Greetings once again for another wordzzle challenge and I think that we’re finally getting somewhere close to the end of the story – just a few loose ends to tie up and we’ll finally get some kind of answer soon
But in the meantime, and for those of you who don’t already know, each week Raven sets a total of 15 words: 5 for a mini challenge, 10 for a main challenge and all fifteen for the mega challenge – the task is to write a story, poem, song or short few paragraphs utilising said words as best one can. It’s a great challenge because it forces you to think in different ways in order to get the job done.
And as recent readers may be aware I have been embarking on a short piece of fiction that has now reached its seventh and penultimate episode (it can’t go on much longer or all the plot strands will just unweave)
Yet another twist this week – so for those of you who want to catch up here are links to Part1, Part2, Part3, Part4, Part5, Part6
If you enjoy reading my useage of the words why not go and have a go yourself?
Words for this week's 10-word challenge are: charm, judge, flowers, mixed nuts, earthquake, politics, sugar and spice, bricks and mortar, neurosurgeon, blinking lights, plastic bag
And for the mini: lawn mower, sheets and towels, smashed, bookcase, pinky finger
And before we start…apologies to Cheggers (bless ‘im), and to everyone else’s names that I seem to have pilfered along the way :)
Sleeper, Part 7 (10 word challenge)
Lies within lies within lies.
Sir Keith Chegwin sat back into the plush leather seats of the Bentley and threw the remains of his cigar out the window. His head was aching from the blinking lights of the street and the files on the seat next to him were making him long for a drink.
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier – but who was the spy?
Lies: that was the problem. First you lied to the people at work, then you lied to your family and finally you lied to yourself until you no longer knew the truth anymore. He had long suspected that the true answer to the question “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?” was that you watched everyone and everyone watched you.
And now he had to judge which one of the people shown in the pictures in front of him was the spy – if any - and for which side...now he had to decide if any of them had planted the bomb or if all of this mess was just so much paranoia. Could this just be a case of too many people jumping at shadows?
He lifted the first picture with shaking hands, hands that had once been as stable as the best neurosurgeon and pulled the first file out of its plastic bag.
Mark Smith – at least that’s what it said on the file. The notes said that he didn’t exist until five years ago, but there was some doubt about that now, an inferrence that the file had been tampered with: but who by and what for. He still hadn’t been found – but there were vague reports of sightings near the coast. Would an agent really let himself be seen?
Sophie Aldred – she’d worked for the Facility for nearly ten years now. Her face was familiar, but that didn’t explain why she had done nothing but ask for him since she had been taken in. He studied her face for a while and decided it was not without charm – was she really an innocent dupe or was there something more going on. Perhaps he would have to talk to her after all
Then there was Richard Devine – until three days ago heading the investigation into the bomb and then, like an earthquake, the evidence had started to collapse and look suspiciously handy. He had approached Mark (or whatever his name was, Sir Keith silently mused) and tried to recruit him – his story being that he was playing politics to try and see which one of the two, Sophie or Mark, would betray the other. It had been done before – but Richard wouldn’t be the first agent to try and implicate someone else to take attention from himself and when the evidence of the files being tampered had come through he too had been arrested.
But then Richard was the type of agent that were the bricks and mortar of the facility these days. Not the old Etonians of yesteryear where you were recruited on background, firmness of handshake and social standing – but the James Bond generation, always looking for their own personal Blofeld
Sir Keith threw down the files in disgust: it was a right old bag of mixed nuts and no mistake - no way to sort it out without hours of investigation that he felt no sense of keenness for. Sleepers: he hated the whole idea of it. You put someone deep enough under cover for long enough and sooner or later the margins become blurred.
He turned to the transcripts of the interview between Richard and Sophie again. Much of it was just the repeated request to talk to himself – and then:
RD: tell me where your friend is. I can hold you here indefinitely if you don’t. If you tell me what I want to know then I will let you speak to Sir Keith
SA: Very well – I’ll tell you what I know
What had mostly followed was a very plausible account of how she had met Mark, how she had come to work for the Facility, her relationship with both Mark and Richard – but that one phrase kept coming back to him
SA: Our relationship could be a bit weird. Like Sugar and Spice – somehow it worked…for a while.
All the best analysts had gone over the transcripts and had found nothing – but Sir Keith felt sure that if there was a message there then it was a message for him.
He sat back in his seat and reached for the thermos flask of not-entirely-coffee and took a sip, still mulling the words over. Sugar and spice. There was just a hint of memory of those words – like the words of the old rhyme: sugar and spice and all things nice – that’s what little girls are…’
He nearly choked on the coffee, jolting out of his chair as the hot liquid caught his skin. He leaned forward and pressed the car phone into life, barely allowing enough time for the person to answer
‘Get me Snyder, fast!’ he yelled, ‘Tell him that Operation Littlegirl is totally fucked!’
Friday, 10 September 2010
Friday, 3 September 2010
Wordzzle - Sleeper Part Six
OK – hello again and welcome to the end of another week and this week I’m a little bit later posting the next instalment of my ongoing saga.
