Bob knew the taste of thin warm blood, having had recurrent attacks of nosebleeds from early childhood, so he was not unduly alarmed, not on this observation at any rate. The thing that did cause him some measure of concern was that he was being admonished by a tawny owl, though on hindsight he should have been even more concerned at the owl being able to talk period. Somehow, as the blood drained out of his olfactory canals, this did not seem odd to him.
Then he had this sort of weightless sensation as he broke free from the tree and hurtled fifty seven feet to the ground. The jersey cow very kindly administered Bob the last rights and told him the story of the sparrow that landed in the cow pat, survived until the thaw, after which he escaped only to be readily eten by an opportunistic cat.
And that was curtains. Bob slipped away to pastures green, quite painlessly he remarked. But the Jersey didnt respond, just bowed his head quite dignified and the last thing Bob say was the Jersey carefully dab his eyes with a blue spotted hankkerchief.........
(Ed - where the f..k is this going?)
Saturday 28 February 2009
Good Riddance Winter
Bob took a long walk under duress or as he preferred to look at it some fresh air resistance exercise not involving weights otherwise know as lawn mowing. One man went to mow, went to mow a meadow, he might have sang loudly as the drone of the motor drowned out the drone of his singing.
Instead however Bb hardly noticed what he was singing or the 2 or more hours it took to make the year's maiden voyage with his trusty steed. He had other thoughts on his mind as he pushed the 0.5 donkey powered machine up the meadow and freewheeled down the other side. He was suffering from his first real case of writer's block for many years, since his last essay at university. He was looking for inspiration in the grass but all he found was buried children's toys or should that be his children's buried toys and a few well chosen stones from the ornamentalised back wall bit between it and the grass if you know what I mean, he chuckled. One even managed to break off and in bits the mulcher but thank God it still went back on again.
Eventually he finished, rested briefly, drank a 1/2 gallon of water and went back out to survey with accomplishment his endeavour, smell the fresh mulched grass and attempt to confuse the birds. he wondered what they though of his attempts to sing their various Spring heralding songs.
But he still had no idea of where to begin. As he headed indoors feeling slightly cheated, he wondered - but even his wondering was cut short by a strange high pitched whine which grew astronomically (literally) into a deafening roar like a jet engine about to crash.
And then it did. And Bob really went away with the birds. He had suddenly gleaned an entirely new perspective on the world as he hung upside down from a 97 foot fir tree with a tawny owl looking very curiously at him...
Instead however Bb hardly noticed what he was singing or the 2 or more hours it took to make the year's maiden voyage with his trusty steed. He had other thoughts on his mind as he pushed the 0.5 donkey powered machine up the meadow and freewheeled down the other side. He was suffering from his first real case of writer's block for many years, since his last essay at university. He was looking for inspiration in the grass but all he found was buried children's toys or should that be his children's buried toys and a few well chosen stones from the ornamentalised back wall bit between it and the grass if you know what I mean, he chuckled. One even managed to break off and in bits the mulcher but thank God it still went back on again.
Eventually he finished, rested briefly, drank a 1/2 gallon of water and went back out to survey with accomplishment his endeavour, smell the fresh mulched grass and attempt to confuse the birds. he wondered what they though of his attempts to sing their various Spring heralding songs.
But he still had no idea of where to begin. As he headed indoors feeling slightly cheated, he wondered - but even his wondering was cut short by a strange high pitched whine which grew astronomically (literally) into a deafening roar like a jet engine about to crash.
And then it did. And Bob really went away with the birds. He had suddenly gleaned an entirely new perspective on the world as he hung upside down from a 97 foot fir tree with a tawny owl looking very curiously at him...
Friday 27 February 2009
Unlimited Posibilities
Some many ideas could come flooding into his head as Bob went through the day to day chores of his hectic life. And yet the moment he started to write, he could often picture his ideas flying away like the birds in the sky, carefree with abandon, unbridled by all but the basics of life to eat, reproduce and die, their purpose fulfilled.
