Archive for the ‘Humour’ Category


Turning to the two sleepy children in the back seats, Emma said calmly, but firmly.

“Now darlings, I want you to take off your seat belts, lie down on the floor, and keep your eyes firmly shut and put your hands over your ears. Can you do that for mummy?”

Lowering the window she watched the Fiesta pull in behind her, and waited in the dark  car for his approach. The dogs growled softly as he came closer, a long bladed knife catching the moonlight as he moved. He stopped about six feet from the open window of the car, switching the knife from hand to hand.

She really did not need this. She was off-duty. It had been a lovely weekend. For once the weather was perfect and the children had amused themselves for hours, splashing in the shallow bay and exploring the rock pools at low tide. Emma needed this time with the children. As a working mother, in a well-paid but stressful job, she needed to reconnect and charge her batteries.

Such a pity they had to leave and start the long drive home. Thinking ahead, and checking her watch, she pulled off the motorway and parked her four wheel drive at a convenience store. It was not the most salubrious of areas but she needed some milk, bread and eggs. The children would be hungry and tired and require feeding before bedtime.

Leaving the dogs in the back on guard, she dashed in, made her purchases and returned to her car. To her immense irritation she discovered a shabby Ford Fiesta parked behind her, completely blocking her exit.  What an idiot she thought. The parking area in front of the shop was hardly crowded, so why had he chosen to thoughtlessly abandon the rusty heap just behind her immaculate four wheel drive?

“Are we nearly there mummy?”

She turned to her daughter. “Not long now, darling.”

She slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. She checked her watch and waited for the owner of the Fiesta to emerge from the shop.

Ten minutes later she was tapping her fingernails on the steering wheel and he still hadn’t appeared. Oh, well, she thought, he can’t be much longer surely? She gave a slightly impatient short blast on the horn, and then he appeared. Waving his fist in the air and swearing horribly as he approached the car. She took in the details: six foot three approximately, large pot-belly and distinctly unprepossessingly shabby and ill-kempt. Utterly convinced of the reasonableness of her case, she lowered the window a couple of inches and smiled sweetly.

“Oh, jolly good, you’re back. I’m in a hurry. Would you mind awfully if I asked you to move your car which seems to be blocking me in? I’d be frightfully grateful. Thanks so much.”

The response consisted of a string of four letter words, a raised fist interspersed with threats of violence. Not to worry then, she said calmly, it’s not a problem, I’ll just push it out of the way. Up went the window, she purposefully put the car in reverse, revved the engine and drove backwards.

He moved rather quickly for a large man and when the rear bull bars were about an inch from the Fiesta, she braked and waited for him to move the car. He did.  Smiling slightly she waved him a cheery goodbye and headed back onto the motorway.

She soon spotted the Fiesta in her mirror. Reducing speed gradually she waited for him to pass. He didn’t. Obviously wasn’t the type to give up.  Taking the next exit she headed down the slip road and stopped the car at the first lay-by.

So now Emma watched, keeping eye contact.  He looked confident and menacing as he approached her car.

“Now, I’m asking you very politely to get back in the car and stop following me. I honestly wish you would. The children are tired and I need to get back home.”

He grasped the knife in his right hand, and took a step closer. He stopped and told her exactly and graphically what he would do to her and the children.

Sighing regretfully, she raised the pistol and shot him. Twice. Not wanting to frighten the children or alarm the dogs she had fitted the silencer.

Stepping out of the car she checked the body, opened the back door of the car, cuddled the children and helped them strap themselves in again.

She made a quick phone call to the office.

“It’s Emma here sir;  a slight problem. I’m on my way in.”

Approaching Lambeth Bridge turned into the secure car park of a large building, flashed her ID and asked the guards to watch the children.

“Nearly there darlings, I just have to pop into the office, check on a few things, and then we’ll go straight home. I won’t be long.”

Thirty minutes later, confident that her disposal instructions would be followed, she pulled into her driveway. Dogs and children unloaded, she scrambled some eggs, dispatched the children to bed, cleaned the firearm and poured herself a glass of wine. Opening the door she sat out on the terrace. It was a perfect night; cooler now at last after the heat of the day. The dogs settled down beside her and she listened to the soothing notes of the Brahms playing in the background.

And the moral of this tale? Do not mess with well-spoken, polite brunettes in large cars; you never know who they work for!

This month’s short story competition



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Some of my readers may remember the Ballad of Brave Monty Mouse from the early days of My Telegraph. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this small rodent, well done! But he does amuse small children and even some of their parents,  so thank you, Monty for being the inspiration for this story.


Aloft at night, and on the prowl,
Softly glides this wise old owl.
The mice stay quivering in the corn,
How can they feed before the dawn?

A brilliant Harvest moon shone bright over fields of ripening grains waiting to be safely gathered in. To the small harvest mice, their small tummies distended with the results of their foraging, replete and snug in their nest, it was also a time of danger. But not tonight. They sensed the faint whisper of wings as the owl glided low over the ripe grains but with such a bountiful harvest they did not need to feed just yet. They slept contented but only Monty, their brave leader, contemplated the dangers ahead.


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Our handsome lady proudly struts and pats her curls in place;
Clad in frills and furbelowed, a smile upon her face.
Her small, soft hands are clad in kid, her shoes are made of silk,
Her eyes a sparkling cornflower blue, her skin as pale as milk.

She sheds her tippet, grasps her fan, and holds her head up high.
Her heart beats fast, her cheeks flush pink; a well-bred butterfly.
The staircase loomed and down below the “ton” all gazed enrapt.
The music faltered, dancers stood, the whole assembly clapped.

Our debutante, quite nervous now, commences her descent.
She trips and falls headlong, I fear, and nothing can prevent
A precipitous arrival, on the ballroom floor below –
She landed at the Prince’s feet, pantaloons on show!

Entry to poetry competition.

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Ode to a Strawberry Roan

A flighty filly, highly strung,
Prone to sudden shies.
The dogs attack, in fun no doubt,
In gleeful barking cries.

The hounds close in, she tossed her mane,
And in a sudden rush,
Her rider landed, winded now,
Into a handy bush


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No good deed goes unpunished

( So shines a good deed in a naughty World)

by Franklin P. Adams

There was a man in our town who had King Midas’ touch;

He gave away his millions to the colleges and such;

And people cried: “The hypocrite! He ought to understand

The ones who really need him are the children of this land!”


When Andrew Croesus built a home for children who were sick,

The people said they rather thought he did it as a trick,

And writers said: “He thinks about the drooping girls and boys,

But what about conditions with the men whom he employs?”


There was a man in our town who said that he would share

His profits with his laborers, for that was only fair,

And people said: “Oh, isn’t he the shrewd and foxy gent?

It cost him next to nothing for that free advértisement!”


There was a man in our town who had the perfect plan

To do away with poverty and other ills of man,

But he feared the public jeering, and the folks who would defame him,

So he never told the plan he had, and I can hardly blame him.

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Just bin it!

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It rained and rained, and in the nest,
They shook their duvets sadly.
The damp was dire, and all were stressed;
The mice were faring badly.

Hips, haws, and berries for their needs
Were in the grain store dank.
‘Twas also full of mildewed seeds,
Monty’s spirits sank.


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