So – for those of you who don’t know every week Raven sets a series of words: a set of five words, a set of ten words or all fifteen words if you feel lucky
Anyway – this week the words are:
10-word challenge: pyramid, laughter, orangutan, recycling, infinity, toilet paper, greasy dishes, Spanish, preparation, back-up
5 word challenge: carpet, cane, outer space, hand ball, ambitious
10 word challenge:
Sleeper – Part 6
(for a catch up you can read part1, part2, part3, part4 or even part5 by clicking the links)
After a while the walls were no longer white. Sophie stared at them blearily, trying to make sense of the swirl of colours. It had been six days since she had slept, but already it felt like infinity. There were precious few luxuries in the cell where they were keeping her: the mattress was old and worn and had semen stains engrained on its surface, the light flickered and buzzed but never went out and the toilet paper was so thin that a breath would break the surface. Every so often, just when they thought she was about to fall asleep they would drag her out of the cell and back into this room, firing question after question at her until the noise of it all crashed around in her head like greasy dishes falling from a waiter’s arms
Every time they asked a question she gave the same response: “I want to talk to Sir Keith”
“Why did you plant the bomb?”
“I want to talk to Sir Keith”
“Where is your friend now?”
“I want to talk to Sir Keith”
Sir Keith, her boss at the facility – the only person that just might be able to help her. She knew they would never let her talk to her – knew the only reason they hadn’t tried torture yet was because they had found the bomb and defused it.
Finally, just as she knew they would have to, they sent in Richard. He leaned over the table from the other side, leaning on his fists so that, in her sleep-deprived state, he looked like an orangutan about to groom her for fleas. The burst of laughter was out of her mouth before she could stop it, but the cold look in his eyes made it drain away. He sat down and connected his hands into a pyramid on the table, ‘Where’s your friend?’ he asked
‘I want to talk to Sir Keith’ Sophie responded, her voice tired and nearly worn-out
‘Sir Keith is not available at the moment’ he replied, sitting back. There was a slight hint of an accent in his voice, Greek or possibly Spanish – she was too tired to know the difference anymore, ‘So tell me: where is your friend?’
‘You mean Mark?’ Sophie asked, ‘You should know – you saw him last’
Richard smiled and shook his head, pulling a thin manila envelope from beneath the desk, pouring the few contents onto the desk and allowing himself a few moments of preparation as he spread them out. They were mostly pictures of herself and Mark, both together and separate in a variety of poses: at work, on the street, in a café. He pushed one of the pictures forward and looked at her for a long moment
‘Tell me, Miss Aldred: do you know what a sleeper is?’
Sophie nodded, ‘Of course I do: I’ve worked for the facility for six bloody years: it’s a high-level under-cover agent. Usually just sent to another country and left there awaiting code-worded orders to activate’ She paused, ‘but didn’t they all get withdrawn when the Soviet Union collapsed?’
Richard shook his head, ‘Come on Sophie, don’t expect me to think you are so naïve. Just because we’re all friends now doesn’t mean that we trust one another, besides’ he said, ‘not all were recalled.’ He shook his head, ‘Imagine that: the empire falls, your name is in the book that gets burned and you spend the next ten years living a lie waiting for orders that never come. It could really get your back up.’
‘Are you saying that you think I am a sleeper agent?’
Richard shrugged, ‘One of you: you or him. We’re still not quite sure to be honest. Your friend…’ he looked at the documents, ‘…Mark?’ Richard paused and looked at her for acknowledgment of the name, ‘the thing about him is that until six months before he met you he didn’t exist’
‘Bullshit’ Sophie exclaimed
Richard shook his head, ‘But the thing is that we still weren’t sure it was him that was the sleeper: the Russians weren’t the only country to put a few of their spies names into the recycling by mistake”
‘And so you set a trap’ Sophie nodded, her brain still processing the information. It was all too clear now. Richard must have told Mark, or whoever he was, that she was the spy: got him to plant the box on her to see where she went – and at the same time he had pretended to befriend her, to see if she would make some move that would give her away. Her eyes narrowed: there was still a chance, but she would have to play this carefully. She shook her head, 'Why should I trust you?' she asked, 'How can I possibly know that you're not the sleeper agent just trying to set me up?'
Richard shrugged, 'I never said I wasn't'
‘Please’ she said, ‘you have to let me talk to Sir Keith – he can explain everything: before it’s too late’
Richard shook his head, ‘No’ he replied, ‘tell me where your friend is. I can hold you here indefinitely if you don’t. If you tell me what I want to know then I will let you speak to Sir Keith’
‘Very well’ Sophie said, realizing she had little choice, ‘I’ll tell you what I know’
So – for those of you who don’t know every week Raven sets a series of words: a set of five words, a set of ten words or all fifteen words if you feel lucky
Anyway – this week the words are:
10-word challenge: pyramid, laughter, orangutan, recycling, infinity, toilet paper, greasy dishes, Spanish, preparation, back-up
5 word challenge: carpet, cane, outer space, hand ball, ambitious
10 word challenge:
Sleeper – Part 6
(for a catch up you can read part1, part2, part3, part4 or even part5 by clicking the links)
After a while the walls were no longer white. Sophie stared at them blearily, trying to make sense of the swirl of colours. It had been six days since she had slept, but already it felt like infinity. There were precious few luxuries in the cell where they were keeping her: the mattress was old and worn and had semen stains engrained on its surface, the light flickered and buzzed but never went out and the toilet paper was so thin that a breath would break the surface. Every so often, just when they thought she was about to fall asleep they would drag her out of the cell and back into this room, firing question after question at her until the noise of it all crashed around in her head like greasy dishes falling from a waiter’s arms
Every time they asked a question she gave the same response: “I want to talk to Sir Keith”
“Why did you plant the bomb?”
