David Hadley's Blog, page 108

Street Life

Well, at the time, few – if any of us – really noticed it all that much. That is the thing with living in a place like this; people are not quite sure what is the best thing to do about it. After all, it could be none of our business, and no-one wants to look as if they are prying, especially into matters that do not concern them.

Most too, as they later said, assumed it was some sort of local council initiative they had not heard about. Such ‘initiatives’ are not that unusual. I can remember when they replaced our traditional bins with wheelie bins. They arrived on our drives and doorsteps like some alien invading army appearing from nowhere.

In fact, that is how most people in our street approached the new bins. As if expecting the strange upright plastic monstrosities to demand to be taken to our leader, and – to a man and/or woman - wondering who our leader would be. Except her from number 22, of course who, naturally to her, has always assumed she is our leader. Why, no one-knows, or dares disabuse her.

Anyway, there it (or should it be they?) lay there in the middle of the road with each passer-by noting it (them), some even paused to take a closer look. Old Joe from number 45 even went up close and poked it (them) with his walking stick, before furtively looking around and walking away as briskly as he could manage before anyone accused him of being responsible.

After all, these days, no-one ever wants to admit responsibility, not for anything – just in case.

So, there they lay for several hours in the middle of the road. Meanwhile, everyone waited to see what would happen and who would be the one to break and – foolishly, we knew – go and do something about them (it).

Even so, we all still cringed every time a vehicle came close to them. For I don’t know if you’ve ever heard the sound of some lost or discarded bagpipes as they are run over, but – believe me – it is not a sound you are ever likely to forget.

Still, they were there when night came and we all – with relief – closed our curtains on the problem. Each hoping that in the morning, the problem would be solved and the discarded, or lost, bagpipes would be gone.

Which they were….

Thankfully.

 

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

Mouse in the Alley

We kissed, hard and urgent. I pushed her back against the wall as our hands roamed over each other. We could hear them, shouting and running feet. We broke off the kiss and stared towards the mouth of the alley.

‘We haven’t got time for this,’ Mouse whispered, even though her hands were already unfastening and rummaging through my clothes. I glanced down the alley again.

Mouse nibbled my lip, her tongue entering my mouth as I was about to speak. We kissed again. ‘This alley…? Do you know it?’ I said as we came back up for air.

Mouse shook her head as she moved lower.

‘It could be a dead-end.’ I glanced back at the mouth of the alley again. The voices and the running feet were getting closer. Then I had to close my eyes for a moment as Mouse’s tongue did one of its special tricks.

For a while I forgot where we were, what we’d done and who we were running from.

Then, reluctantly, I pulled Mouse to her feet. She grinned at me, licking her lips and kissed me again.

‘We have to go,’ I said, trying to fit myself back inside clothes that were now way too tight. ‘Now!’

Mouse laughed and took my hand, half-running down the alley. She stopped laughing when we reached the wall at the end.

I looked back. They were at the top of the alley; I could see torches, hear excited shouts. If there’d been only one or two, or even a handful, we could have tried to fight our way out. But this time it was the Guard and there were at least twenty of them, and they were coming down the alley.

All of them.

I turned back to see Mouse half-undressed, shoving the sack and her weapons and tools behind a barrel.

‘Quickly,’ she said pulling me to her and tugging down my trousers with one hand as she shoved my stuff with hers behind the barrel with the other.

We tried not to look as the flaming torches came closer.

‘Hey, you!’ a voice called as the torches lit up the alley.

‘What?’ Mouse cursed at the Guard. ‘Can’t a girl earn a few honest coins without you wanting your cut?’

The Guards swore and turned away.

‘We should ask them,’ a young voice said. ‘Ask if they’ve seen the thieves.’

‘Really?’ An older, more tired, voice said. ‘And do you think they’d really have noticed…? Come on, let’s go back to the crossing and try the other streets.’

