lines, their costumes and make up is in place. I just have to give them the signal to step onto the stage.

I love it! It feels great … when it happens … when I let it …

Why then is the dressing room so crowded as the novels I keep starting or dream of writing stay back of mind? Am I scared of failing my characters, of drying up in front of my audience and turning into a gibbering wordless wreck?

Writing these daily prompts are at least helping me to put a spotlight on my stagnation and scare the fear back under the bed where it belongs. I have managed three short stories in the last week. But then, in the last couple of days, stage fright hit again. It is so much easier to write a blog post or a silly poem.

Is ‘fiction’ actually the story I tell myself as to why I can’t get that novel down on paper?

Vegetables

Billy hated vegetables with a passion. Especially the green ones. Broccoli with its hard stalks and soggy ends, a million varieties of cabbage that all tasted like… well cabbage… Sprouts of course are just miniature versions of the giant green footballs and should be shot like the bullets they are as far away from dinner plates as they can possibly go.

Courgettes always looked promising but turned to the texture of glue once in his mouth. Peas were OK at a push – a push around the plate and surreptitiously off the side.

It was nearly time for Sunday lunch and Billy had made a sneaky foray into the kitchen to check out the contents of the chopping board and various saucepans. It was not looking good. Mum had hurried him out before he’d had chance for a proper look, but there was definitely something green on the counter top and he was sure he caught a whiff of cabbage in the air. He was dreading sitting down at the table.

Up until recently the dog had been his ally, happily snapping up falling bits of vegetation that somehow made their way off the edge of the table. But Pongo was living up to her name and on a strict dry diet because of it. Mum shut her out of the dining room at meal times. She whined and scratched at the door. Billy felt sorry for her, but was truthfully more upset that his only meal-time friend had been banished.

Inevitably the moment came when they were called to their seats. Billy tried to smile and look happy but until he saw what was in those serving dishes his nerves were a wreck. He reached for Sue’s hand hoping for a bit of solidarity but she pulled it away and glared at him. Sue loved vegetables, she was quite strange in that sense.

Dad brought in a joint of beef. It gave off a heat haze scented with merlot and thyme. Billy salivated. He noticed that he was the only one not to have a plate, but then Mum appeared behind him and placed in front of him a smiley face made from carrots, baked beans and sweetcorn with mashed potato for hair.

“There you go son” she winked. Your vegetables, just as you like them.

Sue, Billy’s wife burst out laughing. “You spoil him” she gently admonished her mother-in-law before reaching over to give Billy an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

Billy ignored them, piling his plate with roasties and drowning everything in gravy. A couple of carrots fell under his plate. He hoped nobody noticed…

The Neighbours

The neighbours were always banging about at all hours. Trevor despaired at the terrible cacophony that disturbed his sleep yet again. There was a constant barrage of thumping, shouting, rattling, banging, music and mayhem. Was he the only one that liked a bit of peace of quiet around here?

He wished for the umpteenth time that he had never moved into this neighbourhood but he was too old and tired to move again. Instead he resigned himself to another ruined rest and, easing his aching limbs slowly into movement he made his way to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. There wasn’t much to choose from. There was a fresh pot of peanut butter but he couldn’t get the lid off. He stuck to bread and sipped at the lukewarm cup of tea that Lucy had abandoned before rushing off to school.

The day stretched out in front of him bereft of suitable entertainment. He missed Lucy when she was at school, despite the fact that oftentimes she made more noise than a whole street of neighbours put together.

Speaking of which, perhaps he would pop next door and share his displeasure at this morning’s rude awakening – even if they ignored his noise protests he could at least have a nosey around at what was going on, there wasn’t much else to keep an old boy amused around here.

He let himself out of the back door and took a furtive look over their fence. Half of their kitchen appeared to be missing. A gangly youth in overalls carrying a plank of wood smiled at him and saluted. Trevor glared back rather pleased at the attention but certainly not about to show it. The youth wandered over, clearly in a more sociable mood than Trevor. His goofy smile didn’t shift even when Trevor started to complain in some detail about the importance of sleep patterns for the elderly and how much he disliked the noise of out of tune radios mixed with irregular hammer beats.

The youth reached over and tickled Trevor behind the ears. It immediately shut the old moggy up turning his indignant meows into a soothing purr. Maybe these neighbours weren’t so bad after all… at least until the next time they woke him up!

Upside Down

I'm taking a feral writing course - a bit of running about wild across the keyboard. I've become so stale, my writing joints have stiffened up and I needed the proverbial kick-up-the-backside to get going again.

So, the next three weeks promise 21 responses to prompts written in just 30 minutes.

We start today with a short story.


Upside-Down

Billy woke up upside down in bed. His feet had found the comfy spot on the pillow where hundreds of dreams had softened the fibres into the shape of his head. His top half was rather hot under the blankets and there was cat hair getting up his nose. No sign of Lottie though, she was no doubt about her morning business terrorising the neighbourhood dogs and grabbing an early breakfast from her feline victims.

He crawled out onto the floor, his hands landing on the pile of yesterday’s crumpled trousers and sweatshirt. His arms began to sag and his head hit ground level. From this angle he could see right under his bed. Mum said it’s where the dust bunnies lived but he’d never spotted one. Perhaps they were like the monsters and only came out at night. He saw something small and grey by the skirting board though. It was very still, maybe it was one of the mythical creatures or perhaps just his sock. He seemed to remember only having one on for most of yesterday. Billy wasn't really a sock person.