“I want to talk to Sir Keith”
“Where is your friend now?”
“I want to talk to Sir Keith”
Sir Keith, her boss at the facility – the only person that just might be able to help her. She knew they would never let her talk to her – knew the only reason they hadn’t tried torture yet was because they had found the bomb and defused it.
Finally, just as she knew they would have to, they sent in Richard. He leaned over the table from the other side, leaning on his fists so that, in her sleep-deprived state, he looked like an orangutan about to groom her for fleas. The burst of laughter was out of her mouth before she could stop it, but the cold look in his eyes made it drain away. He sat down and connected his hands into a pyramid on the table, ‘Where’s your friend?’ he asked
‘I want to talk to Sir Keith’ Sophie responded, her voice tired and nearly worn-out
‘Sir Keith is not available at the moment’ he replied, sitting back. There was a slight hint of an accent in his voice, Greek or possibly Spanish – she was too tired to know the difference anymore, ‘So tell me: where is your friend?’
‘You mean Mark?’ Sophie asked, ‘You should know – you saw him last’
Richard smiled and shook his head, pulling a thin manila envelope from beneath the desk, pouring the few contents onto the desk and allowing himself a few moments of preparation as he spread them out. They were mostly pictures of herself and Mark, both together and separate in a variety of poses: at work, on the street, in a café. He pushed one of the pictures forward and looked at her for a long moment
‘Tell me, Miss Aldred: do you know what a sleeper is?’
Sophie nodded, ‘Of course I do: I’ve worked for the facility for six bloody years: it’s a high-level under-cover agent. Usually just sent to another country and left there awaiting code-worded orders to activate’ She paused, ‘but didn’t they all get withdrawn when the Soviet Union collapsed?’
Richard shook his head, ‘Come on Sophie, don’t expect me to think you are so naïve. Just because we’re all friends now doesn’t mean that we trust one another, besides’ he said, ‘not all were recalled.’ He shook his head, ‘Imagine that: the empire falls, your name is in the book that gets burned and you spend the next ten years living a lie waiting for orders that never come. It could really get your back up.’
‘Are you saying that you think I am a sleeper agent?’
Richard shrugged, ‘One of you: you or him. We’re still not quite sure to be honest. Your friend…’ he looked at the documents, ‘…Mark?’ Richard paused and looked at her for acknowledgment of the name, ‘the thing about him is that until six months before he met you he didn’t exist’
‘Bullshit’ Sophie exclaimed
Richard shook his head, ‘But the thing is that we still weren’t sure it was him that was the sleeper: the Russians weren’t the only country to put a few of their spies names into the recycling by mistake”
‘And so you set a trap’ Sophie nodded, her brain still processing the information. It was all too clear now. Richard must have told Mark, or whoever he was, that she was the spy: got him to plant the box on her to see where she went – and at the same time he had pretended to befriend her, to see if she would make some move that would give her away. Her eyes narrowed: there was still a chance, but she would have to play this carefully. She shook her head, 'Why should I trust you?' she asked, 'How can I possibly know that you're not the sleeper agent just trying to set me up?'
Richard shrugged, 'I never said I wasn't'
‘Please’ she said, ‘you have to let me talk to Sir Keith – he can explain everything: before it’s too late’
Richard shook his head, ‘No’ he replied, ‘tell me where your friend is. I can hold you here indefinitely if you don’t. If you tell me what I want to know then I will let you speak to Sir Keith’
‘Very well’ Sophie said, realizing she had little choice, ‘I’ll tell you what I know’
Monday, 30 August 2010
Po-e-tree Bus: Skool's Owt
Finally back on the bus, y'all and this week Karen has sent the bus back to school - which in my memory was a good excuse to get out of detention. If you had to come on the school bus then you couldn't have evening detention or you would miss it (with the inevitable result that everyone who came on the bus was a total hooligan)
Hooligans are not invited on the school bus today, but I do have a couple of things to run by y'all. The first is a playground chant that was around in my parent's day and just about around in mine as well - maybe some of you will know it or know if it is still in circulation today. I'd like to think so:
We break up, we break down
We don't care if the school falls down
No more English, no more French
No more sitting on the old school bench
Kick the tables, kick the chairs
Kick the teachers down the stairs
If that does not shut them up
Dynamite will blow them up
And from the traditional to my own this week. I went to a school that had been standing since the 1900s - a school that my mum and uncle had been to before me (my uncle had one of the same teachers) - it was a horrible place with outside toilets and flip-top desks that still had holes for the inkwells and there was no light and practically no air in most of the rooms. I didn't really have a great time there.
