Alf, a Male

May 31, 2015June 1, 2015 / Steve Lakey / 11 Comments

Photo © Al Forbes 2015

Seven o’clock on a Sunday morning – Mablethorpe seafront was almost deserted. I felt guilty and a bit shabby. Me, Alf Wilkins, retired greengrocer, slipping out from our guest house bedroom, leaving my wife Maisie still asleep. All to contact a stranger on the beach. But as he had paid for my weekend here, I felt I ought to go and meet with him. And this cloak and dagger stuff made me feel a bit like James Bond!

I guess this is him now, running quickly towards me. He’s stocky, sweating and out of breath. It’s hardly From Here to Eternity! I try to stifle a laugh. The guy slows to a walk. He pushes a small brown envelope into my hand, catches my eye, but says nothing. Then breaks into a run again.

I slowly head back to the seafront. Grabbing a cuppa from Babs’ Burger Bar, and sit on a nearby bench.

The envelope contains a cheap mobile phone wrapped in a £5 note. I read the text message, ‘Resign by next week and there’s another fiver in it for you. Reply ASAP. You can keep the phone by the way, there’s three pounds credit still on it!’

I think back through my years as Treasurer of Forest Worth Crown Green Bowling League. It was fun in the early days, but not any more. They all take it way too seriously now. It used to be a job for life, but I guess now it’s a young man’s game.

I used to be Alf Wilkins, Greengrocer, and Bowls League Treasurer. A somebody. But who am I now?

I think of my letter of resignation that I wrote last year but didn’t have the heart to post. I just wanted a bit longer in the job. It gave me a bit of prestige in the village, I’m sure. And now they’re paying me to get out. I guess it’s time to go…

I text back, ‘ I Quit. Regards, Alf’ and slip the phone into my pocket. I spend the fiver on a bacon roll and another cuppa, and walk slowly along the deserted seafront.

Maisie is dressed when I return and waiting to go down for breakfast. She’s wearing casuals, and a broad smile. Suddenly, the penny drops. She’s set the whole thing up! The League could easily have voted me off, but she figured it was better for me to go out in style.

Maisie’s telling me she’s picked out a Murder Mystery night for us.

I am somebody after all. Alf Wilkins, husband.

The story was inspired by the photo, provided for Sunday Photo Fiction May 31st 2015, by Al Forbes. Please click the logo for more details.

To view other entries click the link here.

‘GEORGE MARRIES DRAGON’ SHOCKER!

April 26, 2015April 26, 2015 / Steve Lakey / 8 Comments

Photo © Al Forbes 2015

Finally, the truth can be revealed, straight from the horses mouth.

You’ll be familiar with the official version of the ‘George and the Dragon’ story. Now I’m going to put things right.

My name is Prosecco, although my friends call me Pretty. I was Prince George’s Pony and private confidante for many years. I’ve got nothing against him personally, in fact I’ve spent much of my life supporting him. But I think he’s been badly advised not to go public with this.

You see, George should have been the patsy. He was told to saddle his pony, Pretty, and kill a dragon that was holding Princess Posy in a poor province. But Posy’s wicked stepmother Pansy had turned Posy into a dragon. The plan was, George, the patsy, would kill the dragon, who in death, would turn back to Posy, leaving George to take the blame. Pansy would be then free to rule the Kingdom, and poor George would be left in the slammer. Quite the perfect plan? Possibly.

But Pretty prevented Pansy’s slippery scheme!

When we first caught sight of it, the dragon looked a little too feminine, wearing a designer outfit and tiara. I whispered my suspicions to George and he did the rest. George shouted Posy’s name in her presence, and the spell was broken. And that’s Pretty much all she wrote.

But the Palace spin doctors didn’t want any whiff of a scandal. So, officially, ‘George killed the Dragon’, and Pansy is apparently on an extended world tour, out of the spotlight. In fact, Pansy is having a ‘permanent staycation’, and she’ll be cleaning the Dungeon floors with a toothbrush for many a long year.

Me, I was pensioned off with a pleasant young groom, and a nice stable environment to live out my days. But I just wanted to set the record straight in a dignified manner (and maybe get a book/movie deal) before I get too old.

Not too much to ask is it?

The story was inspired by the photo, provided for Sunday Photo Fiction April 26th 2015, by Al Forbes. Please click the logo for more details.

To view other entries click the link here.

How Could I have Mystic?

April 19, 2015April 19, 2015 / Steve Lakey / 18 Comments

Photo © Al Forbes 2015

Our toils and troubles started when I bought my daughter Connie a Witch outfit for Halloween.

I thought getting the gift set would keep her amused for a spell, but to my amazement, it only confirmed that she had already been given the gift. Charming! I noticed next door’s black cat was getting very familiar with Connie, but didn’t give it a second thought. Then the fun and games started.

Magical creatures started disappearing from around the neighbourhood. ‘Have you seen my Unicorn?’ posters became a common sight. There was even an Elf-line set up to investigate the myriad of mystical mysteries.

I finally realised something out of the ordinary was happening, when I saw Connie having regular parcels collected from our house. Turns out she was using an alchemy type spell to turn these poor magical creatures into a pewter-like substance. Then selling them on her own ‘Con Pewter’ website! It was almost too much to believe.