What simple life Bob mused, somewhat envious of its simplicity, yet without wishing to exchange lives, not with the birds or other animals at any rate. It was more typical of the human condition to feel envy toward his neighbour or the millionaire businessman he saw on Dragon's Den perhaps. But that was not his lot, Bob reminded himself thankfully. Though he had, like no doubt every human being at some stage if not several times, wondered just what it would be like if he had £60,603 or £270,244 in the bank. Never a million pounds as Bob liked to be different, didn't like even numbers that much and kind of always liked to be a bit different. It was his world after all and he could define the parameters within his own dreams without recourse to the stereotypical numerical threshold.
As he scurried downstairs to collect the post, he heard the rush of his tyres on the loose stones as they hastened to the postman's next port of call. Bob picked up the letters and parcels, scanning them quickly before deciding on their priority for opening. He could usually quickly sort them out into taxman, bank, junk mail - get poor slow schemes and the ones which he did not recognise and which would have to be opened to satisfy his curiosity - but not yet as Bob as a rule always opened the ones he recognised first, sorting them into 2 piles bin and action.
There was one in particular that had really caught his imagination and Bob held off opening as he tried harder than usual to figure out...I wonder, he thought as he squeezed, bent, twisted and even smelt this unusually shaped semi weighty envelope.
What simple life Bob mused, somewhat envious of its simplicity, yet without wishing to exchange lives, not with the birds or other animals at any rate. It was more typical of the human condition to feel envy toward his neighbour or the millionaire businessman he saw on Dragon's Den perhaps. But that was not his lot, Bob reminded himself thankfully. Though he had, like no doubt every human being at some stage if not several times, wondered just what it would be like if he had £60,603 or £270,244 in the bank. Never a million pounds as Bob liked to be different, didn't like even numbers that much and kind of always liked to be a bit different. It was his world after all and he could define the parameters within his own dreams without recourse to the stereotypical numerical threshold.
As he scurried downstairs to collect the post, he heard the rush of his tyres on the loose stones as they hastened to the postman's next port of call. Bob picked up the letters and parcels, scanning them quickly before deciding on their priority for opening. He could usually quickly sort them out into taxman, bank, junk mail - get poor slow schemes and the ones which he did not recognise and which would have to be opened to satisfy his curiosity - but not yet as Bob as a rule always opened the ones he recognised first, sorting them into 2 piles bin and action.
There was one in particular that had really caught his imagination and Bob held off opening as he tried harder than usual to figure out...I wonder, he thought as he squeezed, bent, twisted and even smelt this unusually shaped semi weighty envelope.
Thursday 26 February 2009
Chapter 1
Bob sat looking out the window watching the rain bounce tirelessly upon the blooming daffodils in his front gargen. It was three o clock in the afternoon. He had no idea how long he had been staring blindly as his mind travelled across the mists of possibility. He was only too aware of the size of the task facing him, this labour of love that had presented itself. Would he ever finish it? Would it be good enough, worthy of the title of sequel? Who the heck was he to think for one moment he had any right, not to mention ability, to accomplish this. And what of his peers, would they deride or politely sympathise at his labour of love.
Who cares, he summoned up, I would rather try and fail miserably than not to give it a shot. But courage and belief on board, he still had not written a single word. A rather inauspicious start indeed, his old english teacher might have said, had he had the benefit of his sound advice.
Who cares, he summoned up, I would rather try and fail miserably than not to give it a shot. But courage and belief on board, he still had not written a single word. A rather inauspicious start indeed, his old english teacher might have said, had he had the benefit of his sound advice.
The Beginning
What is a labour of love and what is Replay ?
A labour of love may be defined as something you do for its own inherent pleasure or for the good of others - http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/222400.html
Replay by Ken Grimwood is the best book I have ever read - http://www.sitestalk.net/Authors/index.php
This blog was intended to write a sort of sequel or to get some ideas towards this from anyone caring to comment. News is a change of plan, no one can do this, and Ken sadly passed away during the writing of his sequel, so instead I will just read the rest of Ken's books, and keep writing my own, which seems to work for me in pen and ink only!
A labour of love may be defined as something you do for its own inherent pleasure or for the good of others - http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/222400.html
Replay by Ken Grimwood is the best book I have ever read - http://www.sitestalk.net/Authors/index.php
This blog was intended to write a sort of sequel or to get some ideas towards this from anyone caring to comment. News is a change of plan, no one can do this, and Ken sadly passed away during the writing of his sequel, so instead I will just read the rest of Ken's books, and keep writing my own, which seems to work for me in pen and ink only!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)