Then a couple of years ago they tore it down to make way for an ultra-modern state-of-the-art teaching experience and there was a part of me that was a little saddened to see this part of my life gone - so I wrote the below. The video is an extreme close up of an old Tascam 488 home recorder with some of my paintbrushes in the background (and a pen i permanently borrowed from The Hilton). Lyrics are at the bottom.
Tearing Down The Old School
I never thought I'd say I'll miss you
With all the things that I went through
But when they tear apart your history
It always leaves a trace, it always leaves a trace
They're tearing down the old school, tearing down the old school
Smashing out your windows, tearing down your walls
I look outside my window, it's so far away
It's been so many years now, but it feels like yesterday
Feels like yesterday
I had adventures in the playground
I felt so free when I was young
But that freedom never lasted
The price was hard to pay, the price was hard to pay
And though those walls return to haunt me
And I'm glad that I am free
I know there'll always be a part of me
That lives inside those walls, lives inside those walls
Hooligans are not invited on the school bus today, but I do have a couple of things to run by y'all. The first is a playground chant that was around in my parent's day and just about around in mine as well - maybe some of you will know it or know if it is still in circulation today. I'd like to think so:
We break up, we break down
We don't care if the school falls down
No more English, no more French
No more sitting on the old school bench
Kick the tables, kick the chairs
Kick the teachers down the stairs
If that does not shut them up
Dynamite will blow them up
And from the traditional to my own this week. I went to a school that had been standing since the 1900s - a school that my mum and uncle had been to before me (my uncle had one of the same teachers) - it was a horrible place with outside toilets and flip-top desks that still had holes for the inkwells and there was no light and practically no air in most of the rooms. I didn't really have a great time there.
Then a couple of years ago they tore it down to make way for an ultra-modern state-of-the-art teaching experience and there was a part of me that was a little saddened to see this part of my life gone - so I wrote the below. The video is an extreme close up of an old Tascam 488 home recorder with some of my paintbrushes in the background (and a pen i permanently borrowed from The Hilton). Lyrics are at the bottom.
Tearing Down The Old School
I never thought I'd say I'll miss you
With all the things that I went through
But when they tear apart your history
It always leaves a trace, it always leaves a trace
They're tearing down the old school, tearing down the old school
Smashing out your windows, tearing down your walls
I look outside my window, it's so far away
It's been so many years now, but it feels like yesterday
Feels like yesterday
I had adventures in the playground
I felt so free when I was young
But that freedom never lasted
The price was hard to pay, the price was hard to pay
And though those walls return to haunt me
And I'm glad that I am free
I know there'll always be a part of me
That lives inside those walls, lives inside those walls
Friday, 27 August 2010
Wordzzle - Sleeper (Part 5)
Here we are again for the Wordzzle, as ever set by Raven. This week my friend Argent has set the words, so I have made extra efforts to make sure I turned up with the latest instalment of my ongoing story.
And a bit of a change here, because all the previous parts of the story have taken place one week apart - but part 5 of the story takes place mere hours after part four. For a catch-up on everything that’s happened to date click on the links for Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4
Words for this week's 10-word challenge are: corner, cold-stone, rolex, sole, effortless, raindrops, eyebrow, speaker, amusing, leapt
And for the mini: fluid, acreage, fasten, tripe, pages
Yet again I have gone for the 10 word challenge – hope you enjoy it.
Sleeper (Part 5)
Sophie sat on the cold-stone wall opposite the river and lit a cigarette. She raised a weary eyebrow, aware that the cigarette was her second failure of the day: third if you counted ever trusting Richard. If it were any other situation then it would be almost amusing, but the presence of the box in her bag made the laughter drain away.
She had checked the flat and Mark’s things were all gone. The two cases that had been jammed under the bed had been packed, the fallout from his rush scattered around the room like raindrops on concrete. Even the broken rolex had been retrieved from its place behind the fridge where it had lain like some bad joke for two years.
He wasn’t coming back.
No one had seen Richard at work. She’d tried his number again, but when the phone had been picked up the speaker had been one she had never heard before and had disconnected the line without answering her questions
Sophie took another long drag on her cigarette and tried to think. The large government building was in front of her, blocking her view of the river, so she stood, walked a few hundred metres towards the Thames and turned the corner so that she was following the river.
Richard’s flat was a short tube ride away and catching the connection was relatively effortless at that time of day: all the crush of the rush hour having dissipated. She was the sole person to depart the train two stations down and it was only a matter of minutes before she emerged at street level.
The street was strangely quiet: barely any traffic despite the area and her heart leapt as she caught a brief blur of movement inside the flat. Perhaps she was not too late
She took the stairs, too impatient to wait for the lift. She could hear the sound of muted conversation inside, but couldn’t make sense of the noise. She fished in her bag for the key he had given her and opened the door.