It was quite good fun looking at his room from upside down. He span around a little, keeping his balance by hooking a toe on the open drawer where Mum kept his t-shirts. She was always telling him off for never pushing it closed, but he was glad he hadn’t listened to her now. Under the window Billy spied a floating island of cars. Each bright vehicle was fitted with suction tyres that kept the wheels on the ramps and made satisfying squelchy noises when they moved around. It was a very jerky way of moving and not very fast but the drivers enjoyed it. Billy wanted a go, but first he had to get his head off the ceiling. It was stuck and the dust bunny sock was starting to crawl towards him. Friend or foe? Billy wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

He needed help. Fortunately Rainbow Bear was also glued to this strange woolly ceiling and within easy reach. Rainbow Bear whispered in Billy’s ear. His fur tickled in a nice way. Rainbow Bear was very wise. Billy drew in a deep breath – which wasn’t easy when you were upside down – and called for Mum.

Billy and Rainbow Bear watched as the feet came towards them. They were wrapped in pink fluff. A voice from above asked them what they were doing.

“We’re being upside down” Billy patiently explained. Sometimes he wondered if Mums really did know everything…. “My head is glued to the ceiling and I can’t get it off. I want to play with the floating island”.

Mum turned and twisted her head a bit looking. She put one leg on the bed and bent over. She balanced a hand on Rainbow Bear (he squealed a bit but didn’t complain – he’s brave like that). Finally she put both legs on the bed, stuck a toe in my underwear drawer (which was handily half open) and her plonked her head next to mine.

“I see it” she laughed!

“There’s just one problem though” she added. We both looked at each other. “My head’s stuck to the ceiling now too!”

Food shortages

I have this recurring dream, well nightmare really, that the world has been hit by a zombie apocalypse. Few humans remain and those that do live under the radar of the predatory flesh eaters.

In my dreams I am pursued by hordes of these repulsive creatures, shambling towards me like a never-ending tidal wave of rotten flesh. Vacant eyes stare as they are propelled by just a primeval instinct to feed.

And how they feed – ripping into limbs, gorging without taste, smell, or indeed any other sensory pleasure. It’s pure savagery, like the proverbial fox among the chickens.

As creatures from horror go, they lack and little need any form of sophistication, intelligence or cunning. It’s all about the power of the pack, a very large and greedy pack. There’s no thrill in the chase, no sense of victory when you capture your quarry. It’s just mindless feeding for seemingly no purpose, after all it’s never really explained why the zombie must eat flesh. Will they all die when they run out of living creatures to provide their three meals a day?  Is it just an unnecessary compulsion? What's the point of zombies anyway?

And then there’s the issue of them destroying what few humans remain on the planet - that’s where I have a real issue. You see, I'm not particularly concerned about being eaten by the vile creatures myself… it’s more that I worry about what they’re doing to my food supply....

;)

Seriously, nobody ever thinks about how the poor vampires will manage during a zombie apocalypse do they?

[For the uninitiated, this devilishly handsome fellow above is the rather delicious Damon Salvatore. Mean n moody, but ever-so-sexy blood sucker from the Vampire Diaries. Obviously he shouldn't be confused with flesh-eating rotting Doris at the top of the page. She lurched her way out of my imagination and dragged herself onto the page dripping pus... nice....].


Vanessa, from A Fanciful Twist is having a Halloween Party. I like to pen a few words of fiction on these occasions. This is a little on the short side this year, but what it lacks in substance I hope it makes up for in drool-ability. And, if you have any zombie nightmares, here's hoping Damon Salvatore will be on hand to rescue you!

Once upon a postcard swap

by Elizabeth Burton

There was a girl with golden hair who lived in the land of Hoobiddy Doobitty where the people spent so much time smelling the flowers that that had begun to look just like them.

by Tracey Fletcher King

It was just as well really because all was not as peaceful as first appeared. For this land had recently been invaded by the Lemon People who terrified the poor Hoobiddies with their sharp wit and hard-wired electrical appliances that stormed across the rocky landscape led by legions of pointed pencils.

by Angela Vular

The Hoobs as we shall call them for ease (though I should stress that they are not the same ones that neighboured the Grinch... some distant relatives perhaps), banded huddled together under the roses and the golden-haired girl taught them to make dresses from the fallen rose petals.

by Elise Ann Wormuth

This wasn't terribly practical, given that a large mixer was just spinning into view with blades whirring in a most threatening manner.

The Hoobs began to panic and fled the scene tripping over the unfinished hemming of their floral dresses.

The found themselves backed up against a wall. But hold on, what was that on the floor? It was their salvation. For years Hoobs had wondered what the mysterious planking was doing set into the concrete of their thoroughfares, but now all was revealed.

[note - I do know the postcard is not the right way up - it's called artistic licence!]

by Kat Sloma

Their combined weight, together with the sticky atmosphere of fear awakened the magic and the wood began to rise revealing...

by Tracey Fletcher King

A large quantity of heavy-bodied acrylics. No rose petal armour for these guys. They marched smartly out of their barracks and began to take on the Lemon people, the pointy pencils and the kitchen utensils.

by Elaine Millar

It was carnage as the blood of crimsons mixed with lemons and blues. Eventually the life was squeezed out of every tube but the invading army had retreated.

Now every year the Hoobs celebrate their great victory by painting the town red... green and orange... and sending arty postcards to their friends.

Think the above was a load of old nonsense? Well, you try writing a work of fiction featuring all six (+1) of the postcards you received in Kat Sloma's Liberate your Art postcard swap!

Thanks to the generous-hearted artists and the wonderful Kat for sharing their work across the globe this summer. If you click on each picture you will be transported to the artists' websites. Special thanks to Tracey Fletcher King who sent me an extra one!

You can visit them all via the blog swap

Your good health

"What shall we drink to?" slurred Shelby, gripping the shot glass in his wrinkled fingers...

"Health" said Smith simply. He banged his glass against the man's opposite. It slopped a little and a drop flew into Shelby's face.

The two men downed the amber liquid in one, both shuddering as it 'hit the spot' and the warmth seeped through their tired old bones.

Smith topped them up and they repeated the ritual, silent except for the slosh of liquid and the crash back on the table.

"One for the road?" queried Shelby, a wry smirk on his face.

"I don't think so" said the nurse, whipping away the bottle of cough mixture and hurrying a reluctant Smith back to his own bed further down the ward...

