Got My Name in the Papers

August 31, 2014 / Steve Lakey / 11 Comments

Photo: © Al Forbes 2014

They had originally asked me to speak at his funeral. I politely declined to attend, saying it would be too emotional for me.

I would have liked to have been there, to be part of the shared grieving process. After all, he’d been my mentor and was such an inspiration for me. If only I’d been able to reach the heights of his success and popularity.

He died on his birthday – a real Shakespearean tragedy, you might say. As a Knight of the West End theatre, I think he would have appreciated the irony.

I often imagine him opening his gift. The Newton’s Cradle he’d always wanted. Like the big kid he was, he probably would have pulled on one of the metal balls straight away, closing the mercury switch that detonated the explosive device.

I knew he would never read the goodbye note I attached to it, telling him how much I really hated his ‘niceness’. How behind my smile, I was just waiting for a chance to pay him back for his mystifying success. And now it was my turn for the limelight after waiting for so long. But I just wanted that note to be there with him, when he went ‘out’. Exit, stage left.

The real irony is, that they managed to identify my signature from two fragments of paper.

During the trial, I got the biggest headlines of my career. But what use is it to me now, stuck on the Inside. I call it rough justice.

I hear they’ve done a wonderful obituary for him on BBC1. Life just isn’t fair.

This story is written for Sunday Photo Fiction: August 31, 2014, hosted by Al Forbes.

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To view other entries in this challenge, click on the blue frog.

Star Jar Jinx

August 26, 2014August 26, 2014 / Steve Lakey / 6 Comments

Photo: © Al Forbes 2014

“Police has asked me to say a few words.

Before I do, I don’t see why I’m taking blame for it. It’s really all our Derek’s fault.

Derek has never been brightest star in galaxy. He knows it. Even Sheila, his Mam knows it, but she won’t hear a word against him. Because, what he lacks in brains, she says, he makes up for in ‘good-natured enthusiasm’.

Fair dues, Derek would do a favour for anybody. He always does as he’s told, and was hardest working Class V Junior Technician on starship Prometheus. They said so. But I doubt he’ll keep his job after this.

I mean, when you’re told to flush a baby Alien creature out of airlock, surely there must be a good reason for it. But no! Too much for him to bear, the soft lad. Now he’s really done it this time.

He secretly brings that creature back home in a glass bottle that wasn’t fit for purpose. I thought it was one of those lava lamps at first. More fool me!

Then Sheila starts screaming! Ahhhhh, she says, Ahhhhhhh! It starts moving and wriggling, it does. Quick as a flash I’ve took it to bathroom and flushed it down WC. I thought that was the end of it. But then Derek finds out and says we have to tell somebody.

Now they’re calling it an environmental hazard. Apparently, if you live anywhere near Mansfield, you’ve got to be very careful when you, you know, go!

So if you’ve got one of these Alien things in your plumbing. Don’t try to tackle it yourself, leave it to the experts. Let Coppers handle it. Thank you!”

This story was prompted by Sunday Photo Fiction, August 24th 2014, hosted by Al Forbes.

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Pixel Prose Challenge: Operation ‘Match that Garden’

August 24, 2014 / Steve Lakey / 4 Comments

Photos: © Walktheselftalk.com 2014.

Coningshall Parish Council Leader George Sterling turned on the projector and showed the images to a stunned council chamber.

“These images were obtained a few days ago, at great expense, by an undercover operative in Scarsbury.” He was of course referring to himself having taken the pictures in their neighbouring rival town.

“Shocking images, I think you’ll agree. This decorative garden looks the bees knees! They’re just about to unveil it at the height of the tourist-rich summer season, giving us no chance to respond in kind. They’ve even built it right on our border, rubbing our noses in it! So, Ladies and Gentlemen, what do we do?”

After a long silence, a few suggestions filtered in.
“Create our own!” (What, overnight?)
“Ask Scarsbury to go halves with us!” (As if they’d ever agree!)
“Let’s have a Coningshall Air Show!” (We like the sound of this!)

A few heads were nodding at the last suggestion until George pointed out that the lack of an airfield and/or air museum could be a major stumbling block.

Just then then the old-school ring of the Red Phone cut through the chamber. This was not usually a good sign. The phone was the Hot Line from Recently Deceased Solicitor, and Former Council Leader, Peter Kipper.

“My clients, all former Coningshallinans, are not happy. Scarsbury have got one over on us again. George, you’ve got to up your game! I’m working on something from this end, but you’ve got to come up with a response, and sharpish!” The line went very dead.

