tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13298434256866860212011-07-07T17:00:55.999-07:00angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.comBlogger8051100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-29890788931463991032009-12-12T08:15:00.001-08:002009-12-12T08:15:55.624-08:00<center><img alt="cat and girl" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2750/4179190902_3fbdd066c8.jpg" width="500" height="375" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Inside looking out, what a wonderful place to be<br />There was another time and place, was hungry but was free<br /><br />Roaming the streets, my mother was gone<br />A cat on its own, no-one cared<br />I fought for my life against other beasts<br />For a garbage can where food was spared<br /><br />Then there arrived a frosty night<br />The snow made me shake and feel bad<br />I found a warm place by a door of a house<br />I was weak and I felt very sad<br /><br />A meow was the only thing I could say<br />But it seems that my weak voice was heard<br />I suddenly felt warm air near the door<br />I was wrapped in a blanket and stirred<br /><br />“Oh mummy just look at this poor little cat<br />So thin and so very weak<br />It is snowing outside, it is shaking with cold<br />A warm place by the door it did seek<br /><br />It is Christmas Eve and it is so alone<br />Please let us give it to eat<br />A warm place to sleep and a cuddle or two<br />And of course a bowl of fresh meat.”<br /><br />So now you know why I sit on this ledge<br />With my rescuer still at my side<br />I am so thankful for the care I now have<br />And she loves me I know that with pride<br /><br />So if you find a cat in the cold<br />Then open the door to your heart<br />A little girl took me into her arms<br />She calls me Christmas, that was a good start<?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></p></center><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2989078893146399103?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-25466192483411967352009-12-07T07:53:00.000-08:002009-12-07T07:54:35.495-08:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >At last Sarah Jones was retired and had time for all those things she wanted to do instead of her day being filled with things she had to do. She could rise in the morning when she wanted and cook her food at home, not having to take a quick lunch in the supermarket restaurant combining it with shopping. Her days were now filled with twenty-four hours of pleasure and not work. There was a small problem.<br /><br />Sarah liked working, she liked having a target in front of her eyes and now there was none, so Sarah being how she was decided to explore and find what she could. She liked reading, so the first choice was to find a good book. When the book was finished she had to find another one, this was a trifle boring with time. She had the computer and decided to explore its possibilities. Surfing around on internet was also monotonous until she re-discovered one of those social sites where you could correspond with colleagues. There were enough colleagues and now Sarah had time to connect but there was still something missing - it became boring.<br /><br />One day Sarah discovered a game on this social site. She suddenly had a farm, was connected with people she knew and started to build it up. This was not really the fulfilment of her needs, so she searched further and found something very interesting. An imaginary town existed on the computer, called Myville. She had a look and found a few colleagues were already there, fully equipped with houses, furniture and to a certain extent even a garden. To finance her life in Myville she could work in a factory, earn money, visit neighbours and it even had a casino. Myville had everything. Now Sarah was occupied and had a purpose. Of course, she realised it all existed in the virtual world, and not in the real one, but this did not bother her. Instead of sitting alone at home watching boring television programmes in the evening she could escape into her world of farms and towns.<br /><br />One morning the postman brought Sara Jones a letter. She was not really expecting anything special, just the usual invoices for the electricity and perhaps for the income tax. Even this had to be paid if when retired, but Sarah had worked all her life and had enough money to live comfortably. She opened the letter and found it to be from a computer software company.<br /><br /><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">“Dear Miss Jones<br /><br />It has come to our attention that you are one of the most successful participants in the Myville computer game. We have noticed the talent you have in making progress. It is for this reason we have decided you would be the ideal person to try our newest game “Neighbourville”. It takes place in the town of Neighbourville and the basic idea is to look after your neighbour, feed him, clothe him and in general take care. Money can be earned by fulfilling these chores and you will have the opportunity to gain rewards for your good work.<br /><br />Enclosed is a sealed envelope containing the computer link and the code words needed. As this game is still in experimental stages we would ask you to keep these details private at the moment. You will be informed further when the game will be available for the general public .<br /><br />We thank you for your co-operation and we are sure you will enjoy the game.<br /><br />With kindest regards<br />The computer “X” company*<br /></i><br />Sarah was both pleased and surprised to receive this letter and found that it would be a welcome change to the normal games she was playing. She had been chosen to play and she was flattered.<br /><br />That evening she decided to see what the idea was and opened the sealed envelope showing the site <a href="http://www.myneighbour.edu/"><u><span style="color:#0000ff;">www.myneighbour.edu</span></u></a>. It was even a .edu site, and she was convinced it must be something intelligent. Her entry code was also supplied. It was quite long, a mixture of twenty letters and signs, but she had no problem. When she entered the game she was in a very comfortable room; a fire was burning and the furniture looked very welcoming.<br /><br />“Welcome to my home” were words printed on the screen. Sarah searched to see where they were coming from and then suddenly one of the armchairs rotated and there was a nice gentleman sitting in the chair smoking a pipe. The words continued.<br /><br />“Hello, I am George your neighbour. I am not able to leave my home as I cannot walk very well. Here is a list of items I need from the shops, please fetch them.”<br /><br />Sarah searched for the way to get to the shops and found it written on a tab above the screen “Shops”. She clicked on the name and suddenly found herself in a greengrocer shop showing various vegetables. Her figure had already been supplied. She was surprised she could not create it herself. It just seemed strange that although she was complete as a woman, her face had no features. She decided this was probably because the game was still in the beginning stages. The list of items to fetch was still showing at the bottom of the screen so she clicked on the items and soon she had a basket put in her virtual arms containing everything. She then clicked on the tab showing neighbour and arrived back to George with the items she bought.<br /><br />She then saw that George started to unpack everything and on the list the items were ticked off.<br /><br />“The oranges don’t look very fresh” George said, the words appearing on the screen. “You will have to return them to the shop.”<br /><br />Sarah decided, enough was enough, she wanted to play, she did not need another stressful job in her life and closed the programme, the problem being that it did not close, but George was still sitting there.<br /><br />“I want my fresh oranges” George said and this time it was not words written on the screen but a voice coming through the loudspeaker.<br /><br />Sarah was astonished to say the least, and then it repeated again at least three times, getting louder all the time. “I WANT MY FRESH ORANGES”. Sarah travelled back to the greengrocer shop on the screen and again asked for oranges.<br /><br />“For George” the words came on the screen.<br /><br />Sarah typed yes and then the words came “you should have told us that before. George has special oranges.”<br /><br />Sarah then had oranges put into her basket, twice as big as the last time and returned to George. George clapped his hands and took the oranges. Sarah was about to switch off again, but she could not, try as she wanted to, the programme was fixed on her computer.<br /><br />“I want my slippers” said George, again over the loudspeaker, and cook my dinner. You bought some meat and potatoes, go to the kitchen and click on the cooker.<br /><br />Sarah did as George said and she found that the food started cooking. Again she wanted to leave.<br /><br />“You cannot go yet” said George “you have to serve my dinner and wait until I have eaten it. Then you must wash up the dishes.”<br /><br />Sarah decided she had enough of George and pulled the plug out of the wall, but the computer continued running.<br /><br />“I am you neighbour, your job is to look after me and I will say when we are finished. I will go to bed in an hour and then you can switch off. I sleep until eight in the morning and expect you to be here again.”<br /><br />Sarah decided that George was an annoying neighbour. Somehow she felt that she had to do what George was demanding, and an hour later when George went to his bedroom on the computer, Sara was tired and also went to bed.<br /><br />The next morning at eight the computer switched itself on again and there was George.<br /><br />“Where is my breakfast? Go to the kitchen, I want eggs and bacon.”<br /><br />Sarah went to the kitchen on the computer and found only bacon.<br /><br />“There are no eggs?” said George. This is not good, go to the shop and bring eggs. I will wait.”<br /><br />“This is enough” thought Sarah and again wanted to close the programme. As she touched the key on the computer she felt a pain go through her hand.<br /><br />“Ow” she said “what was that”.<br /><br />“That was my punishment that you forgot the eggs and are refusing to bring them from the shop. I am an old man and need looking after. I am your neighbour and you have to do what I say.”<br /><br />And so the days passed and Sarah found that George was in charge of her life. After a week she was surprised that George was not in his armchair on the computer when she switched on. She was actually glad. It was then that she saw words written at the bottom of the screen.<br /><br />“You have now passed all 10 steps of this programme and have qualified. George no longer needs you. You have progressed to the next level.”<br /><br />A few days later Kate Simmons received a letter in the post from a computer company introducing her to a new game called “Neighbourville”. Kate’s husband had died a month before and she was organising her life without him. It was difficult at the beginning, but with the help of a social site on the computer she found that the evenings were not so boring when she participated in the various games. Now she had received an introduction to take part in a new game. “This will be fun” she thought. She dialled the web site and entered the complicated code she had received in a sealed envelope.<br /><br />She found herself in a very comfortable room; a fire was burning and the furniture looked very welcoming.<br /><br />"Welcome to my home” were words printed on the screen. Kate searched to see where they were coming from and then suddenly one of the armchairs rotated and there was a nice lady sitting in the chair knitting.<br /><br />If Kate had ever known Sarah Jones she would have been surprised as the nice lady looked exactly like Sara Jones, but Sarah Jones had disappeared. The police had been alarmed. Her neighbours had not seen her for some time. Her house was empty and there was no trace. If you looked back further, you would also have seen the headlines in the newspaper that an elderly man, George ……. had also disappeared in the same way a few months before. The similarity in the two disappearances was that the computers belonging both to Sarah and George were missing, never to be found, but the police and neighbours did not notice this.</span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2546619248341196735?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-11814207242065338852009-11-27T08:31:00.000-08:002009-11-27T08:32:27.240-08:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >If you ask me this thanksgiving thing is a crime, something I could really do without. As I said to Mavis, the wife, a couple of weeks ago, it is time again for us to go on a diet.<br /><br />“On a diet” she said with an annoyed voice. “You mean all that nice gobbly stuff the farmer is bringing us to eat, we have to leave alone. What about the children? They will starve.”<br /><br />You know women just do not seem to understand the importance of the situation. I told her that we turkeys are an endangered species at this time of the year. Of course we get more food, we have to be fattened up for thanksgiving. Thanksgiving, what a word! Are we turkeys thankful for this feast, definitely not. I remember Uncle Fred last year, gobbling all the extra food and getting nice and fat. The last I saw of him was when the farmer’s wife carried him away under her arm. Just a few feathers floating in the air were all that was left as a memory. Sometimes there are even trucks arriving at the farm, and one after the other we birds of a feather are piled in, never to return.<br /><br />Anyhow, as I say, a turkey should be very careful at this time of the year. Refuse to eat the extra rations. It is difficult, but then you are not one of the chosen few to arrive on a family table. I have heard those humans are even asked if they prefer white meat or dark. What an insult to be reduced to a discussion over my departed remains. Excuse me, but that takes it too far. Anyhow, this year I have managed to find a nice quiet corner in the barn. After making it clear to the wife what this thanksgiving is all about, she has seen the light and has decided follow my advice and stay away from the humans and their extra rations at the moment. We have managed to find enough straw to hide in until this time of the year has gone.<br /><br />Some of the turkeys are laughing at us. Cousin James started making fun of me. “If you carry on like that, you will be only skin and bone, you are a disgrace to the turkey nation” he said. May cousin James now rest in peace, he stuffed himself so full with those extra rations, he was one of the first to go. I suppose at least he went fully fed. I now go for jogging exercises every morning to make sure that I do not put on one gram of extra fat. If I could fly I can tell you I would hop over the fence and find a nice forest to hide in until it is all over.<br /><br />“Mavis, quick under the straw the farmer’s wife is coming and that truck has pulled up again at the farm gate. Take the kids with you, I am coming. Sometimes I wish I was a vulture.”</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://wordsmiths.multiply.com/journal/item/51/Wordsmiths_Challenge_19">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-1181420724206533885?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-85753096834667047982009-11-24T10:36:00.000-08:002009-11-24T11:43:20.568-08:00<center><img alt="Coffee_Break_in_the_past_by_Vale-1" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2510/4131823570_aface888fe_o.jpg" width="280" height="235" /></center><p></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Superintendent Jack Matthews hated crime scenes, especially when they were messy, and this was a messy one; unbelievable that a husband could stab his wife on a Sunday afternoon for no apparent reason and then shoot himself in the head.<br /><br />“Jim, any clues as to what happened” he asked one of the medical staff.<br /><br />“No idea Jack, probably just another marital conflict situation. It’s beyond my understanding. Seems that they were spending a quiet Sunday afternoon in the garden and then something must have lit the spark to start things off.”<br /><br />Jack had a quick look around; nothing really suspicious, although it seemed strange. Outside in the garden there was a cup of coffee with a biscuit, not even touched, next to a camera poised on the narrow bricks of the garden wall. Jack had an idea and pulled on his thin white rubber gloves, before taking the camera in his hand. It was a digital camera, and perhaps there might be a photo or something to show what happened. He switched it on, but no photo, just a small video, one of those movie videos that you could take with a camera.<br /><br />“Let’s see what we have here” he said and called his assistant. “Seems we have a small film taken this afternoon, probably the last of the deceased couple.”<br /><br />Arthur his assistant came over. “That could be the solution to the murder” he said. The two men then watched the film. Although a small camera it was good quality and it even had sound.<br /><br />First of all they saw the wife<br /><br />“No, not now, I don’t want you film me” and she put her hands in front of her face.<br /><br />“Come on” a voice could be heard, probably from the husband “you look so good in this light, and I really want something to remember you by.”<br /><br />“Don’t be silly Frank” the wife said “I am leaving and that is all there is to say. You do not need anything to remember me by. You should have thought of that some time ago. Now it is too late.”<br /><br />The film then became quite slurred as if someone was moving the camera around. Then the man’s voice could be heard again.<br /><br />“I told you I am not sharing you with anyone and if I cannot have you then no-one else will.” It seemed that the camera was getting nearer and a full close up of the wife's face was on the picture.<br /><br />“No, Frank, what are you doing. Put that knife down.”<br /><br />It was then that the film came to an end.<br /><br />“Looks like a closed case sir” said Arthur. “We even have it on film.<br /><br />“Certainly does Arthur” said the superintendent.<br /><br />If they had seen more, they would have known that the wife, although bleeding quite heavily from her injuries, managed to stumble into the living room and take a gun out of the cabinet. She pointed it at her husband.<br /><br />“Now it is your turn Frank”<br /><br />Frank was quite shocked, not expecting that his wife, Christine, would recover from her injury, and struggled for the gun. He wrestled it away from his wife and made a decision.<br /><br />In the meanwhile his wife fell, and Frank saw she was dead. He loved her so much. He saw the cup of coffee and chocolate biscuit outside on the garden wall, through the open garden window. He walked over to the cup and looked at it one last time, heart shaped with the words “I love you” on it thinking those were the best days of our life together. He put the camera on the wall next to the cup and walked back to the living room.<br /><br />“I love you too” he said “more than you will ever know. If I cannot have you, neither will he” and he shot himself in the head. He no longer wanted to live.<br /><br />Superintendent Jack Mathews decided that this was a clear case in agreement with his assistant. It would disappear in the records as any other marital drama. When he got home that evening, he opened his desk and removed the two flight tickets to Hawaii, tore them up and threw them away. He was sad, he quite liked Christine, Frank’s wife, and was sure they would have had a future together, but she became just another death statistic in marital warfare.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://wordsmiths.multiply.com/journal/item/48/Wordsmiths_Challenge_18">Click here for more (if not marked private)</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-8575309683466704798?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-66390102158295809082009-11-23T08:01:00.000-08:002009-11-23T08:03:02.676-08:00<p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;color:#990000;">Sumax's Challenge</span></strong></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">You wake up from a nightmare.<br /></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">You have had a vision of a disaster that you know will happen that very day.<br /></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">You know you have to inform the relevant authorities, but will they believe you?<br /></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">Using 1,000 words or more, in both narrative and dialogue, describe the scene as you try to convince the powers-that-be of what is going to happen.</span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >The day dawned and I could hear the birds singing outside the bedroom window, but that did not help. After the night I had behind me, nothing more could help.<br /><br />“That was weird” was the first thought that passed through my head. “It is as if nothing has happened, but it could” and the dream did not leave me any rest throughout the morning. This was not a dream I was sure. “This will become reality, but who is going to believe me?”<br /><br />“Nothing ventured, nothing gained”, was my first thought. “They will either ignore me or laugh, but no-one is going to believe me; I am sure” and so I checked on the computer for the telephone number. It was a big organisation and I knew this was not going to be easy.<br /><br />I heard the telephone ringing on the other side and a voice said “European Organisation for Nuclear Research, Geneva; can I help you?”<br /><br />“Er, yes, well, can you give me the department for this atom splitting machine that you have built.”<br /><br />“I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand. You mean the Hadron Collider? This is not just a department, but an organisation, and the gentlemen are busy at the moment organising the final tests.”<br /><br />“That is why I am calling, to put a stop to these final tests. They are dangerous beyond imagination.”<br /><br />“I am sorry madam, I do not quite understand. Are you an expert for technical research on this level?”<br /><br />It was then that I had to think quickly and tell a few untruths. No problem, they could not see me when I start going red through shame, but this was really a matter of life and death, well almost.”<br /><br />“Listen I am Dr. Jeanette Renault, and was one of the designers of this system, but a mistake has been made. You must not, repeat, must not switch the collider on. Please give me the chief of the department.”<br /><br />“Just a moment please doctor, I will see what I can do.”<br /><br />“Hello, hello”<br /><br />“Public relations, Hadron collider here. Can I help you.?”<br /><br />“No, I am trying to help you. Do not switch this machine on.”<br /><br />“Who is speaking?”<br /><br />“Professor Dr. Jeanette Renault, I helped to develop this machine. Please switch it off.”<br /><br />“Just a moment, are you asking me to switch a billion franc machine off, just at your request. What is the reason? Another one of these suspicions that the town of Geneva will fall into a black hole, or perhaps the world? I don’t remember you name from our staff.”<br /><br />Now this is where the problems are going to start. How do I say it was because of a dream? They are never going to believe it. It was then that I saw the daily newspaper. Admittedly I had already spilt some strawberry jam on it in my excitement, but I could still see the picture of a man laughing happily standing in front of this machine, telling the world of its advantages.<br /><br />“Please connect me with director Peter Schmitt.”<br /><br />“Mr. Schmitt is busy.”<br /><br />“You must tell him to come to the phone. I was witness to a car accident this morning involving his son. I took his son to the hospital.”<br /><br />“Oh, I see, in that case, just a moment please.”<br /><br />Well let’s hope that Mr. Schmitt will now have time for me.<br /><br />“Schmitt, my son is injured? What has happened?”<br /><br />“Mr. Schmitt, everything is ok. I just have to talk to you about something important to do with the experiment you are starting today.”<br /><br />“Oh no, not another one of those end of the world people. My time is too precious to talk about black holes, death and destruction. Or do you have another idea?”<br /><br />“Well, yes I do actually. No, no, please do not hang up. This is important. I had a dream last night and it was so realistic. Please listen.”<br /><br />“Young lady, my scientific work is not built on dreams, it is reality. There will be no black holes and no-one will disappear; goodbye.”<br /><br />“No, no, please wait. No black holes, but a hole that will let something in.”<br /><br />“Will let something in? Now I must say that is a new angle. Perhaps we will have some little green men arriving climbing out of the collider. How stupid do you think we are?”<br /><br />“No, in my dream it happened that the collider started splitting the atoms and then it started raining; pink rain for a week.”<br /><br />“Well, I must say, this is an interesting theory. We will have pink rain, and the world comes to an end.”<br /><br />“No, no end of the world, the pink rain contains seeds.”<br /><br />“Tell me young lady, what was the name of the book you read. I would like to borrow it. Sounds really good.”<br /><br />“I am not joking. The seeds land on the earth and start to germinate. That is where the problem begins.”<br /><br />“Oh, I see, they grow into pink beanstalks and reach to the sky. If you climb one you meet a giant sitting on a pot of gold.”<br /><br />“Mr. Schmitt, I don’t think you are taking me seriously. Everyone knows that is the story of Jack and the Beanstalk. No, they grow and when fully grown they begin to walk and…”<br /><br />“Yes, yes, yes, a very good story, but quite a bit of fantasy. Just a moment Miss I have work to do. “What did you say Fritz, oh yes I am coming, you are ready for the switch on.” Please excuse me Miss, but I have other important work to do and the progress of science cannot be stopped by a dream that someone had concerning pink men.”<br /><br />Well I did what I could, but no-one believed me. I decided to go into action, climbed into my car and drove to Geneva. It was a lovely day for a drive, not a cloud in the sky, one of those days it made you happy to be alive. Eventually I reached the centre of nuclear operations, but I could see this was not going to be easy; a barrier was stopping my entry with the car. I then parked the car behind a near bye building and walked the rest. I noticed some men walking into the building so I just joined them, pretending to belong to the group. Luckily I had dressed in a white overall before I left home as I was sure it would help. Everyone at this place was walking around in a white overall, so it just suited the scene. Once inside the building I had to find the right office. I decided to go downwards as I had heard that this monster machine was somewhere deep in the bowels of the earth.<br /><br />I again saw a group of very intelligent looking elderly men and followed them. We descended in the lift, so far down I had a funny feeling I might meet someone with horns shovelling coal. However, this was not the case, and I soon found myself standing next to a large steel tube. At the side of the tube was a nicely covered table with a crisp white tablecloth and there was plenty of goodies to eat, scallops, shrimps, beef tartar, naturally with enough champagne to keep everyone happy. I decided to join in, the food was good and no-one seemed to notice that I did not belong. Then the speech begun. I decided it was time to stop eating, although I was enjoying it, to see if this was what I had to stop. It was. The man giving the speech was Mr. Schmitt, it seems, and so I called out in a loud clear voice “Stop”. He dropped his glass of champagne through the shock of my voice and asked what the **** was going on.<br /><br />“I called you Mr. Schmitt, about the collider. I warned that it was dangerous.”<br /><br />“How did you get here, and are you the woman with the pink rain?”<br /><br />“Yes Mr. Schmitt, this experiment must stop. It is a danger to civilisation.”<br /><br />“Sorry Miss, but we have already switched on. You see there is no danger. We are all at home down here.”<br /><br />It was then that I felt quite faint. Well I did faint. You would as well if you suddenly saw that the so-called scientists were changing into pink men with four arms drinking champagne and toasting on the future. It was just too much for me. I came to my senses lying on my back in one of the green fields surrounding the nuclear centre. And pink rain was falling from the sky. </span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/225/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_199">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-6639010215829580908?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-91029447756572646112009-11-21T06:54:00.000-08:002009-11-21T06:55:26.371-08:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >On a night when London fog was surrounding the Thames, Johnny Watkins returned to his ship, destined to sail on the next morning. We are in the nineteenth century at the time when cargo ships still sailed into the London docks for discharge of their cargo. Johnny was still a boy, had run away from a stepfather who knew only the rule of the cane. There is a certain innocence that a young lad of sixteen years has. He believes that doing what the others did was the makings of a man. For this reason he had spent the evening in the tavern drinking with the other seamen. It was perhaps his need for belonging somewhere that gave him the encouragement to drink as much as the others. The others were hardened sailors, used to the roughness of a life on a ship, but alas Johnny was still a novice in such things. His steps were not so sure along the quayside on the slippery ground when he left the tavern, and sight was at a minimum. Fate took its reward and Johnny slipped into the murky waters of the River Thames. Perhaps it was due to the alcohol consume, perhaps his swimming talents were not so good, or it may just have been the foolishness of youth, but Johnny never again saw the light of the morning breaking over the murky waters.<br /><br />He was fished out of the Thames by the police; a sorry end to a young hopeful life. There was no identification on the body, no-one seemed to miss Johnny; his life and death just an episode in London history. His remains were laid to rest in a small cemetery in East London; no grave with flowers and no angel’s statue guarding his bones. The grave diggers just made a hole in the ground, his body unceremoniously thrown in and covered with earth. Thanks to the merciful sisters, a stone was placed on top of his burial place, just a few words “Unknown male death by drowning in the River Thames 1862” and that was the unceremonious end of Johnny Watkins.<br /><br />*******<br />Pat never really forgot her childhood in the East End of London. Although now living in another country, married with her own family, she often reflected on the past. There were memories and even dreams, but one memory was always there; a visit to the family grave in one of the older cemeteries in London; a cemetery existing for more than one hundred years.<br /><br />Some of the older stones were weathered by the elements, and the words hardly readable. The older graves still had wax flowers covered by a more or less transparent glass dome for protection, which made them seem as if the inhabitants were still in the thoughts of their relations, although there were no longer any relations who could remember. It seemed to be a cemetery of the forgotten. Pat entered the cemetery, her mother walking ahead. Memories of the past came flooding back, it was her mother’s side of the family that were lying here in their last resting place. There was a large white stone, with names and dates of people Pat had never known, but it was family. The most recent and last to be buried was the grandfather and now it was finished. The grave was full, no room for more, seven were enough. To arrive at the family grave was not easy. There was no path, unless a path could be called stepping over graves and squeezing behind stones.<br /><br />One evening Pat awoke in a cold sweat, she had revisited the graveyard in a dream. She wanted to reach the family grave, but had to stop and could not walk any further. It was as if an invisible barrier was stopping her. She looked down and saw it again: it was there. A flat brown stone, showing letters which had once been deeply engraved and were now hardly legible. She knew what the letters were saying, this was not a dream this was real; a reminder from the past of an unknown person, death by drowning. This time it was different; in the dream she saw the letters much clearer and there stood a name on the stone. “John Watkins” followed by the words “death by drowning in the River Thames 1862” and this was what awoke her. The grave stone was in her memory as showing “unknown” and now it had a name. It was many years ago, but she had never forgot this stone that she often walked over to reach the family grave.<br /><br />“Mum, have you seen that stone” she would ask on the visits she made with her mother.<br /><br />“Oh yes, just walk over it, it is in a strange place. It has always been there. Probably just some unidentified person they fished out of the Thames” and that was the explanation Pat got from her mother.<br /><br />Pat never forgot this dream, at last the grave in the path had a name, she thought. Later that year she paid a visit to London and revisited many places where she had grown up. It was then that she made a decision; she must go to the graveyard again.<br /><br />She arrived at the gates, but everything seemed much smaller than it was when she was a child. She thought probably the dimensions of time, then I was smaller and everything seemed bigger. She remembered there was a quaint old chapel covered with trailing ivy at the entrance, where the services were held before the burials. The chapel was no longer there. At the entrance there was a line of old gravestones with statues of angels gracing them. The statues were no longer as clean and white as Pat remembered them. They had a green cover of the mould which had grown over the years. She tried to remember where the family grave was, and searched for the path that was the way to the grave, but it was an impossible task. Many of the graves were no longer there, a housing estate had taken over part of the cemetery.<br /><br />It was then that she noticed part of the cemetery looked comparatively new, although the gravestones were not covered with letters as she knew them, but in Arabic writing. There were visitors dressed accordingly in their dark cloaks and hats belonging to the ethnic minorities of this part of the town. It seemed that the dream and the memories had probably confused things over the years and she decided it was better to leave, when she saw a small office at the entrance to the cemetery.<br /><br />“Hello, is anyone there” she called<br /><br />“Yes madam, can I help you?”<br /><br />“Perhaps you could explain what happened to this cemetery. I remember it as being completely different. We have a family grave here which I could no longer find. There was a chapel at the entrance and there were so many graves that you had to walk over some to arrive at your own grave.”<br /><br />“Well that was many years ago. The graveyard was sold and part of it was demolished. Houses have now been built on that part. The remaining part of the cemetery was converted into a Muslim cemetery.”<br /><br />“Yes, but there were graves where the Muslim graves now are. What happened to them?”<br /><br />“Well to be quite honest, they are still there, but somewhere below. Most of the graves were no longer visited, so new graves were just built on top.”<br /><br />“Where is my family grave? The land was bought and I have a photo of the grave.”<br /><br />“I can give you a telephone number to call, and if you can give them the plot number, they will find out the details for you.”<br /><br />“I have one last question. Where is the chapel?”<br /><br />“Oh, yes, now that was unfortunate. Some kids were playing in the cemetery one evening and they lit a fire. It spread and before it could be stopped it engulfed the complete chapel in flames. It was no longer being used in any case, and the part that was still standing had to be removed for safety reasons.”<br /><br />Pat thanked the porter, who had been very helpful and prepared to leave. She took one last glance back at the cemetery. She was sad that the past could be so destroyed without any respect to those concerned. It was then she saw a shadow move behind one of the gravestones with the angel on top. A shudder went down her spine, she did not know why, but a figure stepped forward from behind the stone; a young man, dressed in clothes that looked as if they originated in a history book. He looked at Pat and laughed. Pat did not know why, but two words left her lips<br /><br />“Johnny Watkins?”<br /><br />The figure nodded and said “Thank you for remembering” and disappeared.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://wordsmiths.multiply.com/journal/item/45/Wordsmiths_Challenge_17">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-9102944775657264611?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-70884575019376377602009-11-20T10:43:00.000-08:002009-11-20T10:44:00.144-08:00<p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Have fear to turn around<br />Someone is watching you<br />The skies are full of eyes<br />Be careful what you do<br />Never alone with me<br />I follow all the time<br />Stick to your frame like glue<br />Do not slip away like slime<br />You cannot walk away<br />There is no firm escape<br />Might be windy, might be calm<br />No breath your hairs will drape<br />I creep behind all day<br />With stealth move high and low<br />Never catch me unaware<br />Forever your shadow</span></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" ></span> </p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" ><?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span> </p><br /><center><img alt="shadow" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2777/4120436952_1ffa2994bc.jpg" width="275" height="500" /></center><a href="http://creativechallenge.multiply.com/journal/item/96/Creative_Challenge_79">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-7088457501937637760?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-37182199529617942392009-11-20T05:36:00.000-08:002009-11-20T05:37:40.946-08:00<p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;">Caghs' Challenge<br /></span></strong><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">Write a short story (750 words or less) about something that goes badly wrong, only to turn into something wonderful.<br /></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">It has to start as an ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">end of the world’</i> crisis, and turn into a blessing.</span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">You may use any theme or storyline you like (within UFC guidelines) and it can be based on something that really happened, or purely fictional</span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Lady had a quick death. We found her with her eyes covered by it’s third lid, not a healthy sign for a cat. She was hiding, or just lying around listless. She did not look well.<br /><br />“Go to work” husband said. “If anything happens, I will call you.”<br /><br />It was with mixed feelings and a heavy heart that I drove off that morning. During the afternoon the fateful call came.<br /><br />“You must take her to the vets, it has got worse.”<br /><br />You know when things happen that you do not like, accidents happen. Wanting to be there and do something, I got into the car, reversed and drove into the car parked behind me. I went to the owner who worked in our company. He was understanding, told me not to worry, his colleague had a garage and he would do the necessary repairs. Our car? – just a bit of colour on the bumper, but I did not care, I had other problems.<br /><br />“I have already called the vet, they are waiting for her” said my husband when I arrived home.<br /><br />I put her in her carrying cage, into the car and a five minute drive that seemed like five hours, with a sick cat.<br /><br />“She does not look good” said the vet “but leave her here; we will do what we can.”<br /><br />What can you do when a six month old cat, barely out of the kitten age, is dying? Just hope it does not die. She did, on the next morning when the vet called and said he could do nothing more for her. A piece of my heart and my husbands had been broken off. She was such a darling, sweet, pretty, and affectionate. She had given us her love for six months and it was at an end. Her name was Lady and she was loved.<br /><br />“No more cats” said my husband.<br /><br />I know this was right, but I knew this could not be the end of a love affair. Lady came from the household belonging to a friend of a friend at work. Things sometimes can happen that are a surprise, perhaps a twist of fate, but they happen. Lady’s mother had again had a midnight meeting with one or two tom cats, the result was four kittens. “If you are interested?” said my friend.<br /><br />Of course I was interested, but I decided this time it must be two cats.<br /><br />I arrived home “Lady’s mother has had another litter, this time four kittens.”<br /><br />“You want another cat? Are you sure after what we went through with Lady’s death.”<br /><br />“Yes, but this time I want two, and I can have two cats from the litter.”<br /><br />Somehow we were both missing Lady, everywhere you looked at home you saw her sleeping on a chair, playing with a ball of wool, or just playing the fool. <br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >“OK” said the partner. “Let’s do it.”<br /><br />We still have Lady’s two half sisters, Nera and Tabby. They are now 7 years old and have become part of the family. Lady has never been forgotten. It was a long time until I could look at the photos we took without shedding a few tears, but she lives on in her two sisters I suppose, although I have a sneaky feeling that they are also half sisters. Mummy cats do not take it so serious with the partners and I think this time there were two fathers involved. Tabby and Nera are two different types of cat, in character and in looks, but they are inseparable.