For Sunday Scribblings - Health

Once upon a time... Part Lisa

This week for PPF I present to you the girl with the red hair. You saw her eye last week but now she's ready to tell you her story. She has already been on many adventures... She is Part Lisa in the Once upon a time neverending story begun by Amy and hosted on her blog.
The last time we saw our heroine and her trusty flying steed Pegasus she had been living in narcotic-induced stupor on a land of cotton candy clouds and sweet tea. Only when she broke the mirror did the pieces crack and reveal what truly was... or was it?

***

Part Lisa...

The pieces spiralled out of the ornate frame jagged and sharp. The girl with the red hair watched them fall down, down, further and further through the cotton candy cloud. She felt weightless and dizzy and struggled to focus her vision on what was happening around her. Everything seemed to fracture at once. Cracks and chasms appeared in the sugar pink walls and the sweet grass. She heard a distant whinny – Peg was panicking as the world began to disintegrate beneath his feet.

A wild wind swirled around them. The girl saw tea cups, cotton candy and lollipops sucked into a cruel maelstrom alongside vestiges of the ‘real’ world she had left behind so many moons ago. Burger wrappers, car tyres (that’s tires for you US folk) and empty coke cans bounced off jars of marmite. What was happening? Where was Peg? Where were the Goldwaters and, what on earth had been in that tea? She felt the pull of the vortex and reached out in fear…

The girl took hold of Mrs Goldwater, but recoiled in shock as the once kindly-looking woman began to take on a new form… dark and scaly with green sinews and yellow eyes. Mrs Goldwater began to cackle as the demon within her was released. A long, pointed tail shot out the back of her flowery sun dress (quite ruining the lovely pattern) and horns ruffled her once beautifully coiffed curls. The demon sneered at our heroine and reached into the storm and pulled a bedraggled and terrified Peg towards her. Swinging her gangling legs, she climbed aboard the poor horse and disappeared in a cloud of … well…. It looked like cloud.

The girl with the red hair felt helpless as she span in the sticky mixture of cotton candy, tea and a crazy wind. In the distance she saw Panda Goldwater. He seemed to be beckoning her to him, but there was no way she was going anywhere near him, having seen what had happened to his wife. She was beginning to wonder why she’d trusted anyone called Panda in the first place.

But Panda was determined. He fought his way closer to the red-haired girl shouting an entreaty to put the mirror pieces back in place.

“You must complete the story” he shouted above the roaring wind… “she has to see her face”…

Not knowing to whom he was referring and frankly beginning to wish she’d never set out on this crazy adventure in the first place the girl with red hair made a decision.

She dived forward through the cloud to chase after the sparkling shards. She was still gripping the ornate frame which was fortunate. The clouds rushed past her face pulling at her long tresses and whispering secrets in her ear (things like why pop songs have a middle eight… and the hidden power of marmite).

Further and further she fell into the spewing foam of blue and white. But all was not as it seemed (again!). The clouds were not made of moisture, wool or cotton candy - they were made of words and letters. A thousand waiting to be pieced together and retold.

Far down below through the fairy tales she spied the glints of what could only be broken glass and she reached out , her anticipation mingled with fear… A fear that only intensified as she saw that she wasn’t the only one heading for the glass jigsaw… The demon and its unwilling mount Peg were gaining on her.

Poor Peg looked so frightened, but it gave our heroine heart. She would fight off the demon, fix the mirror, save Peg and show someone their face (but not necessarily in that order); but first she needed to take a small diversion…

To be continued...

In hot water

"Polly, put the kettle on" laughed Gran as if it was the first time she'd ever used that line on her. Polly flicked angrily at the switch and flounced off in the best kind of huff a 16-year-old can manage. The empty kettle growled and sizzled in protest before gasping its last. It wouldn't be making any more tea that day.

In exasperation, Polly, gasping for a hit of caffeine, unhooked the dusty copper kettle that was hanging above the cooker hood. It was supposed to be purely decorative she guessed, but needs must. Gran's friend Elsie had just turned up too and everyone knew she could drink Starbucks dry. Boiling water was called for and now. Being 16, she'd not quite formed the common sense that would stand her in good stead throughout adulthood. Heating water in a saucepan or the microwave just didn't pass conscious thought in a brain full of dreams of pop stars and overpaid footballers.

She dusted it off with a white tea towel, giving it a quick Aladdin-style polish - no genie, but quite a bit of grime on the cloth. She shoved it behind the fruit bowl, grabbing a quick grape, and headed for the sink. The spout was really narrow so she'd have to remove the lid. No easy task, it seemed rusted on. Did copper rust? Sophie wasn't sure - chemistry lessons were usually spent mooning over James Tindal. She had a real Twilight Bella and Edward in the science lab fantasy going...

Just as well sexy vampires were invading her mind as otherwise the water wouldn't have missed the now open hole in the top of the kettle and run all over her arm. Then she wouldn't have looked down and seen what was lying quietly inside the innocent kettle. A yellowed newspaper was wrapped in a parcel around something.

She pulled it out and opened up the crisp paper, noticing the date went back about 25 years. Someone had doodled across the top of the page Kaz ♥ Dan T.LA. It looked like her Mum's writing... Surely not? Since when had her Mum - Karen - been known as Kaz?

Polly turned her attention to the contents of the parcel and almost dropped it in shock. A red packet of rizlas, a couple of tired looking cigarettes and something hard and brown wrapped up in crackly cling film...

Polly smiled the kind of smile only a 16-year-old can smile when she discovers her straight-laced mother's long-forgotten drug stash...

Another prompt from Kat Wright's Ticc Tocc. A 10 minute exercise of the imagination with a copper kettle. What surprising thing might you find inside?

Why not join us and share the secrets of your subconscious. It doesn't have to be writing - anything creative goes!

The deserted beach

How would you interpret the following creative prompt in 10 minutes?