I turned back to see Mouse laughing silently. ‘We should go.’

‘Why stop now?’ she laughed again and pulled me closer.

 

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

The Purl

Kretz looked up at me from where she’d been sleeping, head on my chest. She blinked slowly. Her pink tongue darted out and licked the side of her hand; she brushed the hand over the side of her face a few times, purring as she did it.

Sometimes, just sometimes, it can be more than a little disconcerting, but in a universe the size of this one, it is – almost - bound to happen.

For such a long time, we humans had wondered if we were alone in the universe. We’d wondered whether there was life out there, somewhere amongst all those stars. Then we discovered those stars had planets, that ours was not the only one. Then, a little later we’d discovered that some of those planets were in the goldilocks zone like ours.

Then, we found we were not alone.

The Purl were one of the first races from beyond our solar system to contact us. Then when we discovered what the Purl were, then it was inevitable we’d find so much in common, considering humanity’s long association with cats. Discovered by the Purl, and brought into the association of intelligent species by them had a certain rightness about it. A race of intelligent cats – well, it was a love affair waiting to happen.

Kretz wrapped her tail around us as we lay there. She was purring again. I took a deep breath. I was going to have to tell her it was over, that I had to go back to Earth.

I looked down at those hands… paws, with their razor-sharp claws retracted. I thought about her sharp pointed teeth and about what a cat could do to a mouse. Then I thought about my pink helpless body and I decided, instead, to put off telling her… at least, for a while.

 

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

The Untidy Universe

There is nothing. Everything is emptiness and hollowness.

But then that does save the bother of having to find somewhere to put it all. There should be at least some cupboard space, but there never is.

‘There is,’ as Wittgenstein said about this great philosophical conundrum, ‘never enough space on top of the wardrobe. For that which we cannot find space for, we must learn to live without.’

It is a problem overcome by nature in its constantly expanding universe. Obviously, some cosmic force had tried to stuff all of space and time into a universal cupboard, only to find it suddenly bursting back out again in what we now call the Big Bang.

Despite the complete lack of evidence for one, perhaps there was some sort of god after all. Perhaps a god whose wife suggested that he might tidy up the form and void a bit and put some of that matter away he’d left about all over her nice clean eternity.

So, like any normal bloke he just rammed it all in the universal cupboard and went off to watch the football on the telly, then jut as he’d settled down with a beer, the big bang burst out and there he was with a universe all over his wife’s nice clean floor.

No wonder he buggered off pretty sharpish as soon as the universe came into being and hasn’t been seen since.

 

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

Naughty Tennis – A Tactical Approach

Anyway, there we were. She had the tennis racquet, of course... but we won't go into that, not before the watershed anyway.

Still, as the typical British weather is pouring down, it is possibly safe to assume that whatever amount of water constitutes the aforesaid watershed. At least, that amount has already been shed this morning. Therefore we are safe to continue with this promenade through the outer suburbs of what is regarded as both the rude and the naughty with little chance of interruption. Especially any interruption from those who like to think they know what is best for everyone.

Just why so many people think it is any of their business what others get up to. Or, that it is for them to stipulate which of those doings has their approval or not, we will leave to one side for a while. At least for as long as it takes to mention that she is rather adept with the tennis racquet, but – as we are civilised people – not for tennis obviously.

We are not that weird.

Anyway, there she stood, naked and proud and with the tennis racquet in a standard two-handed grip. She, of course, following the standard rules of Naughty Tennis was standing on the kitchen by-line, awaiting my service.

Of course, Naughty Tennis is always best played in the domestic setting. Except, of course, when there is something good on the telly. For then, the players can easy be distracted by Downton-esque plot twists during the vital match point manoeuvres, especially if it is their turn with the raspberry-flavoured jelly.

Anyway, I had the bag of marshmallows at the ready and my racquet was poised too.

