Have you tried turning it off and back on again? I know you’re not a computer, this isn’t an issue of overloading or not enough space on the hard-drive but really most things can benefit from a little reboot from time to time. But perhaps it’s a connection issue? We could give the cable a good wiggle, turn it over a strong blow to clear the dust, see if it fits in better that way up? Daily Post – Restart
‘Well you know of course when you know who closes a door he always opens a window.’ Except I’ve been eating on too many pizzas, and I’m not sure the hips puberty gave me are going to get through that narrow opening without some serious grazing and attracting the neighbour’s attention when he goes looking for the wounded animal dying over the other side of the fence. At this point you remind me it’s a metaphor, that you’re not talking about the bathroom window above the toilet in Francis? Matthew? Thomas? Definitely Thomas. The bathroom window above Thomas’s downstairs loo. In your eyes there’s no choice but to hike up my knickers and make the most of where last night got me, breakfast and all and perhaps it might turn out that this window is less of a window, and more like a door. I fancied trying to write something a bit more light hearted tonight. If anyone has any constructive criticism I’d really appreciate it.
“No.” said Serena slowly, doing her best to annunciate and raise the decibel level with each syllable. “That wasn’t what I meant.” “Oui!” replied the French man enthusiastically from behind the market stall, fish still in hand as he gesticulated wildly. “Le poisson! Oui! Oui!” “Non. Non.” Serena felt the blush creeping up her throat as people began to stare. “Non poisson. Non poisson! Non Francey! Noney Francey!” “Oui poisson!” “I don’t want the bloody fish!” Serena screamed, throwing her hands onto her head and scrunching the large-brimmed sunhat between her fingers. “I asked where the ferry was! The ferry!”
Whenever I hear it I think of you wedged in the cat flap, half in the kitchen, half out. We’d never owned a cat. Your father had mumbled something about maybe getting a new door but we’d never done anything about it. You were only just crawling and before the cat flap incident you’d seem quite happy to stay in the sitting room where it was warmer and the floor was nice, soft carpet. Needless to say a new door was installed sharpish and the sound of bells has never seemed quite the same .
Jacob paused and counted again. Twenty six. Three less than the last time he’d counted and that infernal orchestra were still refusing to pack it in. If they didn’t stop interrupting his counting then he’d be sending them overboard to find his missing chairs. He jolted forward, scrabbling upwards as the ship lurched again and the deck continued to tilt at a most infuriating angle. The deckchairs began to slide downwards, clattering into each other as they headed for the railings. “Drat.” Jacob spat. He’d got them just right.
He came down wearing his favourite face. He’d taken the nose from an artist back during the renaissance, but if he was honest he couldn’t remember if it had been the artist’s nose or one from a painting. Little details like that tended to get somewhat muddled. He took his seat, the same one he’d taken since long before his nose or even the ear-lobes from that Celtic King. It was his amphitheatre and after a few hundred years of trial and error he’d found the perfect spot. Now he just had to wait for the tourists to arrive and the show to begin.
We thought that maybe… If we tried doing it with… But the joint was stuck.