Whilst admiring the peaceful sunset vista it was hard to imagine that the beach had been shut to the public all day following the unexpected...

Hmm... I had a think (a very quick one) and this is what I cam up with...


Whilst admiring the peaceful sunset vista it was hard to imagine that the beach had been shut to the public all day following the unexpected...


...arrival of a certain Royal couple on their honeymoon. Despite, their wishes to the contrary, the newly-weds were accorded full security precautions – if nothing else to keep away the photographers and their invasive lenses. The bride had stretched out happily in the sun with her beloved and it’s believed that they relived their big day moment by moment learning anew every experience from the other’s point of view.

As the sun began its descent the couple joined hands and ran into the sea together before diving into the waves breaking close to shore. They turned and waved to their beachside entourage before, with a flick of their reformed tails they were gone – back to Atlantis to begin their life as King & Queen of that watery realm.

Well... what did you expect? Will and Kate weren’t the only Royals who got married last week you know!

My piece for Tic Tock - the weekly inspiration from Kat Wright. 10 minutes to relax and just see what you create from her prompt.

I might create something with paint for this too later... Watch this space - or more specifically the space at the top of all this text!

Dirty laundry

April watched the sheets dancing in the warm Spring breezes and smiled as she realised what pleasure such a mundane task as washing became on a day like this. In a moment she would step outside, most likely barefoot so she could feel the fresh grass under her feet and gather in the laundry that smelt like the breezes which had dried it. In a moment she would think about making love with her husband under those fragrant sheets. In a moment her whole life would be turning upside down.

For when April collected the duvet she felt something small and bundled in a corner. Reaching in to pull out the expected stray sock, she removed instead frilly underwear. It was black and delicately patterned with fleur-de-lis. Funny how you noticed such things she thought, as shock fought its way to forefront of mind pushing out aesthetic appreciation. For April did not own frilly black underwear with a fleur-de-lis pattern...

Later as they glared at each other over the dinner table - the underwear of guilt between them - she waited for an explanation.Waited for the dagger of deceit and betrayal to strike in her heart.

"Whose are they?" she asked again, her voice too made of cold steel. "Heather?" she questioned. "She never stops flirting with you... Or Isabel?" Sly sneaky Isabel who coveted everything her elder sister held dear.

The silence continued as Bradley sat forlornly head in hands. Finally he raised his eyes to hers and spoke.

"Not Heather's. Not Isabel's" he stated, humiliation written across his features...

"Mine."

***

A short story in response to a creative prompt by another writing Wright! Kat Wright's Ticc Tock - where this week we wrote about something unexpected on the washing line.

A deep blue breath

As I swam deeper and deeper among the coral I couldn't help but follow that beautiful music, as if a seashell orchestra was luring me in. Then as I rounded the old wreck and despite the oxygen tanks on my back, I found it suddenly impossible to draw breath. There before swam a shoal of mermaids, laughing and playing with the fishes and tangling an octopus' legs. They saw me and stopped and stared bemused. I finally gulped down some air but movement was impossible as fear kept my limbs from movement.

Mermaids are stories, fiction.... No one had ever really seen one.... or at least lived to tell the tale. What would be my fate?

As I floated in that deep palace of greens and blues, the beautiful creatures pulled at my tanks and played with my flippers but with no real strength or aggression. They were fascinated by the bubbles my spent breath leaked out into the ocean and chased them toward the surface before racing back down and pulling at my arms encouraging me to join in their games.

Their sweet smiles and gentle natures thawed my fear frozen limbs and I began to swim alongside them, joining in their games in the same way I had raced the dolphins the day before. They took me deeper, in and out of caves and crevices. We swam, span and swirled in the currents and laughed at the startled sea creatures that fled from our path.

Time lost all meaning and I did not notice my tanks empty; I just kept on swimming and diving and playing and splashing and swishing my tail and undulating my body like the waves above that had now become my home...

My entry for 'breathe' the Inspiration Avenue challenge this week - and also some of the work I've been doing for Tam's Mythical art class on Willowing.ning.

I'm kinda liking these sea creatures. Expect to see more...

While we are on the subject of 'breath'... Seven years ago today, my son took his first as he popped into the world full of love and wonder. Happy Birthday my little Munchkin! xxxx

The Princess and the cocky bird - a OWOH story

Readers, it seems something of a tradition for me to write a story for these blog events and so I couldn't resist having another go this year. Inspiration came from the event itself for surely there was a tale to be told in the girl riding a bird...

Welcome to One World One Heart 2011. A BIG thank you to Lisa Swifka for organising this event for the 5th year running. Last year I made so many new friends, had a whale of a time and even won a little something! Who knows what this year will bring - I know I can't wait.

Now, before you start, I should warn you that there's a bit of a twist coming up - all might not be what it seems...

Once upon a time a Princess was imprisoned in a floating tower that drifted aimlessly across the enchanted Kingdoms. There was no way into her prison nor exit save for a barred window where the Princess was apt to sit and watch the clouds and treetops drift past. Her food was brought every day by feathered couriers who provided her only companionship. After dropping off her meagre rations of bread, cheese and dried fruits, the birds would often stay a while to nibble at the crumbs she shared and listen in one-sided conversation as she dreamed of the life she had known.

For the story goes that the Princess had been set to marry the most handsome of Princes whom she loved with all her heart. But after their engagement had been announced a wicked witch had captured the lovers and imprisioned them in matching enchanted towers just visible to each other in the distance but so tantalisingly out of reach. The witch had loved the Prince, but her advances toward him had been rejected (it was hard for him to see past the warts and green skin). In a jealous rage, the spurned woman had decreed that if she could not win his love then nobody should and certainly not a beautiful young Princess. She cruelly tore their hearts apart and doomed them to a lifetime of loss.

