David Hadley's Blog, page 105

Nothing Left to Offer

I remember the first time.

We met down by the shore and walked along the beach together. She said she knew me, knew my work. Back then I was still a writer, still entranced by the dance of words and how I could get them to shift and turn upon the page to make a doorway open into some new way of seeing this world turn.

She took my hand as we walked, as though I connected her to something she could not otherwise reach.

I told her I had nothing left to offer, but she said, reaching up to kiss me on the lips, that none of that mattered.

Later, as the wind and the rain returned, blowing the waves into a storm, she came back with me to the cottage behind the dunes.

I sat in my chair in front of the fireplace, looking at the ashes of the fire that had burned there the night before, seeing in the cold remains some sort of metaphor I would once have grown into a story.

I looked up to see her stepping out of the last of her clothes. Pale green knickers easing down her thighs while she balanced on one leg, resting her one hand on the mantelpiece.

She turned to me when she was naked and took a couple of steps forward until she was standing between my open thighs. She leant down and kissed me again.

Then she sat down on the floor between my legs, curling herself up like a cat in front of a warm fire. Then, resting her head on my crotch, so her long red hair spread like flames across my thighs, she closed her eyes and sighed.

I rested my hand on her head, feeling the flow of her hair beneath my palm.

‘It is all right,’ she said, her eyes still closed.

And then I knew she was right, so I closed my eyes too.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US)]

The Time to Go

Perhaps this should be the day I turn and walk away. Perhaps I should be gone from here, go back again.

I know I never belonged here. This city was always a strange place to me. I get uneasy this close to people, especially strangers. I am too used to being alone now.

I don’t know why I came to this place. I was looking for something, but what it is I do not know. Now, as far as I can see, no-one else here in these teeming streets has any idea of what I look for here either.

I was out on the road one night, sitting by my campfire, watching the flames when a stranger, some traveller came up. When I was sure – as sure as I could be - he was not going to kill me, and he was as sure as he could be I would do likewise to him; I offered him a place in front of my fire. We - warily, at first – exchanged food and stories of how we’d got to be in the same place on that road that night.

I said I was looking for something I could not name and could not place.

He told me that cities have so many answers to so many questions. What cannot be taught at the universities and schools can be bought in the markets or alleyways and what cannot be taught or bought can be learnt on the streets and in the houses that line the streets, looking down through open windows as life passes by beneath them.

I have been here in the city for almost a year now. I found no answers in the university, the temple or the market place. I found no-one who could tell me what I seek in the temples, the inns or the brothels and I am still alone and searching, watching the streets below for any sign of what it is I need.

Now, though, all I know, all I have learnt, is that the time has come for me to go.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US)]

The Issue of the Gazelle

And this?

Well, obviously, that is involved with other matters entirely. So if we could just put it to one side... carefully. Ideally, not next to either the gazelle or the tennis racquet, then we can move on to more tasteful and refined matters.

Of course, if we are serious about becoming more tasteful and refined here at this... er... whatever this is, then I'm afraid that you - especially you over there - will have to forgo, or at least limit, anointing yourself all over will baby oil. Especially before you leap in and peruse whatever that day's particular missive sets forth.

Oh, and make sure that device of yours is switched off too, you know how much the buzzing perturbs the gazelle. Which, then, makes the tennis racquet somewhat superfluous. Especially when it then has baby oil all over the grip.

As you are no doubt aware, being a person of refined discernment, several animal welfare organisations, at a worldwide level, are growing increasingly concerned about possible animal abuses. Especially about the number of gazelles becoming unnecessarily perturbed by various untoward goings-on in the domestic environment. It is at such a stage that some of these charities are calling for a ban on tennis racquets and the strict licensing and control of baby oil. As well as making those devices illegal to posses within a two-hundred metre radius of any gazelle of a nervous disposition – which, let's face it – is most of them.