<br /><br />In the meanwhile we have another cat known as Fluffy, a pure Selkirk Rex from another colleague who breeds cats. After an accident Fluffy came home blinded and sees nothing. He is six years old and four of his years spent without sight, but he is happy, and almost as independent as the other two cats.<br /><br />Tabby and Nera both have mutual feelings for our little blind Fluffy, they do not like him, but Fluffy is not bothered. He lives in his own little world, as most cats. We love all three of them, even if they are selfish, arrogant, and sometimes aggressive. They are cats and sometimes they might even treat us as if they like us.<br /><br />One day tragedy will hit us again when our cats grow old and weak, or perhaps have an accident, but this is a fate we cannot escape.</span><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/223/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_198">Click here for more</a> <p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-3718219952961794239?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-39347328005543763102009-11-18T06:53:00.000-08:002009-11-18T06:54:33.689-08:00<center><img alt="carving" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2640/4115048884_7dbcdf89b4_m.jpg" width="150" height="240" /></center><br /><p><span style="font-family:comic sans ms;font-size:100%;">What a job! If it was not for the money I certainly would not be sitting here looking like something out of a pantomime. Dressed in those stupid clothes. Just imagine how those nylon stockings irritate my legs. I could scratch all the time, but it would not be so nice for those wonderful people that pay to watch.<br /><br />"Good morning, madam. Yes, I am carving a piece of wood. What it will be when it is finished? Oh, a very nice ornament."<br /><br />"Something to put on the sideboard in the living room. An ornament?"<br /><br />"Yes, if you want to buy one, there are a few in the shop over there."<br /><br />And there she goes, to buy a piece of hand made scraped wood. Won't tell her, but they buy them from Hong Kong. All nicely decorated with words like "Home Sweet Home", something like that. What do they do with mine? No problem, I can take them home in the evening. Make lovely firewood for the stove in my cottage. An old man like me has to save where he can.<br /><br />"No boy, leave that carving knife alone, you might have an accident."<br /><br />"Jimmy, you heard what the man said, don't touch his things. It is dangerous."<br /><br />"But mum I just wanted to see how sharp they are. Owwww."<br /><br />"You see son, now you have cut yourself."<br /><br />"Oh Jimmy, come to mummy. How can you let such dangerous tools lay around? Look at my son's finger, he has a deep cut. Could have been more serious. Where's the manager here?"<br /><br />"Can I help you?"<br /><br />"Yes, look at Jimmy's finger. Your employees could be more careful when they are working. Those tools are dangerous to leave unattended."<br /><br />What an argument that was. Of course, the customer is always right, so who was the loser? I was, just because Jimmy couldn't keep his hands off my tools and mummy wasn't looking. The result was that I lost my job. That was the evening that I did not take the wood home to burn. I left it where it was. The stupid nylon stockings, the hat which I hated and the shirt with sleeves that looked like something that a waitress would wear: I threw them all on top of the wood pile. The false beard I kept. You never know, it might come in handy.<br /><br />Anyhow, that evening I was feeling a bit cold at home, with no wood, so I decided to look for some warmth. The wood pile was still there, so I sneaked back to the shop and set it on fire. The shop next door started burning as well. Then the gas station next door also caught a few sparks. I decided I was now warm enough so was on my way home, when I heard this explosion behind me.<br /><br />Read it all in the newspaper next morning. Seems after the gas station exploded, the restaurant went up in smoke as well. Luckily no-one was injured, they were all on their way to see what the explosion was.<br /><br />No, they never realised it was me and all because Jimmy cut his finger. Now I have a new job, showing how a blacksmith works.<br /><br />"Jimmy, leave that hammer alone."<br /><br />"Owwww"<br /><br />"Where's the manager. It's dangerous leaving those hammers and nails around. Now Jimmy has driven a nail through his finger."<br /><br />The manager was found the next day dead behind the counter of the shop. It seemed someone had killed him with a hammer. Who me?</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://naarta.multiply.com/journal/item/938/RRC...........Ritas_RITING_CHALLENGE">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-3934732800554376310?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-6358018823410020082009-11-17T07:46:00.001-08:002009-11-17T07:46:54.926-08:00<center><img alt="tabbycat and books" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2583/4112572662_c4470e9ec4_o.jpg" width="314" height="235" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Furry moments in furry places<br />A warm winter fire when is cold without<br />Just watching the world pass and smelling its life<br />So nice and tranquil, but then a shout<br />“No, not on my papers you lazy cat<br />My favourites to read are full of hair”<br />“Silly human, it is your very own fault<br />For sleeping it is my favourite lair.”<br />So up jumped the cat and left her place<br />and the human could read her books<br />The cat was still tired, but found a new bed<br />But from human she still got bad looks<br />“Cat I must tell you that is really not nice<br />You are laying on my bed”<br />If cat could talk he would say “it is mine”<br />But the cat just shook his head<br />So feline friend moved into the bathroom<br />And rolled himself up on the floor<br />The human was busy reading her books<br />But cat felt a draught through the door<br />He sleeked back to human and jumped on her lap<br />He found that was warm and fine<br />He started to purr, he knew what he wanted<br />He gave the human a sign<br />Human gave up and the cat had its way<br />Human replaced the books on the floor<br />Cat slept on the books and human had peace<br />A cat you cannot ignore</span></p></center><br /><p></p><a href="http://wordsmiths.multiply.com/journal/item/42/Wordsmiths_Challenge_16">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-635801882341002008?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-21466223917333962182009-11-16T08:32:00.000-08:002009-11-16T08:33:45.077-08:00<p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;color:#990000;">Sumax's Challenge</span></strong></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"><strong>Use the acrostic format in an educational manner.</strong></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br /><br /></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" ><strong>C</strong>arefully read the instructions<br /><strong>O</strong>perate the switches with care<br /><strong>M</strong>ouse handling as if it was alive<br /><strong>P</strong>ractice makes perfect so do your share<br /><strong>U</strong>nder no circumstances switch it off<br /><strong>T</strong>ake your time to shut it down<br /><strong>E</strong>xcel and word are two different things<br /><strong>R</strong>emember Bill Gates was not a clown<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></p></span></o:p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2146622391733396218?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-73808990186918292432009-11-15T06:49:00.000-08:002009-11-15T06:50:39.476-08:00<center><img alt="A meeting of the giants" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2588/4105269787_1488463f8d.jpg" width="500" height="328" /></center><br /><p></p><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2588/4105269787_14e92efd8b_o.jpg">Click here for larger size<br /><p></p></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-7380899018691829243?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-61807063603104893002009-11-14T06:59:00.000-08:002009-11-14T07:00:12.244-08:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >The telephone was ringing and Christine was busy in the kitchen.<br /><br />“Karl, can you answer it please?” she asked her husband.<br /><br />“I am reading the newspaper, do I have to?”<br /><br />“Either you answer it or I let the meat burn in the pan.”<br /><br />“Ok, ok, I will go. “Hello, here is Schmidt, can I help you?”<br /><br />“Hello, it’s Amy, I am at the station. You can pick me up.”<br /><br />This was quite confusing for Karl. First of all he was a German, and lived in Germany and the girl on the telephone was speaking English with a strong American accent. Secondly, which was even stranger, Karl’s wife Christine was actually English and Karl was used to having people calling on the telephone speaking English, but this time he knew that they were definitely not expecting any English speaking visitors with an American accent.<br /><br />“Christine, I think you should come to the ‘phone. Are we expecting anyone called Amy that might be an American?”<br /><br />“What are you talking about Karl. I don’t know anyone in America with that name.”<br /><br />“She is on the phone and says she is at the station. I think she expects to be picked up.”<br /><br />“Ok, give me the phone and go and keep an eye on the dinner before it burns.”<br /><br />Christine took the phone and spoke.<br /><br />“Hello, can I help you?”<br /><br />“Oh, yes, of course. It’s Amy and I am at the station.”<br /><br />“But I don’t know anyone called Amy and I am not expecting anyone. Are you sure you have the right number.”<br /><br />“Of course, Dave gave it to me and said when I arrived I should call and I will be picked up.”<br /><br />“I think you have something wrong here” answered Christine. “I do not know Dave. It is just a coincidence that I speak English. Where are you calling from?”<br /><br />“I am in a telephone cabin at the station; the one in the underground passage next to the flower shop.”<br /><br />“Just a minute, this is a very puzzling occurrence. We don't have a flower shop in a passage at our local station. Where are you exactly?”<br /><br />“I told you at the station in Frankfurt.”<br /><br />“This is getting very intriguing. You have called our telephone number. We are not in Frankfurt, but in Heidelberg. Something is wrong somewhere.”<br /><br />“But this is the number I have. Dave is expecting me. I have a long journey behind me from the States and am just looking forward to seeing Dave again. I have something of importance for him.”<br /><br />“I would help you if I could, but I just don’t know you. Please tell me the exact telephone number you have.”<br /><br />And Amy read out the number. It then became clear to Christine.<br /><br />“Amy listen, you have dialled a wrong number. The first numbers are wrong. You have dialled the call number for Heidelberg instead of Frankfurt” and Christine gave Amy the correct number.<br /><br />“Thanks a lot” said Amy, “but I have a problem. I don’t have any foreign currency left for the telephone.”<br /><br />Christine decided to help Amy, who she did not know.<br /><br />“OK Amy, I tell you what we will do. I will phone the number and tell Dave that you are waiting at the station to be picked up, but stay where you are. I will tell him you are standing next to the telephone booth next to the flower shop in the passage, ok.”<br /><br />“OK and thanks a lot.”<br /><br />So Christine phoned Dave for Amy.<br /><br />“Hello, am I talking to Dave? I have a message from Amy.”<br /><br />“Dave, oh Dave is not here at the moment, but perhaps I can help. I know he is expecting Amy, so just let me know where she is.”<br /><br />“Fine” answered Christine. “Amy is waiting at Frankfurt main station in the passage next to the flower shop.”<br /><br />“Well that’s just wonderful. We are so looking forward to seeing Amy again. I will be there straight away.”<br /><br />“Did you here that Dave, your little friend Amy is at the station? Oh, sorry Dave, I forgot, I killed you a few minutes ago. Well don’t worry, I will look after Amy.” Joe Lucarelli smiled to himself. It certainly does not happen every day that someone calls to let you know that a kilo heroin has arrived. He then made his way to the station.<br /><br />The next day Christine was surprised at the headlines in the national newspaper.<br /><br /><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">“Woman found dead at Frankfurt station”</i> was the title, followed by a photo.<br /><br /><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">“Dead body of woman found in passage near the flower shop at Frankfurt station. It seems the cause of death was a gunshot wound, a direct hit. A passport was found issued in the name of Amy Johnson. After closer examination, traces of heroin were found in an empty plastic bag lying next to the corpse. It is believed that there is a strong connection to the American drug mafia, the brother of the deceased being Dave Johnson. The police have been on his trail for some time for drug smuggling.”<br /></i><br />“What shall I do Kurt” she asked her husband.<br /><br />“Nothing” was the reply. “I am not willing to get shot as well. Let’s just forget it.”<br /><br />So Christine and Kurt went on with their life as usual Joe Lucarelli made a nice profit on the sale of the heroin, but his wealth was short lived. He was caught by the police and is now serving a long prison sentence in Sing Sing.</span></p><p></p><a href="http://creativechallenge.multiply.com/journal/item/95/Creative_Challenge_78">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-6180706360310489300?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-16711954365652199622009-11-13T06:39:00.000-08:002009-11-13T06:40:03.266-08:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >"And the wall came tumbling down.“<br /><br />Those words were etched in Karin’s mind; not that she particularly liked the song, but she had been there and done that, as they say today. It was twenty years ago: one of those boring, bleak, grey early evenings. She was doing her homework and the radio was running in the background. Suddenly she heard something that she could hardly believe.<br /><br />“Mama, Papa, come listen, I don’t believe it.”<br /><br />And her parents came running. “What is the problem Karin, bad news?”<br /><br />“No, the best. We are free.”<br /><br />Fritz and Helga were perplexed. “Free, but we are not in prison. We are free.”<br /><br />“Mama are we free? Can you take a bus or a go by car and visit your sister in the other half of our country. The border is open.”<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" ><br />Fritz, her father, switched the television on. He saw the politicians of his country talking about free travel and switched to the television canal belonging to the other part of the country, governed by other laws, where people could say what they think and do what they want, without any repercussions. Generally he would not dare to watch the “other” programme. It might be that the secret police were watching them, and then he would find himself and his wife suddenly without work, perhaps even in prison. His daughter would be put into a home never to be seen again. “For her own good” the state would say, but he knew differently. It was “for her own good” that Karin was not allowed to study at the university.<br /><br />Fritz was a teacher and what he taught his class was not what the state approved. He should have concentrated on the good things in his country and not shown the disadvantages of travel restrictions, marketing strategy in industry and the lack of competition. Above all he was a teacher of foreign languages. His choice of foreign literature was not that of state approval. The writers did not come from the “good” part of the country.<br /><br />He had been warned, but carried on and the result was that his telephone was tapped, they were not allowed to leave their town and their daughter was not allowed to study for the university entrance examination.<br /><br />Was this true that he was seeing on the television from the other side? Barriers raised by their border police and people at last being able to cross a bridge separating one part of the country from the other. He was glued to the television.<br /><br />“Come Helga, look. I cannot believe my eyes.” And Helga came, together with Karin.<br /><br />“How long do we have to get to the capital by road?” asked Karin.<br /><br />“Two hours” was her father’s answer.<br /><br />Helga looked at them both through the tears in her eyes “so what are we waiting for, up and away.”<br /><br />They packed a few small items and got in their little car; not a luxury model, the same car that all other citizens of their country had, if they could afford it, Fritz expecting to be stopped as soon as they were on the street, but there were no watchers to keep them under control or stop them. They drove off, and soon noticed that the motorway was full with other cars driving in the same direction. The two hour drive took three hours and they arrived at the border around midnight.<br /><br />“Papa look, there is the other side.”<br /><br />“I know Karin, but we don’t have passports.”<br /><br />Helga looked at her husband and said “Fritz, we have waited so long for this, and a piece of worthless paper is not going to be in our way.”<br /><br />She climbed out of the car and started walking towards the wooden barrier at the border. The guard was standing in a relaxed position and observing her. She got closer and although trembling inside, she knew it was now or never. The guard made a signal to his colleague in the office and the barrier was raised. Helga walked to the other half of her country with no problem.<br /><br />“Papa, look, Mama is through. Come let us drive over.”<br /><br />Fritz drove over the border, Helga climbed into the car and with Karin they drove into the capital of their country. They watched the wall dividing the two halves of their capital city being pulled down by the people. They were welcomed and there was laughter and happiness in the air. The family slept in the car, as they had no money for a hotel, but they were happy. Karin of course, joined other youngsters and attended the pop concert given by one of the most well known singers of the country, free of course.<br /><br />They witnessed welcoming speeches by politicians, and it was the night when two halves of a country became one.<br /><br />This was twenty years ago, but for Karin it was like yesterday, and a night never to forget. She watched her daughter and son playing together in the garden and was so thankful that they would never have to go through the restrictions she had in her childhood.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://wordsmiths.multiply.com/journal/item/40/Wordsmiths_Challenge_15">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-1671195436565219962?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-9317216627723513372009-11-12T06:25:00.000-08:002009-11-12T06:26:02.912-08:00<p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663366;">Mystydragon's Challenge</span></strong></p><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Write a story about the food in your refrigerator.<br /></strong>What does the food do in there when we close the door? </span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >"Move over, it’s getting very cramped in here. If you are not careful I might fall, and there we have the mess”<br /><br />“You might be an egg like the rest of us, but there are only enough places for six of us, and you are number seven; In this case six is company, and seven a crowd.”<br /><br />“Is it my fault that the owner of this fridge is not more careful? She squeezed me in here. I was quite comfortable in my egg box, had it all to myself and then it happened. Taken out of the egg box, egg box thrown away and I have to sit on top of six strange eggs. I am sure we didn’t even come from the same chicken.”<br /><br />“What’s that noise going on next door? Here I am trying to recover from the knife injuries I got this morning and all you eggs can do is complain.”<br /><br />“Butter, you have always something to say. We eggs are simple folk. Just crack us open and then we are gone.”<br /><br />“Exactly, just nice and easy. Imagine being butter. A piece of your flesh is hacked out and if you have some bad luck, you get the remains of the jam on your coat. Just look. I was nice and yellow this morning and now have a big red mark from the jam they ate for breakfast; just disgusting.”<br /><br />“Excuse me, but that happens to be one of the most perfect stains you can have.”<br /><br />“Oh, listen, big mouth jam is talking. At least you could apologise” spoke the butter quite annoyed.<br /><br />“I do not apologise to any one, and especially not an inferior butter pack. We jams have a long life. Butter is inferior really, get too warm and you melt away. Your main job in life is to make a nice base for us jams.”<br /><br />Jam was never very popular in the fridge. He was sticky and if the human did not clean his pot, he had stains running down the sides.<br /><br />“Jam just stay where you are” said the butter. “I have enough red stains for today. What are you, strawberry or cherry?”<br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >“I am raspberry actually; this year’s crop.”<br /><br />“Can we ‘ave a bit of quiet up there on the top shelf. “We cheeses were ‘aving a nice sleep, maturing well; all that talking just excites us.”<br /><br />“Yes camembert you are right.” Spoke the cheddar. “Did I ever tell you that you have such a sexy French accent.”<br /><br />“You are making me blush cheddar. I might get a little bit too soft at the edges when you are so flattering. Such nice compliments from a sturdy English cheese we do not ‘ave every day.”<br /><br />“I always did have a soft spot for you French cheeses. You have a sort of dignity that we cheddars don’t have."<br /><br />“Oh, monsieur, you are really too kind.”<br /><br />“Hey, salad, did you hear that; sounds like there is a love affair going on in the cheese drawer.”<br /><br />“Who cares, tomatoes, we always come together in a bowl and don’t need all that talk about going soft and blushing. I heard that we get drowned in some sort of liquid before we are finally eaten.”<br /><br />“Yes, it seems so salad, but that is our destiny I suppose.”<br /><br />“Look out everyone, looks like someone will be chosen” the pickled onions called from their glass on the top shelf.<br /><br />“Someone put the light out, it’s blinding me” said the cucumber.<br /><br />“Can someone tell me how a cucumber can be blinded by a light” and the radish spoke up.<br /><br />“Of course we can” answered the cucumber. “We delicate plants are very sensitive to light.”<br /><br />“So who’s gone” asked the pickled onions. “One of us must have left this place, the door was opened.”<br /><br />“Hello everyone, I just arrived.”<br /><br />“Oh no, minced meat; move over, you stink” said the camembert cheese.<br /><br />“I do not stink” answered the meat, “and you can talk you big hunk of yellow fat. If you weren’t wrapped up in paper, your smell would penetrate through all the cracks in the fridge door.”<br /><br />“Oh, how cruel, I will ‘ave to cry.”<br /><br />“See what you have done minced meat, my little friend the camembert is crying because of you. If I could move I would flatten you.”<br /><br />“Just listen to the cheddar; I am just as British as you are. Come from a genuine English cow, so stop showing off. We don’t need that French stuff in a fridge.”<br /><br />“And now listen to me you troublesome bunch of food. You are all in the same boat. You are keeping nice and cool and waiting to be chosen for a meal. You do not know who goes first, it is up to the humans, so I would just keep still and wait.”<br /><br />“Who said that?” spoke all the food together in the fridge.<br /><br />“Why, me of course, the fridge.”<br /><br />“But a fridge cannot speak”<br /><br />“Neither can cheese, meat, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>vegetable, butter, eggs or jam.” </span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/221/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_196">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-931721662772351337?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-49394478011928603072009-11-10T09:02:00.000-08:002009-11-10T09:03:42.960-08:00<center><img alt="Lonely-by-Colordust[1]" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2699/4093254670_bdcea82265_o.jpg" width="235" height="235" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Night falls on a world of sea shores<br />the last glow of a sun reflecting<br />against a lonely figure<br />stepping on sparkling ruptures of water<br />reflecting in an orange glow<br />of a sunset disappearing on the horizon<br />Where does she come from?<br />Where is she going?<br />Lost in time, lost in a glow<br />She is silent, approaching,<br />steps of mystery, coming to take<br />what she wants from the land<br />She wants something, she needs someone<br />Perhaps a mysterious nymph<br />arising from the depths<br />or just a girl taking a late night swim</span></p></center><br /><p></p><a href="http://wordsmiths.multiply.com/journal/item/39/Wordsmiths_Challenge_14_Loneliness_is_a_disease">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-4939447801192860307?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-35475279601025605112009-11-10T07:58:00.000-08:002009-11-10T07:59:57.986-08:00<p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"><strong>Kittigory's Challenge</strong></span></p><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Write about a forbidden love</strong>.<br />Begin the story in the middle somewhere, and stop before there is a resolution.<br />However, be sure that your reader can figure out some important things that came before, as well as how it is likely to end, from what you write.<br />The expected ending does NOT have to be "<em>happily ever after</em>".<br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"></p></span><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >“You are late Jean. I don’t have all day you know, they are quite strict with times in this place. Stop fiddling with your hands and sit still. So how are things are at home?”<br /><br />“Fine Steve, just fine. The kids are spending the week with mum and dad.”<br /><br />“You mean your mum and dad. Oh, that’s just fine. They will probably hate me even more when I come out of this place.”<br /><br />Since Steve had been put away in prison, contact with him seemed even worse than before, although she knew she had nothing to fear at the moment. The beatings, swearing and drinking were something of the past, she hoped. She remembered so well the evening when he punched her in the face because she had forgotten to fill up the fridge with beer. He stamped out of the house and banged the door to the car driving off in a temper.<br /><br />You don’t drive when you are drunk” was her last thought. The next time she saw Steve was in prison. He had killed a man on the street, drove over him, and now was sitting out his just reward in prison. He had been sentenced to ten years, but Jean sometimes wished he had got life. She felt guilty herself. She married Steve because she loved him, but it seemed there were two Steves in her life, one for good days and the other for bad. She left the prison after visiting time was over. It was just an hour, but those hours seemed to be the longest in her life.<br /><br />She walked to the car park and climbed into a car. It was then that she had to let herself go and started to cry, just cry away the shame and the anger, everything at once. The driver of the car put his arm around her.<br /><br />“Was it that bad Jean? Did you tell him, about us? How did he take it?”<br /><br />“No Phil, I just could not bring it over my lips. You should have seen him. Sitting at that table, his eyes still full of hate. I am sure he still thinks that the man he killed was to blame for the accident. I remember his words at the trial “he just walked into my car, did not look right or left”. I think if I had told him what we are planning today, it would have increased his anger even more. He really seems to be under the impression that everyone else is wrong. In a way I feel sorry for him. I am sure that with professional help he could become the Steve I married again.”<br /><br />“Forget that Jean. That will never happen. He will not leave that prison for ten years and that is enough time for us to build a new life. You suffered enough under his hands and now I am here to take care of you and the kids.”<br /><br />“If only it was so easy. He asked how the kids were today and I told him they were staying with my parents. He was not happy about that.”<br /><br />“Perhaps you should have told him the truth. The kids are fine and enjoying life at my parent’s farm. They are really happy with the animals. At last they can relax and enjoy life.”<br /><br />“You know, Phil, ten years are not so long. One day he will come out and even sooner than we think, if he behaves himself in that prison and gets the help he needs. What will we do then?”<br /><br />“We will think about that when the day is here. In the meanwhile you are staying with me. I love you Jean and I will not let that freak come between us. The divorce papers are ready. I set them up myself in the office this morning. All you have to do is sign and the rest takes care of itself. You are now together with a lawyer Jean, and have no further worries. Things will go nice and smoothly from now on.”<br /><br />Then they drove off and Jean had stopped crying. It was true, Phil was a lawyer and a good one. He was certainly the right man to help under difficult circumstances, but she still had a guilty feeling. A plan began to grow in her mind. “What would be my chances if I shot Steve on the day he is released and arrives at my door?” Of course, she had not mentioned the idea to Phil, she did not want to trouble him. He was such a good man. The kids loved him and she felt so happy in his arms. Ten years was enough time to work out the details. She slept well that night, hoping that everything would be fine eventually.<br /><br />On that day it was the last time that she visited Steve in prison.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/220/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_195">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-3547527960102560511?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-44422770540260947822009-11-09T07:44:00.000-08:002009-11-09T07:45:10.896-08:00<center><img alt="Rusty-lock[1]" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3229/4089977416_f8084b8e28_o.jpg" width="314" height="209" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >It had been two weeks since the funeral. It was all so sudden that Jennifer was still getting used to the idea that George was no longer there. Although he was not the knight in shining armour, she had been satisfied with him. Good old tidy George, always everything in its right place. She could not have wished for a better husband.<br /><br />Jennifer thought she would never get married. Her younger years were spent looking after her bed ridden mother, never visiting dances with other teenage friends, and not dating any men, as she never really met any. She missed the connection somewhere, but found her satisfaction in looking after the home, keeping things clean and neat. She was proud of her home and when her mother died she was alone, but she still lived in the appartment and continued with the daily cleaning routine, keeping everything in its place.<br /><br />Everything would have carried on as it was, had Jennifer not read once in the newspaper about a lady that had been found dead in her apartment. It disturbed her as the corpse was only found six months after the death, the person concerned never being missed. Jennifer began thinking that could have been me.<br /><br />“Who would miss me when I am not here any more?” and so Jennifer decided that she would look for a man. She placed a contact enquiry in the newspaper, as this seemed the most neutral and inconspicuous way of doing things. At the beginning she was overwhelmed by correspondence received. She even met two men, but their interests seemed to lie more in a bedroom experience than companionship. One of the men even asked if she lived in her own property or was renting. Jennifer was not stupid and decided to leave things as they were. Perhaps dying and not being discovered would be a better alternative. It was then she met George.<br /><br />She was visiting the local library and browsing though the shelves. She saw just the book she was looking for “Cleaning and Organisation in the household”. “Ideal” she thought but as she put out her hand to take the book, she felt another hand on hers.<br /><br />“Please excuse me” said a voice, “It seems we both have the same choice in mind.”<br /><br />She looked at the person standing next to her. A very nicely dressed man, tie and suit as it belonged, nothing scruffy or blue jeans and t-shirts that most of the people seem to be wearing during the day. Above all clean shaven, no beard or moustache, just perfect. Jennifer was always careful to dress well when she left her apartment, making sure that everything matched well, and this man seemed to have the same idea.<br /><br />“I have an idea” said Jennifer. “We both chose the same book. Perhaps one of us could read it and then let the other know when it is finished.”<br /><br />“A good idea young lady” said the stranger. “By the way my name is George Conway and here is my card. Of course, you may have the book first of all. You could perhaps contact me when you have read it and we could meet to let me have the book.”<br /><br />Jennifer noticed that the card belonging to the stranger said he was a salesman which was a nice organised job, and you always had to be well dressed and be well mannered. Jennifer was impressed and after reading the book she called George Conway, and made an appointment in a café to give him the book. This was the first of many meetings. She found that George also lived alone in his own house.<br /><br />At last the man that Jennifer was looking for; clean, well organised, and his interests seemed to be the same as hers. His hobby was collecting coins from all over the world and Jennifer found this a nice tidy hobby. George invited her to his house and showed her the collection. Everything nicely labelled and neatly organised. She was also impressed by the nice clean appearance of everything where he lived. She naturally invited George to visit her and he was full of compliments for her nice tidy apartment. Even Jennifer’s cooking skills appealed to George. He was no gourmet, and liked his food plain and simple, just the way Jennifer made it.<br /><br />Eventually the day came when George visited Jennifer with a wonderful bouquet of flowers and asked her to be his wife. She told him she would have to think about it, but George told her there was no rush, and there would be enough room for both of them in his house. He also assured her that he found they would be good company for each other, as they really seemed to share the same interests and life style.<br /><br />Jennifer decided to accept and they had a quiet ceremony in a registry office. Just the two of them and the vicar and his wife from George’s church as witnesses. George was not deeply religious, but he would visit the church regularly on the first Sunday of the month and naturally Jennifer now accompanied him. The first night of their marital life seemed to be something new for both of them. George carried out his marital duty short and to the point, and Jennifer was not unhappy about this. They had no big discussion afterwards, and with time Jennifer found that even this was an organised job; the first Sunday morning in the month was the regular thing. George did once mention to Jennifer, that he was not a family man. This did not bother Jennifer as she did not want any children messing up her normal clockwork life.<br /><br />There was one little thing that bothered Jennifer and that was the garden shed. It was always kept locked. There was a padlock on the door, quite rusty that looked as if it had seen better days. She once asked George why the shed was always locked.<br /><br />“Jennifer, that is my private area. I have a collection of very expensive coins kept in the shed and I would prefer if no-one had access to them. I do not want anyone touching them. It would spoil their value.<br /><br />Now George was dead from a heart attack. “Surprising” she thought after leading such a calm and well organised life. One day she decided it was time to go through George’s belongings and dispose of what was no longer needed. Her thoughts then drifted to the garden shed with its rusty padlock. “All those valuable coins just left to be discovered by a stranger one day” went through her mind. She made her way down to the shed, but it entered her mind that she had no key. As all good citizens she phoned for a locksmith and told him of her problem. He arrived quite quickly and broke the lock on the door. It really did not need such a lot of force, it was so rusty.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >The door was opened and both the locksmith and Jennifer were surprised to see how well organised and tidy the shed was; A row of special books on a shelf containing the famous coins and a large filing cabinet. It was when Jennifer opened the cabinet that she had a surprise. There were identity cards or driving licences, row upon row showing women that Jennifer did not know. Each small plastic identity card or driving licence was accompanied by a card showing details; first of all a date, and then a place. There were remarks such as “dirty fingernails, stains on her blouse or generally untidy”. The locksmith was still with Jennifer and told her that something was peculiar. These cards and documents must belong to the people shown on them.<br /><br />“I think you should give them to the police” he said.<br /><br />Jennifer decided this would be correct. She called the police and told them what she had found and that they could perhaps return them to the people they belonged to.<br /><br />The police came and picked up the documents. They asked Jennifer a lot of strange questions about George. What he did during the day when he was alive, where he worked, and whether he was a difficult person to get on with. She told them the truth; that he worked as a salesman, was mostly visiting his customers during the day, and that he was the ideal husband that any wife could wish for.<br /><br />Unfortunately George’s shed collection could not be returned to the rightful owners. They had either disappeared, or been found strangled in the places After examination of the cards the remains of the women that had disappeared were also discovered under the word "place". It was a good thing that George was so well organised.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://writersblock360.multiply.com/journal/item/78/Challenge_70">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-4442277054026094782?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-38977091036130545772009-11-07T07:07:00.001-08:002009-11-07T07:07:46.027-08:00<center><img alt="Fluffy" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2459/4031308661_2247126b61.jpg" width="500" height="375" /></center><br /><p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >“Nera cat, please leave Fluffy cat alone, He is not bothering you. He just wants to make friends with you.”<br /><br />“Forget it Mrs. Human, since when does a cat need a friend? We are independent and can look after ourselves, not like you humans.”<br /><br />“But Nera, you need friends to get through life, otherwise you would feel very lonely.”<br /><br />“Mrs. Human have you ever seen me feeling lonely. I am surrounded by food, water, once a week tuna fish, and a few cats living in the neighbourhood that give me the chance of a fight now and again. What more could I want?” That was pure Nera logic.<br /><br />“Don’t worry about me Mrs. Human” said Fluffy. “I am used to Nera swishing me one with her paw now and again, and I don’t really want to be her friend. She smells different to me.”<br /><br />“What does smell have to do with being friends Fluffy.”<br /><br />“Oh a lot Mrs. Human. Have a sniff at Nera, and then have a sniff at me.”<br /><br />“I don’t think so Fluffy. I smell you cats enough when I clean your waste disposal tray.”<br /><br />“And you think that your so-called toilet <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>can be compared to a rose garden?” answered Fluffy.<br /><br />“I like the human toilet. It’s a big room with a bath that I can jump into when it is dry and a nice warm carpet on the floor for a quiet sleep. Closed rooms are ideal for a cat sleep.”<br /><br />“Thank you Tabby” I said “ we all know how you like to sleep in the bathroom. It is sometimes a little difficult to climb over you when we visit the bathroom, but we have got used to it. But what about you Tabby, don’t you think it is time to accept Fluffy as your friend. I notice that you never play together and now and again you spit at him.”<br /><br />“It’s like Nera said” answered Tabby “a cat does not need a friend. Think of the advantages, if we don’t speak or like each other from the beginning, then we don’t have any problems. It seems to me, as a plain and simple cat naturally, that you humans have more problems with friends than without them.”<br /><br />“That is not true Tabby, it is nice to have a friend to share with. You can go out together, visit the cinema or theatre and perhaps go shopping with each other. You can join a club together, or just invite for a coffee for a plain and simple talk. Friends are there to help when you have a problem.”<br /><br />“What is she dribbling on about now” and Nera joined in again. “Have you ever seen me walking along outside paw in paw with one of those other smelly cats in the neighbourhood? Look at Bobinette next door, I wouldn’t be seen dead with her outside my territory. If I happen to walk through her garden she pounces on me and I have to fight my way back. As far as Roshti is concerned, the ginger cat from the other side, I had to show him how to behave. After he licked his wounds, he decided to keep away from my side of the fence.”<br /><br />Fluffy joined in “I don’t like Nera, Mrs. Human, but she is right about not trusting other cats. We cats don’t have problems, at least not problems that we cannot solve ourselves. It is only because Nera and Tabby and I eat from the same source, that we don’t have to defend anything.”<br /><br />“You mean that you don’t consider me as being your friend. I feed you, give you a nice warm place to sleep and even open the door for you when you want to go out in the middle of the night when I am sleeping. Not to mention taking you to the vet when you are ill. That is what friends are for.”