But then she remembered a couple of VAT Invoices she had not filed correctly. So instead of Naughty |Tennis we went off to play a game of sexy VAT Inspector instead, which was good because it was my turn with the buff envelopes.

 

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

Radicalism and Tinned Fruit

It was not that it was all that obvious, except from certain angles, but you could easily tell she was one of those women, by the way she moved down the street. Women, in the West, have achieved financial and social independence over the recent century or so. Consequently, certain women do indeed prefer to carry a tin of peach slices with them when they are out and about on an evening.

It was just over a hundred years ago when the Suffragette Henrietta Bullspizzle chained herself to the railings outside 10 Downing Street clutching a tin of peach slices. A few months later, another suffragette Doreen Pendulous smuggled a tin of mandarin segments, concealed in her bodice, into Purple's, a staunch men-only Gentleman's club. Another suffragette flagrantly opened a tin of fruit cocktail during the Grand National with - as we all know – tragically fatal consequences when the authorities later discovered she didn't have an appropriate serving spoon for the occasion.

From these tentative beginnings the suffragettes regarded carrying tinned fruit on or about the person as a political act. They claimed that the male patriarchy had a certain dismissive view of women found possessing various tinned goods when on a night out, especially tinned fruit. Suffragettes claimed men often viewed women holding - say – a tin of pineapple rings in a predatory manner. Especially if that male had in his possession a tin-opener (See, for example, Germoline Goat's: The Female with Fruit Cocktail in Syrup). This they claimed discriminated against the woman – who may have legitimate reasons of her own to want to carry some tinned fruit when going about her business.

However, as time passed and fashions changed it became more and more common for women to go out on the town carrying the aforementioned tinned fruit. This was especially the case for a girls' night out, when each of the women, more as a fashion accessory than as a political statement of feminist solidarity took with them a tin of mandarin segments.

Therefore present-day feminists have called for several Reclamation of the Peach Slices (in Syrup) Nights to take place in town centres throughout the UK. They hope the original spirit of radicalism can be reclaimed from what is now little more than a fashionable way of accessioning for a night on the town.

Others, though, claim that it is too late now and that modern feminists should be looking at other grocery items should they wish to make a political statement of equal importance to that of their forebears.

However, only time will tell who is right, this time.

 

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

That’s Buggered It

Still, as she said at the time, it is a bit of a bugger. Exactly, how much of a bugger will, of course, depend upon the new unit of measure agreed at the next EU leaders’ summit.

There have been some complaints especially by scientists specialising in measurement the definition of the now international standard metric Oh, Bugger has been appropriated by politicians. Consequently with all the inevitable fudging, compromises and blatant electioneering and posturing such a process inevitably entails.

However, other experts point out that the politicians being the unparalleled experts at buggering things up are the ideal people to define just how much a bit of a bugger something is. Not only that, but also defining just what is involved – mainly themselves – in buggering something up past all possible redemption.

‘After all, as one MEP pointed out. ‘We created the EU and you couldn’t get anything more buggered up than that, or anything that buggers people about more.’ A point which those opposing scientist have had to concede, especially when some smart-arse pointed out that science was responsible for all manner of benefits from medicines to computers to understanding the very nature of the universe. All of massive and possibly incalculable benefit to the human race, while the EU’s proudest boast was that they came up with the Euro. Faced with such overwhelming data and their inherent belief in the power of evidence the scientists had to concede defeat.

However, many of the scientists took some comfort in the fact that it is the very EU politicians who are about to attempt to come up with an international standard of buggering things up. Therefore - given their impeccable record of accomplishment in the past – many of those scientists are quietly confident the politicians will bugger this job up too. They believe then it will be them, the scientists, who get called in to sort out the resulting cock up (Using well-defined SI Cock-Up units, of course).

 

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

Something for the Weekend – Free Kindle Ebook – Sex, Pies and Sticky Tape

Sex, Pies and Sticky Tape

Available here (UK) and here (US) free for the Kindle for the next five days.