Now, while most right-thinking people think that a ban on the possession or use of a tennis racquet for use in the sordid world of international tennis is at least a step in the right direction. Going, as it does, towards removing the abomination that is tennis from this world it has blighted for so long. However, some believe the erotic use of the tennis racquet is too important, despite its sometimes detrimental effect on any nearby gazelles, for an outright ban to be considered... yet.

So, please bear this in mind and - to be on the safe side - be careful with that baby oil too.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

Taming the Wild Frontier

Across the wild frontier that separates these civilised lands from the wild countries out to the west, there is fear and tension. Over the border, the savages run wild, sometimes staying up beyond the late night weather forecast. Eating chips as they roam the streets looking for trouble, or failing that an interesting lamppost to fight.

Once, before the arrival of the lawmen, these lands too were wild and savage. They knew nothing of early closing days or days off in lieu. Sometimes, even the women would put down their knitting during an unusually tense episode of Call the Midwife. While the men would know little of anything beyond the final score and the imminent prospect of the transfer window closing.

Yes, back in those days the men were men and the women were women. On occasion, some of the men were women too which made for a sometimes interesting evening under the broken and beaten-up lampposts.

However, eventually civilisation arrived in these lands. Although, some mourn the loss of the freedom to live wild and free and to watch adult cable channels late into the night, the majority feel it is far better now. Even if it is just to step out knowing the lampposts will be in full working order. Also, that – consequently – any lady met under such a lamppost late into the night will have had the foresight to at least shave off his beard beforehand.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

From East of Walsall

She came out of the wild unknown lands east of Walsall. It was sad that she knew too many secrets from the wild lands. That she knew how to conjure and make the politicians do her bidding with only a handful of video files and a single USB memory stick.

It was said too that she knew the secrets arts of the accordion and just what to do with a high court judge and a bath filled with lukewarm custard. Some even suggested she understood every taxation exception rule ever made into law.

Such is the stuff of legend.

Those of us who met her, knew she had a way with words. She also understood several other far more interesting ways with several lengths of rope, a cast iron bed frame and an ostrich feather. But those of us who knew that, also knew not to mention it to anyone. Especially not to the journalists that hung around her, sniffing for exclusives and tales of bedroom romps with the great and the good, and some politicians as well.

Of course, it could not last. These things never do, despite what the pharmaceutical companies promise. Soon, her looks began to fade and her dexterity with the accordion was not what it was during her heyday. Other, younger, women came along. Some arrived even from the legendary lands of Tewkesbury. A place where the women are women and the men are left in whimpering heaps by the side of the road.

Soon she was gone and never heard of ever again.

Although, there are some who say there is a retirement bungalow down on the south coast somewhere, where late at night if you listen carefully you can hear the strains of an accordion on the sea breeze. If the wind is right, they say, you can just make out the tell-tale scent of a bath slowly filling with lukewarm custard.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

Medieval TV Schedules

Of course, back in the early medieval period there were far fewer TV programmes available, and only a couple of channels. Most of those programmes involved, in one way or another, either ploughing or the plague. Albeit with an occasional foray into travelogues for those thinking of joining their feudal lord's soldiers in an invasion of the continent and/or Wales and Scotland.

The long running TV soap opera Piers Ploughman of course had a massive (for the time) audience. Three times a week mediaeval peasants tuned in to see whether or not Piers managed to plough a furrow. All without falling foul of his manorial lord's foul moods. Or his wife's unreasonable demands for more children to help her get the harvest in. Or the local priest thinking up more ways to accuse Piers of committing some sin or another. Often, Piers endured endless trouble from his mother-in-law's disastrous attempts at witchcraft. Often resulting in that episode ending with a cliff-hanger. This usually saw Piers transformed into a frog by his mother-in-law.