<br /><br />“Mrs. Human, if a cat could laugh I would” said Nera. First of all you feed us because we trained you to feed us. The programme with the tuna fish was a bit slow at the beginning but now you have learnt well. Next the nice warm place to sleep, is where we want to sleep. You did give us those cat cushions. Tabby, Fluffy and I prefer a nice pile of washing ready to be ironed on a sofa. Tabby does prefer the bathroom mat, and Fluffy seems to be happy sleeping in the living room. They are our choices, not yours. Of course you open the door for us in the middle of the night, early in the morning, or even during the day. Our wishes are to be fulfilled constantly. You do not want us to be the joke in the neighbourhood, all the other cats laughing because we have to stay inside when the door is closed. Last but not least, this vet thing. We do not want to go to the vet, we hate the vet and it interferes with our routine, so that is definitely not friendly. Admittedly there were times when we were feeling somewhat under the weather, and the vet helped with his medicine. We do not consider the once a year jabs a pleasant visit, not to mention the famous operations we all had when we were younger. We must admit that those kittens are a nuisance, but we were not asked. Those things are not very friendly.”<br /><br />I gave up. It seems that cats are the most selfish, egoistic and unfriendly group to be found, but we just accept them. At least you know where you are with them; unfortunately this is not always the case with the humans. <?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://creativechallenge.multiply.com/journal/item/94/Creative_Challenge_77">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-3897709103613054577?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-21135204653419412442009-11-06T06:22:00.000-08:002009-11-06T06:23:30.029-08:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >In 1943 little Jimmy Grant found that war could be quite fun, although at the age of six it was all a game to him. His special toy collection were small aircrafts. He had pencilled the three letters RAF on them for the Royal Air Force and they were dropping their bombs everywhere, mostly in his small garden. Jimmy was annoyed. The government had built a shelter in the garden for protection against the night raids. His mum had told him that as soon as he heard the siren sound, it was important to go into the shelter. If he was on the street and his mother was not at home, then he should go to the local subway station.<br /><br />The station was new, built just before the war, and a train had never passed through its tunnel, but it was useful. When the planes came, and they did, dropping their bombs and destroying everything in their path, the people in the area would crowd into the station and make themselves comfortable on the up-to-now unused platforms and sleep until the “all clear” siren sounded. They would then climb up the stairs and go on their usual daily business. Perhaps first of all going to the homes to see if they had survived the bombing, and wash the grime of the underground off their skin.<br /><br />Jimmy’s mother worked in one of the local factories. His father was somewhere abroad fighting and the women just took over the men’s work. During the day Jimmy would play with his friends, mostly war games. His grandfather would keep an eye on him whilst his mother was away.<br /><br />“And don’t forget Jimmy” she would say as she went off to work “if you hear the sirens then run to the nearest shelter.”<br /><br />“Don’t worry girl” his grandfather would say “I will keep an eye on him, no problem.”<br /><br />One day Jimmy was bored. His friends had been sent away from London into the country where it was safer, and he was now on his own. Jimmy was also going, but the arrangements were still being made.<br /><br />“What shall we do today Jimmy?” his grandfather asked him.<br /><br />“I’m bored granddad, no-one to play with.”<br /><br />“Let’s go to the films, the cinema around the corner is showing one of those cowboy films.”<br /><br />Jimmy’s eyes lit up “Oh yes, granddad, that would be great. Can I take one of my aeroplanes with me.”<br /><br />“Jimmy I don’t know what a plane has to do with a cowboy film, but take it with you all the same.”<br /><br />So the two of them set off during the afternoon to the cinema. Grandad wrapped a warm scarf around his neck and put his cap on. Jimmy loved that cap,. It was black and white squares, but it was genuine grandad and he could not imagine his grandfather without it.<br /><br />Films were one of the few entertainments left during the war years. Jimmy and his grandfather found a good seat and the film started. The little boy was fascinated by all the shooting, the bank robbers, and the marshal who seemed to be the hero in the film. Just as the film arrived at the exciting part where the showdown was being held on the main street, the film stopped and a warning flashed over the screen. It told all to leave the cinema as there were enenmy planes approaching. The sirens were already sounding and the people left. Outside there were crowds on the street all moving in the same direction, to the nearest subway station, which was Jimmy’s local station.<br /><br />“Stay by me Jimmy” said his grandfather “and he held Jimmy’s hand tightly.”<br /><br />“What about mum?” asked Jimmy<br /><br />“Don’t worry boy, she will be all right, they have their own shelters where she is working. Now we have to look after each other.”<br /><br />Everyone on the street seemed to have the same target; to get to the station as soon as possible. They could already hear the guns firing locally; a new anti aircraft battery had been built in a near bye park. The entrance came closer, but to little Jimmy it looked like a swarm of ants all piling into their nest as he had often seen in their garden.<br /><br />“Grandad, I’m frightened.”<br /><br />“Everything will be ok Jimmy, just hold on to me.”<br /><br />As they approached the entrance they saw the people in front all teeming down the stairs, escalators never used up to now. It was then that the worse thing happened that could.<br /><br />One of the first to go down the stairs was a woman with her little girl, glad to have escaped from the bombs that were being dropped. However, the lady stumbled and the reaction was dreadful. An avalanche of human bodies piled up, each falling on the one in front. Panic broke out.<br /><br />Jimmy’s had was jerked out of his grandfather’s hand and he started crying.<br /><br />“Grandad, granddad”<br /><br />He heard his grandfather’s reply “I am here Jimmy, stay where you are, I will reach you.”<br /><br />Jimmy looked in the direction of his grandfather and saw his black and white cap moving amongst the hundreds of people, but it was impossible to reach him. At this moment Jimmy found it was difficult to breath. He was being crushed from all directions. He suddenly felt as if he was floating upwards leaving the bodies behind him, there was noise, screams, shouts, everything slowly disappearing into the background.<br /><br />“Come on boy, wake up, it’s over” were the words he heard suddenly and Jimmy found himself looking into the eyes of a strange woman. "You were lucky, someone pulled you out of the crowd."<br /><br />“Where’s granddad?” he asked.<br /><br />“I don’t know boy, but tell me your name, that is important. Then we might be able to find your granddad. Now just lay quiet and rest. I will be back.”<br /><br />The lady disappeared and reappeared some time afterwards with another lady.<br /><br />“Jimmy, thank goodness, oh Jimmy you are here.” It was Jimmy’s mother.<br /><br />“Yes mum, but where is granddad. He was with me and what happened.”<br /><br />“There was an accident Jimmy, but don’t worry. The main thing is that you are all right.”<br /><br />Jimmy’s grandfather's cap was found, but piled on a heap of other found objects after the accident. Perhaps he was one of the victims. If he was lucky, he too may have been rescued from the results of a stupid accident, caused by panic.<br /><br />On that day 173 people were killed in the crush that occurred at Bethnal Green Tube Station, the people thinking there was an air raid and wanting to save themselves from a bomb attack. The first people down the stairs fell and the rest just piled on top of them. At the entrance to the station it was not even known what was happening. They could not see anything in the darkness of the station. The pitiful truth was that the British army were trying out their new defence guns in a near bye park and the people thought they were being attacked, so the sirens started. My story is imaginative, but near to the truth. It happened in the area where I grew up and there is today a plaque in memorial of those that were killed in the Bethnal Green Tube disaster in 1943.</span></p><p></p><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/ww2peopleswar/stories/09/a795909.shtml">Bethnal Green Tube Disaster</a> <p></p><a href="http://wordsmiths.multiply.com/journal/item/35/Wordsmiths_Challenge_13">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2113520465341941244?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-35204089763734868942009-11-05T06:56:00.000-08:002009-11-05T07:01:13.872-08:00<p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="color:#993300;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Sumax’s Challenge<?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Write a short story about a chivalrous act</span>.</span></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span> </p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="left"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >„Believe you me Ann Boleyn, if I had known the consequences, I would have let her walk into the muddy puddle, would have served her right.“<br /><br />Sir Walter Raleigh would have nodded his head to emphasise the remark, but he was holding it under his arm, as ghosts of the Tower of London were accustomed to do.<br /><br />“Well at least it was something chivalrous that you were doing Walter. I lost my head just because I got married to a King. He said marry me and I will take you places. He did of course, to the Tower of London on the beheading block.”<br /><br />Anne Boleyn was convinced that marrying into english royalty in the sixteenth century was a dangerous event and Walter Raleigh was in agreement.<br /><br />"But tell me Walt, was the whole thing true about the cloak and the puddle or was it just a publicity stunt to earn a bit on the side?”<br /><br />“Before we continue with our conversation, let us put our heads on our shoulders, then we can look at each other properly. I suppose when you come to think of it the Tudors were fault that we both lost our heads, you because of a husband that wanted to get married again and I happened to meet your daughter on a fateful day.”<br /><br />“You mean Elizabeth. Who would have thought that she would have become Queen, but Henry did not have any sons that lived to carry the title of King. At least you went places Walter.”<br /><br />“I suppose it was a publicity stunt. We had a heavy rainfall and I happened to be taking a walk near Hampton Court when a carriage pulled up. I naturally stopped to have a look and who climbed out but Queen Elizabeth I, your daughter.”<br /><br />“She might have been my daughter, but Henry’s? I never really got to know her. Henry always asked from where she inherited the red hair. I didn’t live long enough to lose my head for that mistake, I lost it before. So carry on Walt.”<br /><br />“Elizabeth was standing on the bottom step of the carriage and shaking her head at the wet puddle that she would have walked into. I happened to have my old cloak with me. I was on my way to buy a new one and would have thrown it away afterwards, so decided to do myself a favour and throw it on the muddy puddle. Queen Elizabeth stepped onto it and everyone started clapping and cheering. She looked in my direction and gave me a wink. That was the start on my ladder to success.”<br /><br />“It didn’t end very successfully did it Walt.”<br /><br />“Not really Anne, but bear in mind I had some good times with Elizabeth.”<br /><br />“I always thought my daughter was known as the virgin queen.”<br /><br />“She might have been known by that name, but just don’t believe everything in the history books. There are even some today that say the story about me throwing my cloak on the puddle was just made up. Of course, if it had been a new cloak, I would have had second thoughts.<br /><br />The only reason I fell out of favour was because she met me on the stairs at the palace just as I was leaving the lady in waiting’s bedroom.”<br /><br />“So that was why you were beheaded.”<br /><br />“Well not immediately, but it was the start of my path to doom. You know I was in the Tower a few times, before they actually decided to remove my head on the block.”<br /><br />“At least you are not alone Walt, there are many of us here. So let’s remove our heads and do a bit of haunting. You never know, we might be included again in one of those television programmes about the ghosts of the tower. Perhaps the next time it rains you could throw your cloak on a puddle and I will walk over it. That will be a sensation for the news.”<br /><br />“Forget it Anne, this is a new cloak with gold embroidery. I only let people walk over my old cloaks.”</span></p><p align="left"><br /></p><p align="left"></p><p align="left"><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/219/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_194">Click here for more</a> </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-3520408976373486894?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-28733509873039094462009-11-03T07:29:00.000-08:002009-11-03T07:30:37.390-08:00<center><img alt="The_blue_armchair____by_kasys" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2696/4071621717_68bf28d7f0_o.jpg" width="235" height="235" /></center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >There are sometimes things that are not forgotten. A return to a place that had good memories, associated with laughing, joking, perhaps the celebration of a family anniversary. In those far gone days I was too small to climb onto a chair and my mother helped me to overcome its size. The world seemed to be populated by giants at that time, but friendly giants. They could sit on a chair and their feet reached the ground. My legs swung to and fro hovering in space, but with a jump I could find my way back to ground level.<br /><br />Aunt Pauline’s marriage was one of those occasions not to be forgotten. There was a long table in the yard, just under the old tree. No-one knew what sort of tree, those things were not important; it was just the big tree. After the wedding we all had the wedding food from the table. I think it was then that we had to drag every available chair in the house into the yard to make sure we all had enough room. There was laughing, we children were playing, we were complete, all the family.<br /><br />After the wedding on the next day everything was put back in the house, but someone forgot one chair. It was just left leaning against the wall, waiting for a new customer. Grandma decided it was just the right thing for summer days to sit in with her knitting. The chair was ideal she said, fitted her body perfectly and had a nice soft seat. She would sit there in the afternoon knitting pullovers and socks. I think we grandchildren were completely clothed nice and warm for the winter. The chair was the centre of operations. She was also very thrifty, and would pull apart old knitted garments that had got too small and transform them into a nice warm covers, making coloured squares and sewing them together in a bright combination, that we could sit covered by the quilt and play guessing games who the pullover belonged to before she unravelled the wool.<br /><br />Then grandma died, I cannot remember when, but the chair remained. I used to sit there with my babies on my lap and then they were too big. It was their turn to sit in the chair, small spindly child legs dangling backwards and forwards.<br /><br />“Mum, dinner’s ready. We will have a look at more of those old photos after dinner.” My daughter called from the garden. The weather was warm and we could sit outside and have our meal below the old tree. The chair? It is still there, but torn and broken, somehow no-one wants to throw it away.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://wordsmiths.multiply.com/journal/item/33/Wordsmiths_Challenge_12">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2873350987303909446?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-79299647278318821742009-11-03T06:05:00.000-08:002009-11-03T06:06:42.532-08:00<center><img alt="segway" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2454/4072176330_09d4aa1dec_m.jpg" width="240" height="160" /></center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >E-Mail from:<br />Chief Heinz Dubeli<br />Police Department,<br />Bernese Alps<?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Switzerland<br /><br />To: Segway Human Transporter Company<br />Somewhere in America<br /><br />Dear Sirs,<br /><br />Through a colleague of mine that was shortly on a vacation in the States I saw a photo of your human transport system. It seems to have become very popular with the American police in various states. I have now decided that this would also be very useful for Swiss use but have a few open questions before placing my order.<br /><br />1. How many gears do they have? Most of our police stations in the Bernese Overland lie at more than one thousand meters above sea level. Up to now our police teams have used the bicycle in summer and skis in the winter. Could we use the Segway to replace these two transport methods? Please bear in mind that steep upward slopes must be overcome. We assume that downhill is no problem.<br /><br />2. Do they have powerful brakes? Our police teams travel at high speeds, particularly when crossing valleys. Up to now we have had no problem with the bike or ski. We just have to take it slow on the curves. Or perhaps the Segway is so designed that it can easily overcome descents from our alpine mountains crossing mounting streams and climbing boulders without problem.<br /><br />4. Is there a possibility to transport goats or cows, perhaps with a small trailer that can be fixed to the wheels? Please bear in mind that life in the Swiss mountains relies on co-operation. Some villages are scattered in isolated valleys and our police force is often called for to assist in bringing the animals to the milking stations usually situated at central points.<br /><br />5. We do have cases of theft where our police must be prepared to partake in a chase. Very often a cow is stolen, or perhaps wedges of cheese and the thieves usually have their own routes of escape, crossing mountain streams and walking through forests. Can your human transporter cope with such problems, at high speeds naturally?<br /><br />We trust that your company can oblige with our wishes and please rest assured that after receiving your positive comments, we will be prepared to place an order for at least ten segways. One remaining request from our milk collecting stations; is there room on the Segway for transportation of milk churns. This would be very helpful for our farmers that otherwise must put them on a cart pulled by a horse.<br /><br />Thanking you for your prompt reply<br /><br />Chief Heinz Dubeli </span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://naarta.multiply.com/journal/item/915/RRC_45">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-7929964727831882174?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-66115012863113183882009-11-02T07:00:00.000-08:002009-11-02T07:01:43.248-08:00<p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Shadowlight’s Challenge</span></span></span></b><span style="font-size:11;"><?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;color:#990000;"> </span></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-size:11;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Use each of the following words in any order in a poem or story, any genre, fiction or non-fiction.<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:11;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Keep the word count for stories between 500 and 1,500 words and try to use at least two of the five senses.<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:11;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;">If you choose to write a poem, keep the piece between four and 20 lines.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-size:11;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Word List<br /></span></span></span></b><span style="font-size:11;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Cat<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:11;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Fief<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:11;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Scapegoat<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:11;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Fortress<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:11;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">Humor</span></span></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-size:11;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span></span> </p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-size:11;"></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >"What was that for a noise, sounded like a heard of horses was charging into the home.”<br /><br />“It was me coming through the cat flap Mrs. Human,” meowed my chief cat Nera. “I got annoyed with the ginger tom cat next door. We had a small disagreement, but I am sure he has now got the point.”<br /><br />“The point of what, Nera? There was enough noise when you crashed through the cat flap.”<br /><br />“It is very logical Mrs. Human. If you examine the land surrounding the cat flap as far as you can see, then who does it belong to?”<br /><br />“Nera, part of it is my garden, and the rest is for all to use that live here: green meadows and fields. I am not aware that it actually belongs to anyone.”<br /><br />“Typical human.”<br /><br />“What rubbish is she talking?” and Tabby cat arrived. “Everything a cat’s eye sees outside is ours.”<br /><br />“Thank you Tabby, exactly. Mrs. Human it is our fief.”<br /><br />“Your what?”<br /><br />“Fief, Mrs Human. We cats, myself, Tabby and our adopted brother Fluffy live here. You pay the money and we make sure it is mouse and rat free, as well as keeping it nicely perfumed with our scent. We are also prepared to defend it against any invaders. We just had an invader so I showed him he was not welcome; he is still licking his wounds and snarling through his teeth.”<br /><br />“This all sounds a bit mediaeval to me.”<br /><br />“It might to a human, but to a highly sensitive and intelligent race as we felines, it is one of the principals of our beliefs. After all it is the ginger tom next door that digs holes in your garden for his waste disposal.”<br /><br />“Just a minute Nera, you don’t have to make him a scapegoat for everything. I definitely saw you marking your territory yesterday evening next to the rose bush. I am not colour blind and can tell the difference between a ginger cat and a long haired black cat. Nera you were burying your organic refuse, not the ginger tom. You don’t have to blame him to justify your misdeeds.”<br /><br />“Mrs. Human, there is a difference in marking territory and using it as a waste disposal unit.”<br /><br />“Nera, Mrs. Human is just, well, human. You cannot expect too much from her. Through our careful planning we have made our home comparable to a fortress. No wandering strange tom, or she cat for that matter, can cross our marked boundaries without a fight. We are always ready to protect what we have built up over the many years we have been here.” And Tabby stamped her paw on the ground.<br /><br />“Cats, you must be joking. This place belongs to me and Mr. Human and we decide who comes and goes.”<br /><br />“And who guards it through the night. You and Mr. Human just disappear. I have never noticed you searching for mice in the evening when they come out, or chasing rebel cats away from our revere.”<br /><br />“Yes, Nera” added Tabby “Strange animals humans; they sleep during the night when they should be on guard, and during the day they are awake when nothing happens” Nera nodded in approval of Tabby’s statement and cleaned her whiskers.<br /><br />“So, stop that whisker cleaning and paw stamping. Up to now I have said nothing, but now I am slowly losing my sense of humour.”<br /><br />Nera glared at me with her yellow eyes. “This is serious Mrs. Human, we are not joking. We don’t even have the word for humour in our cat language, or have you ever seen a cat laughing? What we do is serious. If it wasn’t for me and my sister Tabby, you would be overrun by other strange cats, all marking their territory in your garden. Think of the smell, just disgusting. Not to mention having mice in your garden cupboard, eating their breakfast, dinner and tea.”<br /><br />“To be quite honest Nera and Tabby, you do not always smell like a rose either.”<br /><br />“We are not here to be insulted Mrs. Human. If that is the idea of a human sense of humour, then forget it. Come on Tabby, let’s go to bed, it is daylight outside and we will revise the situation this evening.”<br /><br />“Yes, Nera, you are right. Unthankful animals, those humans; just do not appreciate all the work we invest in keeping our home protected from smelly, ginger tom cats.”</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/218/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_193">Click here for more </a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-6611501286311318388?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-63397891539057462772009-11-01T06:14:00.000-08:002009-11-01T06:15:09.835-08:00<p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="color:#006600;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Sassyangelac’s Challenge<?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;color:#006600;"></span></o:p></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="justify"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="justify"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">Write a story in which your main character goes mad from sleep deprivation. You may write it in the first person. Your character may be choosing sleeplessness if you like that angle better than him/her/you being unwillingly sleepless. The cause(s) of the sleep deprivation is up to you; it (they) may be real or imagined. However the symptoms or side effects your character experiences should be real (hallucinations, paranoia, loss of short-term memory, tantrums, psychosis, etc.) and the ensuing madness should crescendo on Halloween night</span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="justify"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >I will try to write it down exactly, but my thoughts are still a hazy cloud. They said I should sleep, relax, but how can I, there are things that the human body just cannot cope with.<br /><br />A normal day’s work, I had two operations in the hospital to perform, each one as complicated as the other and a need for concentration. Perhaps routine, but when a human life hangs on a surgical mistake, there is no such thing as routine any more. I removed my mask, the patients were now being cared for by others on the hospital staff and I made my way to the canteen for a cup of coffee.<br /><br />It was then that I noticed a noise from outside the hospital. We were on a hill overlooking the city and were used to the sound of the traffic, but this was different. It seemed that all the dogs in the town decided to bark in unison. It frightened me, this brought bad memories. It was not the first time. The windows began to vibrate, as if there was some mighty strength pushing and pulling at an exceptional speed. A few moments of tranquillity, no dog barks, no window shaking, but the floor became independent with a rocking motion. Time to leave, it was an earthquake. Warnings had been given that there would be another coming probably, but as always you just pushed it onto another day. Just forgot that the pendulum was moving over your head.<br /><br />People rushing in all directions, beds being pushed out into the open and hoping that the lift would still be functioning. I did what I could, prepared patients for a transfer, even managed to get my last operations safely out of the hospital. What does safe mean, you just hope that the earth tremors cease. I looked down from the hill at the town, and my heart was in my mouth. It was then I started running, running. I reached our house, the place where it had been standing.<br /><br />Yes, the house was there, but transformed into a heap of loose bricks and mortar, nothing really recognisable as a house except for the children’s swing in the garden swaying to and fro, and the remains of the Halloween decorations, torn and collapsed. Suddenly the white plastic skeleton had another meaning. Maria, Angela were my first thoughts. My wife must be somewhere under the rubble and my daughter. I was mad with fright. I began to dig, with my hands. People said we will help, but they had their own trouble. I had no time, just dig. Finger nails breaking, searching and searching, listening, but nothing. The earth trembled again, but I did not notice it. Others said seek refuge, but no-one could tell me where, and without my wife Maria and my child Angela, I could not stop.<br /><br />Night came, someone passed by and asked if I wanted something to drink. I could have killed that person with my bare hands. You do not drink when you are digging, moving earth, hoping for a sound, a baby crying perhaps. I think someone had placed some oil lamps on the ground, although I did not notice it.<br /><br />The next morning approached, skies grey with dust clouds that had arisen from the winds blowing across the areas flattened by the earthquake. I heard a voice next to me<br /><br />“Take a rest, relax, there cannot be anyone under that house. It has been so long and the complete roof collapsed as well as the top floor of the building.”<br /><br />“Leave me, go, it is not your business. My wife and child are here. Maria, Angela” I called, but heard nothing. Just dig, my hands had no feelings any more, my eyes were staring into an emptiness, but my actions were regular, as if my body had become a machine. One stone after the other, put to one side. Then suddenly as if someone had tied a red bandage around my eyes, I saw something that brought me out of my stupor. Red, red, the material of Maria’s dress. A White arm showed above the mound of rubble. Dig, dig, dig. No time for thoughts. Maria, Maria, Angela I was calling, but no answer and then I heard it. I returned to a realistic world, no longer in the dream of digging for something. A child was crying somewhere in the dirt and grime of a destroyed house.<br /><br />I felt others around me and I began to remove one stone after the other on Maria’s body. She came out of the destruction, she was complete, but she was dead. I clutched her body to me, my eyes were filled with tears. I was too late for Maria. It was then that I heard the cry of a child. Angela, my Angela. I saw her brown curls, could smell her sweet breath. She was lying in the remains of the house, in the place beneath where he mother was found and she was alive.<br /><br />I knew no more, I took her in my arms and walked carrying her.<br /><br />It is now All Souls day, we had found Maria and Angela on the evening of Halloween, perhaps it was fate. They told me I had been digging, stone after stone for near two days without food or sleep. Maria is no longer, but Angela is alive. She was a little dehydrated but alive and now I should sleep, but I could not sleep; visions of my Maria and Angela in a house that collapsed around them. They told me to drink and eat, I could not. It was then I moved my head and saw Angela sleeping peacefully in a cot next to my bed. I closed my eyes. This happened ten years ago. Angela looks so much like her mother. We do not celebrate Halloween any more, but we visit Maria’s grave on All Souls Day. I can now sleep better, but sometime wake bathed in sweat, my fingers and hands numb. My doctor told me it was in the imagination, there was no physical reason why I had no feeling in my hands any more.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/217/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_192">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-6339789153905746277?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-70225310011934743292009-11-01T05:05:00.000-08:002009-11-01T05:06:08.115-08:00<center><img alt="Autumn on the River Aar, Solothurn" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2788/4064165246_4e32fe5725.jpg" width="500" height="314" /></center><br /><p></p><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2788/4064165246_4e32fe5725_b.jpg">Click here for larger size</a><br /><p></p>If you want to know more about my local river <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aar">click here.</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-7022531001193474329?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-55668230796708797462009-10-30T08:22:00.000-07:002009-10-30T08:23:38.671-07:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Dracula decided to spend the evening with the television, a nice comfortable evening at home in the castle. His life story had yet again been made as a film and it was being shown that evening. He always felt rather flattered, each film was something different. This time Flad Gritt had been chosen to play the vampire killer, one of Dracula’s favourite actors.<br /><br />“What are we doing this evening Dracky?” and Dementia his wife entered the room.<br /><br />“Dementia I am a count, and would appreciate being called Dracula at least, and this evening we are having a nice comfortable evening in front of the television.”<br /><br />“Oh no Dracky, this evening is Halloween, it is our evening, everyone on the look out for a few horror film types like us, and we are genuine, just think of the nice fresh blood on the streets.”<br /><br />“No Dementia, does not come into the question. The fridge is full of blood conserves I collected on my last night out in town. Why go to the effort of biting and sucking, when it is all hygienically packed and ready to use. I don’t like jumping on those living blood conserves these days. The human race is not as it used to be, might get some sort of disease. Deadly Ernest is not even leaving his coffin at the moment, still curing his attack of swine flu; most degrading, a vampire with swine flu.”<br /><br />Dementia was not satisfied.<br /><br />“But Dracky, Dracula or whatever, we havn’t been out for so long, and the taste of those blood conserves is just not the same. I even swallowed a piece of plastic packing last week. Come on Dracky, I bought a real nice costume for the occasion.”<br /><br />“Dementia stop tantalising my neck with your teeth, keep them for a better purpose. I saw a cat outside in the yard. If you want something alive, then go and get it. Give me my warm slippers, my feet are cold; probably bad circulation.”<br /><br />“Dracula you are becoming a grumpy old undead. If we go out it will do your circulation good, and we might even get a few treats from the living. Look at this dress I bought, isn’t it sexy?”<br /><br />Dracula froze the picture on the television, it was just getting to the part where the vampire was preparing to plunge his teeth into the victim’s neck and he did not want to miss that part.<br /><br />“That is a dress? How much did that cost?”<br /><br />“It was very reasonable, only a couple of hundred.”<br /><br />“Sorry Dementia you have been had. You paid so much for just a few black rags.”<br /><br />“It’s a Halloween costume, but you being lazy, I suppose we can only watch that stupid old film on television instead of me wearing it. I don’t know what you see in those films, plastic teeth and tomato ketchup. If we go out we get the real thing and it will do you good, but take those slippers off before we go. Who has seen a vampire wearing slippers.”<br /><br />OK Dementia, just for the sake of peace and quiet; flying or walking?”<br /><br />“Walking of course, let’s mix with the living for a change.”<br /><br />And Dementia and Dracula left the castle, but only after Dracula had dressed properly. Dementia did not like going out with Dracula when he was wearing his blue jeans and a t-shirt. She found it beneath their dignity.<br /><br />They walked down the street and were soon confronted by some young humans, one dressed as a werewolf and the other with a skeleton costume.<br /><br />“Trick or treat” the werewolf said.<br /><br />“Clear off” answered Dracula “I am not in the mood for such stupidity.<br /><br />“Dracky, be nice to the young men” said Dementia.<br /><br />“Your should listen to your lady friend” said the skeleton, “otherwise you won’t look like a vampire, we will make some real blood and you will be the genuine thing, so let’s have a treat. Some money will do.”<br /><br />“Please leave me alone with your threats, I don’t need money and have none.”<br /><br />It was then that the werewolf and the skeleton pulled out two large knives from under their costume and attacked Dracula. They were not prepared for what happened.<br /><br />“Did you see that Fred?” said the werewolf to the skeleton, "there is no blood. I stuck my knife into his arm and nothing happened."<br /><br />“Yea, funny thing Joe.”<br /><br />“Oh, I see you two want to see blood, Well just let me have your neck, I have the right tools for drawing blood.”<br /><br />After seeing Dracula’s grin showing his real, genuine teeth, the two yobs ran off.<br /><br />“Did you have to do that Dracky?”<br /><br />“What did you expect Dementia, that I would let myself be made a fool of by two dressed up living bodies. When I think of Jacko, my pet werewolf at home, he would have been insulted. Should have taken him with us.”<br /><br />“Dracula you are a spoil sport. Look there are some children coming.”<br /><br />“Trick or treat mister.”<br /><br />Dracula was just preparing to pounce when Dementia pushed him away. "No Dracky, does not come into the question. Come here children here are a few treats for you", and she produce some candy from her handbag and gave it to the children.<br /><br />“Are you mad Dementia, that was a few helpings of fresh young blood you have sent on their way.”<br /><br />“Dracky we were all young once. Don’t you remember how your parents always gave you candies at Halloween when you knocked at their door dressed up in a Halloween costume.”<br /><br />“Well come to think of it Dementia, no not really. Back in the old country we didn’t go in for that sort of thing. We were more for reality.”<br /><br />And our two brave vampires made their way through town, Dementia giving out her treats where she could, and Dracula trying to be good, suppressing his desire for a nice evening meal at the sight of so much fresh meat. Eventually Dementia gave in and allowed Dracula to fetch some fresh blood conserves from the hospital on the way home.<br /><br />They arrived home tired and happy. Dementia was happy because she recaptured some of her childhood memories, and Dracula because he could at last see the new vampire film. He was a little bit disappointed at the end of the film. Flad Gritt killed the vampire with a nicely sharpened stake, straight into the heart. Dracula just prefers happy endings, where the vampire retires to his coffin and lives happily ever after and after and after.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://wordsmiths.multiply.com/journal/item/31/Wordsmiths_Challenge_11">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-5566823079670879746?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-18185084410791399602009-10-29T06:45:00.000-07:002009-10-29T06:46:36.513-07:00<p><br /><p><span style="font-family:comic sans ms;font-size:100%;">How often have I admired the Swiss Mountain <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eiger">Eiger</a>, especially its North Wall shown on this photo. One of the most difficult slopes to climb, and one that has been the cause of the deaths of many mountaineers. If you follow the link you know what I mean.<br /><br />We used to spend our Summer holidays in the Bernese Overland, taking many walks, but the Eiger was always watching. The cemetery in Grindelwald shows the graves of many mountaineers that did not succeed to overcome its heights. I think I have read every book that has been written on its history, so here is my own little attempt to honour this mountain.<br /><br />The photo is my own, taken in the days before digital cameras existed. I scanned it and worked on it with a photo programme.</span></p><br /><center><img alt="Eiger" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2495/4054942445_437457e85c.jpg" width="487" height="500" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:comic sans ms;font-size:100%;">I stand here and watch over valleys and meadows<br />Distances vast beyond measure<br />Mankind has wanted to tame me<br />But I too am vast beyond measure<br />My heights have been conquered<br />Not without sacrifice of life and limb<br />My surface has been scarred with irons<br />hammers beating in pins to fix ropes<br />And still I am the master of fate<br />My inside has been emptied, gouged like a pumpkin<br />Not for halloween, for progress they say<br />A train rumbles through carrying visitors<br />Wanting to savour the sights from above<br />Do not forget, I still have the power<br />to cast you aside, forbid your ascent<br />How many have been left on my flanks<br />A false step on the ice field sheet<br />Hanging in ropes, waiting for the final rescue<br />Sometimes I give free the victims of earlier days<br />Suddenly standing frozen on a ledge<br />Thrown up from my bowels<br />Now dead, but their last sight was my body<br />Progress, you call it progress<br />Achieving my summit, thinking how clever<br />Clever is no-one that attempts to overpower my strength<br />To walk in a straight line instead of following my ways<br />Little do you know you climbers and explorers<br />You think your have won<br />But I in my vastness beyond measure always have the last word.</span></div><br /><p></p><a href="http://creativechallenge.multiply.com/journal/item/93/Creative_Challenge_76">Click here for more</a><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-1818508441079139960?