As the months went by the Princess grew weak and sad as she pined for her lost love. The birds, sensing her distress spent more time keeping her company, the cockiest and most handsome of which became her true confidant. It was as one day, she poured her heart out once again to the poor beast that a clever idea began to form. Grabbing pen and paper (with which the tower was fortunately equipped - handy that, as there was not much else), she penned a love note to her sweetheart and begged her winged friend to deliver it to the distant tower, just as did her the food.

And so the romantic correspondence between the Prince and his Princess began. It was at least some small comfort to share words of the heart and dream about their future should fate intervene and put them back in each other's arms once again. Yet as the seasons drifted past it seemed as though they would be trapped beyond reach for eternity.

Until... one Spring morning, the handsome bird arrived with his regular letter in a state of extreme agitation. He chirped and sang until the Princess awoke and pushed the letter towards her with his wing. When she read the words it contained, she understood his excitement for they spelt out nothing short of a miracle.

A fairy had visited her lover and promised to perform magic beyond their wildest imaginings. By eating the small seed contained within the envelope, the Princess would shrink to the size of her feathered friends. She would then be able to climb upon the handsome one's back and fly across the clouds to join her lover. But there was a catch (isn't there always?). There was only enough magic for the Princess to shrink and once with her Prince she would be forced to remain tiny forever. The Princess didn't think twice. No matter that she would swap one prison for another and shrink to the size of a bird, she would be with her Prince.... She would sacrifice her life for him if need be.

She popped the seed in her mouth and swallowed.

The world span and pain racked her bones, light flashed and thunder clapped and everything seemed upside down. The Princess collapsed in a crumpled heap before being roused to consciousness by the gentle stroke of... a wing... a very large wing. Looking up into the bright eyes of her avian friend she realised the spell had worked.

Climbing aboard the soft feathers was harder than it looked and she gripped the coloured barbs in terror as they took off across the sky. Keeping her eye fixed on the twin floating tower was all that kept her safely aboard her unusual mount. However, the closer they came to the tower, the more something seemed awry and as they reached touching distance the Princess let out a cry of fear, for the tower was nothing but illusion and they flew straight through it. As she screamed the bird swirled and plummeted earthward. The wind rushed and the ground grew closer. Again the Princess blacked out.

This time when she awoke the touch was one that brought tears to her eyes for she recognised it instantly. She was in the arms of her Prince! In a storm of confusion she tried to make sense of what had happened and where she was. Who on earth were all these people cheering and why was she wearing what looked like a wedding gown?

The Prince set her on her feet, took her hands in his and told his story. As heir to the vast Kingdoms, he had always known he should choose his bride wisely. She would be kind and beautiful and an adored future Queen, but above all he must be sure that she loved him, for without true love the trees would surely wither and enemies break through defences. The truth was that there never was a jealous spurned witch. There was only one tower and one prisoner. The handsome bird had been the Prince - every day he had eaten one magic seed to grow feathers and then another to return to a man. To be sure of her love, the Prince had tested the Princess and when, after all she had been through, she still chose to be with him, as prisoner and shrunk in size, then he knew her heart was truly his.

As the marriage ceremony and feasting concluded, the citizens of the Kingdom rejoiced into the night and the Prince and his wife made their way to their honeymoon bedchamber.

"So," laughed the Princess. "I passed the test then. You realised I did indeed love you. Do you love me too with all your heart?"

"Of course" implored the Prince. "I am yours. I will do anything for you." As he moved to kiss her, the Princess became shy. "I am too used to talking to your bird self" she sighed. "He was my best friend. Will you change for me just one more time?"

The Prince, happy to oblige took one of the last remaining two magic seeds from the pewter pot by the side of the bed and with a tiny chirp became once again the handsome bird. He hopped onto her finger and gazed lovingly at his wife.

At which point the Princess popped the bird into a gilded cage and fastened the catch securely. "LOVE ME?" she cried at the startled creature. "LOVE ME? What lover locks me up alone for months on end until I go insane and start talking to wildlife? What lover half starves me on dry bread and fruit, shrinks me causing excrutiating pain, tricks me, drops me from great height AND doesn't let me arrange my own wedding, let alone pick out my own dress? What were you thinking - meringue is just so last century..." She gave one last glare at the startled bird before uttering her parting words..."I told you I loved you a thousand times. You blew it sunshine...."

And with that she filled a bag with the crown jewels, wrapped herself in a cloak and let herself out down the fire escape (for this was a health and safety compliant Kingdom).

The following morning Granny Bains, needing a new companion after her husband of 40 years had run off with a scullery maid, bought a handsome bird in a gilded cage from a pedlar in the market and took him home to talk incessantly to for a few years (until an unfortunate incident with the cat... but that's another story).

And what became of the last seed? Well, dear readers, seeds get planted...

Thank you for reading and visiting my blog. If you're a new visitor and have time, do take a browse around. I usually write about my art, creativity and anything else that might take my fancy - usually injected with a dose of humour, for I do struggle to take life seriously, as you may have gathered!
If you would like to win a giclee print of this mixed media painting I created just for this event (the Princess and the bird at the top of the post), then leave me a little comment. The original painting is made up of many layers of collage, painting, fibres, stamping and different paint mediums. It was a pleasure to create.

4 runners up will win some large postcards of the same artwork.

Please post your comment by 17th Feb when the winner will be drawn.

The other two drawings are some quick sketches I did to break up the text a bit - I was trying to be short in my storytelling, but as usual I got carried away!

Magic stirring... A Halloween Tale

Follow me my pretties through the enchanted doorway to a tale of autumnal magic...

Deep in the woods lived a creature who rarely saw the light of day. She was old and tired and had seen the moon's waxing and waning more than anyone else she knew.

They say that with age comes wisdom and many would seek her out to share the answers she had learned. Some wanted love, others the return of youth or the secrets of a magic life. She would sit with them awhile and share her secrets... but before you seek her out, remember that enchantment always comes at a price...

How can I tell you this tale? Why, I've been there myself. Shall I tell you how, where and why?