I was furious of course – we’re not covered for any of this on our home insurance!

Then we had a delegation from M.U.C.K. (Magical Union of Creatures and Kings) saying that if we didn’t stop abusing dragons and suchlike, they would really turn up the heat on us. The last thing we needed was M.U.C.K. raking over the hot coals.

There was even talk of a magical creatures setting up a picket line at the end of our drive. What would the neighbours say? They were already complaining about a large pumpkin parked on the pavement.

I found these Magical types were very rude – King Arthur refused to get around the table, and Snow White fell asleep during discussions. On the plus side, Connie did get some interesting autographs (currently for sale on her website) and a nice pair of red shoes, which are currently appearing in a production at a West End theatre.

With the help of an Elf blacksmith, we managed to hammer out a compromise deal:

Connie’s spells to last for 99 years only – a short time for magical creatures – then they’ll return to their normal form.

Charmed Creatures to receive commission, invested directly in Rumplestiltskin’s Gold Bank – “A Fair Deal for a Price”.

If you’d like to purchase a genuine pewter creature, please hurry to ICantBelieveImSoGullible.com for all your magical ornamental needs.

The story was inspired by Sunday Photo Fiction, April 19th 2015, hosted by Al Forbes. Click the logo for more details.

To view other entries click the link here.

Turning Tides

February 15, 2015February 17, 2015 / Steve Lakey / 20 Comments

Photo © Al Forbes 2015

It was a perfect storm, and there was to be no escape for anyone on the South West coast of Britain. The Atlantic Ocean, guided by Poseidon’s vengeful hand, swelled into a devastating, killing tidal wave.

Twenty four hours of driving rain had created floods that washed away bridges and railway tracks. Every major road was gridlocked by the sheer weight of traffic. Official appeals for calm went unheard, as damaged electricity lines blacked out the regional power grid.

There was no way of running, and nowhere to run to, so people took whatever shelter they could.

The sea level fell dramatically, a huge wave ready to strike. Only a miracle could stop a tragedy unfolding.

Zeus didn’t believe in miracles. What he believed in was not letting his subordinates make unauthorised decisions. He took immediate action. First, the rain stopped, and the clouds blew away. Then the sun made a reluctant, embarrassed appearance. The tide sulkily returned to its normal level.

Shortly afterwards, a nervous Poseidon was summoned to Zeus’ small tent on Mount Olympus, Greece.

“I’ve told you Poseidon, we don’t settle disputes like this any more! I know we’re all in reduced circumstances, but we can’t blame the UK for our austerity, they aren’t even in the Euro. This is your last warning. Any more stunts like this, and I’m replacing you with that Italian guy, Neptune.”

The story was inspired by Sunday Photo Fiction, January 18th 2015, hosted by Al Forbes. After 100 weeks, Al is moving to new pastures after this week’s challenge. Thanks for your hard work and support Al, and every success in the future! 🙂

Click the logo for more details of the challenge.

To view other entries click the link here.

This post is also entered in the Word Snap Weekly challenge, hosted by Amanda Lakey at UniqueArt Chic.com. Click the logo for more details, and to read the other entries.

N.I.B. – Might is Write

January 25, 2015 / Steve Lakey / 21 Comments

I’d been meaning to visit this independent bookshop for a while. I knew it had been torched by thugs, six months ago. Fortunately, the shop was up and running again in no time – good for him. I wanted to show my support.

It felt good to see that there was still a bookshop not controlled by the corporate evil that is ‘New International Bookshops’ (N.I.B.)

NIB, A global entity, with their slogan, ‘Might is Write’, now dominates all written media. NIB shops sell only officially approved titles.

A bell rang as I opened the door. A small man appeared behind the counter, looking a little nervous. I noticed that discreet CCTV cameras had been fitted, covering both inside and outside the shop. Sad, but necessary.

I tried to start a conversation with him, but all his answers were very guarded. I gave up and went back to browsing.

It was only when I walked to the ‘Classics’ section that he showed any interest in me. I could feel his eyes burning into the back of my neck.

“After anything in particular there, sir?”

I turned towards him. “I’m looking for ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Do you have it?”

He flushed. “I’ll probably have it in the storeroom, if it’s not on public display, sir.”

“Okay. I’ll wait.”

Something in his eyes gave him away. I was already running for the door before he reached behind the counter and jabbed the button. The shutters were only half down, as I slid out through the door and onto the street.

There were shouts and heavy footsteps behind me – two NIB agents in black suits. They were determined, but I know these streets well, and was able to shake them off within minutes. Now they had my face on camera, I couldn’t return home.

After several days, I managed to make contact with the Underground, who gave me a new identity. In return, I helped them plan their next mission: to torch the bookshop, this time for good.

The story was inspired by Sunday Photo Fiction, January 25th 2015, hosted by Al Forbes. Click the logo for more details.

To view other entries click the link here.

This post is also entered in the Word Snap Weekly challenge, hosted by Amanda Lakey at UniqueArt Chic.com. Click the logo for more details, and to read the other entries.