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-20564997776199464592009-10-28T07:39:00.000-07:002009-10-28T07:40:45.197-07:00<span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Comic Sans MS'; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-: DE-CHfont-family:'Times New Roman';" lang="EN-GB" >“Mrs. Human, you know you humans really got things at the wrong end of the stick with that evolution stuff.”<br /><br />and my chief big, fat, long haired, black cat seems to have been reading again.<br /><br />“What do you mean Nera, it is a natural logical development that we were probably descendants of the apes.”<br /><br />“Mrs. Human, there I do have to say you are right. When you look at an ape and his actions and study a human, there is not so much difference.”<br /><br />“Nera you do not have to be insulting. Don’t forget the cats were somewhere in the line as well. When the first fish grew legs and left water and started to roam on the land, mammals eventually developed, amongst them the cats.”<br /><br />“Sorry to disagree Mrs. Human, but the feline intelligent species did not develop from anything. We were there from the beginning.”<br /><br />“Nera I don’t think that Charles Darwin would agree. He included the cats with the rest of the mammals.”<br /><br />“Forget it Mrs. Human”, and Tabby Nera’s sister arrived. We are originals, not developments of any other living object. Charles Darwin made a mistake including us felines in the so called tree. We are unique.”<br /><br />“How comes?” I asked.<br /><br />“Quite simple” Tabby said. “What other animal can hear and smell when asleep. Only we cats. We are always alert. When you humans sleep then nothing wakes you and if you cannot sleep, then you have to take tablets or there is something wrong. Have you ever seen a cat take a sleeping tablet, or suffer from insomnia? That is one proof that we have nothing to do with humans.”<br /><br />“And another thing Mrs. Human” said Nera “what other animal can smell a tin of tuna before it is opened. Association of noise from the tin opener, combined with the smell of the fish inside the tin, only we felines can achieve that. Take an example of our adopted brother Fluffy.”<br /><br />“Did someone call my name” and Fluffy appeared on the scene.<br /><br />“Yes” answered Nera “we was telling Mrs. Human how unique we felines are. As I was saying just ask Fluffy. He has no problem although he is a blind feline. A human would have to have training, or some sort of white stick that others notice and have consideration for the problem. Not a feline.”<br /><br />“Yes, Mrs. Human” answered Fluffy. “I have no problem being blind. I can see all the same. I can sniff with my super developed streamline nose, and hear everything with my supersonic ears. You have never had to show me where the food is, or my toilet for that matter. We felines are independent, and not to be compared with any other living creature.”<br /><br />“Did you hear that Mrs. Human?” said Nera. “Charles Darwin’s theory was not as perfect as everyone thinks. You cannot just throw felines on the same heap as fish, frogs, apes or humans, not to mention the lowest of all creatures, dogs.”<br /><br />“But Nera” I said “if you look at the tree of life cats are included with the other mammals.”<br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break"></span><br /><center><img alt="tree of life" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2747/4052327505_2c09263ef4_o.jpg" width="458" height="350" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><p><span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Comic Sans MS'; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-: DE-CHfont-family:'Times New Roman';" lang="EN-GB" >“Where Mrs. Human, I see nothing on that tree mentioning felines? Please do not refer to such superior animals as we are as cats. We prefer felines."<br /><br />"It is self-explanatory that cats are included with mammals. Humans are also in this group."<br /><br />"Forget it Mrs. Human, our tree looks like this.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break"></span></p><br /><center><img alt="Feline Tree" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3493/4053070382_1487089201.jpg" width="500" height="281" /></center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" ></span> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Human Darwin just had everything wrong.”<br /><br />“Yes, Mrs. Human, listen to our chief feline Nera." said Tabby. "She is very intelligent. I am sure that Charles Darwin only had one of those inferior canines at home, referred to as pet; how degrading.”<br /><br />“In that case cats, sorry felines, we will revise the books. Felines did not evolve from anything. They were there from the beginning, even before dinosaurs, they are the most perfect creation.”<br /><br />“Ok Mrs. Human” all three cats said “and don’t forget the bit about where we saved Egypt from the mice invasion in their corn chambers. The Egyptians understood the importance of the feline race. They even worshipped us, most intelligent of all human races were the Egyptians.”<br /><br />“Cats, before we start on the history of the feline race and all its advantages, I think it is time for you all to take a sleep, saving your feline energy for the evening”<br /><br />and with that they all disappeared into their separate favourite cushions, did a circular turn twice and sunk into oblivion – or did I see an ear twitch somewhere?</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://petespicks09.multiply.com/journal/item/12/PETES_PICK...week_11.....">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2056499777619946459?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-82398752786364884532009-10-27T10:15:00.001-07:002009-10-27T10:16:16.639-07:00<center><img alt="beach path" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3477/4050554148_bb296aa24e_m.jpg" width="240" height="177" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >“So, here I am again“ were Sheila’s thoughts. It was some time since she had visited this particular beach. This was not surprising, it was in another country and she had to make a plane journey to get there. She stood at the top of the path watching the waves break on the shore. Everything looked the same. It was a typical tourist place, you could buy ice creams, and there was a small restaurant for a meal and bar for a drink.<br /><br />This time Sheila was not with a girlfriend, or her parents. She was alone, almost alone. She struggled with the pram pushing it down to the beach. She decided baby or no baby; she deserved a holiday again; away from the normal daily routine. Baby Jonas was now a year old and was no problem. He was still at the crawling stage, but could manage to stand on his own two feet if mummy held him. He was admired by all.<br /><br />“What a lovely child, such wonderful dark eyes and thick black hair.” They were the features that seemed to impress people. Sheila had blond hair and blue eyes so it was clear that Jonas resembled his father.<br /><br />It was difficult pushing the pram on the sand, it kept blocking the wheels. Eventually she reached one of those nice sun beds with a wide umbrella. She was pleased as it meant that Jonas could play in the sand and was protected from the sun’s rays. Sheila took out the sun cream and creamed Jonas as well as herself, although Jonas had a nice olive skin colour, and probably did not need so much protection.<br /><br />She relaxed on the sun bed, her memories drifting back to the time when she met Jonas’ father. He looked so different to Sheila, coming from another country, but he was attractive, kind and considerate. Jonas was the fruit of a one night stand. Sheila did not even know where his father lived, whether he might have been married, or anything. She was on holiday at the time and decided to enjoy herself. The girl friends that were with her had already found company, so Sheila was alone, probably in the wrong place at the wrong time.<br /><br />It was a surprise when she returned home and found that she was carrying a souvenir from her holiday, almost a shock. She realised that finding the father would be an impossible job, so she accepted her fate. Now she would not want to be without little Jonas; he was her one and all.<br /><br />Suddenly she came back to reality. A tall handsome man was standing before her with a tearful Jonas in his arms, and Jonas was wet.<br /><br />“This is your son, I believe” he said. I think he wandered away and I found him on shore. He was trying to crawl into the sea.”<br /><br />“You saved him” she said<br /><br />“No madam, it is my job to make sure that no-one is harmed on this beach. I am a life saver here and I also collect the money for the sun beds.”<br /><br />Sheila looked at the life saver and she liked what she saw. He was dressed only in his fashionable bathing trunks, his figure resembling one of the models in a fashion magazine, the water running in droplets over his shiny brown skin.<br /><br />“Thank you so much” she said “how much do I owe for the sunbed?”<br /><br />“Oh, nothing. It is my pleasure. Are you alone here?”<br /><br />“Just me and my son, who you have already met.”<br /><br />“I was wondering” he continued “if you would be interested to visit the town this evening. We could perhaps have a drink together and a meal.”<br /><br />Sheila thought it over, it would certainly be an interesting evening with this super body but she decided it would be better to stay on her own on the first evening in a strange place.<br /><br />“Oh thank you for the invitation” she answered “but I am meeting some friends this evening.” Of course there were no friends, but she had to invent an excuse.<br /><br />“Perhaps another time” the life saver answered. He left Sheila on her own and Sheila watched him walk away to his next customers, two young girls also occupying the beach beds. He was collecting their money, but stayed a while with them, probably also inviting them to an evening out in town.<br /><br />Sheila looked at Jonas and looked at the life saver.<br /><br />“Jonas” she said “there goes your father, the man from who you inherited your wonderful brown eyes and thick hair.”</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://naarta.multiply.com/journal/item/905/RRC_44">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-8239875278636488453?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-25956788804617901752009-10-27T06:44:00.000-07:002009-10-27T06:45:01.113-07:00<center><img alt="other worlds" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2804/4050039512_cf93531879_o.jpg" width="276" height="235" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Moving up, moving up<br />Head over the clouds<br />A silky smooth layer of fluff<br />to overcome and float above<br />Pilot’s thoughts as he sails<br />onwards seeking new worlds<br />The moon overcame<br />so many years before<br />Now planets, universes far flung<br />to be discovered for a holiday<br /><br />which is all very well, if you look at it on the romantic side of things, but being an agent for universal holidays, you do encounter some problems. I remember when I had my first assignment with our first tourists on Mars; red sand everywhere and two moons. When the first customers arrived I had to be there to show them the ropes. At least we had transformed the atmosphere into something breathable so they did not have to walk around looking like the first pioneers of space shuttle discoveries. They had a nice comfortable hotel on the edge of a crater, but they were not happy.<br /><br />“Where is the sea?” was the first question they had.<br /><br />“Madam, you see those pumps just in the distance. There you will find water enough to swim. Mars has no oceans, just the water beneath the surface which is pumped daily. Mars is a holiday planet for walking excursions, there is just no planet in our system with oceans except for earth.”<br /><br />“No thank you, we tried your artificial swimming pools yesterday, but our skin became red from the water, stained from Mars earth. I still have blotches on my legs. Are you telling me that we paid out a lot of money to spend our holidays on Mars, and we should have remained on earth.”<br /><br />This was one of many similar complaints, so we had to strike Mars from the list at that time. The moons were also not very popular with our visitors. They had trouble sleeping at night.<br /><br />We had a big hit with Mercury, but the problem was we could only develop the area laying on the border between hot and cold which was not very wide; a planet that revolves with one side facing the sun all the time and the other facing, well nothing really. There were too many tourists either being burnt or freezing to death and that is no advertisement for a holiday.<br /><br />Eventually we found the ideal solution. We rediscovered Mars and built towers reaching above the clouds. You say that Mars has no clouds. That was the difficult part. Our designers said that we should have buildings poking through clouds with a view of the two Mars moons which would be ideal for a romantic honeymoon.<br /><br />Thanks to the man’s progress, the clouds were quickly organised. We built a couple of nuclear power plants on the Mars surface with those large chimneys pouring out water vapour. They were, of course, useful for electricity supplies. It was a success. We naturally designed our high buildings with panorama windows. Our tourists are delighted.<br /><br />“Look at the view Charles, just fantastic. What a lovely place to spend our honeymoon.”<br /><br />“Yes darling, we are really living above the clouds; and the moons are so impressive.”<br /><br />Unfortunately one of our nuclear stations exploded last week, and we lost a few honeymooners when the tower came tumbling down, our engineers are working on it.<br /><br />Where am I going on holiday this year you ask? We are staying on earth. I was given a tip by a friend on mine working on the earth tours. There is a little place somewhere in Russia called Tschernobyl. A few hundred years ago it was destroyed by a small chemical mistake. My contact told me that it is now the best place to go. The food is good, fruit twice as large as you will find anywhere in the world. Animal life is really interesting. You do not have to visit far off planets for animals with six legs or three eyes, they are all to be found in Tschernobyl. They even have camels with three humps Yes, such is modern science and development. Even the earth has its places to relax.<?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2595678880461790175?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-91927188172391357432009-10-26T07:44:00.000-07:002009-10-26T07:45:13.401-07:00<div class="replybodytext" align="center" author_possessive="unitedchallenge2008's" is_pmrepliable="1" author="unitedchallenge2008"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">Lilangelwolf's Challenge</span></strong></div><div class="replybodytext" author_possessive="unitedchallenge2008's" is_pmrepliable="1" author="unitedchallenge2008"> </div><div class="replybodytext" author_possessive="unitedchallenge2008's" is_pmrepliable="1" author="unitedchallenge2008"><div id="reply_body_unitedchallenge2008:pms:264+48" class="replybodytext" author_possessive="unitedchallenge2008's" is_pmrepliable="1" author="unitedchallenge2008"><a href="http://s165.photobucket.com/albums/u45/sumaxmail/?action=view&amp;current=UFC-mine-3.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Photobucket" src="http://i165.photobucket.com/albums/u45/sumaxmail/UFC-mine-3.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="replybodytext" author_possessive="unitedchallenge2008's" is_pmrepliable="1" author="unitedchallenge2008"> </div><div class="replybodytext" author_possessive="unitedchallenge2008's" is_pmrepliable="1" author="unitedchallenge2008"><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Sitting at my desk, what shall I write<br />Something for Halloween? Let’s have a fright<br /><br />Nights are dark, keep windows closed<br />Vampire might visit, or a corpse decomposed<br /><br />But after the fright, there will be a treat<br />The ghouls go to rest, ghosts take their sheet<br /><br />The Winter arrives and with it the snow<br />Cats sleep night and day, they don’t want to go<br /><br />Their paws get so cold, their whiskers will freeze<br />temperatures are sinking, below zero degrees<br /><br />Cats curl up keep warm, in front of the fire<br />The humans will look, for what they require<br /><br />Christmas will come, a turkey to cook<br />Relax in the evening and read a good book<br /><br />New Year arrives with a glass of champagne<br />This couplet is long, exhausting my brain<br /><br />Time passes by, the years make me older<br />Feel very tired, rheumatism in the shoulder<br /><br />The end of the tunnel has much light in plenty<br />My couplet is done, the lines are now twenty.</span></p></div></div><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/216/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_191">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-9192718817239135743?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-74467360534528687562009-10-24T05:35:00.000-07:002009-10-24T05:36:20.146-07:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >It all begun about a week ago, but it has been going on night for night and now she was afraid to close her eyes and succumb to sleep, but she was in a hospital bed. Her fight to hang on to the last threads of life was weakening day by day, but she had to live; live for her daughter’s sake.<br /><br />“Here’s your medicine for the night” said the nurse as she entered the ward. “Don’t forget to take it, you will be able to sleep and that will do you good.”<br /><br />“Thank you nurse” was the answer “just put it on the bedside table, I will take it later.”<br /><br />“Ok Mrs. Buckingham, but don’t forget. It will ease your pain.”<br /><br />The nurse left and Eliza Buckingham looked at the tablets thinking they might ease the pain, but they will not cure me.<br /><br />The night came slowly and although Eiza did not want her sleep, she had to succumb and she closed her eyes, breathing regular deep breaths.<br /><br />At the beginning the dream was harmless. She was walking on a wide path lined with poplar trees. She should have known then that the straight trees pointing upwards might have a meaning. The walk was somehow exciting; in her sleep she felt that there would be something good at the end. Some time during the night she awoke, but the walk was etched in her mind. The following night the dream reoccurred. She was still walking along the avenue but could see large wrought iron gates in the distance. Behind the gates there were <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>thick mists. She was almost looking forward to leaving the long path and reaching the gates, being sure that there would be a surprise awaiting her.<br /><br />Her daughter Sara paid her a visit on the next day. Sara knew that her mother’s days were numbered, medical science had not yet found a cure for her illness which seemed to be eating her mother away from inside.<br /><br />“How are you keeping mum” she asked noticing her mother’s eyes which seemed to be surrounded by a grayish ring.<br /><br />“I am ok dear” was the answer.<br /><br />“Are you sleeping well, you look so tired.”<br /><br />“Oh, you know when you are lying in bed all the time, sleep just comes and goes. No, no, I am all right. How are you and the boys? Has Jim found work yet?”.<br /><br />Sara’s husband had lost his job when the company folded down. He was a good worker, but there were few opportunities to find something new at the present time. Eliza knew that her daughter and the family were having problems making ends meet. They had already sold their car and there was talk of selling their house.<br /><br />“No mum, no job up to now, but we are managing. I have taken on a cleaning job to help a bit.”<br /><br />Her daughter left and Eliza was thinking.<br /><br />“If only I can hang on to life” knowing that when she reached the age of seventy, her daughter’s family would have a right to an insurance policy that she had been paying for. It was one of those policies with many clauses to it. It entitled her family, which would be Sara as the only daughter, to a lot of money when Eliza reached the age of seventy. If Eliza died in the meanwhile the money would be put in a trust fund for Sara’s children when they reached the age of twenty. Sara had twin boys, but they were still at school and Sara and her family could use the money now. Eliza’s seventieth birthday was some time soon, but Eliza knew her chances of survival were dwindling.<br /><br />And the dream continued. Eliza was still on the path and the gates were closer. She saw what was behind the gates. Rows of stones and a large house in the center. Eliza awoke with a shock.<br /><br />“No, please let is not be” she thought and she lay back in her bed exhausted, but not able to relax or sleep.<br /><br />In the meanwhile Sara was becoming more concerned with her mother. She knew that she was dying, but she never imagined that she would look so bad. Her eyes were becoming darker and she looked as if she would not survive another night.<br /><br />“Nurse, can’t we do anything to help my mother?”<br /><br />“I wish we could, but we have done all possible. It is a miracle that she is still with us. It is as if she is hanging onto life with the little strength that she still has.<br /><br />The nurse entered Eliza’s ward with her evening medicine once again.<br /><br />“Nurse, can you tell me what today’s date is?”<br /><br />“It is the 20^th August Mrs. Buckingham. I believe it is your seventieth birthday tomorrow. I can see the date on your record sheet.”<br /><br />“Tomorrow nurse. Thank you.”<br /><br />And the nurse left the ward. Elisa put her tablets under the mattress as always. There was quite a collection there, but she did not want to be put in a false sleep. Perhaps she would not awake any more. “Just hold on until tomorrow” she thought.<br /><br />That evening the dream was even more realistic. The stones behind the large iron gates were exactly what she was dreading, tombstones. She saw the name of her husband on a stone. She recognised his grave and moved towards it in her sleep. She awoke again with a shock when she saw that the grave was open, seeing the wooden lid of her husbands coffin below.<br /><br />The next day arrived and again her daughter paid a visit. This time with her husband and her boys, but when she saw how her mother looked, she told the boys to wait outside.<br /><br />“They are beautiful flowers you have brought me” said Elisa to her daughter and son-in law.<br /><br />“Mother today you are seventy years old and you deserve the flowers for everything you have done for us.”<br /><br />Eliza then spoke to her daughter.<br /><br />“In my handbag at the side of the bed there is an envelope addressed to you. Please take this and promise it will only be opened when you receive news of my death. It will be soon, I can feel it, and I can at last join your father.”<br /><br />“No mother, I won’t hear of such things.”<br /><br />“Sara, take the envelope, it is my last wish and then please leave. I am not such good company for you both. Please do not be sad when I am gone.”<br /><br />Sarah left with her husband and the boys. Her mother was looking so bad, that she had decided it was no sight for her sons to see.<br /><br />That evening Eliza had her last dream. This time she wanted to sleep. She had reached her seventieth birthday, she was seventy years old and her daughter would receive the insurance money. She had put the insurance policy in the envelope some time ago. She closed her eyes for the last time and her dream came to an end as she felt herself leaving the last threads of life behind. She was gliding down into her husband’s open grave. <?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-7446736053452868756?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-19961663146679478582009-10-23T08:10:00.000-07:002009-10-23T08:11:16.145-07:00<p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;color:#000099;"><strong>Sanctuaryrose’s Challenge</strong></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"> </span></o:p></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">A black cat follows you wherever you go. Then one night while you are sleeping somehow this black cat sneaks into your house and sits upon your pillow beside you and when you wake up because you feel the weight of the cat and it watching you the cat speaks. "So are you ready to go now?" Feel free to get creative with this.</span></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >"But mummy why not, they are so sweet, Jenny now has two. Look at that nice black one watching us from the street corner. Oh please mummy.”<br /><br />“No Jimmy, I would love to have a kitten as well, but it just will not work. I am allergic. Their fur just tickles my nose all the time, so I am afraid the answer is no.” although Penny Taylor would have liked to have adopted a little kitten for her son. She always had to sneeze and her eyes began to produce tears when she was near a cat. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Penny and her son crossed the main road and she saw from the corner of her eye that the black cat followed them across the road.<br /><br />“Look mum, that black cat is still following us, isn’t it a bit dangerous for him? If he was mine I would not let him roam around in such dangerous places.”<br /><br />“I must say one thing Jimmy, you really would know how to look after a cat. Busy traffic is certainly not a place for cats.”<br /><br />They continued on their way, but it seemed to Penny that the cat was still following them, although when she turned her head to look he did not seem to be there. She noticed two pointed ears and a pointed nose suddenly disappearing behind a wall. Eventually they arrived home and Penny unpacked her shopping in the kitchen. In the meanwhile the black cat that was following decided to make himself comfortable in the front garden, his yellow eyes observing the house all the time.<br /><br />Penny and her son Jimmy lived alone in their house. It was Penny’s parents’ home. Her father died a few years ago and her mother was now living with Penny’s sister. Jimmy had a father, but he sort of disappeared when he was told his girlfriend was going to be a mother. It was a disappointment at the time, but Penny had a lot of support from the family and today she could not imagine her life without Jimmy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><br /><br />“Mum, you know that cat that was following us?”<br /><br />“You mean the black one?”<br /><br />“Yes, that’s the one, well I think he is still there, sitting in the garden.”<br /><br />“Where Jimmy?” Penny looked out of the window. The cat noticed the curtains moving so he hopped behind a tree. He definitely did not want to be seen yet.<br /><br />“I can’t see anything Jimmy” Penny answered. If only Penny knew.<br /><br />Eventually it was Jimmy’s bedtime and Penny also had an early night. The weather was warm and as usual she left the bedroom window open. Seeing his chance at last, the cat climbed the ivy clinging to the wall and soon reached Penny’s bedroom. He made himself comfortable on Penny’s pillow, knowing that she would soon wake, feeling his weight next to her head. Then his mission would almost be accomplished. The first order he had received was to make contact.<br /><br />Penny turned in her bed, feeling that something was wrong somewhere and opened her eyes to find herself staring into two yellow eyes belonging to the black cat.<br /><br />“Please be calm” said the cat “I have been given orders to organise your journey. So are you ready to go now?”<br /><br />“Aaaaatishoo” was all that Penny could say at that moment. She reached out for her handkerchief and wiped the moisture from her eyes. A cat! The allergy!<br /><br />“Did I hear you talking to me, a cat – aaatishoooo. No that cannot be and what are you doing here.”<br /><br />“Stay cool human, I have been given my orders. Your little boy would like a kitten to adopt him, but it seems that you have told him it is not possible. My master wants to see you, we have exactly the ideal kitten that would like to move in with you and Jimmy and so we have to put things right. Just get ready, I will wait outside the bedroom door.”<br /><br />“Do what, get ready, but just a minute” and the cat left the room and closed the door behind him by standing on his back legs and pulling the door to close.<br /><br />“Did I see that correctly” thought Penny rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Cats can push things but not pull. She decided to get herself ready and opened the bedroom door.<br /><br />“Ok female human, let’s go. Just follow me. We will be entering another dimension, it will not hurt, but might get a bit windy.”<br /><br />“I must be crazy following a cat, aatishoo” and Penny suddenly felt as if she was being carried by a gust of air, as if she was floating. Her floating journey landed with a gentle thump.<br /><br />“Master, it is here as you ordered; the human called woman who cannot live with cats.”<br /><br />“Come closer human woman, you have a problem with the feline species.”<br /><br />Penny found herself sitting on a large cushion in a room that seemed to be fitted out with cushions all over the floor. Here and there was a raised seat which could be reached by climbing a ladder, although she herself would be too tall and heavy to use them. The general impression was the ideal room for a cat. Sitting on the highest perch in the room was a rather large grey furred cat. He actually looked more the size of a lion than a cat. His eyes were very large, like two saucers glistening yellow in the reflection of the moonlight that seemed to be coming through a window. She looked out of the window she saw there was not just one moon, but four.<br /><br />“Human speak up, what is your problem with us?”<br /><br />“Aatishoo” answered Penny.<br /><br />“Speak no further human woman, I believe you are one of the unlucky that is allergic to the cat.”<br /><br />“Before I speak anything, I want to know where I am and what is going on.”<br /><br />“You mean my servant did not introduce himself. Bonzo, where are your manners. When speaking to a subordinate race, the first thing to do is to introduce yourself.”<br /><br />“But master, I really had no time, the dimension curtain was getting thinner and I really did not want to use the spaceship. You know how those weaker races are when travelling with a transport they do not know.”<br /><br />“Bonzo you are forgiven, but just bear in mind in future that we do not kidnap other species. We invite them. And now to yourself human woman, I believe you have the name of Penny and kitten, sorry son, is Jimmy. Strange names these humans have.<br /><br />Allow me to introduce myself. The humans know me as Bast. I discovered your world once on a trip from our planet Koshka and organised a few items for the race known as Egyptians. They seemed to be having a problem with mice infestation in their corn chambers. However, that is now history. Now and again we have to keep an eye on our colonies and it seems that some of the species human are allergic to the feline nation. For this reason our Koshkan scientists have developed a substance against this problem.<br /><br />Bonzo please bring the liquid for this human to drink.”<br /><br />“Just a minute, are you joking. A couple of cats are going to give me something to drink to cure my cat allergy. I just don’t believe this.”<br /><br />“Human” said Bast looking at Penny direct in the eyes “I do not make jokes. Have you asked how you arrived here, have you not wondered how my servant Bonzo and even myself can walk on two legs instead of the usual four, can carry a glass of liquid in our paws and open and close doors with no problem.”<br /><br />“Come to think of it, I admit you seem to be quite civilised for a ..”<br /><br />“You wanted to say for a cat. We are Koshkans, descendants of one of the oldest races in the universe; however, now to come to the point. Bonzo bring me our new Earth agent.”<br /><br />Bonzo left the room and returned carrying a sweet little kitten in his teeth. At least Penny thought he really did look sweet. Long grey fur, bright little blue eyes, and a little pink tongue. In the meanwhile Penny decided to drink the liquid. It tasted quite good, a sort of alcoholic milky taste, but as she was still alive she decided it must be ok.<br /><br />“Human, you will take this feline agent with you when you return to Earth. It will be a present for your son Jimmy. You will take great care of this citizen of Koshka. He is to be fed regularly, and when he is older you may let him free to roam in your garden. If he wishes to go out in the evening, then he may do so. It will be to make a report to Bonzo who is one of our best agents on Earth.<br /><br />Tomorrow when you awake, you will not remember this journey, or anything that has happened. The Koshkan, known as kitten, will already be living in your home and is to be a surprise for human kitten Jimmy. Is that clear.”<br /><br />Penny nodded, she had no choice, but she noticed with pleasure that her sneezing had stopped and that the presence of so many cats (or should she say Koshkans) did not bother her at all.<br /><br />“You may go” said Bast “or do you have any further questions?”<br /><br />Now what does a subordinate race in the universe ask such a superior Master on planet Koshka, but Penny had one question.<br /><br />“Do you mind if I call the kitten Koshka?”<br /><br />“It may be done” answered Bast, thinking that these humans were not so stupid after all.<br /><br />Bonzo returned to earth with Penny.<br /><br />The next morning Penny was greeted by a very excited Jimmy when he entered the kitchen.<br /><br />“Oh, mummy, how sweet, I have my kitten after all. What a wonderful surprise.”<br /><br />“Yes Jimmy, I decided to take a chance and it seems that I am not as allergic as I thought. Up to now I have not sneezed once. It is like a wonder.”<br /><br />“What shall I call my kitten, mummy?” Jimmy asked<br /><br />“You may choose a name Jimmy.”<br /><br />“What about Koshka, it seems to suit him.”<br /><br />And that was how Penny’s family were adopted by a little grey kitten with blue eyes called Koshka.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/215/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_190">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-1996166314667947858?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-69970960253853011342009-10-22T08:22:00.000-07:002009-10-22T08:23:13.427-07:00<center><img alt="Autumn on the River Aar, Solothurn" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2614/4034259087_8b42b41a46.jpg" width="500" height="354" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Darkness follows<br />After nights of hunting<br />Finding victim fresh and warm<br />Fangs pierce, the vampire grunting<br /><br />Light has no meaning<br />In the world surrounding a tomb<br />Sunshine being banned<br />Forever in the gloom<br /><br />Once there was life<br />laughing, happiness<br />the evening came<br />The vampire’s caress<br /><br />Doomed to a world<br />of eternal thirst<br />for blood and more<br />vampire cursed<br /><br />So beware<br />On a dark night<br />Recognise my fangs<br />My skin so white<br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Darkness will follow<br />life becomes undead<br />Be my companion<br />Your needs are not unfed</span></p></center><p></p><a href="http://creativechallenge.multiply.com/journal/item/91/Creative_Challenge_75">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-6997096025385301134?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-4386149790256295202009-10-22T07:17:00.000-07:002009-10-22T07:18:02.804-07:00<center><img alt="HowlOfTheWerewolf" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2638/4034125119_ff609774e7_o.jpg" width="235" height="297" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >It all started as a surprise for Walter. He was now twelve years old and on that day his wish was to be fulfilled. His mother and father accompanied him to the animal home. He wanted a pet, a nice cuddly dog. As they entered the pens where the dogs were kept it seemed as if the dogs had got together to act as loud and loving as they could, barking at the top of their lungs saying please take me.<br /><br />“OK son” said Walter’s dad “it is your dog, so make your choice” but Walter was overwhelmed with so many homeless dogs. It was then that he spotted a little grey puppy sitting on its own in a corner. The other dogs seemed to avoid it and when it tried to come a bit nearer, it was pushed back with a howling and growling.<br /><br />“That is my dog” thought Walter “I will make him a good home and he will be my faithful pal. I want that one” he said pointing to the little grey dog in the corner.”<br /><br />“Are you sure son” asked his parents. “He doesn’t seem to be as active as the other dogs. He certainly is no thoroughbred, but if that’s the one you want son, that’s your dog” and that was how Walter was given Charlie, which was to be the name of the new arrival in the family.<br /><br />Walter took him in his arms and the little puppy licked Walter’s hand as if to say thank you. The puppy did seem to like the taste of Walter’s fingers and nipped one of them.<br /><br />“Ow” said Walter, “you must be hungry”.<br /><br />“What’s up Walter?” asked his mother<br /><br />“I think my puppy is hungry, he tried to eat one of my fingers” and Walter laughed and so did his mum and dad.<br /><br />When they arrived home, there was already a little bed and food waiting for the new arrival. Charlie found his way around quickly, but it seemed he really had a tremendous appetite. He finished his bowl of food and was looking at Walter with his big brown eyes as if to say “is that all?” Obviously you cannot leave a little dog without food in a strange place on the first day, so Charlie got second helpings.<br /><br />Charlie made himself at home and grew and grew and grew. He also loved to go for walks with Walter. The only problem was that he kept straining on the line to go off on his own. Walking through the forest was easier, as Walter could remove the lead. Unfortunately Charlie would gallop away and usually return with a dead animal in his mouth. At the beginning when Charlie was small, it was just the odd mouse, and perhaps a rat. As Charlie was growing Walter had to search for him in the forest. He usually found him where he was tearing at the remains of a squirrel or perhaps a bird, that had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.<br /><br />It was then noticed that Charlie was changing, although Walter and his parents thought this normal for a dog. After a year doubts began to grow. The full moon nights were the worst. Charlie would scratch at the door and jump at the window trying to go outside. Just for peace of mind Walter would put him on the lead and go out with him for a few minutes to calm him down. It was once very embarrassing when Mrs. Smith’s cat walked passed. Charlie was off like a streak of lightening and the poor cat eventually managed to save itself from Charlie’s claws and jaws by climbing the nearest tree. Unfortunately it was stranded and the firemen had to be called to retrieve the cat. Mrs. Smith was quite annoyed and told Walter parents that she would not pay the bill; after all it was their canine monster that attacked her cat.<br /><br />“Son, we have to have a talk” said Walter’s father. “Charlie is becoming a problem.”<br /><br />“Just because he happened to chase Mrs. Smith’s cat, that’s normal for a dog.”<br /><br />“No, not quite son; he seems to be changing.”<br /><br />“Dad, he is just a dog, and is getting bigger. He isn’t a puppy any more.”<br /><br />“That’s what I mean son. He eats as much meat as we do and to be quite honest I don’t like the look in his eyes now and again.”<br /><br />If Walter was quite honest, he also had his doubts about Charlie. He had not told his father about the incident that occurred a few days ago when he saw Charlie burying something in the garden. He dug it up and found it to be a human finger. Now Walter was shocked, but he just did not want any problems, so kept quiet about it. If Walter had searched further, he might have found the hand that belonged to it. Walter’s father did read in the newspaper about a body that had been found in the nearby forest, belonging to a tramp, its hand missing, but thought no more of it. Looked like animals had got to the tramp, and that was the end of it. Probably the tramp died from an overdose of alcohol and the animals did the rest.<br /><br />The last straw was when Charlie’s teeth fell out. Dennis was certainly worried, but the new teeth soon grew; much longer, more pointed than those previous. It was then that Walter’s parents said enough was enough. Charlie must go, he looked like something from a freak show. Walter was sad, he didn’t want to lose his companion. Eventually the arrangement was made that Charlie could stay, but he must now live outside in the garden in a special dog kennel. The funny thing was that it did not seem to bother Charlie at all. He was quite happy living outside.<br /><br />In the meanwhile a few cats had disappeared from the neighbourhood and Mr. Smith was missing. These things always seemed to happen on moonlit nights. If someone had been watching, they would have noticed that Charlie was not stupid. He was actually very clever. You just had to hypnotise your human to do it. Of course Dennis did not realise this, nor did he remember sleep walking to the garden in the morning when Charlie returned and replacing the lock.<br /><br />Eventually things came to an end when Charlie made his metamorphosis. Again there was a full moon and Charlie had developed such strength that he stood on his hind legs and howled to be heard by all. Someone in the neighbourhood called the police, but there was no Charlie any more in his dog kennel. The kennel had been reduced to a pile of wood, mixed with the bones of Mr. Smith and a few missing cats; the identity of the bones was later discovered upon their examination.<br /><br />Charlie was gone. Now and again someone disappeared from the neighbourhood, their remains usually being found in the forest. Charlie’s lair had not yet been discovered, he had been building a nice safe place for some time. Every walk he took with Walter in the forest without his lead, he managed to construct a little bit more in his cave.<br /><br />So if you decide to buy your son or daughter a dog, then have a good look first. If the other dogs in the pound seem to avoid the dog you want, then you must also avoid it. There could be a reason.