There was a flash of blue and two Policemen grabbed her, pulling her into the room. Before she had chance to struggle they had pinned her to the ground and were twisting the cuffs around her wrist. They raised her up just long enough for the familiar shape of Richard to scream into her face
‘Where is it?’ he yelled, ‘Where did you put the bomb?’
And a bit of a change here, because all the previous parts of the story have taken place one week apart - but part 5 of the story takes place mere hours after part four. For a catch-up on everything that’s happened to date click on the links for Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4
Words for this week's 10-word challenge are: corner, cold-stone, rolex, sole, effortless, raindrops, eyebrow, speaker, amusing, leapt
And for the mini: fluid, acreage, fasten, tripe, pages
Yet again I have gone for the 10 word challenge – hope you enjoy it.
Sleeper (Part 5)
Sophie sat on the cold-stone wall opposite the river and lit a cigarette. She raised a weary eyebrow, aware that the cigarette was her second failure of the day: third if you counted ever trusting Richard. If it were any other situation then it would be almost amusing, but the presence of the box in her bag made the laughter drain away.
She had checked the flat and Mark’s things were all gone. The two cases that had been jammed under the bed had been packed, the fallout from his rush scattered around the room like raindrops on concrete. Even the broken rolex had been retrieved from its place behind the fridge where it had lain like some bad joke for two years.
He wasn’t coming back.
No one had seen Richard at work. She’d tried his number again, but when the phone had been picked up the speaker had been one she had never heard before and had disconnected the line without answering her questions
Sophie took another long drag on her cigarette and tried to think. The large government building was in front of her, blocking her view of the river, so she stood, walked a few hundred metres towards the Thames and turned the corner so that she was following the river.
Richard’s flat was a short tube ride away and catching the connection was relatively effortless at that time of day: all the crush of the rush hour having dissipated. She was the sole person to depart the train two stations down and it was only a matter of minutes before she emerged at street level.
The street was strangely quiet: barely any traffic despite the area and her heart leapt as she caught a brief blur of movement inside the flat. Perhaps she was not too late
She took the stairs, too impatient to wait for the lift. She could hear the sound of muted conversation inside, but couldn’t make sense of the noise. She fished in her bag for the key he had given her and opened the door.
There was a flash of blue and two Policemen grabbed her, pulling her into the room. Before she had chance to struggle they had pinned her to the ground and were twisting the cuffs around her wrist. They raised her up just long enough for the familiar shape of Richard to scream into her face
‘Where is it?’ he yelled, ‘Where did you put the bomb?’
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Bistromatics
Some years ago the late, great Douglas Adams wrote briefly in Life, The Universe And Everything about the science of Bistromatics - or the appliance of maths and its relationship to booking a table in a restaurant.
I would like to apply this science to give you a brief overview of last Saturday evening
Actual = (Invite/Confirmed) - the amount of people who initially said they would love to come (in this instance the answer being 8)
Actual = (Invite/APologies) - the amount of people who said that only the very opening of the gates of Hell would stop them from attending and the subsequently pull out due to an ingrowing toenail or similar feeble excuse (in this case 5)
Time x (Promised/Actual) - the degree of time by which a promised lift fails to arrive, thus rendering one of your guests very late indeed (in this case 30 mins)
Arranged/(Time x Actual) - the variation in time between the agreed arrival (for instance 7:30pm) and the time people actually arrive. NB: it is a little known fact that Newton's Twelfth Law of Physics states that the agreed time of arrival is the one time that it is impossible for anyone to actually arrive at (not true, but tempting)
Hunger x (Plate-size - Diet) - the variance between what you say you will eat, what you want to eat, what you eventually DO eat and what you tell Weightwatchers you ate at the next meeting. Don't forget that no matter how full you are there is always room for a dessert thanks to the special Dessert Hatch in your stomach that a) allows extra room for puddings and b) stops you from absorbing nasty calories (see Newton's Twelfth Law of Pysics above)
Facial Expression - (Acting Skills/Actual Surprise Level) - degree to which one has to feign ignorance of sudden revelation or news that one has, in fact, heard on Facebook, Twitter and seen scrawled on the toilet walls
Waiters x (Table size x Boredom level) - the amount of times that waiters will come and ask you if everything is ok before you have actually had time to taste the food. This is complicated by SN level (Staff Newness), SK level (Staff Keenness) and sometimes by the restaurant being so full that no-one knows who has checked on whom (also known as Confusion Syndrome)
Bill / 4 x(Actual/Percieved) +Tip - the inevitable lengthy conversation where you go through the bill with a pencil and each come up with a different answer (it is usually traditional for one member of the party to suggest that you all "put in ten pounds each" when it is clear that they had twenty pounds worth of food to themselves)
Depression x Work x(Colleagues x Boring Job Level) - sudden realisation that your current work colleagues aren't half as much fun as your old ones were
