21 September 2025

 

A Jolly Holiday in the South Pacific

 

CHAPTER 9

 

Gerald packed some of us off with art equipment to a natural beauty spot, while others stayed behind to speak to the police.  We swapped around mid-afternoon.

When it was my turn to talk to the detectives, Gerald directed me into his office.  It could be a worse room, I thought.  It had a pleasant sea view, and neither Gouda nor Cessna came across as threatening.  The questions were quite basic and straightforward.

“Have you seen any members of the group, or staff, acting suspiciously at any time?” asked Gouda.

“No, I don’t think so.  Not that I remember.”

“Ok.  No need to rush.  Think carefully about your answers.  It’s easy to forget little moments that don’t seem relevant at the time.”

I sat and hoped I’d posed my features into a serious, thoughtful expression.  “Sorry.  Can’t think of anything.”

“Did you people who went on last night’s hike leave your bottles around while you got yourselves ready?”

“I didn’t.  I always take a little backpack, and I keep my bottle in there when I’ve filled it.”  I smiled weakly at Gouda.  “Let me think…  Some people have one of those bum bags, I think you call them, just for their bottle, tissues, phone, whatever.  I think Mark carries his bottle in one of the pockets in the side of his trousers.  He’s very much a pocket person.”

Cessna leaned towards me.  “How did Ralph carry his bottle?”

I frowned dramatically as I thought, so they knew I was giving it my best shot.  Then I released my eyes and mouth into circles.  “He had a strap he wore across him, over one shoulder.  A pouch at the bottom for a water bottle, another for a phone… maybe more.  Quite useful, I suppose, if it didn’t bounce around while he was jogging.”  I looked up at Gouda and then Cessna.  “No.  It had a belt that went around the waist, too.  That would have stabilised it.”

Surely they’d have examined it.

“Where did you all fill your bottles?” asked Cessna.  “Did you have access to a tap for drinking water, maybe in the kitchen or the bathrooms?”

He must have asked everyone this already.  So tempting to say something silly…

“I fill mine in my room, where I keep it.  Where I keep everything that I don’t have on me.”

“Do most people do that?” he pressed.

“Look, I know you’d have asked everyone that by now.  What you want to know is whether we had access to each other’s bottles, and whether we knew whose is whose.  The answer’s yes, sometimes they’re left around in the dining room or the bar, and as for me, I don’t know who owns which one.”

Cessna smiled and looked over to Gouda, who said, “Yes, that is what we’re getting at.  You’re brighter than some.”

“Not all, I hope.  If nobody worked out what you were asking, it’d be a dull group of dull-brained people.”

Gouda changed the subject to Agnes falling off the boat.  I had to admit I was possibly the person in front of her, but as I was looking forward at the time, I couldn’t be sure.

“Did you feel her catch her foot on yours, anything like that?” asked Gouda.

“I didn’t know anything about it until I heard her scream, and by the time I turned round, standing in a swaying boat, she was already in the water.”

Cessna leaned towards me and looked me straight in the eye.  “How many times did you go into Daphne’s bedroom?”

“I didn’t go into Daphne’s bedroom at all.  Didn’t even see it through an open door.”

“How did you get on with Hugo?” he asked next.

“Hugo?  I didn’t really know him.  I knew who he was.  We were all introduced to each other.  But that was it.”

“Didn’t he come on to you, that first night.  After the Ursula matter had been sorted out?”

I looked at him with my best confused face.

“We were told you kneed him in the groin.”

I grinned.  “Oh, yes.  That’s right.  Used poor Ursula’s death as an excuse to offer to keep me safe in my bed.”

Cessna turned away, but not before I saw his smirk.

Gouda took his turn.  “How well had you got to know Ursula?”

“I hadn’t.  I only met her in the Reception of this hotel, just before I went to bed.”

Gouda kept his gaze on me.  “You knew her from elsewhere?”

“No.”

He stared at me a bit longer.  “Okay.  Thank you for your help.  You’re free to go.  Stay on the island, of course.  Near the hotel, if not in it.  It’s best if each guest sticks with one or two others when not locked in your rooms.  Keep safe.”

I couldn’t resist it.  “You think there’s a murderer amongst us?”

Gouda’s lips pressed together and he snorted softly.  “I think that’s a strong possibility, I’m afraid.”

I was having fun with my acting.  This was my chance to put on my seriously shocked face.  I added a little tremble of fear for extra effect.

“Are you alright, Enola?” asked Vince Cessna.  “I could give you a mild sedative if you’re frightened.”

I smiled sweetly.  “Thank you, but no.  I don’t do drugs.  I’ll stick with my friends.”

Mark had already been questioned, so I went and asked him to come outside… and we had another joint.

 

About half an hour later, we went in for dinner.

Magnus and Eileen were sitting together and we joined them.  Amazing as it was, I had been enjoying the company of these people.  I usually only like my own, but maybe it’s different in different circumstances.  Anyway, they made me laugh, and I liked that they didn’t get all freaked out about the deaths.

Chief Detective Roman Gouda and Detective Vincent Cessna joined us.  They tried to look relaxed and just part of the group, but I sensed they were watching us all.

As I was thinking that, Mark whispered to the three of us at the table, “Ever feel like you’re being watched?”

A muted chuckle conspiratorially formed itself between us.

“If I’m going to be watched, I think I’ll give them something to look at,” I said.  I gave it a moment, then stood, and started staggering to the door, and slammed a hand to my forehead.  I reached for the back of Violet’s chair, swayed over her shoulder, making her shriek, then swung back and collapsed on the floor.

I had my eyes shut and couldn’t identify who made them all, but I heard a satisfying chorus of screams, gasps and howls, and Violet sobbing.  I heard feet moving about, mostly in my direction.

I opened my eyes to tiny slits and saw someone kneeling beside me.

“Enola?”  It was Vince Cessna.  “Enola?  Can you hear me?”

I didn’t answer.  He shook my shoulder gently.

I decided to honour him with a groan.

“She’s coming round,” said a woman’s voice.

“Enola, can you open your eyes for me?”  It was Cessna again.  I fluttered one eye open and left the other one half closed, as if I didn’t have the energy to raise the lid all the way.  I thought it was probably an effective look.

“Enola, you fainted.  I’m going to put you in the recovery position.”

Oh no, you’re not.  Where’s my medicinal brandy?

Before he could move me, I sat up.

I looked at him with one and a half eyes, then flicked the half-closed lid all the way open.

He looked so concerned I actually felt a bit sorry for him.  Also, I didn’t want to be packed off to bed before I’d finished my dinner.  I looked at him demurely.  “Sorry.”

He put a hand on my shoulder.  “How are you feeling?”

I started to get up.  “I’m fine.”

“Don’t get up too quickly.  Stay there if you need to.”

I got up onto my feet.  Sorry, I must have stood too quickly from the table.  It’s been so stressful today.  I’ll be fine now.  I was just on my way to the Ladies.  Perhaps I could have a medicinal brandy,” I said as I started for the door.

I went to the loo, to give my act credence, and came back, walking slowly, hoping I looked pale and mysterious.

Then right in front of me, in her chair, Selena wailed and fell forward into her soup dish.  Had she outshone me?

Violet screamed even louder, and the sobbing returned.

Then she too fell forward.  Luckily, she had already pushed her plate away.

I had to dodge out of the way as Cessna rushed to Selena.  And then again, as Gouda flew off his chair to Violet.

I made it back to my own seat, noting no medicinal brandy had arrived, and sat down.

Eileen reached her hand out to mine.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.  Did you enjoy the performance?”

Eileen puffed out air.  “I wasn’t sure if it was for real.”

I grinned.

“Good performance,” said Mark.

Hiding his mouth with a hand, Magnus laughed quietly.  “Loved it.”

Looking straight ahead at the table of current interest, Mark asked, “But what’s going on over there?”

I glanced at Mark, then over to the table where Selena was still slumped with her head sandwiched between two halves of a bread roll, and Violet was being steadied in a sitting position by Roman Gouda.

Cessna was feeling Selena’s neck.  “Is he trying to find a pulse?”

“Oh, not again,” said Eileen.

Mark sighed and shook his head.  “This is becoming an inconvenience.”

Magnus nodded.  “Puts one off one’s dinner, what?”

Astrid and Loretta suddenly rose as if a puppeteer’s strings were attached to their heads, and went to the officers and the distressed damsels.  Loretta lifted Selena’s wrist, her fingers placed where a pulse should be found.  She shook her head.

Astrid put her arms around Violet and encouraged her to come and sit elsewhere.

“No, no, no!” came a squawk to my left.  It was Peppa.  Peter pulled her to his chest.

Adrian went over to Loretta, quickly followed by Melvyn.  With added assistance from Vince Cessna, they lifted Selena out of her chair and carried her away.

“When will we get our mains?” asked Mark. 

 

 

 

 

13 September 2025

 

How are you this week?

You're all very quiet.

Why hasn't anybody written to this site and said what rubbish is it?

Or do you just visit, see the front page, think "I've seen that before" and go away again?

Maybe I ought to liven it up a bit.  Ring the changes.

But I know people have  been here.  I can see them through my doorbell camera.

Okay, AI clocks up statistics.

I hope you didn't really think I could see you.  Big Sister is watching you, and all that.  Creepy.  But I love that lovely lilac top....

 

I wonder if I could delight you with a poem about words?