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://dkv58.multiply.com/photos/album/1/Just_in_case_anyone_wants_a_go_at_this_one...?replies_read=3#">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-438614979025629520?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-25675460522224399742009-10-22T05:12:00.000-07:002009-10-22T05:13:46.173-07:00<center><img alt="Balcony, Restaurant Storchen, Solothurn" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2456/4033909189_506a3f3722.jpg" width="500" height="438" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: DE-CH;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" >Bang! Bang!<br /><br /></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >"Sounds like our son has arrived home from school“ were Mrs. Williams thoughts as she heard the door slam to Billy’s room.<br /><br />“In five minutes we eat” she shouted.<br /><br />The answer came through the door to his room “No problem mum, just have to fix something first.”<br /><br />Eventually dinner was ready and Billy arrived at the table, although ten minutes after hearing his mum’s voice.<br /><br />“What took so long Billy, I thought you were ready.”<br /><br />“I told you I had to do something.”<br /><br />“Billy this week everything seems to be later than usual. In the evenings we don’t even see you anymore.”<br /><br />“No problem, mum, I am working on a project for the school.”<br /><br />Joyce Williams, Billy’s mother was getting just a little bit suspicious. Billy was a good scholar, but this new enthusiasm with his school work was just a little bit doubtful. She made a decision. As soon as Billy departed for school in the afternoon, she would have a look in his room. Billy left and his mother opened the door to the room. Another strange thing, the room was locked and the key had been removed.<br /><br />Enough was enough; Billy’s father must have a few words with her son this evening. She knew that boys do have their little secrets as they get older, but this was going too far. A locked bedroom door, something just was not normal.<br /><br />When Billy arrived home in the evening, the scene was set for a lecture about locking bedroom doors and being secretive. They were just finishing dinner when Billy’s mother spoke to her son.<br /><br />“Billy, before you disappear into your room, your father has a few words to say to you.”<br /><br />“Now it comes” thought Billy, “thank goodness I lock my room when I am not here.”<br /><br />Yes Billy” his dad said “seems it is a bit of a problem with locked bedroom doors. If you have problems with, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">cough, cough </i>anything, we can talk it over from man to man. “<br /><br />Mother Joyce was so glad that his father was going to do the parent counselling and so she retired to the living room to leave them to their man to man talk.<br /><br />Billy looked at his dad as if he was from another world, which was something normal for Billy to do. He always had a feeling that parents were only there as a sort of think and idea police, always examining his life as if something was going on in the background.”<br /><br />“I really don’t know what you mean dad, I am not doing anything to get worried about; just a special school job.”<br /><br />“Then why can’t we go to your room?”<br /><br />“Dad it is my room, and you and mum always said you respect my privacy. If you really want to know, then I will let you in my room, just to show that I am not doing anything I shouldn’t, but I don’t want anyone just coming in and out.”<br /><br />So Billy opened the door and his father and Billy entered. Half an hour later they came out, Billy’s father with a smile on his face and Billy breathing a sigh of relief.<br /><br />“So what is it that we mustn’t know” Joyce asked her husband when they were alone.<br /><br />“Oh, it is really a sort of project that Billy is working on for school. It involved some very expensive material that the school has given him and Billy is just worried that something well break if he leaves it lying around; nothing to worry about Joyce. We should be proud that Billy realises the value of things.”<br /><br />“So his room is now staying locked.”<br /><br />“Only until the week-end, he then has to give the tools he got to another member of the class. No reason to worry Joyce.”<br /><br />He really hoped that Joyce had swallowed that story, although it was the truth in a way. Billy had received a telescope from the school. They were doing a project on the vastness of the night sky and Billy had to record what he saw. It was an exact job and he just did not want to be disturbed. He had shown his father the telescope and his father was also impressed, especially when he was able to focus on the neighbour’s apartment opposite. The magnification was enormous and the neighbour had just entered her bedroom after taking a shower. She was getting ready to go out for the evening. It seems she did not bother with a bath robe at all. Billy’s father at that moment decided it was just a sort of father and son thing and Joyce should accept her son’s reasons. Billy’s father had also made an arrangement with Billy. He was also allowed to look through the telescope from time to time, just for examining the night skies of course. It was so fascinating and he really only had time until the week-end.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://petespicks09.multiply.com/journal/item/11/PETES_PICK....week_10......">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2567546052222439974?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-59688147411671355302009-10-20T11:28:00.000-07:002009-10-20T11:29:44.565-07:00<center><img alt="wordsmiths" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2678/4029840320_974c8368a0_o.jpg" width="314" height="207" /></center><br /><p align="center"> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Swishing skirts of whispering grass<br />Strolling, feeling stalks tickling the skin<br />Memories of sun soaked days<br />Striding through meadows<br />Crickets chirping their invitations<br />To stay awhile in this luscious growth<br />A sanctuary of teaming life<br />Bare feet avoiding butterfly’s wings<br />Looking heavenwards seeking<br />the angels and cherubs watching<br />On such a glorious day as this<br />Time take a rest, stop the forwarding steps<br />Preserve such hours of Summer pleasure<br />And she walks on, absorbing without knowing<br />A lover waiting, thinks of him<br />Delights of the meadow slipping away,<br />only one thought, to lay in his arms<br />Being one with nature<br /></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >In the summer of her youth<?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-5968814741167135530?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-34059622627929576202009-10-20T11:24:00.000-07:002009-10-20T11:25:52.133-07:00<center><img alt="ritasriting" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2660/4029094557_24ae77cf3d_o.jpg" width="301" height="235" /></center><br /><p align="center"> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >The writer sits at his desk<br />Words revolving in his head<br />No order no transparency<br />He cannot write, brain dead<br /><br />Where is the food for thought<br />Looking out the window to search<br />Seeing nothing, just a void<br />Hears chirping, a bird on its perch<br /><br />Inspiration is lacking<br />Concentration is no fun<br />Exhausted from repeating thoughts<br />Reaches out, in his hand a gun<br /><br />Raises it and points<br />The genius seeks his root<br />He aims with intent to kill<br />The bird he tries to shoot<br /><br />Up and away flies the bird<br />From the writer, had enough<br />Wants not die for anything<br />So leaves the writer some fluff<br /><br />Outside is now silent<br />No bird sings a sweet refrain<br />Now to pen a few words<br />The writer tries again<br /><br />Alas is something missing<br />As quiet as the grave<br />The silence can be heard<br />Inspiration he needs to save<br /><br />The light is fading slowly<br />Sees shapes that make him fear<br />Then suddenly pieces together<br />He has a brilliant idea<br /><br />An ode is penned to the bird<br />The one he nearly shot<br />Oh to be a writer<br />It is a tiring lot.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://naarta.multiply.com/journal/item/895/RRC_43">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-3405962262792957620?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-71071010041525411242009-10-20T07:33:00.000-07:002009-10-20T07:34:10.597-07:00<p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;color:#990000;">Skyerider’s Challenge</span></strong></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></span></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">The statement is “Too bad he chose this time and place.”<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Tell us the story behind the statement.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>You can change the gender to she, and the phrase does not have to be included in the story.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Oh…and let’s throw in a word limit between 800 and 1500 words…just to stretch you a bit!</span></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >It was as if the heavens had known that today someone would be carried to his grave, who had walked a crooked way since he was a boy. It was an overcast day; grey clouds, no not grey but almost black. There was a rumble of thunder in the distance and the few mourners attending were glad that they had their raincoats for protection. Mugsy Schwarz was standing solemnly at the graveside, his coat collar pulled up covering the lower half of his face, the black fedora hat with its wide black satin band covering the top half, as if he did not really want to be recognised. He did not, but had his reasons. All the other spectators, and they were just spectators, were one time prison colleagues of the deceased. Jackie Simple had died at the hands of the state, and the mourners were standing at a new grave in the prison cemetery. Mugsy was not showing any emotion, he very rarely did, but he would miss Jackie. He was the born mug and it had been nice to have him around, but Jackie had now served his purpose and was laid to rest amongst others that he may have even known in his worldly life.<br /><br />Perhaps Mugsy was reflecting on the events of the past year. It all began when he heard that Twitchy George was telling stories about Mugsy, Describing crimes that Mugsy had committed. Of course Mugsy had brought a few people “around the corner”, but if you happen to be having a quiet drink with your pals you do not start talking about things like that, especially when the police get to hear of it. Luckily Mugsy had a few of the officers on his pay roll and one of them paid a visit and told Mugsy of the lies that Twitchy George had been spreading about Mugsy behind his back.<br /><br />Mugsy called his gang together and said that something would have to be done. Twitchy George must be silenced forever, but in a nice quiet way that no-one would believe that Mugsy and his boys were involved. It was then that there was a knock at the door of Mugsy’s office. One of his men opened the door and it was Jackie Simple.<br /><br />“Hello Mr. Schwarz” he said, “I was told to bring this parcel to Mugsy.”<br /><br />“Not now, Jackie” answered Mugsy’s right-hand man, “the boss is thinking and we have a meeting.”<br /><br />“Who’s that?” asked Mugsy.<br /><br />“It’s me, boss, Jackie Simple. Got a parcel and was told to deliver it personally.”<br /><br />“Who gave it to you?”<br /><br />“Twitchy George, said you was waiting for it.”<br /><br />Yes he was waiting for a parcel of drugs from Twitchy. Sometimes Twitchy did have his use. It was then that Mugsy’s brain cells began to work. He was quite clever sometimes, but his brain resembled a one-way street, always thinking on the same track.<br /><br />“Let him come in boys, I want to have a few words with Jackie. Tell me Jackie, business going well at the moment?”<br /><br />“Not really Mr. Schwarz, if you have a job for me, I would be only too pleased to oblige.”<br /><br />“That’s a good boy Jackie, matter of fact I do have something in the pipeline. I hear you are a one of Twitchy’s colleagues. A little bird tells me that he has been talking about me being naughty. Know anything?”<br /><br />“Who me, Mr. Schwarz? Not really, although after Twitchy has had a few beers, he does start to talk a bit more than he should.”<br /><br />“You know what Jackie. I think it might be an idea if you invited Twitchy to a few drinks down at the local pub. You know the one. Just along the river near the docks. I will probably join you as well, just to be sociable. I am sure that Twitchy has been misunderstood, and we could iron our problems out together over a drink. Only of course if you have nothing else to do. It is your choice Jackie.”<br /><br />Jackie was quite honoured. Mr. Schwarz, would be sitting at the same table as Jackie, inviting him to take part in an important discussion with Twitchy George.<br /><br />“No Problem, Mr. Schwartz. I was going to have a poker evening with a few mates, but I can put that off.”<br /><br />“OK, Jackie, I would say this evening around nine, and make sure that you are there with Twitchy. By the way Jackie, as you are so obliging I have a little present for you. Here.”<br /><br />And Jackie could not believe his eyes. Mugsy Schwarz handed him a gun.<br /><br />“You are giving me a gun Mr. Schwarz. That is very nice of you, but I just couldn’t accept such gift.”<br /><br />“Think it over Jackie, I always reward my boys with something, don’t I boys?"<br /><br />The gang that were listening, all nodded in unison saying “Yes boss”.<br /><br />“On second thoughts Jackie, put the gun on the table. I will bring it along with me this evening, after you have completed the job.”<br /><br />“Of course Mr. Schwarz” and Jackie left, feeling so happy. His life had been one big disappointment up to now. He never knew his father, his mother spent more time looking after her whisky bottles than caring for Jackie, and Jackie was just left to himself. He was a very good thief. One of the few jobs you could do without being able to read or write. Jackie did not like school, so avoided it when he could. It was a homely feeling he had around gangsters like Mugsy Schwarz and his colleagues. He could always pick up a reward somewhere and if he did not, then he was a very good pick pocket.<br /><br />The evening soon arrived and Jackie had carried out his orders and was sitting at a table in the pub feeling quite pleased with himself. Jackie did not need a lot to be pleased. Suddenly the door opened and Mugsy Schwartz walked in with two of his gang. Jackie noticed the nice white cotton gloves he was wearing.There was a flash of metal and a bright light. Bang, bang, two shots were fired and Twitchy George was head down on the table, blood pouring from his bullet wounds. Mugsy then threw the gun at Jackie, whose automatic reaction was to catch it and Mugsy disappeared the way he entered followed by his gang members. The action was so fast, that no-one really saw what happened, except of course for Jackie, but who would believe Jackie Simple, as simple as his name.<br /><br />Jackie was arrested and put to trial. All the witnesses called swore that Jackie had shot Twitchy George. The proof was plain to see by the finger prints on the gun. Although Jackie said he was not guilty and it was Mugsy Schwartz, no-one believed him, or could believe him. There were so many people that confirmed that Mugsy was nowhere near the docks on that evening. He was participating in a charity dinner for orphans. Yes, if Mugsy Schwartz had a heart, it might have been good, but it wasn’t.<br /><br />Unfortunately Jackie’s arguments of how he had been framed with the fingerprints on the gun were not credible. At that time the death penalty was still given for such crimes. Mugsy decided the least he could do was to attend the burial, and there he stood at the side of the grave. On prison gravestones there was only the name of the guilty person, their birth and date of death. On the way home from the cemetery Mugsy thought to himself a good inscription on the stone would have been “Too bad he chose that time and place”.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/214/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_189">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-7107101004152541124?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-70874892318175141052009-10-19T08:50:00.000-07:002009-10-19T08:51:43.309-07:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Looking at me with a longing<br />please, please switch me on<br />Let pulses charge through my leads<br />I want to become part of the fun<br />Tonight I will carry you<br />to a far part of the world<br />watch the actors play their parts<br />as they sail to another place<br />Dr. Who will take you<br />on a journey to the unknown<br />You will fight a dalek invasion<br />Until we are all saved<br />Perhaps it is not your taste<br />Taste can be savoured as well<br />Our master chefs are ready<br />Change to another channel<br />and watch them cook your delights<br />Truffels, sweetbreads, scallops,<br />A quail, or perhaps a pigeon<br />You will visit the temples of food<br />and partake in creation of edible wonders<br />You need some excitement, action<br />Your football team is playing and winning<br />Hold on to your seat, shout for the boys<br />They cannot hear you, but I can<br />Yes, my work is satisfying<br />I am content to bring it to your home<br />No, no, please do not fall asleep<br />I am still alive, waiting for a touch<br />You can switch me off<br />But rest assured I will be with you tomorrow<br />Your one and only faithfull television<br /></span></p><br /><p></p><br /><center><img alt="Nera jumping" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2796/4025753461_b2e865ff60.jpg" width="432" height="500" /></center><br /><p></p><a href="http://poemposse.multiply.com/journal/item/128/Week_53">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-7087489231817514105?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-25904554808020022142009-10-17T06:57:00.000-07:002009-10-17T06:58:32.470-07:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Peggy remembered when the first telephone was installed in the family house many years ago. As time went one she grew up and the telephone became just something that everyone had, although they were the first family in the street that had it connected. Everyone that had something to say to others would knock at the door asking if they could possibly used the telephone.<br /><br />Now things were different. Her children decided to surprise their mother, not a birthday, nor Christmas. There was no real reason, but whether she wanted it or not she was now the proud owner of a mobile, handy, cell phone or whatever. Peggy was not stupid; she even understood the computer and was a member of Facebook. That was also something the children told her to do.<br /><br />“You know it is really fun mama, you can build a farm, belong to a town and even have a fight with the Mafia or become a vampire.”<br /><br />Although Peggy found this not absolutely necessary, she did start building a small farm. In the meanwhile it became quite large, and she was a faithful fan of her little plot somewhere in Facebook land. She even had neighbours, people she really only knew by name, but they were neighbours.<br /><br />Peggy was just not so sure about this new telephone thing. If Dan, her late husband, was still alive, she was sure he would have known exactly what to do.<br /><br />“Isn’t it expensive to call people Catherine?” Peggy asked her daughter.<br /><br />“No mum, we have had a card put into it, so you don’t have to register it with the telephone company. Just fill the card up when it is empty with some money. You will soon get the hang of it.”<br /><br />Catherine gave Peggy a quick course in how to operate the telephone and said that her brother Jeremy would be paying a visit at the week-end and would answer any questions she might have. Catherine left as she had to pick the children up from school and Peggy was left alone with her new toy. Then the worst that could happen, happened. It rang. At first Peggy was sure the music on the radio was too loud, and she never listened to that programme where all the loud modern music was played. She wanted to switch off the radio but was surprised to find that it was not on, although she could still hear the music. She followed the noise and arrived at the new mobile telephone which was laying on the table. She picked it up and dropped it again. Not only did it sound as if a full group of musicians were playing but it was moving. It shook in her hand, real vibrations.<br /><br />Peggy just did not know what was happening. It seemed that the telephone had a life of its own. She suddenly noticed that the screen was displaying a number and recognised it as belonging to Jeremy.<br /><br />Peggy was no beginner, she could manage quite well on her own, but she was sure that she had done something wrong and decided to call Jeremy. His phone rang a few times and suddenly she had Sue on the phone, Jeremy’s wife.<br /><br />“Hello mum, nice to hear from you. Is it ok with Sunday in that case?”<br /><br />“Sorry Sue” Peggy answered “I don’t quite understand. Is Jeremy there? I saw his name on that new telephone he gave me.”<br /><br />“That’s right mum, Jeremy is in town, but he said he would call you on the way from his mobile.”<br /><br />“He did Sue, but I must have done something wrong, that new telephone thing is shaking, so I had to drop it. I am now calling on the normal telephone.”<br /><br />“Oh, mum, that’s what it does if someone rings. Probably the vibrator is switched on.”<br /><br />“The what? Sue I am really a bit old for that sort of thing. I really don’t think that at my age I need a vibrator. Tell Jeremy to call me when he is home, but not on that cell phone thing, on the normal telephone.”<br /><br />“Jeremy called to say he won’t be over at the week-end, but we thought it would be a better idea if you came to Sunday dinner. The kids would love to see you again.”<br /><br />Sue then continued to explain how to switch the vibrations off. Peggy managed to follow the instructions and hoped that it was now normal. Five minutes later the telephone rang again, but this time it just peeped like a bird and thank goodness did not vibrate. There was a message written on the screen of the telephone with courtesy from the telephone company telling Peggy to send a return SMS as they wanted to know how she was satisfied with her new phone. So while Peggy was looking through the book to see what an SMS was the telephone rang again.<br /><br />“Hello, hello, hello” said a strange voice with an accent that Peggy did not recognise.<br /><br />This time she was ready. Catherine had told her to press the green button when someone called. At least the telephone was not shaking this time.<br /><br />“Hello, who is calling please?”<br /><br />“This is James, I want to be your friend.”<br /><br />“Excuse me” answered Peggy “who is calling.”<br /><br />“James is calling, I want to be your friend.”<br /><br />“This is strange” she thought, not knowing anyone called James, but her daughter told her you can always see the telephone number on the screen from the person that is calling. Unfortunately Peggy did not recognise the number. She decided she wanted to be no-one’s friend so disconnected after five minutes of “I want to be your friend” and “who are you?”, not without noting the number on paper first of all. She still did not realise that she could trace the numbers on the mobile that had called after cancelling the call; poor Peggy.<br /><br />Peggy searched in the telephone book and found the first numbers were those belonging to Nigeria. James was in Nigeria and wanted to be her friend. She decided that she would now make an attempt to call Catherine on the phone to ask if she knew anyone in Nigeria. She took the manual and did everything the instructions told her to, but with no result. The telephone then made a strange moan (at least it seemed to be a moan to Peggy) and closed down. It was no longer working.<br /><br />So what was the next step? Peggy decided to buy some cows and chickens for her Facebook farm and plant some pumpkins. They looked so pretty on the computer.<br /><br />The week-end soon arrived and Peggy was glad to see Jeremy. She took the mobile thing with her.<br /><br />“Jeremy, I think I broke it. It doesn’t work any more.”<br /><br />“What happened mum?” asked Jeremy.<br /><br />“It was after that man James rang from Nigeria. The telephone went dead. I hope nothing has happened to him, he wanted to be my friend.”<br /><br />“Mum, you have no money left on your card. I think you paid for James’ call as well as your answer. Looks like you have been tricked.”<br /><br />“But that never happened with the other telephone.”<br /><br />“You just have to be careful with that new telephone. If someone calls from a number you don’t recognise then just don’t answer. Cancel it.”<br /><br />The evening Peggy went home and put her new mobile in the box it was in when she received it from her children. She took a walk up to the attic and put the box next to the box where the video machine was that her departed husband had bought. She remembered sadly back to the days when Dan would record all sorts of films from the television during the night, which they would watch together at a more suitable time. She never really got the hang of that machine and decided that the mobile would be in good company.<br /><br />She returned to the apartment, went to the computer and bought some crops for the Facebook farm.<?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2590455480802002214?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-23619285681426184012009-10-16T08:56:00.000-07:002009-10-16T08:57:35.908-07:00<p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;">Caghs' Challenge<br /></span></strong><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">In 500 words or less, write about a positive experience involving a dentist.<br /></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">It may be true, it may be a fiction, but it MUST be in first-person.<br /></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">Any format is acceptable.<br /></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >I received one of those letters from the dentist last week, reminding me that I should show my teeth once again in his surgery. He found that eight months is long enough and probably was running out of money, or was he in a sadistic mood and decided that my mouth would be ideal for a clean up and if he is lucky, might even find a diseased root, or a nerve about to give up.<br /><br />What to do? I naturally made an appointment with his words still ringing in my ears from the last time, that you actually save money by going regularly. I put my dental nerves together and found myself sitting in an empty waiting room. That is never good; it means it is your turn very soon.<br /><br />“Good morning Mrs. Victim” the dentist said in a merry almost enthusiastic voice “please take a seat my nurse will attend to you.”<br /><br />She did of course and covered me in a white sheet which seemed to resemble a shroud. I was given a paper bib and the chair was adjusted to the right level, sort of flat and morgue-like. The dentist arrived.<br /><br />“Do you have any pain or problems?”<br /><br />Did he expect an answer? Quite difficult under the circumstances, as the sucking device was already hanging from my lower lip and his cleaning instrument was poised for the attack.<br /><br />After thirty minutes of radical scratching and scraping, he was finished. The usual glass of water was supplied to have a thorough mouth wash. From its colour, I did have the feeling that I had been transformed into a female vampire after his work.<br /><br />“Everything is fine Mrs. Victim. We will see each other again in the surgery in eight months time. It seems that your teeth have improved to such an extent in the last two years that “The Dentist’s World”, an international magazine dedicated to our profession, would like to feature your mouth in one of the next issues.”<br /><br />I was a little surprised “I beg your pardon?”<br /><br />“The various x-rays of your teeth will be printed, along with an illustration of the finished work. Of course I will also be mentioned in the magazine.”<br /><br />“You mean that thousands of dentists will be looking at my mouth? I don’t think I will be so keen on that. What do you mean by an illustration?”<br /><br />“A photo will be taken, showing the result of the work.”<br /><br />“Sorry, I answered, but I am not so enthusiastic” was my answer.<br /><br />“I forgot to mention something, Mrs. Victim. You know this is so exciting for me to be featured in the magazine. I even have a chance to become dentist of the year.”<br /><br />“And I will be patient of the year? No doctor, I don’t think so, but I interrupted, what did you forget?”<br /><br />“Of course for all future visits to my surgery nothing will be charged. It is an honour to operate on such a perfect row of teeth.”</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/213/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_188">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2361928568142618401?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-54085785409783654462009-10-15T10:12:00.000-07:002009-10-15T10:13:15.172-07:00<center><img alt="Back of Nera the cat" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2356/2288258840_17440c6647.jpg" width="500" height="375" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >“We are as thick as thieves<br />Mrs. Human is sure”<br />“Now who tore the curtains<br />Tabby, Nera, tell me more”<br /><br />“It was not us cats<br />we were busy eating fish<br />Isn’t that true Fluffy cat?<br />Of course, we cleaned the dish”<br /><br />Mrs. Human was annoyed<br />The curtains they were new<br />Tabby, Nera, Fluffy<br />Three cats without a clue<br /><br />“Mrs. Human cannot be<br />We were all out in the shed<br />Together hunting mice<br />And then we went to bed”<br /><br />“So who did the damage?<br />It could not be a ghost”<br />“Mrs. Human” said the cats<br />“We are innocent, let’s have a toast”<br /><br />“It was the cat next door”<br />Said Fluffy with a grin<br />“we were all very busy<br />taking tuna from a tin”<br /><br />“The cat next door<br />Is now away from home<br />She has gone on holiday<br />So cats please change your tone”<br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >I decided to give it up<br />With the cats I will not fight<br />They are really thick as thieves<br />They stick together so tight. </span></p></center><p></p><a href="http://creativechallenge.multiply.com/journal/item/90/Creative_Challenge_74">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-5408578540978365446?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-25412472713945915152009-10-14T07:52:00.000-07:002009-10-14T07:53:22.728-07:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >She smelt the animosity of the enemy in the air. She sniffed once, twice and was sure, this was not just an invitation, this was was a challenge. She sensed the presence of the threat and felt and smelt his breath. The more the distance between them was narrowed, the more agitation was felt by both parties.<br /><br />First of all she hissed, loud and forceful hoping that would drive fear into his body. It might be that he would turn, and decide to avoid the inevitable. She hissed again, her voice carried through the night, others picked up their ears, the fight would soon begin.<br /><br />She moved forward, nearer to the foe, she could almost taste his breath her nostrils quivered with the expectation of the smell of fresh blood. Another hiss, louder than the last one in the hope that he would turn away, but this time there was no mercy, he was as ready as she was.<br /><br />The fight began, the noise echoed in the night, until others listened, but behind closed doors and windows. So frightful was the sound that no-one dared to intervene. This was just between the two of them. A fight for the right of being, of living.<br /><br />He fought with pure strength, attempting to tear her apart, lashing out and howling as much as his lungs would allow. She was sly, clever, and was quick in avoiding his attempts to injure, or even kill her. This could have been a fight to the death, were it not for a decision made by a power higher than both of them.<br /><br />The heavens opened and it rained in torrents. The two cats scurried away, forgetting any plans to increase the size of their territory. Tomorrow was another day and they were longing for something more important. At home there was a plate of food waiting for both of them, and a warm place in a cushion to sleep. </span></p><p></p><center><img alt="neraroschti" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3483/4011664390_e68f3015b3.jpg" width="384" height="500" /></center><p></p><a href="http://petespicks09.multiply.com/journal/item/10/Petes_picks...week_9.....">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2541247271394591515?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-34361785611808989992009-10-13T11:31:00.000-07:002009-10-13T11:32:00.550-07:00<center><img alt="ghost train" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3497/4009206886_b62b67aafd_m.jpg" width="154" height="240" /></center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';font-size:12;" lang="EN-GB" ><span style="font-size:100%;">The train was waiting at the station for the signal to leave. Gilbert had to run. Things did not go as well as he had planned and he only caught the train at the last minute. He jumped on the steps just as it was pulling out and managed to find his balance in the corridor. The wheels began to turn pulling the train out of the station along the rails and Gilbert breathed a sigh of relief.<br /><br />He looked along the corridor searching for a quiet place to rest. Still out of breath, but now glad that he could take it easy. He found a compartment with an empty seat and sat down, hoping that no-one would acknowledge him and start talking. He did not even have a newspaper or book to bury his head in. Everything had to happen so quickly. He looked out of the window. It was evening, but quite bright, it was a full moonlit night. “Typical” he thought, "on such a night I have to travel where everyone can see me”. He would have preferred less light, it was then that the train entered a tunnel and he had his wish. Nothing could be seen, it was quiet and dark prevailed.<br /><br />To Gilbert it seemed like a never ending tunnel, but it did not bother him. He closed his eyes and slept, confronted with his dreams of the past.<br /><br />“Next Saturday at the theatre after curtain fall. Here is your ticket. You know what to do” said his client adding “and make sure you don’t miss.”<br /><br />Gilbert never missed. He could not afford to miss, it was his job.<br /><br />After the killing he managed to get to the station. He knew he was tight on time, and he still had the gun with him. He was hoping to be able to dispose of it on the moving train, and decided to relax until the tunnel came to an end. He would then take a walk in the train and throw the gun out of a window at the next best opportunity.<br /><br />Suddenly the train jolted and shook Gilbert enough to bring his doze to an end. The tunnel had come to an end and although the moon was still shining it seemed to be casting a reddish glow on the landscape. He looked around and saw that the compartment was almost empty, with the exception of a man sitting opposite Gilbert.<br /><br />The man laughed “Had a good sleep?” he asked.<br /><br />Gilbert was not in the mood for a conversation, but decided he did not want to cause any trouble. “Thank you, yes” was his answer. “We must have stopped at a few stations on the way while I slept, I see that the compartment is now almost empty.”<br /><br />“Oh yes” said the stranger “there was one part of the journey where everyone left the train except for us.”<br /><br />Gilbert thought this a strange answer and examined his neighbour closer. He was dressed completely in black; black trousers, a long black coat and wearing a white shirt with a black tie. His face was a great contrast to the darkness of his clothes and seemed to be reflecting in the red glow of the surrounding light outside the train.<br /><br />“Do we have far to the end station?” Gilbert wanted to know. The train was destined for the coast and Gilbert was eager to take the ship across the channel to France; to disappear in another country.<br /><br />“I believe our journey is almost finished” said the neighbour. “If you look further out of the window you will see your destiny.”<br /><br />“My destiny? Sounds like a complete final solution. I only want to travel to the end station.”<br /><br />“As I said, take a glance out of the window, the end station is quite near.”<br /><br />Gilbert looked out of the window and saw only the fields passing by, illuminated by the glow of the moon. It was then that he saw a reflection on the fields of the train, but something unexpected. Not just the train carriage, but a shape on the roof of the train. He looked up and heard his carriage companion laugh.<br /><br />“Everything under control” he said. “It is only the survivors that reached the membership of the human race. The train travelled over a red light just before you began to sleep and found its end station in the pillar of a bridge. Some of the fellow travellers had to continue their journey in another direction, but they will be cared for into eternity, like yourself Gilbert.”<br /><br />Gilbert was feeling rather strange “I don’t understand. What is that “thing” perched on the train roof and what is happening. Is this a bad joke?”<br /><br />“Oh no, the joke is on you Mr. Gilbert. After so many successful jobs, it is now your turn. You were amongst those that stopped existing after the train crashed. You can perhaps be proud that your last job was the Prime Minister of the country where you lived. Sorry for the past tense, but you will now come with me and my friend on the roof of the train. Our journey is eternal, some might say, the journey to hell.”</span></span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://dkv58.multiply.com/journal/item/18/Challenge_9">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-3436178561180898999?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-11491098560999873252009-10-12T11:08:00.000-07:002009-10-12T11:09:12.758-07:00<center><img alt="the beach" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3505/4004972683_aac3f9cf63_o.jpg" width="314" height="209" /></center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';font-size:12;" lang="EN-GB" ><span style="font-size:100%;">“Beaches are just not the same anymore.”<br /><br />Simon was not happy. He wanted to spend the day at home in the garden, relaxing in a comfortable place reading a book, but no. The kids were bored and his wife Marian decided it would be a good idea to go to the beach. The boys would love a day out swimming in the sea and playing on the beach.<br /><br />“Anything for a quiet life” Simon thought and he packed the beach ball, swim ring and towels in the car. Marian was not just watching, she was preparing some food to take with them. So Simon climbed into the car, two boys in the back seats and Marian at his side and tried to prepare himself psychologically for a day out with the family. He was not happy. They eventually arrived. He was glad that there were few people on the beach, and managed to persuade himself that it would not be so bad after all. Spreading his towel out on the beach he made himself comfortable and began to read.<br /><br />“Hey daddy, come and play.” It was Harry, the youngest of the two boys.<br /><br />“Harry go and play with your brother Tom.”<br /><br />“I can’t dad, he is being miserable and crying.”<br /><br />Simon was immediately awake. “What is the matter with Tom.”<br /><br />“He climbed up that big ring thing sticking half way out of the beach and fell off” was the answer.<br /><br />Simon walked over to Tom to see the damage. “What’s the trouble son? Does it hurt?”<br /><br />“Like hell dad, fell on my foot, look.”<br /><br />Simon was not happy with what he saw. The ankle was twice as large as usual and already changing into a bluish colour. Simon walked over to Marian, but where was she. She was nowhere to be seen.<br /><br />“Harry do you know where your mother is?”<br /><br />“She said she was going to that place where the ladies go, you know, the toilet.”<br /><br />“Aha, I see.” So there was nothing for Simon to do but just wait.<br /><br />In the meanwhile Harry got impatient. “I am going for a swim dad” he said and before Simon could say no, he was gone. Marian eventually arrived from her visit.<br /><br />“Marian, we have a problem” said Simon.<br /><br />“I know” answered Marian.<br /><br />“How comes you know, did you see Tom fall off that big concrete piece of nuisance.”<br /><br />“I havn’t got a clue what you are talking about Simon. I mean my lip.”<br /><br />“What’s wrong with your lip. Oh yes, I can see, it is quite swollen.”<br /><br />“Of course it is, I decided to take a cola and there was a bee sitting on the glass. It stung me on the lip, see how it is swelling up, I think I will have to go to the doctor.”<br /><br />In the meanwhile Simon heard quite a commotion on the beach and he saw one of the beach staff dragging a body out of the sea which had a remarkable likeness to Harry. Yes it was Harry.<br /><br />Simon ran as fast as he could, and arrived just as Harry started coughing water up out of his lungs. The lifeguard had probably saved his life after seeing him go under water for the third time. Harry had caught his foot in some seaweed and everything got out of control.<br /><br />Eventually Simon did manage to read his book in quiet. While he was waiting in the hospital for Tom’s foot to be x-rayed and afterwards put into plaster, the ligaments were torn. The doctor said he would be all right eventually, but it would take a few weeks until he could walk again. Marian was being kept in hospital as she was allergic to bee sting and she remained under observation. And Harry, he just had to stay in hospital to make sure there had been no permanent damage done.<br /><br />“Beaches are just not the same any more.”</span></span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://naarta.multiply.com/journal/item/886/RITAS_RITIN_CHALLENGE_42">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-1149109856099987325?