The meeting broke up and all ten of the councillors adjourned to the Red Lion pub for consolation drinks. The landlord, Reg Lyons (He always answered the phone, “Reg Lyons at the Red Lion!”) was a annoyingly cheerful fellow. But he was a little tight when it came to money matters. He passed round the complimentary drinks to his fellow councillors (one small bottle of out-of-date lemonade or cola per person, maximum.)

Reg spoke up. “I’d be prepared to host a ‘Mice Bucket Challenge’. We could get some mice from the local pet shop. Mind you, we might get some hassle from Animal Rights activists. Still, what’s the worse that could happen?” Not surprisingly, there were no takers.

George was getting a little desperate. “ I’ve got an actor friend, Paddy, who could make the occasional public appearance in town. He once auditioned to be a Dalek in Doctor Who. He didn’t get it though, they said his face didn’t fit.”

Jim Stamp the owner of the Coningshall Gazette spoke for the first time today. “What we need is a bit of controversy to pull the punters in. You know how they found the remains of King Richard lll in a car park? What if we buried a body in the pub car park? Then someone digs it up. It’d make a great headline!” The ideas were beginning to get even more outrageous, when fortunately, a familiar old-school ringtone cut through the conversation.

George pulled out his Red mobile phone and turned on the loudspeaker.

“Hold the front page!” Peter Kipper sounded almost cheerful. Almost. “George, I’ve been doing some digging through title deeds here. It seems that Scarsbury have bungled. Almost all the land they’ve used for the gardens is actually owned by Coningshall. Check your old maps! By rights, Scarsbury will have to give you three quarters of the profits, or sell you the whole thing at a knockdown price. Am I good, or am I good! You owe me one. Good day, George.”

There were cheers all round, apart from Jim Stamp, who still liked the ‘Body in the Car Park’ idea.

Coningshall was to have it’s own Public Garden Paradise! Maybe George’s actor friend, Paddy, could do the official opening?

The photos and story were prompted by the Pixel Post Challenge, hosted by Amanda Lakey at www.UniqueArtChic.com.

Click the logo for more details.

To view the other entries in the challenge, click the Blue Frog.

Pixel Prose Challenge: Tracking Back

August 17, 2014August 19, 2014 / Steve Lakey / 2 Comments

Photo: © Walktheselftalk.com 2014

Brian ‘Buzz’ Oldring, Leader of the Coningshall Parish Council, wasn’t a happy man. Their local rival town, Scarsbury, was steaming ahead economically.

Despite Coningshall benefiting from having a booming Ghost Walk, Scarsbury’s new civic amenities put them at the top of the pecking order. Something needed to be done! A few seconds after those thoughts came to Buzz, the Red Telephone rang.
The Red phone was a specially designed communication interface between himself and recently deceased local solicitor, Peter Kipper.

Peter’s voice came through loud and clear. “As you know, Buzz, I represent the Coninsgshall deceased community. Several of my clients are unhappy at Scarsbury financially outperforming us. We need to get things back on track, so to speak.” “I’m all ears, Mr Kipper!” “I’m forbidden by Deceased Person Regulations from revealing too much. All I can tell you is, you need to spend some time on the ‘wrong’ side of the tracks. Get your man, Kanye, to Conginshall Railway Station!”

Their once-abandoned station had recently been renovated in a retro style, and a few miles of track installed to run old diesel and steam trains out into the countryside. Unfortunately, the tourists weren’t exactly flocking there. Kanye Bell-Eaves, the local Psychic Investigator, had long suspected there was something ‘not quite right’ about the area.

The next day. Kanye bought a ticket and joined a few tourists on an almost empty train. A man who looked a little out of place was Scarsbury Council Treasurer, George Sterling, carrying a heavy briefcase, with a chain attached to his wrist.
As they reached the only destination on the line, the quaint village station at Little Haven, Kanye’s iPhone Paranormal Activity App started flashing crazily, just before his data and phone signal went dead.

The train pulled into the station and everyone dispersed onto the platform. No-one seemed to want to visit the quaint picture-postcard village that was just a short walk down Old Memory Lane. It was almost as if it wasn’t there. Instead, they milled around the Little Haven Station and Museum Complex, before taking the train back to Coningshall.

Not George Sterling. He was heading down the lane with a purpose. Kanye discreetly followed him from a distance. George looked around nervously before heading into the village Bank. Kanye peered through the window and saw George passing over bundles of notes from his case to the cashier.

Kanye took a walk around the village. The detail they had taken, to recreate the late 1960’s was incredible – the cars, the fashions, even the prices! And yet the place was almost deserted. According to the newspapers, it was 1968. There were headlines announcing Robert Kennedy’s funeral, and a story about the Vietnam War.
But wait a minute. Kanye was getting a funny feeling about this. It all seemed too real. What does George Sterling know about it? And what if it really is 1968 here? If you invest money now, how much do you make on it 46 years later! Well done George. No wonder Scarsdale was doing so well.