***

I woke to the strangest music that floated in through the window and danced with the dust motes. The moon's slim fingers of light were creeping through the curtains and encouraged me out of bed. Where was that music coming from? I pulled on my clothes, grabbed a light and drifted downstairs still groggy with sleep and out into the crisp October night.

As I tramped through the sodden lawn the symphony became louder. I could hear voices now too, an excited chatter mixing with the wind in the dry leaves tumbling to the ground from the trees. I fought my way through the brambles and undergrowth somewhat bemused at the quantity of pumpkins I was finding along the path.

At last I came to the gap in the trees where a winding path lay. It was a track I had never ventured down before but I am not sure why. Some reason or other always pushed me in a different direction. Today though the music and conversations called me along its enticing trail, I pulled back dead branches and flicked away strings of sticky cobwebs.

The strangest of sensations began to overwhelm me. I felt as if in the midst of a crowd yet the path was deserted. Something pulled on my skirt and I felt a cold breath on the back of my neck. I wanted to turn and run but that music... it bewitched me... I sped up but not in the direction of home.

The invisible tide carried me through the ancient forest, the trees grew thicker and blocked the moon's reassuring light, a chilled mist wound around my ankles and all the while the pull of the music drew me deeper and deeper until suddenly... it stopped.

I found myself before the strangest little door set within a steep bank and tangled with roots and vines. Whispers of voices and song urged me in and without further thought I reached up and pushed at the damp wood.

The room was dark save for the gentle illumination of candlelight and it took a while for my eyes to focus on the strikingly beautiful woman sitting in a carved chair beside a table covered with bottles, herbs, dried mosses and peculiar items the like of which I had never seen before.

"You took your time" she said rather matter of factly. I was struck dumb until she smiled kindly and motioned me to sit in the empty chair beside her before shooing would could only have been an invisible occupant out of it and then closing the door behind them.

It was all I could do to ask who she was and why she might have been expecting me. She poured me a blood red drink from one of the many bottles on the table and began her story.

"I'm the Keeper," she explained. "I hold the knowledge of the ancients from these woods, I see, hear and know. I am the bridge between the human and fae , but these days few from your world can find me or even believe in my existence."

I gulped down some of the liquid she had handed me. It was rich and fruity and not entirely unpleasant. I took another mouthful and another but soon wished I hadn't for suddenly my vision began to clear and I realised we were not alone in the room, for sitting on shelves, balancing on tables, dangling from the ceiling and leaning against walls was the most terrifying collection of creatures ranging from tiny winged things to ghostly apiritions and what could only be vampires licking their lips and lusting after my blood.

The Keeper laughed at my surprise and fear. "They come to me for advice, for wisdom, for magic...," she smiled then added. "...every year at this time.." A quick calculation of the date and shivers ran down my spine for I realised with a sudden chill that it was indeed the 31st October...

"Why am I here?" I asked, though I was beginning to believe that I most certainly wouldn't like the answer.

"Despite my looks, I am old and tired. It's time for a new Keeper. I offer you my knowledge, my eternal youth, beauty and eternity on this world. It's your destiny, a role you were born to take. In return, I take your soul and live the remainder of what would have been your life."

I shrank back in the chair in fear. Eternal youth or not, I had no wish to cast aside my human life and was rather attached to my soul. Sensing my obvious reluctance the woman stood and began to chant, joined by the singing and music that had lured me to this wretched hovel. In panic I tried to flee but stopped short when I caught sight of her reflection in the mirror which was rapidly changing from ravishing beauty to something far more sinister.

The Keeper's bony wrist reached out to grab me and fairies, goblins and hairy bats pulled at my hair and clothes. I used every ounce of strength to utter just one word "NO!" Then everything went black.

***

When I woke I was at home in bed drenched in sweat and with a raging fever. I dragged myself to the sink and drank a cooling glass of water. As I stared at myself in the mirror I saw no change, looking out of the window no sinister beings lurked in the shadows, no music lured me into woodland. It had been nothing but a dream.

Or so I thought. You see 500 years later I still look in the mirror every morning and my reflection remains the same... But I'm tired now, won't you come and see me in the woods my pretty?

Come join the Halloween party over at A Fanciful Twist if you dare... where hundreds of revellers will spin tales, weave magic and scare you witless!

All photographs and artwork by me - with a little magic applied here and there...

If you liked what you saw and fancy voting for me as blog of the month for Dorset Cereals, you can click on the egg cup in the sidebar and cast your vote... If not, there's some very nice blogs to visit there anyway!

Finding stories

With just one texture/background I got from Playing with Brushes on Flickr, I grabbed some holiday snaps and created these evocative 'old' postcards!

Top original was over-exposed, but layering on this background and blending with a linear burn gave it a real vintage feel. It reminds me of old cine film my Dad took of my sister and I in the 70s. If you listen carefully you can hear the camera tape whirring around the projector...

This one turns from an overcast beach in July last summer into something far more atmospheric. But perhaps the colours are too bright. Shall I try adding a sepia filter?

Ah, now we're talking. The filter on its own didn't work. First I took out the saturated colour then adjusted the brightness. Then a warming filter added the effect I was after. Now there's story. What do you think? A postcard from Gladys to her best friend Edie in August 1939 telling about the incredible German artist she met while on holiday in Cornwall and their whirlwind romance. He's gone back to Berlin for now, but she carries his ring on her finger and the result of their love inside her. It will only be a matter for time before they are together again...

A fairy story

Illustration by Margaret Tarrant

The Queen and her tiny daughter watched the fairies dancing with delight around the crib. They had heard the good news of such a wondrous birth and travelled on swirls of magic to see the beautiful child and grant their blessings. The baby gurgled with new found joy and reached a soft and chubby hand out to the soft gossamer winged creatures who crowded around her and chattered with excitement - for not only was a royal birth a truly special occasion, but a royal birth to this particular Mother promised magical times ahead indeed.