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-21693950108363594942009-10-12T08:37:00.000-07:002009-10-12T08:38:45.713-07:00<p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;color:#993300;">Sumax's Challenge<br /></span></strong><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">A shoebox-size parcel is received in the mail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The handwriting is unknown to the recipient.<br /></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">Write a short story telling us what the parcel contains, why it was sent, and who sent it?</span><br /></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">No free samples or gimmick sales promotions allowed</span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Donald Grant opened the door to see who was there. It was the postman with a shoebox sized parcel, it was even registered. He signed, closed the door and put the parcel on the table. It was then that the problems began for Donald.<br /><br />“Who would send me a parcel?” was his first thought. He had a closer look at the box. It had been wrapped carefully in brown packing paper, probably to ensure that it arrived safely and was also bound with string. He scrutinized the handwriting on the box, but was even more left in doubt, he just could not recognise it.<br /><br />Donald was not used to receiving parcels, especially when they looked so anonymous. Of course, he got the usual rubbish from advertising companies and there was the odd item that he might have ordered, but this parcel was no such thing. It had no sender on it and the address was written in a bright red ink. He shook the parcel and it seemed that something inside was moving. It sounded like a single object, something quite hard.<br /><br />“Shall I open it? No, I will have some dinner first. No good opening parcels on an empty stomach” and so he prepared a meal. He lived on his own in a small apartment, but he was a very neat person. He hated people that were messy. Just could not envisage that anyone could live somewhere that was not tidy. No, in Donald’s world everything was in its place.<br /><br />Donald had never married, but this also had its reasons. There was just no woman good enough for his tastes. He had met a few, gone out with them, but he soon noticed that they were not up to his organised standards. All they had to do was open their handbag and Donald could see how untidy the owner was. Generally when the lady had to search for something, perhaps a handkerchief, or her purse he felt sick just looking. No, he must have order in his life.<br /><br />Another thing that really annoyed him were stains. You think you have found someone on your own level of intelligence and then taking a closer look you find that your date is wearing a blouse with a stain on the sleeve, or even worse on the collar. Such things should not be allowed.<br /><br />After dinner Donald was just about to have a sleep when the parcel again caught his eye. Still on the table with an inviting shape as if saying “Please open me”, but Donald was tired.<br /><br />It was soon evening and the parcel was still not opened.<br /><br />“Donald don’t be silly” he said to himself. It is just a normal cardboard box, although the writing in red ink does look strange.<br /><br />To take his mind off the unknown parcel, he decided to switch the television on. He just caught the news.<br /><br />“Typical” he thought “what the human race is coming to” when they were bringing a report about a corpse that had again been discovered sitting on a park bench. It was the fifth found body found over the last six months. The strange thing was that the corpses were all so well organised. They were sitting nicely arranged and there were no clues, just a cut throat, but no blood. It seemed that the murderer had taken time to clean up the place of the crime.<br /><br />Donald decided to change the television station and watch something more relaxing. He was annoyed but after changing through at least ten stations showing horror and murder, he eventually found something to his taste: a hospital series, showing his favourite nurses and doctors, all such nice clean antiseptic people.<br /><br />He was getting ready for bed but then decided no, that parcel must be opened. If it was a time bomb it would have exploded some time ago. He removed the parcel to the kitchen and put his special rubber gloves on, after all you never know, perhaps someone was sending him some sort of powder infected with a virus disease. You just cannot trust anyone these days.<br /><br />He took the scissors and cut the string and then removed the packing paper, folding it neatly, in case he might need it again. He also rolled the string into a ball and placed it in one of the drawers in the kitchen, where other such bundles of string were kept.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The parcel was ready to be opened. He lifted the lid.<br /><br />Now Donald’s problem was that he was one of those so called split personality types. Today he was honest organised Donald, going through his daily routine and keeping everything in order. When he sent himself the parcel containing the Swiss officer's army knife, covered in blood from his last victim, he was not Donald the nice, but his other half, Donald the ripper I suppose you could say. Donald the ripper would have recognised the handwriting on the parcel immediately, but, of course, Donald the nice did not know of the existence of his other half who also had a different style of writing. He was naturally horrified at what he found in the parcel.<br /><br />When he woke up the next morning he took another look at the knife and cleaned it completely, he even sterilised it, he had to be careful with any evidence that could be found. “That will come in handy this evening” was his last thought. The box was still lying in the kitchen on the table; he just threw it onto the floor, not bothering about the mess</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/212/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_187">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2169395010836359494?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-82714308111670778472009-10-11T04:37:00.001-07:002009-10-11T04:37:45.874-07:00<center><img alt="Spider" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2565/4000142121_904b981753.jpg" width="500" height="396" /></center><p></p><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2565/4000142121_9938a94381_o.jpg">Click here for larger size</a> <p></p><a href="http://imageswithwords.multiply.com/journal/item/28/Images_Words_Week_23_Home">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-8271430811167077847?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-24991018771839477282009-10-09T13:29:00.000-07:002009-10-09T13:30:33.705-07:00<center><img alt="swimming" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3532/3996485794_50bec4281a_o.jpg" width="314" height="209" /></center><br /><center><br /> </center><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >That is one of the problems being sort of half fish, half human. You just do not know where you really belong. Mum and dad told me it was all in the name of science.<br /><br />“Penny, what are you saying, I only did it for your own good. At the time when you were a baby it was the best idea your father said. Think of how many children were never lucky enough to learn how to swim properly.”<br /><br />“Yes mum, but no-one asked me. You just threw me into deep water and let me get on with it.”<br /><br />And that really was the way it all began. I was just a happy baby, drinking regularly, smiling to please everyone, but mum insisted and before I could say no, she was taking me to the swimming pool every week.<br /><br />“Penny you were really the best in the group.”<br /><br />Of course I was the best in the group, the other babies could not breathe the water as well as I could. The first examinations showed that my lungs were changing, I could actually breathe in water or air and it made no difference. It was perhaps the webs that started growing between my toes and fingers that looked a bit strange. I suppose I could have been a champion swimming for our country in the Olympic games, but because of my physical differences I was banned from the beginning; something about having unfair advantages.<br /><br />“Penny, listen to your father. We scientists call that evolution, the changing of the species and it was working so well with you. Look at you today you can take a walk in water or in air, it makes no difference.”<br /><br />Now that is easy for a father to say, who also happens to be a marine biologist and just had to try out his ideas on me; so just tell me mum and dad, how am I going to find a normal boy, get married and settle down, when I look like a fish out of water on land, and a human out of land when under water.<br /><br />“Penny you have so many advantages.”<br /><br />That was mum and dad talking together. The only advantage I can see is that if I happen to fall into the sea, I can walk back to the shore, or if I live somewhere where floods occur I will survive. Of course, there are perhaps a few things to treasure. Diving for a pearl now and again has made mum and dad quite wealthy.<br /><br />I am now 25 years old and have never been kissed. The boys avoid me, and at school I was called fishy by everyone. I remember I quite took a like to Jeremy in the class, but when we had swimming lessons and I decided to dive in at the deep end with him, he was very unhappy when I wanted to stay under water with him. He said he almost suffocated and whether I was mad.<br /><br />“What did you say dad, you want me to meet someone. His name is Neptune and he comes from another part of the world where they have also been using the same programme?”<br /><br />I suppose I will do them the favour of meeting him, who knows. Perhaps we might be able to breed a couple of mermaids together. The things you do for scientific research these days. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2499101877183947728?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-28735027426739591012009-10-09T06:08:00.000-07:002009-10-09T06:09:21.088-07:00<p align="center"><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0); FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Mysty's challenge</span></p><br /><p align="center">Write a story or a poem about a zombie birthday party. </p><br /><p align="center">It most contain zombies and birthday cake - beyond that imagination is the limit!</p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Here we are at the graveyard filming the great occasion. We are a little early viewers, as we know that zombies prefer to appear only when the sun has completely disappeared and the moon is high in the sky. Thanks to advanced technology we are now able to film occasions in the so-called underworld.<br /><br />Today we are celebrating a birthday, not just a birthday, but that of the most well known zombie living here, if we may use the term. He is not the oldest, but he has been active for so long that he is the idol of the cemetery. Yes, Rasputin just did not want to lie down and die as we all know. After many attempts by poison he still came back for more. After overcoming death and becoming one of the first recognised zombies, he decided to leave his home country as he just did not feel wanted, and after long travels eventually found his home in our little graveyard which is said to have originated from the days of the Great Plague.<br /><br />As the camera sways over the grass and stones, we can see a phosphorescence surrounding some of the graves. These are those belonging to the “grufties” the colleagues and fellow zombies in the Rasputin group. As the sun has slowly disappeared from view and the fiery appearance of the sky has now turned dismal, we can here the creaking and rattling of bones. The moon is now ascending and I believe that I can see the first zombie appearing out of his gruft. Yes it is Deadly Earnest, the spokesman for the group.”<br /><br />“Good evening, may I ask you a few questions on this honourable occasion.”<br /><br />“You may, but I might be a bit short on answers. You look very tasty, can you come nearer. Is that a camera, am I being filmed?”<br /><br />“Yes, thousands of people are watching you through the country at this very moment. Am I near enough? Please stop gnawing at my hand, I need it to hold the microphone.”<br /><br />“Tasty, tasty, I just love a gnaw on a finger bone. Ok, I get the message, I can wait, Ha…Ha…Ha, zombie joke.”<br /><br />Taking a few steps away from Deadly Earnest, I will continue. “Does Rasputin know that his birthday is being celebrated this evening?”<br /><br />“Of course, he does, he gave out orders that we should not spare any expense. My friend the chef will be able to give details. He is very good at preparing specialities and is at this moment arising from his grave. In his time he was a well known person, serving last meals to the victims ready to be hanged; Mort come here and introduce yourself. This nice tasty gentleman is making a television film about Rasputin’s birthday party.”<br /><br />“Good evening, I am pleased to meet you.”<br /><br />“Your name is Mortimer?”<br /><br />“Yes, but they all call me Mort, suits the situation much better, don’t you think Ha…Ha…Ha.”<br /><br />“Ok Mort, what are you planning to cook for Rasputin on his birthday?”<br /><br />“Cook, cook??? Are you out of your mind? We will not cook for Rasputin, the food just has to be prepared. Just pep it up a bit. You know what they say, food must be a feast for the eyes. First of all as a starter I will be preparing a blood sausage. An original recipe gathered from one of my fellow zombies, used to be one of the best butchers in town in the days before he arrived here. As a main course it will be fresh cut steak, one of my colleagues is at the moment shopping for the steak. No need to get the food too early, it has to be fresh, a nice healthy red colour.”<br /><br />“And will Rasputin have a birthday cake?”<br /><br />“Of course, but that is not my department. The ladies will be arranging that little surprise. Here comes Lucretia, I am sure she can give you more details.”<br /><br />Cameraman, your camera in this direction please. Then just kick them away, I told you to wear a long sleeved shirt and not a t-shirt. They seem to be developing quite an appetite for arms at the moment.”<br /><br />“Hello, I am Lucretia, you can forget the Borgia bit, that was my name in the olden days. Today one name is enough. Yes, my girl friends and I had to do a lot of thinking about a cake. Good old Raspy does not have such a sweet tooth, but we finally found the solution. We decided on a sandwich cake containing a raw liver paté and decorated with a wonderful sticky sauce made from the fruit of deadly nightshade.<br /><br />Do I notice a cut on your finger Mr. Interviewer. Oh dear. Can I lick it clean for you.”<br /><br />“No, no thank you it will be ok, I will just cover it with a plaster.”<br /><br />“Oh, what a shame, you should let it dry out in the air.”<br /><br />"Thank you Lucretia, no problem and here comes the man himself. Good evening sir, Mr. Rasputin and may I wish you a happy birthday from our viewers all over the country. This is indeed a great occasion, how many years is it?”<br /><br />“Good evening, fellow zombies stop sniffing around this television man and his crew, they are here to make a programme about me. Unfortunately we must let them go home afterwards in one piece.<br /><br />You were asking how many years? You know after a while years just do not count any more. As long as there are always little delicacies walking around to spice up death, then the years are not so important. So if you will excuse me, my fellow zombies are calling. The table is laid; Lucretia what a wonderful cake. I can smell it from here; just beautiful and filled with raw liver. You see Mr. Interviewer, even in death the ladies worship my presence and spoil me. So if you will excuse me, I would now partake of my birthday food.”<br /><br />“Then I will leave you to your party, and thank you for the interview: just one further question. Are their other festivities planned this evening?”<br /><br />“Of course, my friends and I will take a walk into town, it might be that we develop hunger early in the morning.”</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/211/United_Friends_Challenge_186">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2873502742673959101?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-37492141979415265812009-10-08T10:09:00.000-07:002009-10-08T10:10:04.845-07:00<center><img alt="A swan on the River Aare" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2552/3992081073_626d4c68cb.jpg" width="500" height="375" /></center><br /><p><span style="font-family:comic sans ms;font-size:100%;">The happiest days of my life are:<br /><br />when I can take a walk and see the river<br />when I call my dad and ask how are you and he says fine<br />when I have someone at my side to share my life with<br />when I have good friends that call or write<br />when I can read any book I choose<br />when I can vote for my own government<br />when I can put food on the table to satisfy hunger<br />when I can still drink a glass of water if I am thirsty<br />when I know my health is cared for<br />when I can close my eyes and sleep at night<br />when I awake each morning greeted by daylight<br />and when I look around me and see nature still thriving<br /><br />I do not ask for a lot, but I treasure what I have<br /><br /><br /></span></p><br /><center><img alt="Field along the River Aare" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3428/3992097847_94b6393523.jpg" width="500" height="281" /></center><br /><p></p><a href="http://creativechallenge.multiply.com/journal/item/89/Creative_Challenge_73">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-3749214197941526581?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-26886184749676927692009-10-08T07:06:00.000-07:002009-10-08T07:07:31.870-07:00<center><img alt="maninlift" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2423/3993060798_e69bb2ff75.jpg" width="310" height="500" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Going up, going up,<br />the lift is on its way<br />Elevation, life’s programme<br />Always moving further<br />Watching the clouds pass by<br />Until we reach the limit<br />Where we take a deep breath<br />And hope for what will come<br /><br />Always looking upwards<br />the way to go<br />no looking back, no regrets<br />Ahead lie open questions<br />Searching for the answers<br />is already too late<br />Or just stay in the lift<br />and enjoy what you have<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></p></center><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2688618474967692769?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-24455279918254506572009-10-06T06:29:00.000-07:002009-10-06T06:30:45.337-07:00Based, and only based on a true story <p></p><br /><center><img alt="Seewen" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3514/3986493917_6d46a3b4b4_o.jpg" width="300" height="200" /><br /></center><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" ><br /><br />If Mrs. Wagner had not decided to have a spring cleaning session in her kitchen the loose stone would not have fallen out of the wall and she would not have noticed that it was actually a double wall with a space in between. Further if she had not been so inquisitive as to look what was in between she would not have discovered the rifle leaning on the back of the wall.<br /><br />This discovery lead to the unhappiness of a retired police officer who thought that he could now live in peace and quiet without the stress of the murder division around his ears and spend the remainder of his retired days tendering his rose bed. Mrs. Wagner unfortunately disturbed the relaxations of retired officer Peter Walker.<br /><br />We have to take a few steps back in time, more than 20 years. Peter Walker had then been promoted as head of the detective office in a town in a small country somewhere in Europe when the crime was discovered. It was a warm spring week-end and there were many people on their way enjoying walks through woodlands and country villages. In one of these forests there was a so-called week-end house, but the hiker that happened to chance on the house was not very happy afterwards. Fritz Gerber actually had a shock. The stone had now fallen into the pond, figuratively speaking of course, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>and the ripples began to spread. He ran to the next village and called the police. They arrived quickly to examine the place of the crime. Five elderly people, two married couples and a friend, had been shot and killed in the week-end house and in the garden and the search for the murderer began.<br /><br />Peter Walker did everything in his power. He examined the background of the victims, arrested a few relatives, only to release them again, without sufficient proof, but the murderer was not found and neither was the weapon. It was easy for the criminal investigation department and their specialists to discover what the weapon was, a rifle, by traces left from the bullets. The open question being where was the rifle and who had used it? In the twenty years that the case existed in the files of the police, there was no success.<br /><br />That was until the day that Mrs. Wagner cleaned the kitchen and found the rifle. Like every good honest citizen she called the police who collected the rifle for an examination. Mrs. Wagner was just a little bit shocked when the police asked if she knew where the rifle came from. Having a clean legal sheet, the police believed her when she insisted that she did not know anything about the rifle. She had been living in the house for five years, with a rifle in the wall, of course.<br /><br />Many examinations were made on the rifle and the result was that it was the weapon used to kill five people one sunny day in a holiday chalet in the forest. Even in his retirement ex-officer Peter Walker was satisfied that at last the weapon had been found and enquiries were made as to who had lived in the house before Mrs. Wagner. It seems that it was a person known as Heinz Schmitt, but it also appeared that Heinz Schmitt had decided to leave his safe little country in Europe and emigrate, to live somewhere else in the world. The crime now having taken place more than 20 years ago was now time-barred, meaning that for the police it was a closed case.<br /><br />Peter Walker was on the one side happy that at last the murderer had been found, on the other hand had a feeling that he had wasted 20 years of his working life chasing a shadow.<br /><br />Three years before Mrs. Wagner cleaned the kitchen, there was a man standing on a lonely beach somewhere in the world. It was almost midnight as he decided to walk towards the incoming tide. He could swim, but this was not his intention. He just kept walking and never returned to the beach. Had he not decided to end his life in this way, it might have been that the international police had been able to deliver him to his rightful punishment in a small town in Europe.<br /><br />It may also have been that at last the reasons for the death of five innocent people would be uncovered, or perhaps they were also not so innocent. Who knows what skeletons live in various closets. The case was now time-barred, and perhaps the murderer would have escaped any punishment. In a way retired office Peter Walker was glad.<br /><br />He could now return to looking after his rose garden.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://naarta.multiply.com/journal/item/873/RITAS_RITIN_CHALLENGE_">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2445527991825450657?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-8293305461201312572009-10-05T07:34:00.000-07:002009-10-05T07:35:18.480-07:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="left"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><span style="font-family:'Arial', 'sans-serif';font-size:85%;color:black;">So the criteria are</span></b><span style="font-family:'Arial', 'sans-serif';color:black;"><span style="font-size:85%;">:<br />(1) You must make up an imaginary silly dispute that your characters are impassioned over.<br />(2) Write a story or poem about the dispute.<br />(3) There is no word limit on this one.<br />(4) The characters to not need to be human.<?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><img class="alignmiddleb" border="0" src="http://images.unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/image/4T6uEdT93eDgFPyPfH+PpA/photos/1M/300x300/4/A21-Dio.jpg?et=lXYW5jZgay5WOF9MvaXXWw&amp;nmid=0" /></span></p><br /><p> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Nera was a slightly voluptuous cat with long black fur, usually using her gifts to persuade others, but it just did not always work, especially with the human species. One evening she made her entrance as usual, flashing her yellow eyes and waving her long black furry tail to and fro to show that madam was not very pleased. Her sister Tabby knew that there was something in the air.<br /><br />“Nera do you have a problem? You do not look very happy.”<br /><br />“Tabby, just do not ask such a silly question, you are a member of the feline race and should be as insulted as I am.”<br /><br />“Perhaps I missed something?” asked Tabby, although she knew her sister was usually the cat that made the main decisions.<br /><br />Tabby always felt slightly inferior to Nera, although they were litter sisters, but there the resemblance seemed to end. Nera was always the special one with her long silky fur, and she had a certain star allure. Tabby was just an average tabby cat with short fur, although she did have a wide black stripe on her back to the tip of her short slim tail. Her main pride was the red fur on her tummy which she was sure she had inherited from her father. Nera and Tabby were sisters, but perhaps only half way, Tabby thought.<br /><br />“You definitely did miss something Tabby. We have been insulted.”<br /><br />“We” answered Tabby “I must have been sleeping.”<br /><br />The answer came sharply like a claw from a cat’s paw “Tabby you sleep nearly all day and most of the night, but that is not the problem.”<br /><br />“Am I missing something Nera, Tabby? I heard Nera shouting. What has happened?” and Fluffy the third cat in the group arrived on the scene. Basically Nera and Tabby only really just tolerated Fluffy as he did not belong to the family, but realising that Fluffy was there to stay, they tried to ignore him most of the time. Luckily Fluffy did not notice this; he was too interested in his own feline life.<br /><br />Nera did not mind this time, she needed an audience for her problem.<br /><br />“Fluffy not too near to me, I do not want strains of your white curly coat mixed with my wonderful black fur. Ok cats here is the problem.” And she began.<br /><br />“Listen to this, I just do not understand those two legged humans sometimes. It is most annoying. Yesterday was Wednesday and every self respecting cat knows that Wednesday is tuna fish day. In the evening each of us are given a dish of tuna fish.”<br /><br />Tabby picked her ears up, the situation was serious. “I know what you mean Nera. Yesterday evening we had no fish, just the usual dry stuff which is supposed to be full of cat vitamins, the problem being you have to wash it down with a dish of water to make sure you can swallow it properly.”<br /><br />“But cats” said Fluffy “I think Mr. and Mrs. Human were invited to dinner yesterday evening they just didn’t have time to make anything special for us.”<br /><br />Nera snorted, one of her important snorts. “Typical Fluffy, Humans must always have to have time for us, that is the reason why we train them with our miaow and pawing exercises."<br /><br />Tabby added “not forgetting a bite and scratch now and again.”<br /><br />“Yes, but they did return yesterday evening” said Fluffy.<br /><br />“Fluffy I just do not know why you always have to speak up for those Humans. Of course, they came back, they wanted to have a good night’s sleep so they returned to their beds, the only problem being that they made no effort to serve up our normal dish of Wednesday tuna fish” and with that Nera stamped her paw on the ground.<br /><br />“Most disappointing Nera” Tabby realised she should say something to appease her black furred sister. She continued “we really made a mistake in our human training programme. What do you suggest Nera?”<br /><br />“I decided to ignore them today” was Nera’s answer.<br /><br />Fluffy intervened “but Nera you were sleeping all day today as usual. I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Human noticed you were ignoring them.”<br /><br />“It’s the principal that counts. Tabby, Fluffy, just get one thing straight. You have to treat humans as if they do not exist. They have some sort of feeling that we cats like to be near them.”<br /><br />“I like to be near them” said Fluffy “they feed us and look after our needs.”<br /><br />“Of course there is a certain truth in that statement. We hang around to make sure we don’t have to rely on mouse hunting or bird catching for our regular meals. Humans are a sort of tool that we need now and again, similar to humans that need a tin opener to give us our tuna fish once a week.”<br /><br />Tabby followed Nera’s brilliant statement and added “once a week on Wednesday evening.”<br /><br />“Yes, but we did get our tuna fish this evening” said Fluffy trying to calm Nera’s nerves, although Nera could not be calmed and was ready with her answer.<br /><br />“This evening is Thursday and not Wednesday.”<br /><br />“Does that make a difference” and Fluffy took three paces away from Nera to avoid a swipe of a heavy black paw. Tabby decided to answer as Nera was still choking on Fluffy’s last words, annoyed that Fluffy had avoided his punishment for uttering such words.<br /><br />"Of course it makes a difference. We are cats and have our tuna on Wednesday, not Thursday. It is a fact of life.”<br /><br />Fluffy was thinking it over and answered “but you and Nera ate it all the same. You could have left it and not touched it, as well as being all the more for me, you would have shown the humans that you were annoyed because they went out yesterday and did not give us our usual tuna.”<br /><br />“Are you mad, Fluffy?” which was more a statement than a question. Nera continued “a plate of tuna is not to be ignored at any time.”<br /><br />Tabby supported Nera “Fluffy, if someone put a plate of tuna in front of you on Sunday morning would you eat it, although it isn’t Wednesday?”<br /><br />“Of course I would” answered Fluffy.<br /><br />“Good” said Nera “then you have understood the basic fact of feline life. Take what you can and when you can, but do it with dignity.”<br /><br />“OK, I understand., but now a small question.” Fluffy was not impressed with Nera. “You and Tabby have not eaten all your tuna fish and there is some left in your dishes. Do you want it?”<br /><br />Tabby and Nera answered together: “We have had enough, you have to leave a respectable remainder to prove that you are not slaves of tuna.”<br /><br />And Fluffy had the last word “In that case this tuna slave is going to eat the fish that you two cats left.” </span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/210/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_185">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-829330546120131257?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-20275483178888134892009-10-05T06:10:00.000-07:002009-10-05T06:11:28.145-07:00<center><img alt="Nera moon" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2550/3983179057_4b98c61dba_m.jpg" width="240" height="202" /></center><br /><center> </center><center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >I am Tiddles the cat<br /></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >I am not fat<br />In fact I drink no milk<br />I live in a house<br />and eat only mouse<br />My fur is just like silk<br /><br />To sleep all day<br />Is my favourite way<br />At night I go to town<br />I dress myself well<br />Looking really swell<br />I never wear a frown<br /><br />The ladies love me<br />But I am carefree<br />They stand in rows for my glance<br />I know I look great<br />But that is just fate<br />Young lady would you like to dance?<br /><br />The lady cats swoon<br />When we look at the moon<br />Paw in paw I walk them home<br />But I am the best<br />Let me be your guest<br />Together we will roam<br /><br />Please do not weep<br />I must have some sleep<br />To recover from the busy night<br />I dream of mice<br />not once but twice<br />I am beautiful, my fur is white </span></p></center><p></p><a href="http://poemposse.multiply.com/journal/item/124/Poem_Posee_Week_51_Challenge...">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2027548317888813489?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-71439276415195935502009-10-02T07:55:00.001-07:002009-10-02T07:55:45.420-07:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >“Ready Bill, time to go.“<br /><br />Bill looked up at the prison warden, feeling a little uncertain. It was true and not something made up, his twenty-five year prison sentence was now finished. For good behaviour five years had been deducted.<br /><br />“Not bad” thought Bill “I now have it behind me.”<br /><br />Bill was not really totally happy about leaving the place that had been his home for many years, but he knew that Her Majesty would one day let him go. He thought back to the beginning of it all. Admittedly he had got his just deserts, he did strangle his wife and it was murder. At the time his lawyer pleaded manslaughter, Bill convincing the lawyer that it was not intended but an accident. The jury did not believe this and neither did public opinion. Bill was not really surprised, but at least they tried. He did decide to strangle his wife after finding that she had been having an affair with his brother. He was a young man at the time, just twenty-five years old, and his feelings were hurt. His nerves just ran away with him. His family naturally disowned him for the crime and he never got one visitor in the twenty-five years of prison life.<br /><br />Prison life needed some getting used to. Arising every morning at the same time, breakfast, dinner and tea at certain times and doing the same jobs in the workshop. It was all organised and so boring, but with time Bill accepted his fate. He even made a few friends, but most of them were criminals also “doing time” for murder; perhaps a robbery that went wrong, or just killing because there was no other way to do things.<br /><br />He did not paint a picture of being put into prison under false pretences. Oh yes, he was guilty and now after so many years was again a free man. He was surprised that it happened so quickly, but it seems that a lawyer who had just completed her examinations decided to make a name for herself (yes, it was a lady) and was digging up some old cases with the intention of finding whether things were settled in a proper way. She decided that although Bill had killed his wife, he certainly had a reason for doing it, and it was probably one of those short circuit actions, that he had regretted since. Convinced that here a criminal had suffered enough she brought up his case for revision. Times had changed and the court decided that leniency would be appropriate and Bill was given an early release.<br /><br />Not only had the law changed, but a lot of other things as well.<br /><br />Bill left the prison dressed in new clothes given to him for his new start in life. He was surprised to receive blue jeans and a t-shirt, but it seemed that this was now the general fashion. He was even given an address of somewhere he could stay for the first months until he was standing on his own feet again. It was a large building in an area of the town near to a shopping centre. There was a cinema showing the latest films near bye and a few restaurants with the usual fast food. Some of it was familiar to Bill, but not all.<br /><br />At first he was overwhelmed by the people on the street. There were so many, and he was confronted by people from all countries. Smells wafted in the air of food that he really did not recognise. Where were the places where you could order a plate of fish and chips, or a meat pie? They were gone and replaced with the Curry house, or Mario’s Pizza parlour.<br /><br />He lived in a tall building and had a small apartment, which was being paid for by the state, until he found work and could pay himself. Just a bedroom, living room and kitchen with shower, but that was enough for Bill. It was sufficient and he was glad to have his own four walls at last. He was somewhat taken aback to find that his rooms were on the twelfth floor of a building which seemed to have another ten floors above. He was surprised by the height of everything he saw on the streets. When he went in (to the prison) houses were houses, two or three floors at the most.<br /><br />He even had a television, in colour. He switched it on, but soon gave up. There were so many channels and switches to operate; he left that one for the time being. He now had his first evening in front of him and decided to visit the cinema which was just around the corner not really caring what the film was, but being able to move amongst normal people again.<br /><br />His first shock was paying the entrance fee which to his twenty-five years ago thinking was exorbitant. He eventually found an empty seat, lit up a cigarette, and relaxed. He was confronted with a torch light shining into his eyes.<br /><br />“Excuse me sir, but here you cannot smoke.”<br /><br />Bill thought he had probably chosen a wrong seat and there were now no smoking areas.<br /><br />“Sorry, Miss; can you show me where the seats are for smokers?”<br /><br />“We have none sir, cinemas are a non smoking area. You must either extinguish your cigarette or leave.”<br /><br />No, things were really not like they used to be, so Bill left. He walked along the road looking for a place for a bite to eat. It was then he saw a familiar restaurant where they always sold hamburgers and still did. He walked in and went to the counter to place an order. At least this was still working as normal, although it seemed to him that the food just did not have the same taste as it used to. He felt tired and left the restaurant deciding to go home.<br /><br />It was now dark and there were few people on the street. He was just passing a dark turning when he was confronted by three young men.<br /><br />“Now, what have we got here. Looks like he might be worth it. What do you think boys?”<br /><br />Bill was startled “are you talking to me?”<br /><br />“Don’t see anyone else here, perhaps the gentleman would like to accompany us down this street here.”<br /><br />“I don’t think......”<br /><br />Before Bill could answer he felt a strong push and landed on the ground in the dark alley.<br /><br />“So now let’s see what we have” said one of the boys and they started to search through his pockets.<br /><br />“Looks like he only has a purse with a few notes in it.”<br /><br />“Can’t be Fred, look a bit close, he must have a mobile somewhere.”<br /><br />“OK Mister, where is it?”<br /><br />Bill still felt sore from fall on the concrete, but decided it was better to give an answer to this pack.<br /><br />“What mobile, what is a mobile?”<br /><br />“Hey Fred he is acting stupid, he says he hasn’t got one and don’t know what it is.”<br /><br />“You mean he has been having us on. Well no-one gets away with that” and the boys decided to teach Bill a lesson for not having something most people would have and even being so stupid as to pretend he did not know what it was supposed to be.<br /><br />They were not very nice and Bill soon knew what it was like to be beaten up feeling the thuds of heavy boots against his ribs. He eventually lost consciousness. He woke up some time later, no longer in the dark street, but in a hospital.<br /><br />“How are you feeling” asked the nurse.<br /><br />“Like I have been run over by a lawn mower” was Bill’s answer.<br /><br />“Looks like you have been beaten up from one of our street gangs. Did you recognise anyone or anything” asked a policeman who was also in the room.<br /><br />“It all went so quick officer” Bill said “No, I didn’t recognise anyone. They seemed to have wanted something called a mobile.”<br /><br />“And you didn’t give it to them. That was a mistake” said the policeman. “It is better to give them what they want; otherwise they can get a bit rough.”<br /><br />Well Bill was a little surprised, even shocked. What was this world coming to? He had a bad conscience for killing his wife twenty-five years long, although it was partly her fault, he was still sure. Today you get nearly killed by a few teenagers still wet behind the ears because you don’t have something they want and the law tell you that he was wrong and should have given it to them.<br /><br />After a week Bill was able to leave the hospital. His broken arm was healing slowly and it no longer hurt so much, although he had to visit the doctor once a week to see how it was progressing.<br /><br />Bill now sat in his room night for night, frightened to go out to a world that he no longer recognised.<br /><br />He then had an idea. The next day he paid a visit to the office of records to look up details of the proceedings which allowed his release. He found the information he wanted.<br /><br />“Felicity Chambers, 4 The Rise, Belgravia”; just what I needed. At last he had the name and address of the young lady that was the reason for him being today a free man. A thought crossed his mind “Felicity?” they don’t even give their kids normal names these days.<br /><br />That evening he spent the remainder of the money donated by Her Majesty’s prison for his fresh start in life on a taxi to Belgravia. He was sure he had no need for money any more. This time he did not strangle the lady that opened the door and invited him in. She thought he had come to thank her. He would have strangled her, but her boyfriend was in the kitchen and heard the commotion, so she was rescued. Actually Bill did not really want to strangle her, he just wanted to return to his nice cosy cell in Her Majesty’s Prison where every day you had the same routine, got three full meals and knew that a walk through the prison exercise yard was less dangerous than walking the streets of London.</span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-7143927641519593550?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-64044346764385985692009-10-01T11:12:00.000-07:002009-10-01T11:13:21.033-07:00<p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;color:#990000;">Caffeinatedjo's Challenge</span></strong></p><br /><div class="replybodytext" align="center" author_possessive="caffeinatedjo's" is_pmrepliable="1" author="caffeinatedjo"><span style="font-size:85%;">Take any familiar proverb/saying, such as:<br /><br />A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.