Probably not, but I'm going to try it live, right now.  So if you tune in you might see the letters as they appear on the screen .

Although actually in a minute I have to report back to my friends on "Shut Up & Write" in a minute, and then feed the dog, so I might not actually be typing for a short while.  I could be fun though, to see words magically appearing.

 

I like to use words, they make me happy;

If I were a talking crocodile, I might sound snappy.

 

What words would you like me to write,

So you could enjoy reading them by day or night?

Something heavy

Or something light?

About mysterious murders,

Or just people having a fight?

 

Would you like me to write about dogs and cats?

Or men last century wearing black and white spats?

Something romantic

Or a world of rats?

About dominant women

Or those used as doormats?

 

I really don't think this is quite my thing,

To write with words whose rhymes ring.

Perhaps I should stick to what I know

And write the same type of thing

After all is fictitious fun

To tell tales of people dying.

 

But in the real world it's not fun

Not like eating a cheeky iced bun.

Don't want anyone getting hurt

Peace and harmony for everyone.

Let's be tolerant and kind

Debate with words and never a gun.

 

Oh well.  It's always fun to try something different.  And by the way it's Sunday 14th now.  Sometimes I wander off to do one thing, and then something else happens, and off I go at a tangent.

 

Anyway, I hope you like the latest instalment of A Jolly Holiday in the South Pacific.  If you think it's a load of old nonsense, that's because it is.  Don't take things seriously when you don't have to.  A giggle a day keeps the blues at bay.

 

 

A Jolly Holiday in the South Pacific

CHAPTER 8

 

Poor old Ralph went into the freezer, just like Ursula before him.

It was after ten in the evening.  Vince wasn’t sure we’d get someone from the Coronor’s office out here at this time of the night.  After all, there was nothing they could do for Ralph.

But judging by the verbal rumblings, people wanted answers.  By all accounts it seemed Ralph chocked on the water from his own bottle.  There was no foam around his mouth nor signs of acid burns.  Water had killed him?

Vince sniffed the bottle.  “Doesn’t smell of anything but water.  Surely there’d be something to smell, or see, if there’d been some kind of poison in it.”  He seemed to be addressing the bottle, rather than us.

Then he looked up and around and asked to speak to all the people who had been near Ralph when he met his end.  “I don’t need to speak to the rest of you.  You were either in here, or I saw you out there, walking.”

Melvyn said, “Bruce, Glenys, Ivan and Bridget went off to the south-west tip, where the penguins gather the most.  They’re not back yet.”

Vince frowned and huffed.  “Well, I’m not going to worry about them unless they don’t come back.  We would have seen them if they’d been near Ralph and done something.”

With her face scrunched in confusion, Astrid nodded.  “Loretta and I were pretty much keeping stride with him until he stopped for a drink.”

“And Melvyn and I were just behind,” said Adrian.  “We saw him stop and take a swig, then started to choke.  Nobody touched him.”

Going over to the bar, Mark muttered to himself.  “Bloody hell, this is an unlucky group.  You lot been walking under ladders or breaking mirrors or something?”

I decided to go up to my room.  I was tired, and thought the peace would be good.  I wasn’t needed for questioning.  Why would I be?  I was walking with Mark and Magnus when it happened.

It had been a busy day, and I must have been more beat than I realised.  I fell asleep reading my book.

 

After an uninterrupted sleep, I felt quite fresh in the morning, and made it down for breakfast by eight-thirty.

Gerald was just inside the dining room.  “Enola, you haven’t seen Bridget and Ivan or Glenys and Bruce this morning, have you?

“No, I’m sorry, Gerald.  I hadn’t seen anyone until I walked in here.  They’ll be in their rooms, won’t they?”

“No.  They’re not.  I had to look, I know it seems an invasion of privacy, but I hadn’t seen them come back last night.  I’m worried.”

That was plain to see by his face.

“Don’t worry, Gerald.  What are the chances something happened to all four of them together on the same evening Ralph choked?”

“I know, it all sounds so ridiculous.  But we’ve had so many… accidents lately.”

“I’m sure they just decided to stay down there.  It’s lovely scenery.  Perhaps they wanted to see the sun rise.  Maybe they took some photos.”

“Do you think so?”

“They are two very together couples, aren’t they?  Enjoy doing their own thing.”

A weak smile tried its luck on Gerald’s face.  “Yes.  Yes, they do spend all their time together.  Thank you, Enola.”

I went and helped myself to some coffee and juice and ordered a full-English.  Seems last night’s events had tired a lot of people out.  Peter and Peppa sat very close together at one table, and Violet and Selena sat at the next one.  Belinda and Graham were a couple of tables away, gazing into each other’s eyes as they ate.

One of the staff brought me my cooked breakfast, so I asked if she knew where the detective was this morning.

“He’s been in the office making contact with the people in Ovina City.  I expect he’s feeling rather silly, having lost someone on his first night here looking after us.”

That made me giggle.  I liked her.  No idea what her name was.  They all looked the same to me, in their staff uniforms with their hair in nets.

I took my time over my breakfast, then strolled around the hotel, enjoying the fresh sea air.

When I returned, I decided to saunter over to Gerald’s office.  He was talking in hushed tones with Detective Cessna.

I cleared my throat.

They looked round at me.

“Enola,” said Gerald.  “Everything alright?”

“I was just wondering if the missing four had shown up yet.”

Gerald sighed heavily.  “No.  Still no sign.”

“Has anyone been round there in the dinghy to look for them?” I asked.

Vince looked at me, a little pink cheeked.  “I tried.  I got a few yards, and the outboard motor conked out.  I did try rowing, up the front where it’s narrow, but I couldn’t manage it by myself.  I just ended up going out to sea.”

“Oh dear,” I said frowning.  “Did you get the boat back to the shore, or did you have to jump into the sea and swim?”

“I managed it with the oars eventually.  But it’s a tricky business with the waves lapping the way they do here.”

Gerald rubbed his hand over the bald top of his head.  “Just more bad luck, eh?  We’ve asked for some more fuel for the dinghy when the coroner and whoever else gets here in the helicopter.”

“Well, I hope it shows up soon.”  With a little wave, I left them to it.  I decided to go back outside.

As soon as I got away from the entrance I let the laughter out, but I covered my mouth to muffle the sound.  If anyone heard me, I’d pretend I was crying.  But really – how much bad luck can some people have?  A police officer who’s also a trained paramedic, and he didn’t even check the fuel in the dinghy’s motor.

I took out my phone, unfolded the cover, and eased out a joint, lighting it with my mini lighter I kept in there too.  I strolled over to where there was a wooden bench overlooking the sea.  Soon I was feeling this was the best place to be in the world.

 

When the helicopter arrived, I managed a wave.  Officer Cheese was back, and he had three other people with him, all men.

Gouda split off from the others to come within calling distance of me.  “How are you?”

I so wanted to giggle, I had to pretend I was gently crying.  “Glad you’re here, Mr Gouda.”  And that sounded funny to me, so I did more pretend crying, until he disappeared into the hotel after his colleagues.

I was mellowing as Vince Cessna came out with another man carrying a can of petrol.  They filled the boat’s motor, and Vince started it.  It sounded as it should, so presumably the problem was fixed.

As they put on life jackets, two more men rushed out, put on their protective gear, and they roared off towards the south-west tip of Flock Island.

I strolled along the coast a bit, and back again, then went into the hotel and up to my room.  There was another email from my mum.

 

My dearest Enola

I know I don’t see you every day normally, but I miss you, and I don’t like you being so far away.  Daddy misses you too.

Are you being careful?  I hope none of your friends have had any more accidents.

Have you been able to get any sheep’s wool?

Enjoy your holiday.

Love from us all here in England.

 

I think we were supposed to be going to Ovina that day, but with another death and four people missing, we had to put up with entertaining ourselves, which seemed a bit unfair.  I decided I might as well reply to the parent.

 

Mother

Don’t worry all is fine here.

We have a young man from the big island, Ovina, staying with us for a while, and a couple of visitors today, but otherwise all is quiet.  I just haven’t had the chance to find wool.

Enola

 

There was an email from Evelyn too.

 

Hi Enola

Are you making progress with putting your past to rest?

How’s it all going as a holiday, generally?  I hope it’s good, and the weather is alright.  Funny to think you’re in late summer over there.

Take care

Evelyn

 

I whisked off a quick reply.

 

Hi Evelyn

I’m having a good time, thank you.  The weather is fine, although it’s cooler here than it would be in late summer in England.

My emotional burdens are lifting each day, it seems.  Last night I put another part to rest.

I’m very grateful to you.

Enola

 

I heard the dinghy return and went down to see if they’d picked up the missing foursome.  They had, but all four had silver blankets wrapped around their shoulders, and they didn’t look like happy bunnies.

Must find out what happened.

I passed them as they made their way to the stairs.  I gave them my very best sympathetic smile, and they smiled back weakly.

I could hear Gerald and Gouda in the office, welcoming back Cessna and the other three men.  “They got caught on a tiny patch of sand by the tide,” Cessna said.  “They’re all safe now.  Just going to clean up.”

Ha ha!  I wonder if they were stuck on a piece of land so small they had to stand up with the tide lapping at their feet.

I strolled into the dining room to see who was about, and more importantly, if they had the urn on to make tea.  They did.  I poured myself a cup and took the empty chair at a table with Mark, Magnus and Eileen.