Gym x ((Percieved Weight Gain/Self Image)/(Energy/Committment)) - the amount of time it will take to burn off the additional calories as opposed to the amount of time you are prepared to put in
I would like to apply this science to give you a brief overview of last Saturday evening
Actual = (Invite/Confirmed) - the amount of people who initially said they would love to come (in this instance the answer being 8)
Actual = (Invite/APologies) - the amount of people who said that only the very opening of the gates of Hell would stop them from attending and the subsequently pull out due to an ingrowing toenail or similar feeble excuse (in this case 5)
Time x (Promised/Actual) - the degree of time by which a promised lift fails to arrive, thus rendering one of your guests very late indeed (in this case 30 mins)
Arranged/(Time x Actual) - the variation in time between the agreed arrival (for instance 7:30pm) and the time people actually arrive. NB: it is a little known fact that Newton's Twelfth Law of Physics states that the agreed time of arrival is the one time that it is impossible for anyone to actually arrive at (not true, but tempting)
Hunger x (Plate-size - Diet) - the variance between what you say you will eat, what you want to eat, what you eventually DO eat and what you tell Weightwatchers you ate at the next meeting. Don't forget that no matter how full you are there is always room for a dessert thanks to the special Dessert Hatch in your stomach that a) allows extra room for puddings and b) stops you from absorbing nasty calories (see Newton's Twelfth Law of Pysics above)
Facial Expression - (Acting Skills/Actual Surprise Level) - degree to which one has to feign ignorance of sudden revelation or news that one has, in fact, heard on Facebook, Twitter and seen scrawled on the toilet walls
Waiters x (Table size x Boredom level) - the amount of times that waiters will come and ask you if everything is ok before you have actually had time to taste the food. This is complicated by SN level (Staff Newness), SK level (Staff Keenness) and sometimes by the restaurant being so full that no-one knows who has checked on whom (also known as Confusion Syndrome)
Bill / 4 x(Actual/Percieved) +Tip - the inevitable lengthy conversation where you go through the bill with a pencil and each come up with a different answer (it is usually traditional for one member of the party to suggest that you all "put in ten pounds each" when it is clear that they had twenty pounds worth of food to themselves)
Depression x Work x(Colleagues x Boring Job Level) - sudden realisation that your current work colleagues aren't half as much fun as your old ones were
Gym x ((Percieved Weight Gain/Self Image)/(Energy/Committment)) - the amount of time it will take to burn off the additional calories as opposed to the amount of time you are prepared to put in
Friday, 20 August 2010
Wordzzle - Sleeper part 4
Well, despite all my intentions to post various things (including a poetry bus entry) another week has passed me by and we are back in time for another Wordzzle.
As regular readers will know the Wordzzle is instigated by Raven and anyone can play along if they are feeling creative. The idea is to take a list of 5, 10 or 15 words and utlize them in a story, poem or other work of creativity
This week Raven was struggling to think of words, so I looked at the jacket of "Exile On Main Street" by The Rolling Stones and selected some random words to help her
Words for the week's 10-word challenge are: rocks, rip this joint, casino, tumbling dice, frayed, angel, cup, on the run, ventilator, face
And for the mini: wine, plundered, signifying, river, survivor
As I had set the words I thought it only fair to use them all in this week's installment of my ongoing story. Don't worry, we're only 2-3 episodes away from the end now, and things are developing nicely
For a catch up you can read Part 1, Part 2 or Part 3, but for those of you already up to date here is:
Sleeper, part 4
Sophie bought herself a coffee from the vendor outside Pimlico. Every morning she promised herself that she would quit the same as she had done the day before. Too much caffeine frayed her nerves, made her jumpy, but still she kept on returning to the stand like some sad junkie for caffiene.
She sucked at the small opening in the cup lid as she crossed the Thames, walking towards the large building opposite. The river was quiet this morning, the water almost motionless beneath her.
She smiled at the guard in recognition, ‘Hi James’ she greeted, ‘What’s with all the additional security?’
James scowled and grumbled. Even with twenty years living around London his accent was still spliced with a hint of New York
‘Hey Soph’ he drawled, still calling her that name despite all her requests, ‘didn’t you get the me-mo?’ he shrugged his shoulders, signifying his usual level of disinterest, ‘some bigwig coming to visit today, so everyone gets a free cavity search’ he laughed at his own joke, ‘just kidding Soph. Jeez, I don’t know why they bother: a paper-bag would be more trouble to break into than this place. They aught to rip this joint down and start again if you ask me’
Sophie tuned out the noise of the conversation and waited for the search to be over. Like most security guards James was a retired cop looking for an easy retirement. Mostly he issued visitor forms, so his search was little more than perfunctory. When it was finally over she went inside, swiping her pass at every turn until she reached her desk, placing her bag on the edge and the still untouched coffee next to her keyboard. Someone had plundered her chair during the night, so she spent ten minutes searching for it.
Finally she returned to her desk, catching it quite hard as she pushed the chair into place.
The bag fell, contents spilling out like tumbling dice at a casino. She swore loudly, catching her head on the edge of the desk and having to brush a cobweb from her face as she bent down to pick up the contents.