<br />People in glass houses should not throw stones.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Then write either a story about your choice or write what it means to you.<br /></strong><br />Please Note: You DO NOT have to use the phrase/saying in your piece.</span></div><br /><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Perhaps a small explanation. We have a saying in German which is a bit of a favourite of mine - sounds so good "Der dümmste Bauer hat die dicksten Kartoffeln" which translated means "the most stupid farmer has the biggest potatoes". I had to search and it seems in English it would be "Fortune favours Fools"</em>. </span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >My first acquaintance with Cedric was when I started school as a six year old. It was obvious in the first year that Cedric was perhaps not as quick to understand things as the rest of the class. We were all reading the second book about the adventures of Janet and John and poor Cedric was still studying the developments of the cat sitting on the mat in the first book. He just was not as fast as the rest of us in picking up the pieces. There was talk about him staying in the first class for two years.<br /><br />At this time it was approaching Easter and custom was that each one of us in the class had to grow a daffodil at home. The bulbs were supplied by the school and on a certain day we had to bring them for judging. Mine had a flower on it, but was very reluctant to open. Others had no flowers, and some just died of thirst. Not Cedric’s however. He brought his daffodil to school showing proudly three flowers and they were big, being surrounded by a mass of green healthy fleshy leaves. Needless to say Cedric’s plant won the first class certificate. He could still not multiply five by five, but his daffodil was the biggest and the best.<br /><br />Somehow he stayed in our class, battling his way through years of maths and learning how to express himself correctly in english, accompanied by low marks. Of course, someone had to be last in the class, but it always seemed to be Cedric. I would add that his results in the daffodil competition were maintained. We were somehow all convinced that one day he would become a gardener.<br /><br />When school was finished, most of us continued to college. On my first day in college, who did I see: it was Cedric.<br /><br />“Hi Cedric, glad to see you” I said suppressing my surprise at him actually being there.<br /><br />“Hi” was the answer “I think we are in the same class” and we were.<br /><br />Apparently he failed miserably at the written entrance examinations, but exceeded in the physical tests. He could run faster and jump higher than anyone in the class. After a test with the football team, the college decided that they had to have Cedric and so he was signed in. Again he was the bottom of the class in all the examinations, but saved many matches on the football field and brought many trophies to fill the glass cabinet shown proudly at the entrance to the college.<br /><br />One day our college days came to an end. We all proudly received our certificates. Cedric unfortunately received none, but was given free entrance to the local football stadium as a compensation. He was very happy.<br /><br />Our ways really did now split and it was at least twenty years until we had a college reunion. I had got married in the meanwhile and was the father of two children. Life had been good to me, I had a job, a wonderful wife, but it was not easy making ends meet sometimes with a growing family.<br /><br />When I arrived at the hall with my wife where the reunion was being held, I parked my middle class car on the parking space and was climbing out just as a Rolls Royce with chauffeur parked next to me.<br /><br />“Hello, said a familiar voice. How are you keeping? Let me introduce my wife Sabrina.”<br /><br />OK, you are not going to believe this, or perhaps you do, but I was looking into Cedric’s face. Perhaps somewhat more round, a little less hair, but the same eyes resembling that of a faithful dog that was looking for a master.<br /><br />“Oh fine thanks, Cedric.” It was then that I noticed Sabrina. A curvaceous blond, immaculate make-up and dressed in something that did not look like it fell off the back of a lorry, if you know what I mean. The lady was top quality, although I still preferred my average housewife model who also gave Sabrina her hand, being social. I just had the feeling that my wife had a sort of automatic dislike of her, but women are funny sometimes.<br /><br />“Nice car” I said “and a chauffeur. Looks like you are doing well Cedric.”<br /><br />“Oh, that; yes , well I did have a bit of luck on the national lottery."<br /><br />“You mean you won something.”<br /><br />“Sort of, I won the lot. Just shortly afterwards I met Sabrina. She was the answer to my dreams so we got married and we have been together since.”<br /><br />“Well that’s fine Cedric, glad that everything went well.” Although I did have a funny feeling about Sabrina, but she was looking at Cedric with money signs reflecting in her eyes so I suppose they were happy together.<br /><br />“I was just lucky, especially when my uncle Leo died in America.”<br /><br />Now I was losing the thread somewhere.<br /><br />“Your uncle Leo.”<br /><br />“Yes, the family really forgot him as he wandered of many years ago. He never got married and struck lucky on his farm. Started digging and oil came out of the ground. There was no-one around to take over after his death.”<br /><br />“Don’t tell me Cedric. You inherited it all.”<br /><br />“Yes, I suppose I did.”<br /><br />Otherwise my wife and I had a lovely evening seeing old school and college friends and talking about old times. Someone wanted to warm up the old story about Cedric having the best daffodils, but I said to forget it. It might be embarrassing for him.” </span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/209/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_184">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-6404434676438598569?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-72402739246601600882009-10-01T08:01:00.001-07:002009-10-01T08:01:46.936-07:00<center><img alt="horse and sky" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3443/3971971866_6ec6a7e6e3.jpg" width="441" height="500" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Flying over horizons<br />Infinity beneath the hooves<br />Flanks steaming<br />Born to be free<br />Know no limits<br />Riders of the sky<br />Champions of speed<br />Filling lungs with the breath of clouds<br />Midst in a tempest<br />Living boundless<br />Feeling the wind in my face</span></p></center><p></p><a href="http://creativechallenge.multiply.com/journal/item/88/Creative_Challenge_72">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-7240273924660160088?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-61389692639376806132009-09-30T00:23:00.000-07:002009-09-30T00:24:21.872-07:00<center><img alt="Pumpkin" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2481/3966651954_bd9818f6d1.jpg" width="500" height="375" /></center><br /><center></center><br /><center></center><br /><p><span style="font-family:comic sans ms;font-size:100%;">Am a few days late, but better late than never I suppose. The problem is that Autumn seems to have decided to arrive a few weeks later this year. The leaves are changing their colours and starting to fall, but not in great quantities up to now. We still have sunny days and warmth, something called an Indian Summer I believe.<br /><br />I then saw that Autumn was really only just opposite in the neighbour's garden. She had planted a few pumpkin seeds and I think she is just as astonished as we are to see the result(s). There are actually two of these pumpkins in her garden, both quite large. I decided they had really deserved a place in my photo collection so here is one of them. </span></p><p></p><a href="http://monchri.multiply.com/journal/item/96/The_Dare...">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-6138969263937680613?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-1916578321021086442009-09-29T11:08:00.000-07:002009-09-29T11:09:11.827-07:00<center><img alt="Autumn Leaves" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3431/3965995411_5859d47995.jpg" width="500" height="388" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >The Autumns of my life are many<br />Perhaps coloured in red, yellow and brown<br />Like the thousands of leaves that have fallen<br />The red ones were spent in childhood<br />Starting a new year at school<br />New teachers, new things to learn<br />New friends perhaps, friends that have stayed<br />Bright Yellow a time of hope<br />Looking into the flames of a warming fire<br />Or out exploring the museums of life<br />In a town where history was preserved<br />Then a golden yellow<br />watching my children grow<br />Enjoying their Autumn games<br />Collecting chestnuts,<br />walking on mountain paths<br />Watching the changing scenery<br />Brown is now upon me<br />I am now in the Autumn of my life<br />I sit outside on the warmer days<br />Watching the trees fold up their branches<br />Drying remains of flowers<br />A slow process, as my life now becomes<br />Perhaps a little melancholy<br />But there will be many Autumns to enjoy</span></p></center><br /><p></p><a href="http://poemposse.multiply.com/journal/item/121/Week_50">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-191657832102108644?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-84300531509076395802009-09-29T08:30:00.000-07:002009-09-29T08:31:39.705-07:00<p><strong><span style="color:#993300;">Sumax's Challenge<br /><br /></span></strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">The hospital porter wheeled the gurney down the basement ramp and along the corridor leading to the mortuary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Robin’s body was now stone cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It had been a long two days leading up to this end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Were this a film, there would be a fade-out to flashback and maybe, just maybe, things might have panned out differently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>If only Robin had taken the … but it was hopeless to conjecture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The mortuary double doors crashed back into place and the porter and gurney were gone.<?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br />Robin can be a male or female and of any age you wish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Create for me a character and a situation which led up to the above ending to your short story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Let your imagination soar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>You do not have to use the final paragraph in your story if you do not wish to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>If you do use it, it will not be included in the word count.</span></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Word limit:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Between 500 and 2000 words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>No more, no less.</span></p><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify; MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span> </p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >It was early morning and there was a lot to do today. Robin gave Rosita a last embrace and a kiss and began to get dressed, not really wanting to, doing things you have to do and want to do are just not the same.<br /><br />“Do you have to go Robin?” she asked “it was so good to feel your arms around me.”<br /><br />“All good things must come to an end” answered Robin as he was pulling his clothes on “and you know what is happening today.”<br /><br />“Yes Robin, how can I forget. It is the day when we will at last know what will happen in this country. Whether we can again breathe free air on the streets, or if we are still under the watchful eye of the General’s police and army.”<br /><br />“Right Rosita and I am now on my way home. The night was wonderful as always, but I have to earn my living during the day so that we can enjoy the nights.”<br /><br />Robin kissed Rosita once more and left.<br /><br />He lived on the other side of town, where the foreign population were housed. Working as the foreign correspondent for an international newspaper for some time in this small republic, he had got to know the people, their way of life, and their politics. The Colonel was the man in charge in this country. What he said was law, and if anyone did not agree then they would perhaps be found floating in a river, or lying in a field somewhere in the country. The richer were getting richer and the poorer had less. This was the Colonel’s politics. Today was election day and everyone was obliged to vote. This was also law. This time there was a difference. The Colonel had an opponent: Julio Rodriguez.<br /><br />As a young man Julio had smuggled himself on board a ship to America. He came from a poor farmer’s family and had seen the way his family were treated by the Colonels regime. Working all day for a piteous wage, they owned only the clothes on their back. All land in his country belonged to the government. Julio was determined to change things, to enable the farmers to work on their own land.<br /><br />He was lucky in America and worked hard. He had studied law and after some years had now returned to his family and country. He founded his own political party and soon had many followers. It was the first time in this country that the Colonel had an opposition.<br /><br />Robin had met Julio Rodriguez and had interviewed him for the newspaper. The Colonel was not very pleased as he found Julio Rodriguez to be a rebel and in his opinion he belonged behind bars. After the interview was published, Robin had a visit from General Renaldo Gomez. Robin was warned that any such further interviews would result in Robin being put under house arrest. Robin was not a man to be put in his place by a corrupt government, and his meetings continued with Julio, but under cover of the night and in secrecy. It was on one of these occasions where he had met Rosita, Julio’s sister.<br /><br />After Robin arrived home he decided to take a shower before going out on the streets observing the developments of the voting. He was just drying himself and his telephone started to ring.<br /><br />“Robin Chalmers”<br /><br />“Good morning Robin. Julio Rodriguez here. Have you listened to the radio or watched the television up to now. It might be of interest.”<br /><br />“No, Julio, but I will switch the radio on.”<br /><br />He then heard that the Colonel had won the North, South and West sections of the city. The North was mostly inhabited by foreign workers, such as Robin himself, the West was the wealthy part of town where business people lived and the South belonged to the government where ministers and their families were living. This was no big surprise to Robin.<br /><br />“I have heard the news Julio, but up to now nothing really surprising, the Colonel always had these sections in his hands.”<br /><br />“Yes Robin, but the East results have not yet been counted. That is where my people live and work, more the country areas, and I think I have a good chance to win. Unfortunately I have just received some bad news from two of my men which might be interesting for an article in your newspaper.”<br /><br />“Tell me Julio.”<br /><br />“It seems that in a certain warehouse the Colonel’s soldiers have been collecting voting boxes from the East. They are replacing them with their own votes.”<br /><br />“You mean that a voting fraud is taking place.”<br /><br />“Yes, Robin, it is. It is obvious that we will not win this first vote, but these votes would mean that the Colonel could no longer govern the country on his own and with time I am sure we would uncover so many frauds that we would be able to topple the government. The voting population in the East part of town is more than double of the rest.”<br /><br />“I am with you Julio, tell me what to do”<br /><br />Julio then told Robin where he could meet two of his men who would take him to the warehouse where he could take photos of the swindle taking place.<br /><br />Robin left his house to make his way to the meeting point. He decided to walk. It was not far and he could melt into the crowds on the streets, in the case that he might be followed. He soon arrived at his destination and met the two men.<br /><br />“Is this the warehouse?” asked Robin<br /><br />“Yes, but we must be careful, there are civil guards everywhere.”<br /><br />Robin saw a fire escape and decided to try that. He was sure he could take a few photographs through the windows. He climbed the metal stairs and the two men stood at the bottom keeping an eye on the surroundings. It was true, there were many boxes piled in the warehouse. He managed to pull up one of the windows and was just preparing to climb into the room when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him through the window.<br /><br />“Now this is a surprise Mr. Chalmers. I thought you would be in town taking your photographs of our voting day for your newspaper. I don’t think pictures of a warehouse would be interesting for your readers.”<br /><br />It was General Renaldo Gomez.<br /><br />“Surprised Mr. Chalmers. Yes I am sure. You know you cannot trust anyone today. Money talks all languages and I am certain that the two men who accompanied you here can now afford to buy some meat for their dinner. Oh no, perhaps it might be that the daughter of one of the men will now be back at home when he returns. It is really surprising how much a father is prepared to betray for the sake of his daughter.”<br /><br />“General Gomez you are the most despicable person I know. You would sell your own mother for more wealth and power.”<br /><br />“Unfortunately Mr. Chalmers, my mother is no longer alive, although I am quite sad about that. However, perhaps you might be interested to know that I am not as alone as you think. I happened to meet a very nice person this morning. Say hello to Mr. Chalmers Rosita, I think you know each other.”<br /><br />Yes, the general had another trick up his sleeve and Rosita was pushed into the room by two of the general’s men.<br /><br />“I think we now understand each other Mr. Chalmers. You will now give me your camera and go home. There is nothing for you to take photos of here and I am sure your readers will have no interest in reading anything about our elections. What did you say? Oh, Rosita, yes she can go with you. I have no further use for her, although I feel a little bit jealous. She really does have some hidden talents but I think she prefers your company to mine.”<br /><br />“General, what did you say. Rosita what has happened?”<br /><br />“Please Robin, let us go” and Rosita was crying.<br /><br />Robin left the warehouse with Rosita. As he reached the bottom of the fire escape steps he saw that the two men were being transported in a van. They were both dead, killed by the guns of the civil guards obeying the General’s orders.<br /><br />That night Robin asked Rosita to stay with him, but she said she could not. It was then that Robin realised to what extent the General had taken advantage of her. He knew he had no chance against such a corrupt government.<br /><br />The next morning Robin was awakened by a knock on the door. Hoping that Rosita was there he opened. The bullet hit him between the eyes and he was immediately dead. He was stripped of his clothing and had no documents to prove who he was. Just another anonymous body lying in the fields somewhere in a foreign country.<br /><br />The colonel could now celebrate his victory. He had once again been elected as the country’s leader. It was midday and he was standing on the balcony of the town hall in the main square of the town being welcomed by his people. His people knew if they did not welcome him they would be punished. They had no choice.<br /><br />On the first floor of a building also overlooking the town hall balcony the sun caught the reflection of metal. To be exact it was a rifle. Rosita pulled the trigger and had a direct hit. She caught the colonel between the eyes and he was killed immediately.<br /><br />In the meanwhile </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';color:black;">the hospital porter wheeled the gurney down the basement ramp and along the corridor leading to the mortuary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Robin’s body was now stone cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It had been a long two days leading up to this end. If only Robin had taken the opportunity to stay with Rosita on that first day but it was hopeless to conjecture. The mortuary double doors crashed back into place and the porter and gurney were gone.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/208/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_183">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-8430053150907639580?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-20120104894149065172009-09-28T10:48:00.000-07:002009-09-28T10:49:09.660-07:00<center><img alt="Earth People" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3450/3963360544_694066f5e6_o.jpg" width="192" height="314" /></center><br /><center></center><br /><center></center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';font-size:12;" lang="EN-GB" ><span style="font-size:100%;">“XX1, just what are you doing. It is absorption time and your food is ready.”<br /><br />XX1’s mother was annoyed. Since they had been living on the surface of the planet, the children just had too many distractions. How she wished they had remained beneath, but their leader had ordered that they could now show themselves above. The earlier inhabitants, known as humans, had almost died out. Just a few remaining settlements here and were left and the underground people had now moved up..<br /><br />“I am trying some of that human stuff out mum; they certainly had some funny habits.” XX1 answered. “I still have not found out what the idea of that receptacle is. There are knobs on the wall that you can turn, but nothing happens.”<br /><br />XX1’s mother decided to have a look. She climbed the stairs, which she did not like doing very much. She preferred descending and not ascending. Actually there was very little she liked doing since they had moved to the surface of the planet. Her partner and father of XX1 had studied during his youth and knew more about the planet. It seems that the underground population, their own people, had been developing over many years in their own way. They had lived so near to the core of the earth that they were never discovered.<br /><br />“What is the problem XX1, and what are you sitting in? Those knobs, as you say, were for water. If you go close enough you can smell the water.”<br /><br />One of the human problems was there there was no longer very much water, just a few puddles in the oceans that once existed. There was no actual weather, the planet now bearing temperatures similar to those under the surface. One of the reasons why the underground population could now survive above. They had eyes, but their usage had disappeared many years ago. They found their way without sight.<br /><br />“Thought I would try it out, but it seems strange to me. You mean the humans sat in water, how disgusting. ”<br /><br />“Other people, other customs XX1: they put their food in their mouth and swallowed it. We just absorb it through our skin."<br /><br />“I also found something to put on my feet. They must have been funny people covering themselves up like that. Yuck, putting food in their mouth and swallowing it. That is disgusting.”<br /><br />XX1 removed the strange leg and foot covers and followed its mother down the stairs to start absorbing. Today was her favourite food, earth from the core, mined by the core workers. XX1 preferred it to the surface earth, it had much more flavour.<br /><br />And so life continued on planet earth. Admittedly the new inhabitants looked just a little bit different to the old, but that was the process of evolution, developing on a parallel basis to those living on the surface. Neither people knew of the other until there was no food on the surface. Only those that could adapt survived and earth was everywhere.<br /><br />XX1 enjoyed life at the top and was looking forward to the next day. It found the receptacle was uncomfortable, but it had also found something much softer. It did not know that it was a bed. The days of burying itself in a mound of earth to sleep were gone. A new era was dawning upon the planet earth.</span></span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://writersblock360.multiply.com/journal/item/73/Challenge_67">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2012010489414906517?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-33076233161267446732009-09-28T08:02:00.001-07:002009-09-28T08:03:10.452-07:00<center><img alt="Dr. George Briggs" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3433/3962874154_0c5ce2beb1_o.jpg" width="313" height="235" /></center><br /><center></center><br /><center></center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';font-size:12;" lang="EN-GB" ><span style="font-size:100%;">Dr. George Briggs had a job he loved. Since he was a boy he was interested in how the body works. Not just the on-the-surface stuff, but the details. Reflecting back to the times when he was training as a doctor, he found them to be the most enjoyable of his life. His first year in the university gave him the opportunity to work in the mortuary where the bodies of patients were kept. Dead matter: but that made no difference to George. He was fascinated by the details of their insides and outsides. Keeping the bodies nice and fresh was most interesting. He did have a proud feeling when the bodies were picked up for burial, knowing that some of his work contributed to their fresh appearance. He was never actually praised for his work, but achieving the best results for the pathology examination was reward enough. What he did not know was the nickname he had from the other students: “Grizzly George”.<br /><br />With time George passed through all the facets of medical school, and was qualified, but pathology remained his favourite. He did not actually want to become a pathologist, but remained at medical school teaching other students the details of the work.<br /><br />George had become quite a well-known authority in his job and financially he was well rewarded. He had never married, not that he wanted to marry, but he never seemed to be lucky finding the right partner. Perhaps it was the answer to his occupation that deterred a future partner. It was not exactly cheerful when someone answered “pathology professor” and went on to explain the details of the work. George just did not seem to realise that this remark could work in a negative way on a young lady, but George was human and had the same human desires any any other man. He soon discovered that he could have a girlfriend, if he paid enough, and that was the solution to satisfying his desires.<br /><br />George also had a hobby. It started when he was a boy, to be exact it was when his father was driving and ran over a cat that had strayed at the wrong time into the path of their car. It happened just around the corner to where he lived. George’s mother started crying and his father was devastated. This seemed strange to George. He saw the poor creature on the road, not a very pretty sight, but that night he crept out of the house and took a closer look. He knew why, and put some of the cats organs into a glass jar he had taken with him for that purpose. After a while he had to throw them away as they did not stay as fresh as George would have liked them to. After the cat there were a few mice and birds, but always the same problem. The body parts just did not stay fresh. He managed to keep his curious hobby to himself, stowing his souvenirs away in the garden shed, and eventually mixing them with the compost heap in the garden.<br /><br />Of course, when George began his studies, all his problems were solved. Now he could smuggle a few human parts out of the mortuary. Who missed the odd kidney or liver? No-one really, the bodies were sewn together again, mostly by George. The other students did not seem to be so keen on the work. He had also now learned how to preserve his keepsakes, although it seemed to his parents that his requirements for alcohol were quite high. George reassured them that it was important as a medicine student for certain experiments he had to carry out. He then kept his “collection” under the floor boards in his room and was glad for the day when he eventually qualified and could afford his own apartment. He just bought an extra refrigerator. Eventually he was in such a good financial position that he could buy his own house. He made sure that the cellar area was large enough to accommodate the many glasses with their contents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Now that he was professor, his opportunities were vast and he needed room.<br /><br />He still paid his visits now and again to a certain part of town where women were easy to buy. One evening he was on his way when he saw a female figure waiting on the street corner.<br /><br />“Going anywhere special mister? Need company?”<br /><br />George decided why go shopping when the goods were already there.<br /><br />“How much?” he asked.<br /><br />The prostitute named him a price and he decided that would be just right.<br /><br />"Where are we going?” George asked.<br /><br />“At the moment, I don’t have my own place” she said. “I’m sharing with a girl friend and she is busy at the moment”. She gave George a wink as she said it.<br /><br />George realised what she meant and invited her back to his place. He had a plan developing in his twisted pathological mind. “Why have a kidney when you can have all”. So the lady decided to accept and went willingly with George. On the way George noticed that his new friend had a few tell-tale marks on her arm, obviously she was a drug addict, but he did not mind.<br /><br />They arrived at George’s house and the prostitute asked how he liked it. George said just normal would do, but let’s have a drink first to get warmed up. He prepared two glasses of whisky and the girl’s eyes lit up. She was not used to being spoilt like this. However, George had mixed something in her drink and she soon fell asleep, never to awaken again.<br /><br />George had to think fast. He decided the deep freezer was the best place for the body until he had organised things. The first purchase he made was a glass tank, the size being high enough and wide enough to accommodate one human body. He then ordered the various chemicals he needed and filled the tank. He also did some shopping, buying the sort of clothes he liked to see a woman dressed in, telling the shop assistant it was a surprise for his wife. His taste was light chiffon that moved in the breeze, knowing that in liquid the same effect would be achieved. He soon had everything organised in the cellar and the young lady’s body was put into the liquid in the tank wearing the clothes George had bought especially for the occasion. He was quite pleased with the result.<br /><br />There are some men that steal a painting by a master, lock it away and spend hours just looking at it on their own. So it was with George, but he like to watch his own personal human specimen. It seemed that the “specimen” he had in his tank was not missed. There was nothing mentioned on the news on the television or in the newspapers, but there was one thing that was bothering George. His “specimen” was not exactly a good one. Why buy a painting on a market stall when you can have a Van Gogh?<br /><br />George went hunting. He wanted something perfect. He decided to take a walk to a better part of town near the park. He soon found his ideal woman. She was walking along the street; just someone that decided to go out at the wrong time in the wrong place. George liked her curves, her face, her hair, it was perfect, real class. He pulled up beside her and asked the way to a certain street. She bent forward to give an answer and before she knew what had happened George had injected her with a heavy sedative. As it was near the park, there were no people watching and George dragged her into the car.<br /><br />She also never woke up, and was soon in the tank, the other inferior piece being removed and dissolved in another tank with acid. George of course dressed his new victim for the part. Now George was happy. He had a perfect “specimen” in his tank and could watch her for hours on his own.<br /><br />This time there was a small catch in his capture. He had captured the police chief's wife. I suppose all criminals make mistakes at some time or another.</span></span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://dkv58.multiply.com/journal/item/17/THOIA_Challenge_8">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-3307623316126744673?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-91659016864814367262009-09-27T06:51:00.000-07:002009-09-27T06:52:16.227-07:00<center><img alt="St. Niklaus, Feldbrunnen" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2476/3958899762_935af7a70d.jpg" width="500" height="310" /></center><br /><p></p><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2476/3958899762_4a8b2da8d9_o.jpg">Click here for larger size</a><br /><p></p><a href="http://imageswithwords.multiply.com/journal/item/26/Images_Words_21_-_BLUEBLUES">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-9165901686481436726?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-7238035191616338922009-09-25T08:36:00.000-07:002009-09-25T08:37:27.790-07:00<center><img alt="bookshop" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2486/3952636917_36fb1a586e.jpg" width="211" height="314" /></center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" ><br /><br />The cat stood on its four legs, stretched its body and made a circle in preparation for sleep. First of all he looked around to see that his world was in order. Half way up on the bookshelves between the books History of India and History of Battles he felt secure. He preferred the ancient books, those bound in leather with yellowing pages. They had a good, safe smell, accumulated by the dust of ages gone past. Although he never actually looked inside the books, he knew he was in a safe place. Protected by the wall and the thick volumes surrounding him, with a bird’s eye view of all angles in the room he was satisfied. Before falling into a complete sleep he glanced upwards to the opposite corner between the ceiling and the top books. He was just making sure that the spider was there.<br /><br />The spider had always lived there since the cat had made its favourite place between the books. The cat did not realise that it was not always the same spider. How many generations of this spider had lived in the top corner of the book shelves, not even the spider knew. There was just always a replacement when the spider’s life came to an end. The cat did not even wonder what the spider ate. There were no flies in this particular room of the book shop, nothing that would keep a spider alive. Of course if the cat had been interested, he might have noticed the spider scattering through a crack in the wall from time to time. That was when she made her way up to the roof to find something to eat.<br /><br />What did the cat eat? Although the cat would not want to admit it, he did have a human that made sure his needs were attended to. Charles Worthington, the owner of the bookshop, took care of the cat’s life. Every morning and evening he would put a bowl of food on the ground. In the evening the cat would climb down from his perch and roam the book shop on its own, sniffing with its nose between the nooks and crannies. Sometimes he was surprised by smell, when a new delivery of books arrived. A hint of other humans, not those he saw from day to day in the shop, but from other places he did not know.<br /><br />Charles Worthington would visit book auctions and bought those objects that might be a gem in the seekers’ eye. His shop was something special, clothed in old, solid wooden book shelves and situated in the older part of the town amongst the buildings ,where each one was built differently to the next; a curious shop in a curious corner of the town.<br /><br />The cat even had a name. Charles’s wife brought the kitten home one day, and they called it Montgomery. No-one really knew why, it might have been a name from the war that was raging at the time. When his wife died Montgomery did not feel so much at home in the living quarters above the shop and he eventually found his favourite shelf in the shop and remained.<br /><br />One day Montgomery the cat was having a cat snooze on the shelf, with one eye open of course. Nothing particular was happening, but he did sense a sort of tension in the air. As he looked down he saw a human, actually a potential customer, delving amongst the books. Although it was a warm, sunny day he was wearing a gabardine raincoat which seemed at least two sizes too big. Charles Worthington appeared and asked the man in the raincoat if he was searching for something in particular.<br /><br />“Well, yes and no. I heard that you have some books from the Carrington estate. They were auctioned after Lord Carrington’s death.”<br /><br />“Yes, I did buy a couple” answered Charles Worthington “you will have to search on the book case over there.”<br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break"><?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >At that moment the bell rang at the entrance door and Charles excused himself.<br /><br />“I have another customer, but will leave you to have a look around” he said.<br /><br />“No problem” was the stranger’s answer.<br /><br />As soon as Charles left the room the stranger began studying the books from the Carrington estate and suddenly pounced on three of the books, hiding them under his raincoat where he had pouches prepared for the task.<br /><br />Montgomery was not used to sudden movements and noise in his place of rest, and neither was the spider. The spider decided to have a look, perhaps there was something edible at last in the room and she would not have to go out to find her food. She lowered herself on a strong, silky thread and decided to stop just before the thief’s nose.<br /><br />It might have been that the book thief did not like spiders. He may have even suffered from arachnophobia. He was startled. It was then that Montgomery decided to explore the disturbance in his sleeping quarters and leaped down from his perch between the history books, pulling two or three with him. Unfortunately these books landed on the thief’s head, knocking him out. Disturbed by the noise Charles Worthington rushed into the room to see what was happening. He was confronted by a stranger lying on the floor, unconscious, his raincoat open showing the books stacked away inside. Montgomery had already taken his position on the stranger’s body, sniffing at him to see what this was for a new smell in his room and there was a glimpse of a retreating spider climbing up his thread back to the safety of the corner between the ceiling and the two walls.<br /><br />What more is there to explain? The thief was the disowned son of Lord Carrington who knew that his father had some very valuable books in his possession, first editions, and had decided to take what was not rightly his. He had discovered that Charles Worthington had auctioned the books. The attempt to steal them was now thwarted by the spider and Montgomery.<br /><br />Montgomery received an extra ration of salmon for his meal that evening, but was not really impressed. It was just cat’s curiosity that made him descend from his comfortable, warm perch to see what the spider was doing.<br /><br />And so life continued in Charles Worthington’s book shop. The wooden bookshelves remained with the old books. Montgomery the cat still slept between the history books and another new generation of the spider arrived.</span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-723803519161633892?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-13523508457734094022009-09-24T07:59:00.000-07:002009-09-24T08:00:41.355-07:00<center><img alt="three cats and clouds" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2555/3949995097_6530597da2.jpg" width="500" height="305" /><br /><center></center></center><br /><p><span style="font-family:comic sans ms;font-size:100%;">"Looks like we are on our own again this week cats, Mrs. Human is busy doing human things so said we should do the necessary. So what do we know about seasons." Nera the big black long haired fur cat spoke. She carried on "Tabby, any ideas?"<br /><br />"Well Nera basically there are really only two seasons, the one when we sleep and the one when we are awake."<br /><br />"That is typical Tabby, all you do all day long is sleep, you don't even notice that there are seasons." Fluffy the youngest cat with the curly white fur spoke.<br /></span><span style="font-family:comic sans ms;font-size:100%;"><br />"OK, Fluffy, Mr. know-it-all, then you tell me what we do otherwise than sleep."<br /><br />"Well we eat." answered Tabby.<br /><br />"Just a minute" Nera had a few words to say. "Life does not just consist of eating, sleeping and being awake. It depends on what the weather does."<br /><br />"Nera you mean when it is raining we sleep and when the sun is shining we sleep and in between we are awake looking for somewhere to sleep."<br /><br />"No Tabby, I mean there are other things to do. Even you must notice that there is a time when things are different." answered Nera.<br /><br />"I know what Nera means" said Fluffy "like the season when we have tuna fish for dinner."<br /><br />"No Fluffy, that is not a season, that is a necessity: for example mice; now that is a season."<br /><br />"Nera, can you explain that one." Tabby looked a bit puzzled, shaking her whiskers.<br /><br />"Tabby do you see mice every day? No, of course not" Nera continued not waiting for an answer." You only see mice at certain times. When the farmer human mows his fields, then they are running around looking for a new home. When the weather changes and Autumn is arriving, the mice start looking for food. The humans call it Autumn, but we call it mouse season."<br /><br />"I know what you mean Nera" said Fluffy, "that's when they slow down and we can catch them so easily. That is the mouse season."<br /><br />"In that case Nera" said Tabby "we have the main mouse season and a few in between thanks to the farmer humans. What about the butterfly season?"