When the King and the other courtiers returned to the room, they smiled at the child seemingly playing with the shafts of sunlight that streaked in from the half-shuttered windows and the Mother entranced in the joy of her first born.

As the months turned into years the fairies kept up their visits, always greeting the Queen and her daughter with gifts of fairy jewellery woven from gossamer and strung with shells and scales gifted by mermaids. The young Princess was the envy of her friends who never could fully understand quite what made these necklaces and adornments sparkle so purely. The Princess told them that the fairies brought them, but the other girls laughed and mocked her belief in such nonsense, teasing her until she told them instead that suitors dropped them off in the dead of night in an attempt to woo the teenage beauty. Besides, thought the young lady, it had been some time since she'd actually seen a fairy. She was beginning to think she had imagined them. What had once been a special secret between mother and daughter was becoming, to the younger woman, nothing more than... well... fairy tale.

Finally the day came when once again the sound of a baby's newborn cry echoed through the stone walls of the castle. The Princess, cradling the tiny child in her arms took her to visit her own Mother, now in the Winter of her years. The old lady took the baby and kissed her gently before resting back on her cushions.

The baby smiled at its Grandmother and his eyes widened in wonder at the tiny creatures fluttering around her. "Ah," said the old lady, seeing the direction his eyes took. "You've spotted our friends". She carefully introduced her dainty companions to the innocent child while her grown daughter looked on amused.

"I used to love those stories you'd tell me about the fairies," she remembered fondly. "Thanks for sharing them with William too."

The old lady turned to her daughter and asked "Why did you stop believing? I never did". A soft caress rubbed against the younger woman's cheeks unsettling her and she instinctively fingered the delicate necklace lying at her neck while she considered the question.

"Close your eyes and remember" begged her Mother.

The caresses become more insistent and were joined by soft whispers and the echos of long forgotten songs. The Princess smiled and remembered the stories, remembered the adventures, the friends and ... the magic. Opening her eyes, she saw the wings that tangled in her hair and the faces of the long forgotten.

She unclasped the intricately woven silver locket around her neck and read once again the inscription that had puzzled her more as she grew older.

Believe and you will see..

She remembered, yes she remembered...

***

Something a little different today - a written challenge for Monday's Child - to write a children's story based on the image given. What do you think?

The stuff of fairy tales

Once upon a time a peasant girl wandered around the fairytale Kingdom in which she lived. She was a sad figure, having given up on her dreams of one day rising from her humble beginnings and a life draped in drabbery. Suddenly she came upon a tiny window of a shop set into a tree trunk twinkling in the sunlight. She was sure she had never seen this before and her curiosity beckoned her closer. With every step she took toward the old oak, the glistening became brighter until she realised that the sun was not glinting off of just the glass from the pane, but from what was immediately inside - a necklace shimmering with the lights of a hundred diamonds. It was the most beautiful treasure she had ever seen.

An old woman came shuffling up to the girl and invited her into the shop in the tree. She tried to protest, knowing that her humble savings could never afford anything so exquisite. The woman placed the necklace around the neck of the girl and turned her gently to face an ornate mirror in the corner of the room. The girl gasped as she saw the light reflecting across her face from the necklace. Her eyes lit in wonder as tiny stars of magic rose from the jewels and floated around the room.

The moment was brief as the old woman removed the treasure and returned it to the window. The girl thanked her and began to leave, but a knarled hand grabbed her and begged her to listen.

"This will be yours," she whispered. "It is for the kind-hearted, sharing and compassionate. It was made for one such as you, but others too." The words seemed like a riddle to the girl. How could it ever be hers? It must cost more than she could earn in a lifetime. "Have faith" smiled the crone. "Believe in your dreams, never give up on them and use the intelligence God gave you. Now be off... I know I'll see you soon..."

The girl stumbled outside at first confused by the woman's words. But then she realised and she knew and understood... The necklace would be hers after all for suddenly she knew who were the others referred to in the riddle...

***

Are you fascinated by this story? Do you want to know what happened next? Shall I let you into a little secret... I know the ending... I confess that while I wrote the words above the plot itself comes from a true story. I have joined The Wish Studio book group. We are reading The Necklace by Cheryl Jarvis. The story of a group of women who, inspired by one, came together to buy a $37,000 diamond necklace that none could afford on their own. They took it in turns to wear the jewels and came together every month to share their stories. The necklace became a catalyst for connection, friendship and much more.

The stuff of fairy tales? Maybe, just maybe...

It's not too late to join the Group. It kicks off this coming weekend... Details on The Wish Studio.

Riding the magic carpet: One World One Heart 2010

Join me and hundreds of other bloggers on a wonderous event where bloggers from across the world come together for a fab party. Just click on the picture above for more information.

Welcome friends old and new alike. Your magical carpet floats delicately before you. Before our flight departs, let me give you some history and a small safety briefing.

You are about to be taken on a wonderful ride through Bloglandia. The journey (since it is magical) can be as long or as short as you like. Perhaps you merely want to gaze at a few sites and treasures before alighting at your next stop, or you may stay and explore. Whatever you choose you are most welcome - for this is a One World; One Heart journey as the residents of this land of the imagination open their doors and share a little love.

The carpet before you may look a little threadbare and lack the usual creature comforts one expects with modern travel - there will be no drinks service I'm afraid, nor indeed any chairs; but I can assure you of a trouble free and safe flight.

(image: Annie Liebovitz)

Are you sitting comfortably now? Then we'll begin. Let's go right back to the beginning...

My Great-Great-Great Grandmother Elvira was a lady born with wanderlust sewn into her silk stockings. It was many years however, before it made its way from such a bizarre home and took this fine lady on her many adventures.

Her husband Ernest had regrettably grown into his name for he was a most serious fellow and not taken with the idea of travel outside of England's green and pleasant land, nor indeed even the small country town where they had made their home. After spending her honeymoon gazing wistfully at the lands across the English Channel from a wind-swept Brighton beach, Elvira begged her husband to take her to see the world.