Lipstick, keys, a couple of dull rocks that she and Mark had collected on a beach somewhere and she had forgotten about and…
She paused, looking at the small black box with some bemusement. The casing had cracked slightly upon impact, revealing the computer connection. She picked up the rest of the contents of her bag and dumped them on the desk, sitting heavily on her chair. The ventilator above her head was half-way through it’s mid-morning scream, but she barely noticed it.
She looked at her computer and wondered whether to plug the device in: but the security in these machines was much tighter than that on the doors – if the device was what she thought it was then she would soon find herself on the run from more than just the police.
There was only one way it could have got inside her bag: and that could only mean one thing.
She stepped outside of the building, looking for some fresh air. Across the road and down the street a little the doors of The Angel stood invitingly open and she strode towards it with shaking legs, feeling like the survivor of some zombie-induced holocaust
Once inside she ordered a glass of wine despite the early hour and tried to clear her thoughts. She needed to talk to someone quickly, to set her thoughts straight, but who could she trust? Not Mark, that much was certain.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialled Richard’s number, but there was no signal in the room so she tried again from the payphone, waiting impatiently for him to answer
‘Hello?’ the voice on the other end was muffled, indistinct, but still recognisable.
She dropped the receiver, her mind running round in circles
The voice on the other end had not been Richard’s
It had been Mark’s.
As regular readers will know the Wordzzle is instigated by Raven and anyone can play along if they are feeling creative. The idea is to take a list of 5, 10 or 15 words and utlize them in a story, poem or other work of creativity
This week Raven was struggling to think of words, so I looked at the jacket of "Exile On Main Street" by The Rolling Stones and selected some random words to help her
Words for the week's 10-word challenge are: rocks, rip this joint, casino, tumbling dice, frayed, angel, cup, on the run, ventilator, face
And for the mini: wine, plundered, signifying, river, survivor
As I had set the words I thought it only fair to use them all in this week's installment of my ongoing story. Don't worry, we're only 2-3 episodes away from the end now, and things are developing nicely
For a catch up you can read Part 1, Part 2 or Part 3, but for those of you already up to date here is:
Sleeper, part 4
Sophie bought herself a coffee from the vendor outside Pimlico. Every morning she promised herself that she would quit the same as she had done the day before. Too much caffeine frayed her nerves, made her jumpy, but still she kept on returning to the stand like some sad junkie for caffiene.
She sucked at the small opening in the cup lid as she crossed the Thames, walking towards the large building opposite. The river was quiet this morning, the water almost motionless beneath her.
She smiled at the guard in recognition, ‘Hi James’ she greeted, ‘What’s with all the additional security?’
James scowled and grumbled. Even with twenty years living around London his accent was still spliced with a hint of New York
‘Hey Soph’ he drawled, still calling her that name despite all her requests, ‘didn’t you get the me-mo?’ he shrugged his shoulders, signifying his usual level of disinterest, ‘some bigwig coming to visit today, so everyone gets a free cavity search’ he laughed at his own joke, ‘just kidding Soph. Jeez, I don’t know why they bother: a paper-bag would be more trouble to break into than this place. They aught to rip this joint down and start again if you ask me’
Sophie tuned out the noise of the conversation and waited for the search to be over. Like most security guards James was a retired cop looking for an easy retirement. Mostly he issued visitor forms, so his search was little more than perfunctory. When it was finally over she went inside, swiping her pass at every turn until she reached her desk, placing her bag on the edge and the still untouched coffee next to her keyboard. Someone had plundered her chair during the night, so she spent ten minutes searching for it.
Finally she returned to her desk, catching it quite hard as she pushed the chair into place.
The bag fell, contents spilling out like tumbling dice at a casino. She swore loudly, catching her head on the edge of the desk and having to brush a cobweb from her face as she bent down to pick up the contents.
Lipstick, keys, a couple of dull rocks that she and Mark had collected on a beach somewhere and she had forgotten about and…
She paused, looking at the small black box with some bemusement. The casing had cracked slightly upon impact, revealing the computer connection. She picked up the rest of the contents of her bag and dumped them on the desk, sitting heavily on her chair. The ventilator above her head was half-way through it’s mid-morning scream, but she barely noticed it.
She looked at her computer and wondered whether to plug the device in: but the security in these machines was much tighter than that on the doors – if the device was what she thought it was then she would soon find herself on the run from more than just the police.
There was only one way it could have got inside her bag: and that could only mean one thing.
She stepped outside of the building, looking for some fresh air. Across the road and down the street a little the doors of The Angel stood invitingly open and she strode towards it with shaking legs, feeling like the survivor of some zombie-induced holocaust
Once inside she ordered a glass of wine despite the early hour and tried to clear her thoughts. She needed to talk to someone quickly, to set her thoughts straight, but who could she trust? Not Mark, that much was certain.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialled Richard’s number, but there was no signal in the room so she tried again from the payphone, waiting impatiently for him to answer
‘Hello?’ the voice on the other end was muffled, indistinct, but still recognisable.
She dropped the receiver, her mind running round in circles
The voice on the other end had not been Richard’s
It had been Mark’s.
Friday, 13 August 2010
Wordzzle - Sleeper (part 3)
And here we are again with the mighty Wordzzle, originated as ever by Raven who weekly sets us a list of words and encourages us to write short works of fiction utilizing said words.