“Enola,” said Eileen keenly.  “Do you know what happened?  We saw the swingers return.  I’d thought they were done for.”

I looked at Eileen.  She was grinning.  Maybe I could see what Magnus saw in her.  She could be my type of person after all.

“Well, apparently, they were performing a love chain on this patch of soft sand, and before they knew it, the tide had come in and they were stranded on a tiny island.  I think they took a break, changed partners and went for it again to pass the time.  I suppose it kept them warm.”

“Enola!” said Mark in mock exasperation (at least I don’t think he meant it). “Would you be embellishing that story just a tad?”

“Moi?”  I looked at him with wide eyes and raised brows.  “Well, maybe they just got stuck on a piece of sand.  But that sounds a bit boring.”

“Ooh, yes,” said Eileen.  “Your version was more interesting, Enola.”

Magnus looked my way.  “We saw them walk in with those emergency blankets around them, so realised it wasn’t one of the more fatal accidents that tend to beset this group?”

“I imagine they’re cold,” I said.  “Besides, the routine seems to be no more than one death in any twenty-four-hour period.”

“True,” said Mark.  “What do you think will happen today?”

Despite the clear skies, a sudden thunderbolt flashed and rumbled through the room.

 

 

 

 

 

6 September 2025

Hello readers.  Writer here, but I'm also very much a reader.

At the moment, I'm reading "The Night Circus" by Erin Morgenstern.  When I say that, I don't mean literally at this moment, because at this moment I'm writing these bloggy words, but I'm guessing you'll know what I mean.

At the moment, in the broad sense of the phrase, I'm also writing Book 5 in the series of Investigators' Tales.  I still like the idea, but it's coming out a bit of a mess at the moment.  Things keep interrupting me, and it's hard to concentrate.

I love to join in Zoom sessions of Shut Up & Write, and I logged onto the first one on Thursday lunchtime.  I'd just spotted this thing stuck to my ceiling, and it was freaking me out so much I had to mention it to the other writers in the group.  Then someone came round, I showed them the thing, and they were cautious of it too.

To me, it looked like some kind of spider nest, with spider legs hatching out.  Over time, the legs seemed to hang lower, and I thought I could see a body.  Actually, it was getting nearer horizontal by that time.  It was like this dirty brown balloon thing was slowly giving birth to it.

Just as my visitor was about to leave, by which time I was convinced it was a hatching spider, I said, "Supposing it's venomous?"

She thoughtfully replied, "That's why I said make sure it doesn't get near the dog."

Well, he is a very lovely and special dog.  Selfishly, I had been thinking about me getting bitten by this monster and poisoned!

Oh well.  I didn't get back to writing that day, the first day in yonks, although I did join my chatty writers' group in the evening.  By which time, a lot of people had been treated to my fears and disgusting photos.  But my nerves were reasonable under control because I decided the thing coming out must be stillborn.

Eventually, it got to TV watching, reading and nibbling time, and I fell asleep.  I even went to bed!  In the morning, I wasn't thinking much about it until I came into the room it had decided to take over.  Ah, the spider monster!  I'd just walked under where it had been.  Heart thumping in my ears, limbs aquiver, I turned round to look.  It wasn't there.  Just a sticky black spot on the ceiling.

Where was it?

In a way it was worse not knowing what had happened.  How many spider monsters had come out?  Were they spread all over the house?  I was feeling a little stressed again to say the least

Mustn't drag this out.  These things happened:

a)  I fretted

b)  I saw it on a window frame

c)  I tried to grab it with some tongs, but couldn't reach

d)  I tried to knock it into a box with my back scratcher, but it clung on

e)  I told virtually everyone whose WhatsApp number I had about the danger I was in.

f)  I glanced over and saw it had developed a neck, head and two antennae.  It was a snail with something spider-leg-likes stuck to its tail.  I still don't know what because it's out of reach.  But I can live with a snail.

So, I have a new pet.

I was meeting family at 12.30 that day, and had just about calmed down.  I went with my "chauffeur", we both commented about everyone else being very late.

"Are you sure you got the time right?" I was asked.

I checked my phone.  Unfortunately, my one operated-on eye and the other looking blurry by comparison, I had invented a "1".  The meeting time was 2.30.

I had a delicious slice of lime cheesecake, both of us felt grumpy with me, and I got taken home.  Later, another "chauffeur" came and picked me up, and we had our family meeting.  Despite it being only afternoon, I had a glass of wine and lemonade to help with the anxiety.

Now then.  Do you feel sane and normal in comparison to me?

 

 

A Jolly Holiday in the South Seas

 

CHAPTER 7

 

Chief Detective Roman Gouda and his side-kick Vincent Cessna stood and looked around.  “Who hasn’t spoken to us yet?” said the boss.  “How about you two?”  He was looking at Mark and me.

“Okay,” said Mark.

I just nodded and tried to compose my face into the right expression for less than twenty per cent of the people in our group having died since we arrived in the Ovine Islands, but each death being individually sad to those who loved the people.  I haven’t a clue how successful I was.

I have a suspicion Roman Gouda was of the opinion men were more likely to commit mass murder, as he chose to interview Mark.  I went for a chat with Vincent Cessna.

My grilling comprised a little introduction about who I was and where I came from, moved onto where I was at the times people died, and then onto how I felt about it all.  Last I had to give a character assessment of everyone in the group, alive and dead, plus comments on Gerald and the staff.

Cessna sat back in his chair and looked at me directly.  “Don’t forget, Enola, that I’m also a trained paramedic, and quite used to dealing with distressed people.  If you find all this hard to cope with, come and speak to me.  Likewise if you have any suspicions, I’m available, and so is Chief Detective Gouda today.

“Thank you, Vincent.  Good to know in all this chaos.”  I gave my weak little woman smile, including looking at him through my eyelashes, and went off back downstairs to send someone else up to talk to him.

I decided on another cup of tea and went back to the map puzzle.  Soon Mark returned and came over to me.  “How’d it go?” he asked.

“I didn’t admit anything, and they didn’t suspect.”

“Same here.”  He grinned like a cheeky schoolboy.

 

Sometime after five o’clock, Roman Gouda declared he and Cessna had spoken to everyone individually.  “Gerald has kindly invited me to stay for dinner.  I’ll do that, then get back to Ovina City.  Feel free to speak to me while I’m still here, and don’t forget Vince is going to stay for you after that.  You’ve all been through a lot.  Make use of us.

Bridget was near enough for me to hear her say to her three companions, “Do you think he’d spend the night with us if we asked?”

I’d heard the expression ‘troilism’ but didn’t know what one called a menage a cinq.

 

Magnus joined Mark and I for dinner.  We hadn’t seen much of him all day.  He’d struck up a new friendship with Eileen, so she joined us too.  It reminded me of teenagers’ double-dating, which was a bit of an unsettling thought.

While we were digesting our food over coffee, Clive stood and addressed the group.  “We’ve been stuck in here a lot today.  What say you we go for a good hike or a jog later?”

Astrid and Loretta were up for either, as were Adrian and Melvyn and Magnus, Eileen, Ralph and Mark.

“I’m up for a hike, but not a jog,” I said.  “I’ve eaten too much and I haven’t stretched anything except my patience all day.”

Bruce and Glenys, Ivan and Bridget said they had planned to go to the south-west of the island, where we’d seen the majority of the penguins before.

Peter, Peppa, Violet, Selena, Graham and Belinda decided to stay in and watch a DVD.

Fiona put up her hand.  “I’m game for a walk, if Timmy’ll come.”

Detective Vincent Cessna declared he’d have a bit of a jog, mostly hike, but stay back at times to keep an eye out for everyone’s safety.

Half an hour later, we set off.  A few started off jogging, some hiked briskly, I walked at a medium pace, and Fiona and Timmy strolled and giggled.

Vince Cessna jogged down past me, going the wrong way, passing me again the other way a short while later.

I stopped and stretched my calves, thighs and arms, encouraged by the fresh air and the good hormones increasing with exercise.  Then I started to jog.  Not too fast, of course.  After a while I saw Mark and Magnus ahead of me.  They’d stopped jogging and had slowed to a smart stroll.  I gradually slowed as I caught up with them, not wanting to appear out of puff or suffering from cramp.

I looked ahead.  “Some of them still jogging then?”

“Oh yes,” said Magnus.  “I suppose we have some marathon types with us.”

I huffed out a little laugh.  “Yes, I suppose if anyone’s done that, five miles or so isn’t much at all.”

“You need to keep it up though,” said Mark.  “Although, as you say, this distance isn’t much – for fit people.”

Magnus slapped him across the shoulders.  “Which isn’t us, unfortunately.”

“Here comes the cop again,” I said.  “I suppose Cessnas are faster than your average plod.”

Vince gave us a wave as he passed.

I could hear a bit of a commotion ahead of us.  “What’s going on up there?  Someone fallen and broken a nail?”

“Hah!  Maybe.”  Mark broke into a gentle jog and Magnus and I followed.

“Help!”  It sounded like Astrid or Loretta.

Mark turned round and shouted, “Vince!  Help needed.”

The detective wasn’t far behind.  He’d only had Fiona and Timmy to check on.  Soon he was trotting past us.  He broke into a canter as more shouts for help came from somewhere ahead of us.

We sped up to and arrived to see Vince Cessna giving Ralph CPR.

Mark walked the last few metres.  “What the fuck?”