Ernest thought he could placate his wife with trips to Bath and Edinburgh, but not even the ghosts of Holyrood Palace could tame her wild spirit. Eventually, for he was a kind man at heart and dearly loved his wife, he agreed on one special trip. They would travel to Spain.

Elvira's heart was bursting with excitement as they clambered aboard the steamer in Plymouth that would take them to the magically named Bilbao. However, what followed was not quite the journey of their dreams. Foul weather followed in their wake tossing and throwing their craft across the Bay of Biscay. A mysterious ailment struck the crew down who were unable to fulfill their duties. Ernest and Elvira took turns with the other passengers to steer the ship and guide her away from the terrible rocks that threatened to smash them to pieces. Wild storms swallowed them whole and spat them out into a maelstrom of confusion and far off course. After days of terror listening to the moans of the crew and wrapped in a blanket of confusing fog, they at last sighted land and made for the welcoming arms of a harbour on what appeared to be a small island.

Elvira and Ernest thankfully stepped onto dry land once again. A bustle of humanity greeted my relatives and their fellow travellers, whisking them up into a small town which appeared to be in the middle of a busy market day. Crowds thronged the streets admiring exotic fruits, vegetables and spices piled high. Garishly coloured clothing swung like washing on lines and the noise of colourful birds and beasts fought to be loudest among the strange language spoken by the residents of this haven.

The travellers wandered lost among the chaos unable to make sense of any words. The Captain, now sufficiently recovered, was using the universal language of barter for food and a new compass (since their own was behaving in a manner that indicated six poles instead of two). He instructed his crew and passengers to be back at their ship before sunset when he would guide them back home to Plymouth, thinking they had possibly had enough adventure to last a lifetime. Or at least he hoped he would, since at this moment he hadn't the slightest idea where they were.

Knowing that this might be her only chance of travel in this lifetime, Elvira grasped at it with an enthusiasm that surprised even her. She lifted her skirts and, leaving Ernest surrounded by chattering ladies, ran through the market laughing and waving at the surprised traders. Her senses were alive and devoured all that she threw at them. There was one sense however that was just waking up... Her sixth sense suddenly took Elvira away from the crowded market and into a narrow alleyway. With no fear she walked alone toward a small shop almost hidden in the shadows. Moving aside a dusty curtain she entered...

An old man bent his head in greeting and beckoned her in. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Elvira noticed that the tiny room appeared to be covered completely in carpets of the richest hues. There was not a scrap of wall, ceiling or floor to be seen among the beautiful patterns swirling before her eyes.

At last she stopped in her inspection as she beheld a small rug of outstanding beauty. Ruby reds, met sea blues and greens that were surely the colour of mermaid tails. Elvira stroked the soft fibres and breathed in a mysterious spicy scent that wafted from them. The man smiled and lifted if from its hook on the wall. He gave it to her to hold and Elvira gasped with surprise when she felt a weight no heavier than the silk shawl she wore over her shoulders.

Elvira knew at that instant that she must have this carpet. It already seemed a part of her. She had no money with her and somehow doubted that this shop would accept her Queen's Sterling. The man, sensing her thoughts just smiled, placed a gentle hand to her back and guided her towards the door. Elvira turned in confusion, attempting to return the treasure, but the man would not take it. It seemed he wished to gift it to her. Elvira could not possibly accept such generosity from a poor stranger and the man, again reading her thoughts, continued to smile and pointed at silk shawl.

Elvira shrugged it from her shoulders and gave it to the man who wrapped it around himself and smiled, before returning to find her frantic husband and return to their ship. They sailed within the hour and two weeks later were back at home believing they had visited a small and uncharted island off the coast of Africa.

You might think that the story ends here, but readers, this was just the beginning. I am sure you have guessed correctly that mysterious illnesses, navigation equipment failure and unknown islands appearing out of the fog can only mean one thing... that magic was afoot... and it wasn't long before it showed itself again.

The very first night they were home, Elvira carefully placed the carpet on the floor of her bedroom. She slept fitfully and after waking from an incredible dream clambered out of the warmth of her blankets to fetch a glass of water. The second her bare foot touched the carpet, she was thrown first to the ground and then in the air. Bracing herself for impact she was shocked again when none came and to her utter amazement she found herself seated on a carpet suspended mid air. When it took off out of the window and she disappeared with it into the night she was tempted to faint, having no suitable lady-like reaction stored up for just such an occasion, but curiosity and her sense of adventure got the better of her and so she was fully conscious when they landed just outside the Parthenon in Athens. Just as she was when subsequent trips took her to the Pyramids, The Grand Canyon, Paris in the Spring, The Ganges, Victoria Falls, Machu Picchu.....

Elvira recorded her adventures in her many journals illustrating each with words and drawings that excelled the imagination. After she died (at the grand old age of 102), the carpet and her 'fanciful' stories were packed away in storage waiting for the next female in the line to come of age... Many sons were born to my family.... until 1970 when a baby called Lisa made her entrance into the world!

***

Well, I have to confess that this post wasn't at all how I thought it would be. I had no idea that Elvira would appear and tell me her story. I was just going to give you a short tour around my blog. If you're still with me by this stage I'm sure you're exhausted so I'll give you leave to depart. Thanks for your visit and do pop by again. What you'll find (apart from evidence of an over-active imagination) are the varied ramblings of my words and creativity. I'm a rather enthusiastic blogger who rediscovered a passion for art and enjoys combining the two. I hope you'll return for a longer look around.

Before you go, you may like to enter my little giveaway and take a piece of Elvira's story with you. Who knows, there may be some magic lingering with it. This mixed media painting and collage is made from fragments of Elvira's journal, letters, photographs and paintings (yes, that's her bottom left, she was quite a beauty!).

To enter, simply leave a comment to this post ensuring that I can reach you if you win via your blog or email. All comments must be received by February 14th and I'll announce the winner on the 15th.