Of course, the nightly news programmes on medieval TV mainly concerned themselves with the doings of kings and who they were doing it to. Foreign news mainly - as we have already seen above – concerned who was invading who, and which noble families were vying for which crown. This latter interest in the doings of the various noble houses brought about an early forerunner of the Football Pools. The peasants would tune in every Saturday, around tea time, to see which noble houses had fought each other for which crown and which one had won. A draw was worth three points and 21 points was enough for one lucky peasant to win the star prize of a goat. Thus making the lucky winner equivalent to a millionaire at today's prices.

Of course, all this changed in the late medieval period with the invention of the video game and the runaway success of the game Grand Pilgrimage 5. A game where the player had to get his group of pilgrims to Canterbury, despite all the odds against it.

From then on, TV in history tended towards a slow decline until the invention of the Reality TV genre in the Victorian period with Celebrity Ripper in Fog.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

The Cheese of the Baskervilles

It began – as these things so often do – with the cheese. However, at the time the West Midlands Serious Cheese Crime Squad was busy with an undercover investigation into an illegal chive smuggling ring down in Gloucester. They believed this criminal gang were responsible for a Double Gloucester protection racket that controlled all the chives and onions in the region.

However, there were rumours that the revolutionary Red Leicester workers collective had been infiltrated by Wensleydale anarchists from over the border intent on creating anarchy.

However, there was a large amount of corruption in the Serious Cheese squad. There were rumours of some offices amassing double their own weight in illicit Brie. So no-one ever thought the case of the missing crackers would ever be solved, at least not in our lifetime.

Eventually, just to see if we could get justice, if not for us, then for all the other victims of the great cracker heist, we would have to hire a private investigator. Never once did we think that the legendary Stilton Holmes himself, along with his faithful companion Doctor Water-Biscuit would involve themselves in this investigation. It turned into a complex case, resulting in that fateful – and fatal - encounter between Stilton Holmes and Doctor Mycella on the sheer edge of the Reichenbach Tesco delicatessen counter. This resulted in them both falling to their deaths - locked in each other’s arms - into a huge vat of cottage cheese. Neither ever emerged again.

Thus, the case was never solved. As Doctor Water-Biscuit mourned the loss of his great companion, it was he who remarked upon the curious incident of the Gouda in the night time.

But that is a case for another time.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

An Intimate Device

Obviously, you would have thought so....

At least judging by the number of YouTube videos dealing without how to go about it all without suffering any injury to the lower back. Or, for that matter, causing an outbreak of faux outrage on the social media outlet of choice for those who believe they owe the world their opinions on all and sundry.

Speaking of all and sundry, which I was, even if you were waiting for the more... intimate details, there is the matter of the so-called optional attachments. Most of which, cost extra. Thus the initial lack of them makes the device itself little more than an ornament, or even a conversation piece... if you like having conversations about that sort of thing. Despite this so-called frank and open age, many people in our experience would not always wish to venture down such conversational routes. Especially those routes opened up by seeing such a device proudly displayed in a position of promise on a friend or neighbour's mantelpiece.

Of course, many for the older generations will often ask – sometimes even to your face – why such devices are even necessary. After all, in the immediate post-war period with rationing and many of the men still away in the forces, most women had to make do and mend. Mostly with whatever they could find around the household. Which mainly entailed some very imaginative knitting and the creative use of tinned spam.

So, maybe, it is better not to decry the more than obvious limitations of such devices. Nor should we regard as more than a little irksome some of her particularly wistful looks at some of the more generously endowed vegetables on display in the fresh produce aisle of the supermarket. Instead, we should be grateful that technology has developed towards creating such essential devices in the first place. Moreover, we should look towards the future with anticipation for what greater possibilities it will bring – providing we can get the batteries for it.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

Something for the Weekend - Free Kindle Humour: The Theory of Car Parks

[image error]

The Theory of Car Parks

Available FREE for the next 5 days for the Kindle:

Here (UK) or Here (US)

The title piece of this great new collection features an historical appreciation of the great car park theorist; Heinrich Von Rectangle, his life, work and tragic untimely end.