Adrian put a hand on Mark’s shoulder.  “He stopped to take a drink and just started choking, mate.  It was gruesome.”

Melvyn turned as Magnus and I caught up.  “He’ll be alright.  He must’ve just swallowed down the wrong hole.”

“Eurgh, that’s a dreadful feeling,” said Magnus.  “You can’t stop coughing even when you’ve got rid of it.  Suppose his body blacked him out because it couldn’t cope.  Automatic reset, sort of thing.”

He didn’t look all that alright to me.  “How long’s he been like that?”

Melvyn looked at his watch.  “Oh, I don’t know.  I didn’t look at the time when he collapsed, did you Adrian?”

“No.  I reckon it’s at least five minutes.”

Astrid and Loretta came over to us.  “Time’s difficult to gauge when there’s an emergency,” said Astrid.  “It might even have been ten minutes.  I had a go on his chest, then Loretta did, and we’re not weak.  Vince is looking a bit red.”

“He was running full pelt a moment ago.”  Mark was getting closer, and he knelt down the other side of Ralph.  “I’ll take over, Vince.  Take a break.”

While Mark did compressions, Vince flopped back, rolled sideways and got himself into a sitting position, breathing heavily.  He pulled out his phone.  He tapped it.  He pressed the ‘on’ button.  He held it up in the air.  “Anyone got a signal?”

“I’ll try over there,” said Astrid.  “It’s a little higher.”

Adrian started to jog in a different direction. “I’ll try over here.”

Mark continued to do chest compressions, but Ralph’s face was looking blue.

Loretta came round to Ralph’s side.  “I’ll try some breaths.  You never know,”

Nobody got a phone signal, and Ralph didn’t regain a pulse.  We had to carry him all the way back to the hotel.  Well, Vince, Magnus, Mark and Melvyn started to carry him, and some of the others swapped to help.  I kept my distance.

30 August 2025

 

Well, here we are at the ende of August, which means we're soon to start September, which of course is the beginning of the run-up to Christmas.  If you don't believe me, look in the shops!

Over here in England we do have some fun with Hallowe'en these days.  Something that didn't happen when I was a child.  Then on 5 November we have Guy Fawkes Night / Bonfire Night / Fireworks Night.  For those who don't know, we celebrate the failure of a plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament when the King was inside...  By setting fire to things and hurling explosives up into the sky.  Now, fireworks are pretty, I must admit, but I do wish they would be quieter.  If they just went "pop" instead of "BANG" it would be easier on the pets and wild animals.

Of course, everyone gets overexcited about the ability to buy explosives, and fireworks can be going off any night (sometimes in the day, just to keep us on our toes), from when they go on sale, probably about now, until well into the new year.  The absolute excess of imitations of automatic rifles by the million occurs at midnight, the end of New Year's Eve.  In London they go on for about 20 minutes, I think.  I know this happens all the way round the world, at different times.  That's a hell of a lot of fireworks.  I'd rather a laser display to music.  Less wasteful.  They must spend millions of any and all currencies that night.

Supposing we had a quiet night going into 1 January, saved the money, and fed the starving and housed the homeless instead?

I'm not a killjoy, honest.  But music and laser / drone light shows would be just as good, wouldn't it?  And you'd still have the equipment left for next year.

Just a thought!

How about.....  The whole world did a karaoke-like singalong, all at the same time?  Now, that would be fun, and funny.

Living as I do on the north side of la manche, I'd be okay with us doing it at midnight Greenwich Mean Time, in English.  But I don't want to be selfish.  We could have a few lines in French and Spanish, Italian maybe - there are some good famous songs in Italian.  I like the one about the Loch Ness monster -  Nessie Dormer.  Or how about Latin?  Well, maybe not.  I don't know what westerners would do to include the eastern people who write in that funny way, you know, so it looks like the sort of painted decorations you have in Chinese restaurants.  Well, maybe someone clever could write the words out phonetically.  Even then the English and French would probably argue with everyone else about how to pronounce words with an E, or even more letters, on the end of a word that we can't be bothered to give voice to.

I wonder if we'd actually have to get places on each longitude to start at a slightly different time, to make up for the relatively slow speed of sound - especially if it were accompanied by laser lights.  Hmm.  Give it a think.  Write in with any songs you think would be good for singing in the new year.

And any ideas for including countries whose new year falls other than 1st January...  🤔

 

And now for something completely different (as Monty Python used to say, probably still do) - - -  The saga continues of Enola's rather unusual holiday.

A JOLLY HOLIDAY IN THE SOUTH PACIFIC

 

CHAPTER 6

 

I had a dreadful hangover the next morning, and hoped earnestly that the electricity had come back on so I could have a shower and coffee in peace, followed by a huge fry-up.

I got my wishes.

I even got most of my fry-up in beautiful, healing solitude, until Mark came down and entered the dining room wearing sunglasses.

He grabbed a pastry from the cold buffet and asked for a full English.  He ate the pastry while he was holding it in his mouth without hands, pouring himself a large orange juice and then coffee.

The pastry had disappeared by the time he reached my table.  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“About the same as you, possibly, but I didn’t think to wear sunglasses.”

“Just going with squinting to keep the light out, I see.”

I was.

“Food makes it feel better.”  I wiped egg yolk off my plate with a piece of toast.  “Don’t know if people were down here earlier and I missed them, or if they’re still cowering upstairs.”

“A bit of both, probably.  Have you seen Gerald?”

“Briefly.  Just going into his office with a dressing on his forehead.”

“Ah, he’ll have his own sort of headache then.”

We both looked out the window at the sound of an engine.  It was a large helicopter headed our way.  ‘Police’ was written on the side.  It flew over the hotel and landed on the open grass on the other side.

“We have people die on us, and we just have to give statements to the local bobbies,” said Mark.  “Then Gerald trips over a chair and we get the big guns coming to see what’s going on.  They must be important, else they’d have arrived by dinghy.”

 

One of the ladies I’d seen in the dining room, behind the bar, and cleaning in Reception, whisked outside.  A few minutes later, she escorted the human contents of the helicopter into the dining room, along with a couple of suitcases.

Gerald followed them in, a frown beneath the dressed wound on his head.

A man of about five and three-quarters feet in height, very square of shoulders, and indeed rather square face-on altogether, with neatly clipped grey hair, thanked the member of staff and said he’d take it from there.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention, please.”

Muttering travelled the room.  It sounded like the type that would be accompanied by raised eyebrows in the main.

Gerald came round to face him and introduced himself.

The square man shook Gerald’s hand, gave him a tight smile, then looked up to face the rest of us.  “I am Chief Detective Roman Gouda.  Cheesey, I know.”  A few of us got the joke.

He turned to the younger man behind him.  He was more like an upside-down triangle, broad across the shoulders, narrow at the hips.  He had a very round face on top of a hidden short neck.  His hair was a very dark brown, short at the sides, and long enough to reveal its waves on top.  “I’m Detective Vincent Cessna.  And my name is a little plane, compared to the boss’s.”

Two people laughed.  I was one of them.

Gouda asked that all guests and staff come down to listen to what he had to say.

Gerald went upstairs, and we could hear him knocking on doors and calling out names, saying senior police officers were waiting to speak to everyone.  Then he came back down and offered tea or coffee to our visitors.  “Some of them may have been asleep,” he explained, “So we’ll need to give them a few minutes.”

Chairs were provided for the officers, suitably placed to address guests and staff.

When it seemed all the guests were present, Gerald made a show of calling the register.  “Twenty-two.  All present and correct.”

The square man introduced himself again, without the joke about the cheese.  The triangle man with the circle head then introduced himself.  Now, everyone knew who they were.  But what are they doing here?

“I expect you’re wondering why we’re here,” said Gouda.  Ooh, mind reader.  “You’ve spoken to various officers from Little Ovina, but we’re from the main island, where you would have landed by plane.  Ovina City.  What has been happening to you people has been of increasing concern, so we were contacted, and we’re of the same opinion.  It is a worrying situation.  Four deaths so close together stretches coincidences taught.  We have been questioning if you are the unluckiest group ever, or if someone is bumping you off one by one.”

Clive leant back in his chair and crossed his arms.  “I said it was murder, didn’t I?  Don’t forget that when I’m proved right.”

Female tears started up again, mainly from Selena, Violet and Peppa.

Astrid and Loretta moved over to Selena and Violet’s table and held their hands.  Peter put a wing around his penguin partner’s shoulder.

Mark put his mouth near my ear.  “Let the mudslinging and blaming begin.”

“Vincent Cessna, here, is not just a detective, but also a paramedic.  Whatever the reasons for the deaths, Doctor Garfield was concerned about you.  So if you’re finding it hard to cope, please speak to Vincent.  He will be staying here, at your convenience, for the rest of your holiday.  He’ll help keep you safe and care for your welfare.”

“Thank you,” said Gerald.

“Between us, we want to speak to each of you today.  No rush this time.  Just tell us everything you know, and as importantly, all that’s on your minds.  We want you to open up to us.  Let us help you.  And let’s sort it out between us what’s going on.”

Gouda smiled appropriately, not too wide and jolly, but enough to show concern.  “Gerald, can you organise a couple of rooms for us to talk to people privately.  An office, or a spare bedroom.  And of course, Vince will need a room to stay in after our discussions… “

Gerald stood.  “Yes, we have some spare bedrooms that should be suitable.”  With four dead guests, there would be spare bedrooms.  “If you’d like to follow me.”  He led the way out through Reception.