This week the words were:
10-word challenge: summer time blues, glasses, google, pregnant pause, integrated, suit and tie, parallel parking, shimmering, post card, slam dunk
5 word challenge: gradual, eagle's nest, martyrdom, pizza, pugilist
I went with the 10 word challenge and can now bring you part three of my ongoing story.
For those of you who missed the previous episodes the links are: part 1, part 2
Sleeper (part three)
It was dark in the apartment. Only the pale reflection of the computer screen cast any light on the figure hunched over the table. He leaned forward, still clad in his suit and tie. There was no time to change: time was running out and he was already behind schedule. Nevertheless he took a break from the machine to put the two glasses into the dishwasher and took a moment to wipe the fingerprints off both through force of habit.
From outside he could hear the sounds of someone parallel parking, the noise of the engine telling him that he would have to be quick. He saved the file, logged out and logged back in as the other user identity and flicked to google.
There was a pregnant pause as she reached the top of the stairs and then Sophie entered, whistling some tune breezily. It took him a moment to recognise it: Summer time blues. It must have been on the radio.
Sophie blinked, the change in lighting causing a shimmering effect on her vision. She reached for the light switch and then took a double-take at him.
‘Mark’ she said, taken aback, ‘I didn’t think you were in’
He smiled apologetically and rose to greet her, landing a kiss on her lips as easily as a basketball player landing a slam dunk, but with less finesse. He caught the smell of cheap aftershave on her collar and smiled to himself, wiping the smile away before she could see the darkness in his eyes, ‘How was your day?’ he asked
‘Pretty busy’ Sophie responded, dumping her bag on the sofa, ‘The Minister was in, but not in a good mood today: he’s expecting some big-wig to visit sometime soon, but no one seems to know when’ her voice trailed off as she disappeared into the bedroom and began discarding her work clothes, ‘Can we talk about it later?’ she called, ‘I really need a shower’
‘Sure’ he replied, trying to sound casual. He waited for the sound of the shower to begin and could be reasonably sure she was safely involved for a few minutes and then reached for her bag. It took him only a matter of seconds to find the small box that he had integrated into the contents a few weeks previously.
He logged back in to the computer under his previous user identity and connected the box to one of the ports. As the files began to blur and copy across the screen he leaned back thoughtfully and pulled the battered post card out of his pocket one more time.
He read both words: taking a long moment to digest them, to savour each one individually
“Next week”
He reached into another pocket for a cigarette lighter, burned the post card and sat back. Finally things were coming to an end.
This week the words were:
10-word challenge: summer time blues, glasses, google, pregnant pause, integrated, suit and tie, parallel parking, shimmering, post card, slam dunk
5 word challenge: gradual, eagle's nest, martyrdom, pizza, pugilist
I went with the 10 word challenge and can now bring you part three of my ongoing story.
For those of you who missed the previous episodes the links are: part 1, part 2
Sleeper (part three)
It was dark in the apartment. Only the pale reflection of the computer screen cast any light on the figure hunched over the table. He leaned forward, still clad in his suit and tie. There was no time to change: time was running out and he was already behind schedule. Nevertheless he took a break from the machine to put the two glasses into the dishwasher and took a moment to wipe the fingerprints off both through force of habit.
From outside he could hear the sounds of someone parallel parking, the noise of the engine telling him that he would have to be quick. He saved the file, logged out and logged back in as the other user identity and flicked to google.
There was a pregnant pause as she reached the top of the stairs and then Sophie entered, whistling some tune breezily. It took him a moment to recognise it: Summer time blues. It must have been on the radio.
Sophie blinked, the change in lighting causing a shimmering effect on her vision. She reached for the light switch and then took a double-take at him.
‘Mark’ she said, taken aback, ‘I didn’t think you were in’
He smiled apologetically and rose to greet her, landing a kiss on her lips as easily as a basketball player landing a slam dunk, but with less finesse. He caught the smell of cheap aftershave on her collar and smiled to himself, wiping the smile away before she could see the darkness in his eyes, ‘How was your day?’ he asked
‘Pretty busy’ Sophie responded, dumping her bag on the sofa, ‘The Minister was in, but not in a good mood today: he’s expecting some big-wig to visit sometime soon, but no one seems to know when’ her voice trailed off as she disappeared into the bedroom and began discarding her work clothes, ‘Can we talk about it later?’ she called, ‘I really need a shower’
‘Sure’ he replied, trying to sound casual. He waited for the sound of the shower to begin and could be reasonably sure she was safely involved for a few minutes and then reached for her bag. It took him only a matter of seconds to find the small box that he had integrated into the contents a few weeks previously.
He logged back in to the computer under his previous user identity and connected the box to one of the ports. As the files began to blur and copy across the screen he leaned back thoughtfully and pulled the battered post card out of his pocket one more time.
He read both words: taking a long moment to digest them, to savour each one individually
“Next week”
He reached into another pocket for a cigarette lighter, burned the post card and sat back. Finally things were coming to an end.
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