<br /><br />"Of course, Tabby, I nearly forgot that one. That comes somewhere between the human Spring and Autumn. Then the weather is warmer and if we are clever we can catch a few for dinner."<br /><br />"I like butterfly Nera" spoke up Fluffy "but Mrs. Human does not like us catching them. She always speaks in a loud voice."<br /><br />"I know Fluffy" said Tabby "she really gets annoyed, but they are so tasty."<br /><br />"OK cats, then let's sum it up. We have mouse season, butterfly season." Nera was counting them on her paws. "Only two, that can't be. The humans have four."<br /><br />"Nera you forgot the sleeping season and the awake season" Tabby reminded.<br /><br />"And the tuna fish season" Fluffy said.<br /><br />"Cats" said Nera, "I told you they do not count"<br /><br />"Why not?" asked both Tabby and Fluffy.<br /><br />"Well, because, they just don't. Seasons only come at certain times and two thirds of our life are spent sleeping, once a week we get tuna fish, sometimes twice if Mr. and Mrs. Human are in a good mood, and when we are not sleeping we are awake. That is logic."<br /><br />"What's logic Nera?" the other two cats asked.<br /><br />"Don't ask silly questions" was the answer "and now let's all go to sleep and dream about the mouse season which has just begun."<br /><br /></span></p><br /><p><a href="http://creativechallenge.multiply.com/journal/item/87/Creative_Challenge_71">Click here for more</a> </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-1352350845773409402?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-16608252265154558432009-09-23T07:30:00.000-07:002009-09-23T07:31:02.365-07:00<center><img alt="change" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2544/3947099507_80b3a342c2.jpg" width="310" height="500" /></center><br /><center> </center><br /><center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Calibri;">You pass me bye,<br />No recognition any more<br />Oh yes, I have changed<br />You notice the difference<br /><br />A few wrinkles above the eyes<br />No longer a soft glance<br />Hard, without emotion<br />As if I am wearing a mask<br /><br />You are sorry you left me<br />So was I, often<br />You are sure it was for the best<br />It probably was, for you<br /><br />It was time to move on<br />A change of routine<br />Find other pastures to roam<br />You are sure I understood<br /><br />No, no, I have no tears of sadness<br />They disappeared some time ago<br />I know my eyes reflect the light,<br />Yes, they are tears, but of anger<br /><br />You are looking worried<br />You are still thinking of me<br />Oh, it is just the gun I have in my hand<br />I always have it with me<br /><br />You never know who you might meet<br />Perhaps I had been waiting for our chance encounter<br />You say you have changed<br />I am glad to hear it, but it is too late<br /><br />You see my face has grown olderpet<br />Beneath this mask I am still the same<br />If I do not get you, then no-one will<br />So goodbye, and I pulled the trigger<?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p></center><br /><p></p><a href="http://petespicks09.multiply.com/journal/item/7/PETES_PICKS_WEEK_6_CHANGE">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-1660825226515455843?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-60419338416597373432009-09-22T07:27:00.000-07:002009-09-22T07:28:37.712-07:00<center><img alt="Life goes on" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3519/3944825348_d1b9dedc02_o.jpg" width="313" height="235" /></center><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';font-size:12;" lang="EN-GB" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Bill Parker had not seen his kid brother Pete for some time. He applied for the permit and had to wait until permission was granted. Life today was just not the same any more. His country was breaking down and nothing was easy, not even a simple visit to a brother, especially if they lived out of town. He remembered when he was younger. You just jumped in your car and drove off where your nose lead you. It made no difference where. Today it did. Things were different today. A few changes had occurred over the last couple of years.<br /><br />He had to drive through the old town where he grew up with Pete and mum and dad. That was now in the zone, so there was almost no traffic on the road. He looked across the land at the side of the road and could see the ocean in the distance. He remembered how it used to be. People crowded on the beach, sitting on their towels. It was fun with mum and dad. You changed into your bathing trunks and off you went into the sea. Even then it was not really the cleanest water for swimming, but who cared. As soon as you got home in the evening mum made sure you had a bath. Afterwards the basin was full of sandy residue. He missed that today. Pete was just learning how to swim and only went in the water with his swim help, two coloured plastic covers for his arms. Dad would blow them up and then he could float. He never did learn how to swim, perhaps if there had been more time.<br /><br />It all looked so bare now, no movement and no people on the beach. The little shops selling snacks and sweets were gone forever. The fun fair was the first to be demolished. They just came along and scooped it away with a crane. There was no electricity, so they cleared it away. Afterwards they started scooping the first layers of the land away. It resembled one big building site and Bill was sure everything would be all right; it would be just a matter of time. Some of the buildings had been left standing resembling stone memorials.<br /><br />When the accident happened Bill was away, he had joined the army wanting to learn a trade, and hoping to be able to visit other places. His mum and dad were proud of Bill. He remembered seeing them together for the last time, mum, dad and Pete waving at the station as he boarded the train. He still had the letters they wrote to him and in the meanwhile had his own letters again, without any answers. One day the letters stopped coming and he was told his army days were over. The officer did not call him into his office. It was a large hall and many of the soldiers were sitting there waiting to hear why they were there. On that day there were suddenly many orphans in his army unit and they were all sent home.<br /><br />He left the zone and turned inland. Now the road was in a much better shape. It was a new one, built in the last year. He saw the buildings ahead; it was a large complex that had been built. After showing his permit at the gate he parked his car. He walked over to a large white modern building, Pete's new home. He looked up towards Pete’s window, but there was no Pete waving to his big brother, although Bill knew he was there.<br /><br />“Hello Mr. Parker” the nurse said “I am sure Pete has been looking forward to your visit all week.”<br /><br />“Yes I am sure” answered Bill. Bill was certain Pete was not looking forward to the visit, because it was not possible that Pete knew what was going on around him. He was one of the boys that the radioactivity hit hard; all because one of the workers at the power station fell asleep on the job. They call it the zone today, but Bill thought a better name would have been the deadlands. Mum and dad died two days after the accident, as most of their neighbours. Some were saved, like Pete, although Pete only saw the world through bandages. He only ate through a tube supplying liquids to his body.<br /><br />Bill entered the room.<br /><br />“Hi Pete” he said, knowing there would be no answer. “I drove past our beach today, you remember. That really brought back some memories” and Bill stayed an hour with Pete and then left.<br /><br />At least Bill still had some memories, he was sure Pete had none.</span></span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://naarta.multiply.com/journal/item/862/RRC_40.....Ritas_Ritin_Challenge">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-6041933841659737343?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-24360458189533462242009-09-21T11:13:00.000-07:002009-09-21T11:15:14.098-07:00<p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;color:#990000;">Skyerider's Challenge</span></strong></p><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#000000;">Take one of the following phrases and write a story or poem.</span></p><br /><p align="center"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial', 'sans-serif'; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-: EN-USfont-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:85%;color:black;" >Does a tree grow because it wants to, or because it must?<br />The stars are irrefutable.<br />The old lady wore hats like armor.<br />My dog likes spaghetti better than bones.<br />A blank sheet of paper is like an invitation to a dream.<br />She kept rocks by the bedside and cotton balls in the refrigerator.<br />A cow is not an egg!</span></p><br /><p align="left"><span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial', 'sans-serif'; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-: EN-USfont-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:10;color:black;" ><span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Comic Sans MS'; mso-ansi-language: EN-GBfont-family:Arial;font-size:100%;color:black;" lang="EN-GB" >Donna always was a strange dog. I, think that was why we chose her at the kennels. I really wanted a poodle, Dave my husband said “No, Pam, does not come into the question. I am not going to be seen walking a poodle”. As soon as I saw her behind the metal bars in her little prison my heart just melted, and to be quite honest, so did Dave’s. She was a medium sized poodle, not one of those enormous hunting dogs and also not a so-called toy. I did not want a toy, just a normal doggy poodle. Of course she had to be white; at least that was my idea of a one hundred percent, sheepy lookalike poodle. Dave found with white the dirt shows up, but I said all the more reason to make sure she stays clean. She: of course, I wanted a lady poodle. We took her home and she really seemed to love us both. Wagging her tail in the morning when she saw us after her doggy sleep, and barking with happiness when she saw the dog lead which of course meant walkies.<br /><br />She had her own little corner at home, complete with doggy dish and bed. We had a garden for her to take her canine walkabouts and everything was perfect. Well almost perfect. She just did not seem to eat so well. We tried everything. Chew Chew Vitamin Food, shaped in the form of bones and on the television advertised to be the favourite bites for a dog. It just so happened that Donna just sniffed at them and even did her doggy business on them, to show her disapproval. We tried tins of meat, but she just ran her nose over it and then, knocked the dish on one side with her carefully manicured paw.<br /><br />Eventually we had to stoop to the basics and we gave her a dish with the same food as we were eating. Even then it seemed that potatoes and vegetables were not really her thing. We started getting worried, as she really seemed to be waning like the moon does when it gets thinner. We took her to the vet and he gave her vitamin injections to keep her healthy, but shook his head and said if things carry on this way, then there would be nothing he could do.<br /><br /></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size:100%;">Then one day I decided to cook spaghetti for lunch with meat balls and again tried to coax Donna to eat something. The poor little doggy was now in a lethargic state. Not even a bone would cheer her up. That also seemed strange, other dogs buried them, but Donna buried nothing.<br /><br />Suddenly she was full of life, barking and clambering up to the table.<br /><br />“Donna, down girl” I called, but to no avail, nothing seemed to stop her.<br /><br />“Aha” I thought “it must be the meatballs, there we have it, something that Donna will eat.”<br /><br />I arranged some meatballs in her dish, but some spaghetti strands got mixed with them. What did Donna do? She picked out the meatballs with her jaws and dropped them on the floor. My happiness dwindled to disappointment. I thought I had at last found the solution and there was only disappointment. My eyes slowly filled with tears.<br /><br />“Pam, look” said Dave “Donna is eating”.<br /><br />“She is doing what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There is nothing in that plate to eat for a dog.”<br /><br />“No, look, she is eating the spaghetti.”<br /><br />I took another look at Donna and she was standing next to her bowl with two strands of spaghetti hanging out of her mouth. Was this the answer to our prayers? I decided to go all the way and filled her dish with spaghetti. Although it was covered in tomato sauce, Donna did not mind. She almost ate everything, although it must have been a bit too much as she had left a small remainder on the plate. I was just going to clear the plate away and she barked at me and pawed my hands as if to say no.<br /><br />“Donna what are you doing?” Donna took the remaining spaghetti in her mouth and ran into the garden and started digging furiously. She made a hole in the earth and dropped the spaghetti into it, covering it up afterwards with her doggy movements and then walked away.<br /><br />“I think we have found the solution” said Dave “from now on her diet will be spaghetti”.<br /><br />Dave was right. Donna loved it, spaghetti al Napoli, spaghetti Bolognese, carbonara, al pesto, you name it, she ate it. It got a bit embarrassing when Dave and I went out for a meal and took Donna. In summer we often visited Mario’s Spaghetteria as we could eat outside in the garden and could take Donna with us. Mario was a friendly person, but looked a bit strangely the first time we visited the restaurant with Donna.<br /><br />“Buon giorno” was the greeting, him being Italian. I will bring a dish of water for the nice doggy, he looks thirsty.<br /><br />“Yes please” Mario, we answered, and three spaghetti Bolognese please, but just two with a side salad.”<br /><br />“Three, but you are only two” he asked with a shadow of doubt in his eyes.</span></span></p><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span style="font-size:100%;"><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><br />Mario brought the three dishes and put them on the table. Donna hopped onto an empty chair at the table and started eating her dish of spaghetti. Luckily there was an extra serviette on a neighbouring table which we could wrap around her neck to stop her fur becoming soiled from the sauce. As we were sitting outside in the restaurant garden, she could bury the remainder that she did not eat under a tree. It was then that we noticed another dog eyeing Donna from the kitchen of the restaurant. More a mixture of every canine that walked on four legs, than a pure bred, but he ran over to where Donna was and started digging up what she had buried and eating it.<br /><br />“Bad dog” called Mario “Sorry” he added “but my dog, Alfredo,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>just cannot see food going to waste. He prefers ravioli, but is also very partial to spaghetti”. It was then that Donna and Alfredo disappeared behind the tree. I thought probably Alfredo was showing Donna where he buries his left over ravioli.<br /><br />A few weeks later we again visited the vet to see how Donna was getting on with her new food. We did not actually tell the vet that she was now a carbohydrate dog, we just said she was now eating well.<br /><br />“Yes” he said “she is now looking much better, although I noticed she is becoming a little overweight.”<br /><br />“You mean she is eating too much”<br /><br />“Oh, no, nothing to worry about, I expect her puppies will be born in a few weeks. Just come along again at the next appointment and we will see how she is getting on.”<br /><br />We were surprised and seven weeks later Donna was the proud mother of six puppies, four looked just like their mother but the other two had a striking resemblance to Mario’s dog. We were now regular customers at Mario’s restaurant and he said he would take over two of the puppies. He always wanted a white poodle.<br /><br />So now we are quite good customers at the Italian food stores in town. We have to make sure that our supply of spaghetti and also now ravioli, is maintained. We kept the four remaining puppies. It is difficult to find someone to adopt puppies that only live on spaghetti (and ravioli).</span></span></p><br /><p><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/206/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_181"><span style="font-size:100%;">Click here for more</span></a></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-2436045818953346224?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-1852778883711835472009-09-20T11:20:00.000-07:002009-09-20T11:21:24.691-07:00<center><img alt="chicken" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2650/3934313300_d998c5abdd.jpg" width="500" height="449" /></center><br /><center></center><br /><center></center><br /><p><span style="font-family:comic sans ms;font-size:100%;">There are not many programmes I really enjoy watching on the TV. A couple of "soaps" one being based on where I grew up called "East Enders", although it does not really have a lot to do with where I grew up, and another a German version of an English soap based on Coronation Street, known as Lindenstrasse.<br /><br />Now and again something might catch my eye and then I like to watch it, one of these programmes is known as "Master Chef". You have the television studio complete with a modern kitchen and two experts, one who is himself an authority on cooking and the other owning one of those "top" restaurants where you pay a lot of money for something original and excellently cooked, although a matter of taste I suppose. In any case I could not afford to eat in his restaurant.<br /><br />So the stage is set and then you have the contestants, four young men or women who are cooks in their own right and compete against each other to be the "Master Chef". They have to carry out various experiments in cooking to suit the observant eye of the two judges. That is where the fun begins. The first task is usually something they all have to cook, and the three best win, the fourth going home. I am looking at this programme with a Swiss husband, so the discussion revolves a lot upon "What is that?". This week they had to cook a guinea fowl. So Mr. Swiss asks what is that, and my answer was some sort of chicken, not really knowing what it was. In any case it did look like a chicken, but a bit on the yellowy side and a little bit smaller. I had to look it up in the German-English dictionary and found it in German. Then I knew what it was (a Perlhuhn - sort of a game bird). In any case the four cooks did their presentation. One got quite a black mark as he did not trim all the feathers from the leg, although you really needed a magnifying glass to see them.<br /><br />Then there was the case of preparing a squid. The squid was fully grown and you saw the four contestants do their tricks with it. Three passed the test but the fourth. He was really a disgrace, he did not skin it and left the quill in the body. Are you with me, I think I would have left the quill in the body as well. It seems that none of the four cooks had ever prepared squid before, but naturally no. 4 had to go home.<br /><br />Another grave mistake was when cooking a dish containing potatoes, I think it was with fish, but cannot remember. However, that is not important, but again a crime was committed. They all had various ingredients to work with and one of the contestants made an orange salad to go with the meal and actually, most unforgivable, put it on the plate next to the potatoes. It seems, according to the experts, you never, ever, make an orange salad with potatoes in a meal. I was so glad that I had never made this mistake.<br /><br />Actually I really feel sorry for the on-going master chefs. The young men are mostly in their twenties, and could be my sons, so probably I develop maternal feelings when they get told off for their mistakes. They are asked how they would feel if they fail and have to drop out (only one can win of course) and the usual answer is that they would be devastated and really, really (mostly said twice) want to win.<br /><br />One of the tests is to cook for the critics. That is not easy, as cooking critics seem to have only one purpose in life, to destroy any self confidence that the cooks might have left after the preliminary tests. Such remarks as "I could not taste any sugar in that desert" or "I would not even serve that to my dog" are often heard. I remember this week, one of the contestants decided to cook a king sized ravioli with some sort of expensive rare filling. Alas he only had ten minutes to go, and had not even made it. He was ordered by one of the experts to go now to the critics and apologise that the next course would be ten minutes late, which he did almost with tears in his eyes. It was a wonder he did not kneel down as he gave up his apology. One of the critics naturally had to say "let's hope we can eat it when it arrives". Luckily it turned out perfectly and the meal and reputation of the young cook, was saved.<br /><br />Oh, how I love this programme. At the moment the quarter finals have been shown and next week we have the semi finals. Probably the cooks might be shipped to another destination in some sort of exclusive eating temple to be even more insulted and stressed in the kitchen.<br /><br />When asked, the cooks usually have the target of owning one day their own restaurant and becoming famous in the cooking world.<br /><br />There is just one problem I have now, when I cook at home, being told that presentation is just as important as cooking. I do find I now harvest praise when the meat or veg is cooked to perfection, which it usually is. I suppose the programme does influence certain people. I just ask myself what they do with the meals cooked on the television. The two judges in the studio really only take a few bites of the expensive exclusive food that is cooked. Perhaps the cameramen and studio workers enjoy the five star menus afterwards.<br /><br />This programme just gets me thinking. </span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-185277888371183547?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-11428456268797177982009-09-20T06:49:00.000-07:002009-09-20T06:50:21.450-07:00<center><img alt="Jura mountains" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3509/3937375408_95bc77f45d.jpg" width="500" height="318" /></center><br /><p></p><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3509/3937375408_95bc77f45d_b.jpg">Click here for larger size</a><br /><p></p><a href="http://imageswithwords.multiply.com/journal/item/25/Images_and_Words_Week_20_Paradise.">Click here for others</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-1142845626879717798?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-42210020732184038622009-09-18T11:03:00.000-07:002009-09-18T11:04:27.227-07:00<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Killing is not easy; you have to think it over very carefully. I remember the assignment I had in Dallas; now that was many years ago. I got away with it; some poor old Joe Doe was accused. I had a good group behind me, who planned it in detail from the beginning. They never showed their faces, but I am sure it was something to do with the government. Anyhow after that job, they told me to leave the country otherwise there would be trouble ahead. That was when I decided a trip over the pond would be a good thing. No death sentence there, not that I was out to be caught, but these days you cannot be sure of anyone or anything.<br /><br />You have to follow certain rules of course; no-one is the born killer. I remember Flashy Jack, that was what we called him. He always wanted to be the best, but you don’t shoot your victim in a restaurant in front of everyone. He was asking to be caught. I soon got known around town, they told me that the gang down in the East was being pushed out of business by Big Fat Lloyd. So what did I do? That was easy. One evening I walked into the Sneaky Rat, the joint that belonged to Fat Lloyd. I naturally wore a tight pink number, showing all my curves and Fat Lloyd just could not resist that.<br /><br />“Hi, baby, new around here” was his ideal of starting a conversation.<br /><br />Generally I would have told him where to get off, but I had a mission<br /><br />“I sure am” was my answer “do you want to show me the routine?”.<br /><br />Well he did, and his first night spent with me was his last. They never did find his body, but I know how things work. I just phoned the chief of the East gang, and asked what it was worth to him that Fat Lloyd was no longer breathing. He was over the moon, really thrilled, so I told him to get his cleaners down to Fat Lloyd’s place and remove the evidence. I think the remains were finally feeding the fish in the local river. Concrete feet always did stop anything floating to the surface.<br /><br />I was in, oh yes, Jimmie, the East gang chief just fell in love with me at first sight. It was just too bad that Jimmie started double crossing me. He spent too much time in the Sneaky Rat, which now belonged to Jimmie, thanks to me, and started trying the goods out. Now either he is my man, or he is not. So, I am sorry to say Jimmie had to go. I decided to do this one all official. I just dropped a note to the police to say he was planning to rob a bullion transport. Jimmie told me just everything. I even put blanks in his gun to make sure he would not hurt anyone; too bad that Jimmie got hurt; the police shot him as he opened fire.<br /><br />So here I am a widow, just don’t have any luck in life. Although things turned to the best when I told the nice policemen how Jimmy had lied to me all his life after I handed over the details I found in his desk of the gang and the jobs they had pulled together. They even gave me a job in Scotland Yard. I started as a normal secretary, but after sleeping my way through a few bosses, I soon got promoted. One of them even died with a heart attack, something to do with the wrong medicine he took.<br /><br />Anyhow here I am today, one of the best members of the English secret service. Now I always said, if you have a gift, then you should use it. I often get sent on missions abroad. The next job is in Libya, but that will be a difficult one; have not yet worked out how to do it. Advantage is being a lady; I can hide myself under their robes. </span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-4221002073218403862?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-73888896781260774442009-09-18T00:34:00.001-07:002009-09-18T00:34:46.587-07:00<center><img alt="Building, Luzern Str., Solothurn" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3449/3931119596_5a33c082fa.jpg" width="500" height="333" /></center><br /><p><span style="font-family:comic sans ms;font-size:100%;">Switzerland is not only a country of picturesque villages with old-world chalets and cows living on green pastures. We actually do have a working population and old estates put up in the 1950's where people live in their appartments and go about their daily lives. This photo shows part of the town near where I live, near to the station. The area was more or less built up by large companies supply living space for their workers. Over the years some of the companies exist no more, and the appartments have changed hands, but it is living space. In the large tall building on the ground floor even one of the town physio therapists has his practice. The shop on the left used to be a sales center for Robert Bosch products, the factory being just along the road, but even that has changed hands.<br /><br />So presenting a little bit of urban Switzerland.</span></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://fotofriday.multiply.com/journal/item/257/Picture_Perfect_Urban">Click here for more<br /><p></p></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-7388889678126077444?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-90623437850574821672009-09-17T06:13:00.000-07:002009-09-17T06:14:30.541-07:00<center><img alt="disguise" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3476/3928151865_9a59204838.jpg" width="361" height="500" /></center><br /><center> </center><center><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >Once a year I can disguise myself<br />Cast off the daily details of me<br />Become a figure of my imagination<br />The world lays at my feet to choose<br />Perhaps a witch, dark and forbidding<br />A mysterious figure hiding under her spells<br />Who will kiss this Japanese geisha<br />Waiting for the man who chooses<br />A cat woman meowing for her feline delights<br />Or just a fairy with gossamer wings<br />Waving her wand to catch a lover<br />The choice is wide, we are all hiding<br />But at midnight the truth is uncovered<br />Beneath the mask the real face appears<br />Many are shocked, many surprised<br />And many true romances begin at carnival time.<?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></p></center><br /><p></p><a href="http://creativechallenge.multiply.com/journal/item/86/Creative_Challenge_70">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-9062343785057482167?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-74205293345129679402009-09-15T07:32:00.000-07:002009-09-15T07:34:05.344-07:00<p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:85%;color:#990000;">Qwith's Challenge</span></strong></p><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Write 500 words or less in a fiction genre you <u>don't</u> normally read or like.<br />Here are your choices:</span></p><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Epic</strong> (It's short so think of world building)<br /><strong>Historical</strong> (from Greek to Egyptian to Queen Elizabeth to WWII-doesn't matter)<br /><strong>Gothic</strong> (Elements of Horror and Romance)<br /><strong>Spy Fiction Thriller</strong> (any setting)</span></p><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">For ideas, I suggest looking them at Wikipedia.</span></p><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">This is a challenge to stretch your writing skills so I know that writers will try something different. The kind of characters that you choose to use won't matter so long as the genre is something you don't normally like or read.<br />Happy Writing! </span></p><br /><p align="center"><br /><center></center><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >The sun was high in the sky flooding the high street of Sagebrush City with its harsh light. Two men were standing opposite each other, Jake Silver and Lloyd Finnegan their hands poised over their guns ready to draw.<br /><br />Sam Bellows, the barkeeper, was collecting money from the townsfolk that were watching. They were placing bets on who would win the shoot out. Old Ben Wigger had put his rocking chair on the sidewalk, for a good place to watch. Little Jimmy Crocker was sitting next to his ma. He was excited. It was the first gun dual he was about to witness.<br /><br />The town mayor started counting. At the call of three the gunmen were to draw and shoot. There was suddenly an interruption.<br /><br />“Just what do you think you’re doing with that gun Jake Silver.” It was his wife Caitlynn. She spit out a wad of tobacco she was chewing and continued.<br /><br />“I been cooking dinner all morning and now it’s gone noon. I ain’t doing that for a hobby, so come home and eat.”<br /><br />“And that goes for you too Lloyd.” JoBeth Finnegan was also there. “Just what do you think you are playing at?”<br /><br />“But Caitlynn” spoke Jake “this is a shoot out. I was having a quiet card game with Lloyd in the saloon and he gone and called me out cheating. Now I don’t take that insult from any man in this town, so I is defending my honour.”<br /><br />“You is defending what? You ain’t got no honour and what do you think you gonna do with that gun. Why you ain’t never killed an opossum. I even have to strangle the chickens myself.”<br /><br />“Yeh, now Caitlyn got something there. And Lloyd just what you doing calling Jake a cheat and where you get the money for gambling? From my housekeeping money in grandma’s beer glass. I saw that there ain’t none left. Some of that money was from Caitlyn for the chickens I sold her last week.”<br /><br />“Now JoBeth I don’t like being made a fool of and that Jake Silver took my money with his cheatin’ cards” answered Lloyd.<br /><br />“Now I got some words to say” spoke Caitlynn. “Jake Silver you give that money back. You ain’t got no business gambling in that saloon and that would be JoBeth’s money, so you give it to JoBeth.”<br /><br />“Did you hear Lloyd, Caitlynn knows who that money is, and it sure ain’t yours to gamble away in that saloon. Thank you Caitlynn, ‘bout time those men know who has the trousers on in the family.”<br /><br />“But Caitlynn, I won that money fair.”<br /><br />“I don’t care how you won it Jake, just give it back. And if you wanna do some shootin, then go out in my vegetable patch and shoot a couple of them rabbits that keep eatin up all the green stuff.”<br /><br />And that was the day that Caitlyn Silver and JoBeth Finnegan solved one of the wars of the Wild West. <?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><a href="http://unitedchallenge2008.multiply.com/journal/item/204/UNITED_FRIENDS_CHALLENGE_179">Click here for more</a><br /><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-7420529334512967940?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-89148027127623962802009-09-14T10:01:00.001-07:002009-09-14T10:01:59.105-07:00<p align="center"><img style="WIDTH: 255px; HEIGHT: 199px" class="alignmiddleb" border="0" src="http://images.serendipitydreams.multiply.com/image/1/photos/46/500x500/2/tiredday-by-smooths.jpg?et=kA8zpdIIVFCLWEGt8y5u6g&amp;nmid=279704745" width="360" height="283" /></p><br /><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >The beamer was ready. Was she dressed right? The manual for earth visits said blue jeans, black t-shirt and white flat leather running shoes with three blue stripes on each side. The first rule on Earth was not to be noticed. Just do not stand out in the crowd. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She had given her brother Gandy a list of what to bring on his last trip to earth based on what she had seen on the earth TV programmes and what her brother had told her. Jag was hurrying. She had prepared everything, but now was the time for a quick escape. She had to go now. Gandy was already dead after being caught and Jag was the next one on the list. The Instructor had been killed and his men wanted revenge.<br /><br />She jumped in and pressed the button. Her body seemed to be floating for a few minutes and then she felt fine. Well almost, although she was wondering how these earth people managed with those jeans. Everything seemed to be a bit tight, but the shoes were good. She could run fast with those. She left the beamer which actually resembled a car, an old Ford to be exact. She took the keys with her and threw them down the next drain she saw. There was no returning.<br /><br />She was just about to turn the next street corner when she felt a blast of warm air and turned to see a second beamer arriving and three men wearing dark trousers and long raincoats climbing out. They were already on her trail. She walked on and was taken aback by the humans she saw. They were walking next to each other, or behind each other, not looking right or left. They all seemed to have a purpose in the direction they took. She saw many blue jeans and t-shirts, although the t-shirt designs mostly seemed to have the same emblem and all were in the same colours, also black but with a white stripe along the arm.. It reminded her of the army on her own planet, just walking ahead and disregarding everything and all wearing the same clothes.<br /><br />She again remembered the words in the manual for behaviour. “Look down, not straight ahead, avoid eye contact with the aliens.” That was not difficult she found, no-one seemed to regard the other. All were only interested in their own business.<br /><br />“Suits me” she thought and continued, but heard a voice behind her.<br /><br />“There she is” and one of the men in the raincoat was almost upon her. She walked faster and just followed the people in front. Many of them turned to the left and so she also turned left and found that they were entering a large building. Jag moved as fast as she could, the men at her heels, but then she had to stop. The people she was following were standing in rows and at they giving something up as they entered the building. She saw that it was not actually a building, but just an entrance. Inside it was open and there was a large field with seats surrounding it. They had tickets and Jag had none. She looked in the manual once again, but there was nothing about tickets. She was confused, but her followers were not confused. They were standing, watching and waiting. They approached her and there was no escape. Then she saw the red light on her jeans, travelling upwards to her t-shirt. There was no noise, no sound, she just felt the impact of the bullet and dropped to the floor.<br /><br />“That job is dealt with” said one of the men in the raincoat. The others nodded.<br /><br />“Should be getting back” said the other.<br /><br />And the men walked together returning to their beamer. Their beamer resembled a telephone cabin and they entered one after the other. The street was empty, no-one noticed as the cabin dissolved into thin air, it just disappeared.<br /><br />And Jag. She just lay on the ground, she had been killed. The people were still showing their tickets to enter the football stadium. It was an international game, a qualifying match for the world cup. Tickets were expensive and many of the people were glad to have at last had their dream fulfilled of seeing their country’s team play. Thoughts crossed some minds. “Today’s youngsters just cannot leave those drugs alone and now they just lay in the street.” On that day many people walked passed Jag’s body. They had something more important to do. Some even stepped over her. After all it was none of their business.</span></p><br /><br /><p></p><a href="http://writersblock360.multiply.com/journal/item/72/Challenge_66">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-8914802712762396280?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-8555103078800235522009-09-13T08:05:00.000-07:002009-09-13T08:06:19.379-07:00<p align="center"><img style="WIDTH: 265px; HEIGHT: 207px" class="alignmiddleb" border="0" src="http://www.neosurrealismart.com/modern-art-prints/?images/midsize/angels-and-demons-or-angel-of-light.jpg" width="423" height="331" /></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" >The sword was still sharp, despite the heads that had rolled that day. Its blade was dripping red with the blood of its victims. How he was tired of this war, but he knew, if it is not the other, then it will be me. He felt a sting in the back of his neck and another head rolled, but this time it was different. He was not looking at a stranger, a number in the crowd of men coming towards him, no. It was his head looking up, with eyes that saw no more.<br /><br />A plain spread out in front of him, wide and white, almost blinding, but there in the centre was a giant waiting for him, perhaps. Its head was watching him approach. The closer he got the more details he saw. A head, perhaps female, with hair drifting onto its shoulders. And the eyes: there was something evil in those eyes. Something was drawing him, pulling him into its clutches. Then he saw the door, the entrance.<br /><br />“We are ready for you” the words resounded throughout the barren landscape. It should have been cold, as cold as the ice fields to the right and left of the monster, but he felt no cold, felt no warmth, his body was numb.<?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" ><br />“Is this hell?” he asked, his words echoing through the emptiness of the air.<br /><br />“Hell is where you find it” spoke the colossus. “Do you think you deserve hell?” was its question<br /><br />“I found hell on the battlefield, killing and decapitating my antagonists. It was them or myself.”<br /><br />“And now it is you. Your life is terminated. You now meet the final test.”<br /><br />“My life has been one test? Do I again endure the horrors of combat, of killing men that were strangers. Their only crime being that they worship another god, or speak a different language.”<br /><br />“Here the killing is finished. Death is conclusive - there is no return. Look into my cloak.”<br /><br />The cloak became misty and then it cleared. He saw once again the battlefield, but there was no action. Just bodies laying one by one, the grass coloured red from the bloodshed of the battle. He looked closer and knew something was wrong. There was a large pit dug by the prisoners of this war, those that lost, and the bodies were being collected and piled into the pit. He was startled as he saw a head that he recognised, his own face with its unseeing eyes and mouth that would no longer be able to kiss his wife in a warm embrace. He then realised this was his end in a war he never wanted; a King who wanted more, more land, more wealth, and above all more power. He was just a small piece of the machinery turning to satisfy his King, but his King was wrong and he lost.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';" lang="EN-GB" ><br />The scene changed and he saw his wife and children, marching along a road surrounded by other victims of a never-ending bottomless war; the children crying and their mother hugging them close. He again looked up at the figure,<br /><br />There was a change. The hard face of the giant had become softer, her eyes also had tears and she looked at the soldier.<br /><br />“The door is open, enter, you will now find the peace you have been craving for.”</span></p><br /><br /><p></p><a href="http://dkv58.multiply.com/journal/item/16/Challenge_7">Click here for more</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1329843425686686021-855510307880023552?l=anglo-swiss.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>angloswisshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00309477888996997341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329843425686686021.post-29497879328834335382009-09-12T05:37:00.000-07:002009-09-12T05:38:11.883-07:00<p align="center"><a href="http://s276.photobucket.com/albums/kk26/ksampson629/Wordsmiths/?action=view&amp;current=Rain_by_Skategirlrevised.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="WIDTH: 241px; HEIGHT: 198px" border="0" alt="Photobuck