Eileen stood and looked around the room.  “Would anyone like to play a game, or do the activities we’ve used before, art equipment, cards, puzzles?  Keep our minds off all this wretched business.”

“Good idea, Eileen,” said Belinda, getting to her feet.  “Let’s get the equipment out we had the other day.  I’ll help you.”

“Come on, Adrian,” said Melvyn.  “Let’s get these tables put into a more suitable arrangement.”

While so many people were being busy organising stuff, I went to my room to check my emails.  There was another from my mum.

 

Dear Enola

How horrible for you that a man fell off the cliff.  I am worried about you being in that strange part of the world.

The BBC reported someone fell into the water and drowned at one of the Ovine Islands, and after a particularly bad lightning storm, someone else was electrocuted.  It’s not like Europe down there, is it?  I hope these things had nothing to do with your group.

Any luck finding sheep’s wool?

Take care and remember English goods are the safest.

Lots of Love from Mummy and Daddy, Barker and Mr Tibbs.

 

 

Not wanting to get involved in the rearranging of the dining room, I decided to send a short reply straight away.

 

Mother

I’m fine, but I’m afraid I haven’t found any wool yet.  We’ve been keeping away from the sheep mostly.

We’ve done some art, jigsaw puzzles, played cards and other games, and went for a tour of Little Ovina.

All good.

Enola

 

While I was there with my laptop, I decided to whizz off an update to Evelyn.

 

        Hi Evelyn

Unfortunately, we’re back to unexciting activities today, but I do feel pleased with my personal progress.  This holiday seems to be just what I needed.

I have done what I think will make things right with those I angered, and have put to peace my grudges with four others.

I hope you’re not too cold over there in late winter.  Here, of course, it’s the end of summer.

Your grateful friend

              Enola

 

***

 

I went back downstairs and approved of how the dining room had been set out.  The map puzzle was back and no one was working on it, so I claimed it for myself.

A couple of minutes later, Peppa and Peter waddled into the room.

“How did it go?” asked Belinda, striding over to them.

Peppa put an arm around Peter’s waist.  “They both seemed very nice.”

“They did,” agreed Peter.  “It will be good to have Vincent staying here with us.  Just in case…”

Belinda frowned and studied Peppa’s expression.  “I’m sure everything’s going to be just hunky dory from now on.”

Gerald came in.  “Who wants to go and talk next?  There’s two of them, so one each.”  He glanced around and caught Graham’s eye.  “How about Graham and Belinda?  Go on up.  You’ll see the rooms they’re using.  The doors are open.”

 

We moved some things aside to give us table space and had a finger buffet for lunch.  Gouda and Cessna took a break from their questioning, too and sat together talking quietly while they ate.

It was all wonderfully civilised.  We had tea and coffee to finish, and no one was rushed off to speak to the police.

Mark and I were sharing a table with Astrid and Loretta.  “I don’t think they seriously consider a murder has been committed,” said the latter.  “They are very laid back.”

“Yes, you’d imagine them being more hasty and unfriendly if they’d been suspicious of us,” said Astrid.

Mark put down his cup and crossed his arms.  “Yes, I get the impression they think we’ve just been unlucky.  Why not?  Four obvious accidents.  Out of the original twenty-six of us, what kind of ratio is that?”  He looked to me with his brows raised.

I tried to see the numbers in my head.  “Twenty-six divided by four…  six and a half.  So count the halves, that’s thirteen into fifty-two.  Does that work?”

Mark took over.  “Let’s see if we can work out a percentage.  Four deaths out of twenty-six, that’s four on the top, twenty-six on the bottom… divide both by two gives two over thirteen… multiply the two by a hundred…”

“It’s less than twenty per cent,” said Loretta.  “If there had been five deaths, and twenty-five of us - which is only one out – that would have been twenty per cent.  Fives into twenty-five goes five.  A fifth is twenty per cent.”

“Good thinking, Lolly.”  Astrid patted her on the shoulder.  “We’ve lost less than one in five.  Or should that be ‘fewer’?”

“But if we have a murderer, they’re not as bad as the flu epidemic of 1918,” I pointed out optimistically.  “That attacked one-fifth of the world’s population.”

 

I wonder if there will be more deaths next week?  JM

23 August 2025

 

Somebody's Stolen My File and My Cataract!

 

I had every intention of adding the next chapter of A Jolly Holiday in the South Pacific to my Bloggy Words this weekend.  Well, it's only early Saturday afternoon, so there's still hope.

I have this problem.  I keep losing files.  I just don't get it.  They wander off without telling me, and I get mightily miffed when it happens.  So far, all but one have turned up again later.  I'll be sitting here, playing with the computer, and a file that I couldn't get hold of will just roll up, often drunk, only occasionally with a friend, and never with an explanation or an apology.  Then I can carry on working on it, or publish it or whatever I wanted it for.  I think it's a bloody cheek the way they use this place like a hotel.

So today it's A Jolly Holiday in the South Pacific that's wandered off.  Probably gone for a jolly holiday, possibly in the South Pacific.  Honestly, I never know where they go.  I just hope this one has gone on its own and will come back very soon!

 

The other thing that I lost yesterday, in the sense that it went, but I know where, and it was with my full permission, was part of the lens in my right eye.  It was full of cataract and very difficult to see through.  I kept blaming my reading glasses, thinking they'd been made wrong, but it was a tiny bit of me that was the problem, so I apologise to my glasses and accept full responsibility for not being able to see properly.

Anyway, yesterday I went to the eye clinic, had lots of drops put in my right eye over an hour or two, and some biscuits - they were offering both.  Then I went to the theatre, not to see a play, but to donate part of my eye.  I expect it's now on display somewhere in a medical or ophthalmological exhibition.  I was sad to see it go, but I'd negotiated a swap with the clinic.  They took my bit of eye, and in its place they gave me a pretend piece of lens, made of some plasticky sort of stuff.

I couldn't see what they were doing to my eye, even though it was wide open, because there was just lots and lots of light, and three little circles.  I don't know what they were.  I'd been told I wouldn't have to look at what they were doing to me, because of the light, so obviously I had to make the joke about saying it's a good job they warned me, else I'd be looking for the Baby Jesus calling me.  I'm sure I'm the only one to crack that one.

A very nice young man held my hand to lead me back to the eye drops and biscuits chair.  This time, I had a transparent eye patch plastered to my face, and no drops, but I did get more biscuits.  I presume they needed to keep patients' blood sugar up, but it was very kind.

Then it was off to the car with my chaffeur of the day, and my dog, and off we went home.  The journey was only 30-40 minutes long, I think, but boy did the pain build up in that time!  So it was most of the rest of the day on the settee watching "Classic" episodes of Emmerdale and some things on YouTube.  The immediate two paracetamol plus two ibuprofen deadened the pain, and I did feed my guinea pigs, but I got so bored.  I went to bed eventually feeling bored, and woke up feeling bored.

This morning I was allowed the take the mask thing off, and lo and behold, I can see!  In fact, it feels like I can see better through the operated eye, despite it needing about four weeks to settle down.  The fact that the pupil in it is so big, and the other one a mere pinprick, means lots of extra light on the right side.  It's pretty weird, and I have to go and rest my mismatched pair of orbs in a minute.

But it was such fun that in about four weeks I get to have the same operation (metaphorically speaking - obviously it will be a different operation) on my left eye.  And in due course, I should be able to see quite well.  Not quite like a bushbaby, but well enough to go about my strange life and see what I'm doing.  Yippee!!

 

24 August 2025

 

I found the file about the islands!  I'm just going to check the next chapter over and look for my tortoise in the garden.

Here it is!  (The tortoise is in his wooden thing with lights.)

 

A JOLLY HOLIDAY IN THE SOUTH PACIFIC

 

CHAPTER 5

 

We filed back off the dinghy.  Mark nudged me and pointed to a corner of a concrete step with blood on it.  “That’s what did for her, I presume,” he said close to my ear.

We were led the two blocks back to the police station by a sergeant at the front, and a constable at the back.  We stopped in the car park.

The sergeant stood on a step leading to a door.  “I want you to put yourselves roughly in the order you were on the boat.  Who was at the front?  Who saw them there?  Think who was forward of where you were.”

Gerald was going to steer us from the front.  People who were near him either side went and stood beside him.  Then the people who sat next to those people and so on.  As they got themselves sorted as to who was where near the back, I stood between the rows either side, as if walking on and going over to Mark.

“Why are you standing in the middle of the boat?” the sergeant asked me.

“I was going to sit next to that man there.”  I pointed to Mark.  “But I didn’t get that far.”

“Oh, right.  Now.  Who was looking towards the back of the boat?”

People looked at each other, the way people do, but no one admitted to looking towards the back, if they had.

The sergeant asked if we were sure about who was sitting next to whom, and when we nodded our agreement, he and the constable took a side of the ‘boat’ each and wrote down our names.  After that we were told we could go.

Off we waddled again, like ducks after their mother – mummy duck being Gerald.  Selena was snivelling, but mostly we were quiet.

At last we made it back to Flock Island and climbed the rocky path up to the hotel.

A woman came out of the kitchen, voice and arms raised, asking where we’d been.  “I hope the dinner’s not ruined.  You’re late!”

“There will be one less for dinner tonight,” said Gerald.

As Astrid strode past him, she corrected his grammar.  “One fewer, Gerald.”