Here we are back, once again, in Little Frigging in the Wold: England’s most perverse, erotic and excitingly-moist village, for some more tales of rural life, with more adventures and tales featuring Grand Uncle Stagnant, Old Feebletrousers, Strom Thighhammer, the cake shop manageress and many more of Little Frigging’s residents.
This book includes over one hundred stories involving inter-village competitive orgies, the erotic use of foodstuffs, how to extract as much money from tourists as possible, the naked pogo-stick steeplechase, mid-air and deep-sea perversions, the use of the fetish unicycle, medieval woodland perversions, the erotic use of cardigans, achieving match fitness in an inter-village orgy squad, accountancy fetish night in the village hall, and – of course – the best way of sellotaping a Cornish pasty to an assistant librarian for erotic purposes and much, much more.

This book free for the next five days only

Available here (UK) and here (US) free for the Kindle for the next five days:

Some comments on David Hadley’s writing:
“Wonderfully weird.”
“brilliantly funny story. I love it.”
“good god, I haven’t laughed so much in ages. “
“very funny, I had a good laugh at this story”
“Clever, and very funny.”
“really funny, had a right good old laugh at this
story.”
“This made me laugh so much, tears came into my eyes….”
“I just sprayed barely masticated tomato all over my keyboard from laughing too hard”
“highly creative and hilarious as always”
“lol this is so funny.”
“another one of yours I truly enjoyed, “Old Feebletrousers” love it!”
“This is a very funny story, it made me laugh.”
“Absolutely brilliant. Thank you”
“This piece produced a lot of giggles!”
“Yep! This was a real funny piece, it had me laughing….”

Available here (UK) and here (US) free for the Kindle for the next five days

The Still Point of This Turning World

Well, there you go… unless, of course, you are currently not in motion. Although, quite how you manage that when the rest of the universe is rushing about all over the shop is probably better explained by someone in a more physics-compatible stance than the one I am currently utilising. A posture which more resembles the stance of one caught by surprise next to a chest freezer by a Thomson’s gazelle concerned about the integrity of its vanilla ice cream supplies.

No doubt, it is wise for a creature from such a warm climate to have some concern about whether or not someone is attempting to steal its ice cream. This is especially the case in an area famous for the diversity of its wildlife and especially some of the more rapacious hunters and scavengers… as well as an inordinate amount of TV naturalists. Particularly when the naturalists would be more than eager to capture such dramatic footage of a distraught gazelle standing next to its pillaged freezer.

After all we all – no doubt – remember that award-winning footage narrated by David Attenborough in his last TV wildlife extravaganza. A piece where a herd of zebras returned home from a day’s busy grazing to find their once so neat vegetable racks in complete disarray. Finding no sign whatsoever of the spring cabbage they’d bought only that morning from the Serengeti Tesco.

So, like I said – there you go… unless of course you are at the still point of this turning world. In which case, you won’t.

 

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

The Other

Eyes?

The eyes opened, blinking rapidly, then slower as they grew accustomed to the light level. It was dim. The eyes couldn’t see much, just a ceiling made of metal with a low-powered light in the centre of it.

There were hands, and they could move.

A body. A breast, two breasts and a stomach and lower… the body was female.

There was a mouth too and it smiled.

Female was always good, better than a male.

The prey was always less suspicious of the female. The males wanted to protect, or if not protect, then damage. Always feeling they had the advantage whichever they were going to do. The females… well, they felt less threatened by another female, less wary of what the other could do.

The other?

The mouth smiled again. That was a good name, it… she liked that. She liked being the other.

The body sat up and she looked down at herself.

She liked this body. It was young and strong – even for a body of the prey – which were usually weak and easily broken – that was why they were the prey, after all.

Once she’d lived in this body for a while it would no longer be the body of the prey, it would become – in time – the other.

She hoped it would not be too long, not this time. She was already feeling hungry.

 

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