In over a hundred other essays, a wide variety of subjects of interest and fascination to the modern reader are also discussed:

Such as:

The latest the latest European Union Working Time Directives .and how they relate to the employment circumstances of the undead.

In science, the ramifications of the Biscuit Tin Event Horizon are explored in an attempt to aid our understanding of the physical forces that make biscuits, pies and other such foodstuffs irresistible.

There is also some very exciting research with throws new light on the development and history of the spoon.

This book also features a report on the new TV phenomenon taking the world by storm that is Live Celebrity Woodworking.

Along with:

An appreciation and celebration of the cult film: 2030: A Lingerie Odyssey which featured the world’s first lingerie-wearing supercomputer.

An essay celebrating the Victorian inventor who famously developed Spadgecock’s Wildfowl Distractor.

A look forward to what will undoubtedly be this year’s film of the year: The Penguin Always Eats Omelettes.

An appreciation of on of the forgotten classics of Romantic poetry in: Ode to a Stickleback and Romanticism.

A study of the role played by the British army’s use of camouflage pastry to bring about the end of the First World War.

Along with articles and pieces on other similar fascinating subjects, such as: Full-Frontal Cookery, The Great Cheese Conspiracies, International Celebrity Underwater Cheese Grating, The Sensual Arts of the Secret Accountancy Sect, The Unauthorised Use of a Banjo, Post-War Extreme Sports and much, much more.

Available FREE for the next 5 days for the Kindle:

Here (UK) or Here (US)

Some Reader Comments:

I think I just broke all my vital organs laughing”

“oh my god….I just about died laughing reading this…it’s genius! Pure genius! Especially the bit about the fluffy particle…too funny.”

“This made me laugh so much, tears came into my eyes….”

“this really made me laugh. I shall never look at a cup of tea in the same way again.”

“Brilliant! Made me howl…”

“highly creative and hilarious as always”

“lol this is so funny.”

“on the one hand I’m so glad I decided to read the rest of this collection (funniest thing I’ve read in a LONG time) but on the other hand I wish I hadn’t done it during dinner as I just sprayed barely masticated tomato all over my keyboard from laughing too hard”

“good god, I haven’t laughed so much in ages. “

“very funny, I had a good laugh at this story”

“Clever, and very funny.”

Available FREE for the next 5 days for the Kindle:

Here (UK) or Here (US)

Torn and Frayed

How it began?

No-one remembers now. Now, it is as though it has always been this way. Now it seems there could be no other way.

Back then, though, it was different.

It was, at first, dismissed as an anomaly, a fluke, a mere oddity in the results. The scientists dismissed it as a mere statistical quirk, probably an error in one of the machines.

At least, until it happened again.

And again.

Then it kept on happening, and it got worse.

What had begun as a mere wobble in the data grew and grew until the whole edifice of sub-atomic physics teetered on the edge and then collapsed. Especially when the unicorn appeared at CERN.

Apparently the scientists were there in the meeting room discussing the latest aberrations in the data and how it contradicted everything.

Then one of them glanced up at the screen showing the live feed from the collider and pointed, mouth open, speechless.

One by one the rest of the gathering noticed what was amiss and all turned to see the unicorn wandering around inside the torus.

Most thought it was a practical joke, some white horse with a glued-on horn... at least until they found it wasn't.

After someone revised the equations, they discovered if they didn't shut down the collider after repairing the rip in the fabric of space time they had less than a week before the dragons came... more likely than not, breathing fire.

Their spokesman explained the urgency to the politicians.

Twice.

Then a committee of the leading scientists tried explaining it to the politicians, this time with diagrams.

Eventually, with only a day to go the scientist got the permission to stitch up the rip in the continuum. However, by then it was too late as the elves and the faeries poured through the tear into our universe, and the orcs and dwarves following behind.

All fleeing from the dragons and all terrified of whatever it was the dragons themselves were fleeing from.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]