“Not another accident, surely?”  The woman from the kitchen sounded exasperated.

“Agnes fell off the back of the dinghy, getting in.”  Gerald rubbed his hands over his face.  “She hit her head on the steps and drowned.”

Clive was standing nearby, looking rather lost.  “I’m not so sure these deaths are all accidents.  I’m beginning to suspect murder.”

Just at that moment, Violet and Peppa emerged from the Ladies off Reception.  “Murder?” they said in chorus.  “No!”

Peppa ran to Peter and buried her head in his chest and cried.

Violet stood where she was and let large silent tears escape her eyes, until Astrid and Loretta came and hugged her.

The kitchen woman called to us to all to go and sit down.  Dinner was ready.

The roast potatoes were a little dark and hard in places, but I quite liked that.  The beef was rather dry, but they gave us plenty of gravy.  I noticed Mark’s fish had a larger amount than usual of tartar sauce.

While we were tucking into fruit crumble and custard or ice cream  (the choice was ours) the sound of an outboard motor approached across the sea.  We heard a dinghy being pulled up on the shingle, which showed how the Agnes debacle had quietened our group.

Adrian and Melvyn could see the beach from where they sat.  “It’s a man and a woman carrying small cases,” Adrian informed us.

We were even quieter as we strained to hear what was being said to Gerald out in Reception.

But we weren’t kept in suspense long.  Gerald brought the visitors into the dining room and introduced them as “Doctor Sheila Garfield, and Nurse Scott Mackerby.  They’ve come to speak to any of you who are suffering emotionally after these dreadful accidents that have happened to some in our group.”

Clive scraped his chair back and stood.  “Don’t you mean murders that have been happening?  They can’t all be accidents, surely?”

Peter spoke to him firmly.  “Clive, you are not helping.”  He held his wife close as she sobbed again.

Selena and Violet sat at right angles to one another; their arms locked around each other’s necks as they too cried.

I noticed some people didn’t finish their crumble, simply pushed their plates away.  It wasn’t that bad, quite nice actually, I thought.

The doctor was a medium height medium build woman with ginger hair and a heavy fringe.  “If you would like to talk to us, please remain in the dining room.  Those of you who don’t feel they need help at the moment are free to go to your rooms.”

“Or the bar,” added Gerald.  He made more money from our spending time in the bar than in our rooms, I assumed.

 

I went into the bar and decided to drink my cider by the pint.  I felt I deserved it and wasn’t bothered about looking unfeminine.

Mark and Magnus got themselves pints of beer and came and sat with me.  We were beginning to form ourselves into little cliques.

The four who were found in compromising circumstances in a bedroom, always sat together.

Astrid and Loretta were a definite pair, if not a couple.  Adrian and Melvyn had possibly travelled together.  They seemed to be old mates.

Graham and Belinda were partners, and flirty Fiona was becoming that way with Timmy.

The penguins Peter and Peppa were of course a legally bound couple.  They spoke to the medics then came into the bar to join us.

Tall Selena had shown herself to be something of a woos when the body she could see amongst the sheep before the rest of us, revealed its bloody front to all.  And Violet had displayed her nervous side when she realised she’d been sitting next to Ursula on the coach and may have had some of the sheep-attracting herb on her own clothing.  They seemed to have formed a three-way bond with Agnes.  Oh well, they had each other now.  They were the last to come through to join us in the bar.

Clive and Eileen had made some friends here and there but remained as floaters.  That evening they sat at a table together, just the two of them.  Eileen short and sturdy with her curly light-brown hair.  Clive tall and athletic with his blond hair and blue eyes – Aryan.

In an attempt to jolly us up, Gerald suggested a game of Music Bingo.  We were all given a card marked into squares.  Each square contained the name of a music band or singer.  The idea was that Gerald played clips from musical tracks, and if we recognised the artist and had their name on our card, we should strike through it.

It was a reasonable distraction despite the odd shout of, “I don’t know who that is but it’s rubbish”, and “I’m too old/young to know who that is.”

There was no outright winner, with the best of us getting threes and fours out of ten possibles.

Next a game of word association was suggested.  We had to drag our chairs into a rough circle, and moving clockwise took turns adding a word to the last one according to certain rules.  If we couldn’t think of one within twenty seconds, we were out.  It was like a children’s party, but not too bad.

Fiona said “rope”, Bruce followed with “bondage”.

Belinda said “clown”, Graham said “Trump”.

Adrian said “legs”, prompting Melvyn to say “spider.”  Violet screamed.

And at exactly that point the electricity went out and we were plunged into darkness again.

Peppa shrieked.

Selena burst into tears.

Violet wailed, “There’s going to be another death, isn’t there?”

Astrid, Loretta and Mark were first to get their phones out and put on their torches.

And there beside the chair he’d been sitting on lay Gerald, face down.

Quite a lot of screaming ensued.

Mark shouted, “Anyone know where those candles are?”

The woman behind the bar had just fished some out and found the matches.  A few seconds later she had a candle lit, and used it to light others.

Astrid got down beside Gerald and felt for a pulse.  “He’s alive!”

To the sounds of some continued sobbing, candles were passed around the room until vision was reasonable.  We could see blood pooling round Gerald’s head.  Astrid and Loretta rolled him onto his side and a wound showed itself on his forehead.

“We can’t even call for an ambulance,” blubbed Selena.

Peppa was clinging tight to Peter, her head buried in his chest, her shoulders heaving.

“Peppa,” he said softly, and took her face into his hands.  “I’m going to get a candle and take you up to bed.  Today has been too much for you.”

“Peter.”  Violet was beside him, holding Selena’s hand.  “Will you see us safely upstairs.  We’re scared.”

“Of course.”  Peter had managed to get his wife standing, but she was still clinging tightly to him.  He looked around.  “Melvyn, Adrian, can you give us a hand.”

While Astrid and Loretta attended to the unconscious Gerald, a handful of people gathered plenty of candles and assisted another handful of people upstairs.

I went up to the bar, where a worried looking barkeep eventually noticed my presence.  “A vodka and coke, please.  Easy on the coke.”

I looked around.  Mark and Magnus were sitting together chatting as if nothing had happened.

“And a couple of pints of lager,” I said.  I was glad they weren’t freaked out.

By the time I had the drinks on the table, Astrid was announcing Gerald was coming round.

“Gerald!  Gerald!  Can you hear me?”

“Wha…  What happened?”  Gerald’s voice was groggy.

“All the lights went out, and then we found you here.  You’ve had a bash on the noggin.  Can you remember what happened?”

Gerald lifted a hand to his head, felt the blood, and moaned.

“Did someone hit you?” asked Loretta.

“Oh my bloody head.  I think the floor did.”

“You fell?”

“Yeah, tripped on a chair leg.”  Gerald let out a heavy sigh.

 

 

 

16 August 2025

 

MEET ANA !

 

I was thinking about different words, and how some work, and all the things you can do with words, and I thought about Anagrams.  Then something made me think that there are other words that are to do with words that begin with ‘ana’.

Anachronism

I knew I knew this word but had to look up its meaning.

I know, ‘I knew I knew’ sounds like a mistake, but it’s not and it’s actually quite fun (well, to bears of very small brain like me that is).

An anachronism is the representation of someone existing, or something happening, in other than chronological, proper or historical order.

For example, “Ana got married in 1990.  She was born in 2003.”  Well, maybe she is a time traveller!

An anachronism can also be one that is out of its proper or chronological order, especially a person or practice that belongs to an earlier time.

An example could come about from me getting my timeline wrong in one of my stories, such as if I killed Ana off in Chapter 5, and she was still walking and talking in Chapter 6!  I would have made Ana an anachronism.

Or how about this?  “I was so much older then.  I’m younger than that now.”  Lyrics in ‘My Back Pages’ by Bob Dylan

Analphabetic

This simply means not in alphabetical order.  A new word for me, but it’s quite splendid!  The word ‘on’ is analphabetic, but ‘no’ is alphabetic.  Exciting, eh?

 Anagoge

The definition of this is: a mystical interpretation of a word, passage, or text, especially scriptural exegesis that detects allusions to heaven or the afterlife.

You might find some of this in the works of the wonderful late Anne Rice (author of ‘Interview With A Vampire’, ‘The Vampire Lestat’, etc)

 

Analogy

A similarity in some respects between things that are otherwise dissimilar used to help describe or explain

Two examples for the price of one (Oh, that’s another one, I suppose – I don’t charge for examples!):  At first sight of the handsome man, Ana’s tummy felt full of butterflies, but she thought to herself, ‘I have a snowflake in hell’s chance that he’ll notice me and come over and talk!”

Anagram

A word or phrase formed by reordering the letters of another word or phrase, such as satin to stain.

Anagrams can be fun as puzzles.  Here’s one.  Can you find the word in the jumbled-up letters?  MAGRANA

Ana

Is a noun that means a collection of various materials that reflect the character of a person or place.  It can also be an item in such a collection.

Example:  Detective Ana had the feeling this house belonged to a murderer when she saw the ana in his lounge.  There were shelves full of books on how to kill people, human internal organs in glass jars and a collection of weapons.

An ana in that ana might be, say, a pickled human spleen!

 

With apologies to anyone who suffers from it, an intriguing word is anatidaephobia, which means the fear of constantly being watched by ducks.