1968. That explains the lack of mobile phone coverage. There won’t be any for decades!

Just then, George walked by with his briefcase stuffed with Champagne bottles. Kanye grabbed his arm. “Right, George. Tell me everything! I think Buzz Oldring might have an offer for you…”

So, when they got back to Coningshall, Buzz heard the full story. George had walked into Little Haven by chance and realised that the train must travel through a time portal that takes you back to the past! It seems only a few people are sensitive enough to see the village at all.

Months ago, George had found boxes of old-style pound notes in the Scarsbury Council Vault. No longer legal tender. And nobody seemed to know they were there. Using some creative accounting, he re-invested the cash and shared the profits with the council. George was making good money for himself and his employer, but never revealed his big secret. Why would he?

Buzz allowed George to name his own terms, and George was happy to sign up as the next leader of Coningshall Parish Council. On a very generous salary, with extras.
And what of poor old Scarsbury Council? Last I heard, they were having to borrow money from Coningshall. At “special” interest rates of course.

Peter Kipper and his clients were very satisfied indeed.

The photo and story were prompted by Pixel Prose Challenge, hosted by Amanda Lakey at www.UniqueArtChic.com

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For other entries to this challenge, click the Blue Frog!

Pixel Prose Challenge: Time and Again

July 27, 2014August 3, 2014 / Steve Lakey / 7 Comments

Photo: Matlock Bath, Derbyshire, UK. 2014.

It wasn’t the first time I’d visited Matlock Bath, the quaint Victorian Spa town in Derbyshire. But I’d never noticed this particular fountain, with its magical, out-of-time feel. I sat on a park bench and took in the atmosphere.

I’d lost track of how long I’d been sitting there, when a strange thought came to me. Throw a silver coin in to the fountain. And make a wish!

I wanted Time to stand still and preserve this perfect moment. My gleaming 2014 coin dropped into the clear water without a splash. I watched it float slowly down to the bottom of the pool. It joined a selection of other coins already in there.

One of the coins looked pretty old and worn. I knelt down and fished out a large Penny. It showed the profiled head of King George V and was dated 1914.

As I gripped the coin, the sun clouded over and the temperature dropped to an icy chill. A thick mist descended. When it cleared, the fountain appeared the same, but the park looked somehow…different.

A young couple strolled towards me, arm-in-arm. A soldier in a First World War uniform and a lady with a parasol! They could have been attending one of the local Historical Themed weekends that seem so popular now. But something told me they weren’t. As if confirmation was needed, where the park’s War Memorial had stood, there was now just neatly trimmed grass.

I looked down at my 1914 Penny, now looking shiny and new!

The young couple were eyeing me strangely, as if I was the odd one out. Of course! Here, or rather Now, I was. My jeans, and Beatles t-shirt had quickly got me noticed.

Without thinking, I dropped the coin back into the fountain. The water seemed to reach out and pull it back in. Fishing out my original silver coin, I soon felt relief as the thick mist swallowed me up.

Sunshine returned, and I was back. The young couple had gone. I wondered if the Soldier’s name was on the War Memorial. I hoped not.

Sitting down on the bench again, I tried to collect my thoughts. Had I just wasted a golden opportunity? I needed to go back. This was the opportunity of a lifetime – or many lifetimes.

I don’t know how long I Iooked for the coin that I had just dropped into the water. Or did that happen a century ago? Either way, it wasn’t to be found. And there were no more old coins in that fountain! I had literally thrown it all away.

But then I had an idea…

I ran through the park towards home and changed into my grey work suit. OK, styles change, but hopefully a suit won’t stand out too much. Then I called into the Antiques shop, the one that sells handfuls of old, battered pennies that no one uses these days. Well, I had a use for them! I collected an equal supply of 2014 coins from the bank. Mustn’t forget those.

I sat on the park bench and arranged them in date order. Quite a few years were missing, but I had about twenty years between 1901-1953 covered. Where to start?

After scattering a number of 2014 coins around, inside the fountain, I selected an old coin, and put the rest back into my pockets.

I carefully dropped the battered old coin into the water and impatiently waited for a few minutes for the fountain to work its magic. I took out the coin and gripped it tightly. The mist fell…

I took this photo recently, and edited it with Photo Toaster. This story was written for Pixel Prose Challenge, hosted by Amanda Lakey, at

www.Unique Art Chic.Com

Click the logo for more details.

To view the other posts in this challenge, click the blue frog!