 

 

 

 

A Jolly Holiday in The South Pacific

 

CHAPTER 4

 

Peppa covered her face and started to cry.  “That’s so awful!”

Peter wrapped his arms around her.  “There, there.  What a dreadful accident.  I presume it was something to do with the lightning.  And we did click with her, didn’t we, darling?”

“Yes,”  Peppa said, her voice muffled against her husband’s jumper.

No wonder they clicked; they all looked like penguins.

“What can we do to help, Gerald?” asked Astrid.

Gerald was sitting in a chair with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.  He sighed, then looked up at Astrid.  “Nothing, thanks.  I’ll have to call the police again.”  He straightened his back, sighed again, and stood.  “You all enjoy your dinner, then if you’d like to make your way into the bar afterwards, we can have our quiz.”

I had a lovely roast dinner with pork, followed by a fruit flan and cream.  Some people seemed to allow what had happened to Daphne to dampen their appetites, but as Ralph pointed out, people do die from time to time during heavy electric storms, and that was just how the cookie crumbled.  Well, he said something about fate and karma, but that was the gist.

Peppa and Peter Penguin went up to their room after the meal. Peppa had a bad headache.  The rest were up for the quiz.  That was twenty-one people.  Gerald suggested we aim for teams of three or four.

I voluntarily buddied up with Mark and Magnus, as they were tolerable and didn’t keep pestering me to talk.  Clive joined us

The two very close couples, Ivan and Bridget, Bruce and Glenys, formed a team.

Astrid and Loretta were joined by Eileen and Ralph.

Belinda and her partner Graham sat with the glamorous Fiona and her chosen partner of the last couple of days, Timmy.

Violet, Selena and Agnes spent most of their time together by then and formed their own team of three. 

Adrian and Melvyn chose to be a team of two.

Astrid, Loretta, Eileen and Ralph’s team won.  I shouldn’t have been surprised after all those facts Ralph had spouted about penguins.

Mark, Magnus and I came second, so I felt quite proud.

The police and the Coroner came and went.  They thought Daphne had died from a tragic accident.

However, we were scheduled for a day trip to the island of Little Ovina the following day and were told to come into the police station to give statements.

 

Before we left the following morning, I found time to write some emails apologising to people for being a grumpy old git.  At the end of it I felt I had improved my mental wellbeing and properly addressed three cases of things that had put me down, and amended three that I could only blame myself for.  It felt good.  I hoped to make further progress soon.

The weather was back to sunny when we set off in the dinghy to the larger neighbouring island.  The view of the harbour town was quite pretty, with all low-level housing.  Apparently, this was because the wind from the south-east could be rather ferocious in winter, and roofs blew off taller buildings.  They’d learnt their lesson.

We found the police station and a nice café nearby.  Gerald was with us, making twenty-four people in all.

“There’s a lot of us to go into the police station all at once.  What I suggest is that I go with eleven of you, while the other twelve enjoy morning coffee or whatever you fancy in the café.  We can swap later on.  Agreed?”

“Good idea,” declared Astrid.  “Loretta and I will come with you for the first sitting, as it were, and get it over with.”  She looked around the group.  “Eileen, you come with us, and Ralph.  Adrian and Melvyn… Belinda and Graham, and… Peter and Peppa, and Violet.   Alright Gerald?”

“Thank you, Astrid.  I want the rest of you to go to the Harbourside Café and stay there, or just outside if you get uncomfortable inside.  Please don’t wander off.  You could go into the neighbouring shops if we’re a long time but keep in pairs and tell someone else where you’re going.  I’m sure you all understand why.  Thank you.”

“Thank you for taking care of us, Gerald,” called Agnes.

“Yes, thank you.  And good luck with the police,” said Selena.

Knowing I’d have to sit with someone, I stayed with Mark and Magnus, who seemed to get on well with each other, and were both tolerable.  Clive, the member of the Hitler Youth (in my mind) joined us at a table for four in the café.

Bruce, Glenys, Ivan and Bridget sat together, of course, leaving Fiona and Timmy flirting with each other on a table of their own.  Selena and Agnes found another table to share.

After a while I got fed up and wanted to go and have a look outside.

“You can’t go out on your own,” said Agnes, her face all scrunched up with worry.

“It’s okay if I don’t go into the shops,” I replied.  “I’ll just be outside, enjoying the fresh air and the view.”

Looking to Agnes for confirmation, Selena said, “Well, he did say we could go outside, and in pairs if we went into the shops.  Be careful, Enola.”

“I will.”

Others drifted out as time passed.

Bruce wanted some chewing gum, so Ivor escorted him into a shop.  Clive wanted a book about the island, so Magnus accompanied him.

Eventually Gerald and his group reappeared.  They went into the café, and we went to give our statements about Daphne’s demise to the police.

Once back together again, we took a walking tour of the town.  At two-thirty we headed out on a pre-arranged bus tour around the island.  It was an interesting tour, although I could have done without the guide keep stating the obvious: this is a lighthouse, here is the island’s favourite pier for sea fishing (it was the only pier).

Finally we strode back to the harbour to get into our dinghy.  Well, some of them strode, some of us strolled.  I was near the back, enjoying the birds swooping around.  I climbed into the boat, and just as I was heading for a small space next to Mark, I heard a scream behind me.  Twenty-three pairs of eyes swivelled to whence the sound emanated to see Agnes sinking into the water.

Astrid and Loretta, followed by Gerald, clambered to the back of the boat and tried to reach an arm or a leg of the sinking Agnes, but to no avail.

Magnus loped off in the direction of the police station.

It wasn’t Agnes’s lucky day.  By the time assistance arrived, she was floating away from the boat, and we could see what I presumed was a patch of blood on the back of her head.

 

 

 

 

 

9 August 2025

 

Hello!  I hope you're all OK.

Here on the north side of la Manche, it is again windy, although sunny too.  Which means as I sit here next to the door to my garden I get a bit warm, but if I try to leave the door open for some fresh air it just slams shut.  And my poor little doggo has spent a lot of this summer having to ask to go out and come back in again, because of the wind.  He's not used to such indignities.  At this time of the year there should be a convenient hole in the wall.

With so much wind all through this season, and very little rain since last winter, spiders think it's time to get ready for baby making.  Consequently it's hard to meander about in my "nature" (ie overgorwn) garden without walking into webs.  Ugh.

This year a branch of my plum tree, stuck between the back of a shed and a hedge, made a bid for freedom over the fence and onto the driveway.  I was pleased to see plums properly again, although of course loads of them had gone splat on the ground, including on the pavement, ready to slip up pedestrians.  Anyway, I had been wondering if they would stay on the tree long enough to become edible when an ingenious idea struck me - to try a bit of one and see how ripe it was.  And lo!  I have ripe plums!  The ones not on the ground are mostly out of reach, of course, but I should get a few.

There are loads of pears on the pear tree, all out of reach because the tree has bravely struggled upwards to find the sunlight.  But there is only one apple provided by two apple trees.  I've had more before.  Mother Nature is weird.  Or maybe it's my gardening skills.

Anyway, talking of low skills, below I present to you another strange chapter of my tale entitled "A Jolly Holiday in the South Pacific".  I hope you enjoy it, even if just to make yourself feel good at storytelling by comparison!

 

CHAPTER 3

 

The police came again from Little Ovina, with the Coroner’s people to take Hugo away.

Some people went to bed when we got back to the hotel, some of us hung around the bar, snoozing and boozing as the mood took us.  We knew from the last time that the authorities wouldn’t be arriving soon.  Those of us still up answered questions first while the others slept, then after we were all processed the sleeping beauties were called down in ones and twos.

I was one of the first to speak to a detective, so I was in bed before 2am.  Sleep didn’t come instantly, but it didn’t take too long.  I presumed we wouldn’t be expected to eat our breakfast before nine or miss out, so I went down about ten o’clock.

Peppa and Peter were just helping themselves to the cereals and fruit when I entered the room, and unfortunately they insisted I join them, me being on my own.  After two deaths it seemed churlish to say I wanted to be on my own, so I went along with it.

Trays laden with food and drink we were heading to a table when I saw Daphne waddle in.  I’m not sure that I completely hid my snigger.  She reminded me of a penguin, too, just as Peter and Peppa did.  A penguin with a double chin and short iron-grey hair, wearing black trousers and a white jumper.

“Daphne,” I called.  “Come and join us when you have your food.”  I nodded to the empty chair at our table as I placed my tray down.

As expected, a well-phrased comment from me about poor Hugo and I set the three penguins off chattering, which gave me relief from having to converse.

The plan for today had been sketching.  We were to set off to another beauty spot and sketch the landscape or the wildlife we saw, but as people were slow rising that morning, Gerald provided us with equipment so we could sketch in or outside the hotel.

“Please don’t go anywhere near the cliffs,” he said to each of us.  He looked a bit grey that morning, I thought.

I went outside, a little way along the path towards the dinghies’ moorings.  Just the one there, the one we had travelled in from Little Ovina to Flock Island.  No police or people dealing with dead bodies increasing the dinghy population.

I rather enjoyed the challenge of trying to sketch the sea and give life to the ever-moving waves.  And I was left in peace.

We had lunch at one o’clock.  Mark insisted on sitting with me.  I had to admit he wasn’t too bad.  He got my need to think my own thoughts and didn’t seem fazed when he spoke and I didn’t reply.

Belinda and Graham joined us after a while.

“Ooh, we’re late,” said Belinda.  “It’s a good job they make plenty of food or you lot might have eaten it all.”

“I’m so tired after last night,” said Graham.  “But I need some food.  Missed breakfast altogether.”

“So did I,” huffed Belinda.  “We were the last to be spoken to by the police, I think.”

Mark pointed out that was because they’d gone to bed when we’d arrived back at the hotel.

“We weren’t sleeping.”  Graham gave a dirty laugh, echoed by Belinda.

I shuddered at the thought of those two at it.  They were a dumpy and dowdy couple.

For the afternoon Gerald led us out a little way to the south-east, but nowhere near the coast.  There was an interesting stand of trees to sketch, as well as the birds they attracted.  Not that sketching birds was easy.  No sooner had I started on one than it flew off.

Arriving back at the hotel, the sky was turning grey.  People grumbled about the cold and went to fetch extra sweaters.  Hot tea and coffee with toasted tea cakes helped warm us a little too,

Dinner was a couple of hours later.  Quite a storm was raging outside.

By the time we drifted away from the dining room, lightning had started to create a lurid show of shadows against the internal walls.  Nobody fancied sitting by the large windows in the bar.  Some people went off to bed.

Gerald and one of the young women who worked for him brought around candles in holders that looked like tall egg cups on saucers with handles.  They left matches for us.  We had one candle each with the easy to carry containers, and larger ones were set up on tables.

“I presume power cuts are quite common here,” Mark said, just a half-second before the lights went out.

Nature provided intermittent illumination to help us light our candles.

“Foof!” said Daphne.  “Bit like a stroboscope, this lighting.”

Peter and Peppa looked at her blankly.

She saw their expressions.  “Didn’t you ever go to a disco with strobes?  Or a rock concert.”

“Did we?” Peppa asked Peter.

“I’m not sure.”  Peter frowned.  “Are you alright, darling?”

“I always feel safe with you,” replied Mama Penguin.

Papa Penguin reached out and caught her hand.  “I’ll look after you.”

“Oh, that’s so cute,” said the third penguin, Daphne.  She chuckled, making her chin wobble.

I told them I was off to bed to see if I could read by candlelight.

“Good night, Wee Willy Winkie,” said Daphne, laughing again.   I think she’d had a couple of brandies too many.

 

It was light when I woke up at seven-thirty.  I heard Gerald calling to everyone that the electricity was back on, for those who wanted a shower or to make themselves a cuppa in their rooms before coming down.

I was glad.  I felt better after I’d had a shower and a nice peaceful cup of tea on my own, before facing the others.

After all our outside activities so far, we were due to have a peaceful day around the hotel, playing games, or just socialising.  Not really my thing, but if I didn’t find anything of interest, I decided I’d read my book.  At breakfast I noticed a couple of jigsaw puzzles, one of a map of the Ovine Islands.  I thought I might give that a go, and hoped if anyone wanted to join in, they’d do so quietly and without getting in my way.

I managed a lot of the puzzle without interference and spent some time playing patience with a pack of cards.  It made a change using real cards and not virtual ones on my tablet.

We had morning coffee but mostly carried on doing what we wanted.  Everything was cleared out the way for lunch, though.  The puzzle was on a board, so it could be kept safe and gone back to in the afternoon.

I’d received another email from my mum, so I thought I may as well make the effort to read it before going back to jigsaw puzzling or whatever.

 

Dear Enola

I was so sorry to hear about that poor lady in your holiday group.  I read on the BBC website that she had been wearing some foreign perfume or something which was like catnip for sheep.  Please stick to English personal products. I’m sure you’ll be safe from the sheep then.

But as there are so many sheep, I wondered if you could get any wool to bring home.  There’s probably some snagged on bushes and things.  What fun it would be to twirl it (so it came out like we’d used a spinning wheel, like that poor girl in the fairy tale who slept through a whole century, didn’t she?).  I thought then we could knit or crochet it into a little blanket for Mr Tibbles.  That would be lovely for him, wouldn’t it?

Don’t forget to boil the water and only wear English toiletries.

Love from Mummy and Daddy

 

I thought I’d better reply to the old cow.

 

Dear Mother

A man fell off a cliff on a hike the other night.  It was his fault for getting too close to the edge in poor light.  I wouldn’t be so foolish, so don’t worry about the same thing happening to me.

Enola.

 

It was a good time too to contact my mentor.

 

Dear Evelyn

I’ve continued in my quiet time to address my issues regarding other people.

I must write to two people with apologies, to make amends.  It will do me good to get on better with people who are decent and mean no harm.  Being here and forced to communicate with new people has shown me that.

Then, as regards the other end of the scale, I have already made decisions there too.  I am proud of how I am working through these issues.

Again, I thank you for being such a help to me.

Enola.

 

***

I had come to understand that going and sitting at a table by myself only meant other people would come and join me, so I chose Mark to sit with.  Magnus joined us, but nobody else.  I suppose we had a couple of spare seats now, with Ursula and Hugo no longer with us.

We hadn’t been out in the morning, so Gerald didn’t bother with the register, but when we’d spent another few hours in and around the hotel, some of the natives were getting restless.  We had afternoon tea, and Astrid stood up and asked who wanted to go and stretch their limbs before dinner.  Most thought that a good idea.  We were due to have a quiz in the bar in the evening, so fresh air and exercise was what was needed.

“Hang on, everyone,” said Gerald.  “Let me make a record of who’s going.”  He noted who we all were on the way out.

Astrid and Loretta lead the way eastwards at a brisk pace, leading us round the stand of trees we’d tried to draw, and a little further south, before coming back via the west coast.

We returned feeling refreshed and with good appetites, piling into the dining room and hoping dinner would be soon.

Gerald entered with his clip board.  “Now, let’s make sure none of you have fallen off a cliff.  I noticed Glenys and Bruce and Ivan and Bridget didn’t go with you.  I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” said, Magnus.  “I think I saw them go upstairs when I went to get a jacket and my water bottle.”

“I did too,” said Eileen.  She did her earthy giggle.  “I think they all went into one room.”

Gerald flushed a little.  “I’ll just go and check.”

Mark and Magnus looked at each other and grinned like schoolboys, then shot off after the Manager.

When they returned, Gerald was positively blushing, and Magnus and Mark were overtly chuckling.  They came over to me.  Apparently there were still some fluffy handcuffs attached to the bed when Ivan answered the door, with only his head looking round it.  Both couples were there.

Gerald stood up straight and cleared his throat.  “Right, that’s four people I know are here.  Let’s go through the other names.  Shout out when I call yours.”

There had been twenty-five of us when we arrived.  Two deaths put it down to twenty-three.  Two couples playing in the bedroom knocked down the number of names to nineteen.  But only eighteen people answered.

Gerald sighed and grimaced.  “Eileen, can you go and check the loos for Daphne please.”

While Eileen was on her mission, Ivan and Bridget and Bruce and Glenys, came down with good appetites for dinner, and a couple of members of staff took everyone’s orders.

“I can’t find Daphne,” Eileen said to Gerald, frowning.

“Okay.  Go and sit down.  I’ll check upstairs.”

In less than five minutes, Gerald was back.  He wasn’t blushing this time.  In fact he looked very pale.  “Daphne was electrocuted by her kettle.  Must have been this morning.”

 

 

Welcome from 2 August 2025

 

Thank you all for reading my nonsense, previously and now.

Don't forget, this is a sharing platform.  So if you have some words you want to share, then let's have 'em!  I know it sounds like an enquiry address, but info@judymcdowellswords.co.uk can also be used for posting.  Incidentally, being an idiot, I have spelt the address wrong on every page where it says "Contact" and I haven't a clue how to correct it.  There should be an 's' between my name and 'words'.  Not that my site is about 'swords', but I didn't think to set it up with, say, full stops to break up the words, and you can't use apostrophes in web addresses - or at least, I can't.

Okay?  So, please be in touch, and please use the properly spelt address.  🤔😂💖

 

I've been trying hard to get my Investigators Book #3 (Murder on the Menu) out in paperback, but it doesn't matter what I do to the cover I created on Canva, it will always load up to Amazon/Kindle as the wrong size.  I just love all the stress modern technology causes me - not.

Meanwhile, I have finished Book #4, sort of.  I have to edit it, check it out on other people, and try to make it understandable and as unboring as possible.

And I've spent a couple of sessions planning out Book #5!  Oh, the excitement!  I don't do planning very well, and tend to let ideas come into my head as I'm writing, but I'm trying to be professional.  Yeah, me!  We'll see how it ends up.  But I do love just writing, spending times with my familiar characters, or meeting some new ones that just show up in my brain.  It's pretty much an open house up there, but I do have to keep some of the people in an antechamber while I'm working hard chatting to the ones who are being put on my screen.  I have to be careful so I don't get them mixed up.

 

Anyway, it's time now for today's top of the bill act, Chapter 2 of "A Jolly Holiday in the South Pacific".  Enjoy!

 

A Jolly Holiday in the South Pacific

CHAPTER 2

 

The Ovine Islands had formerly belonged to Great Britain, but gained independence, not by fighting, but by being forgotten.  When they asked for sovereignty, the British government readily agreed, to save money after World War II.

Now the old hotel was reaching out, to attract travellers from the northern hemisphere, particularly the wealthier west.

The day after the Ursula incident, we didn’t do much.  I read an email from my mother that I hadn’t bothered with when it arrived.

 

Dear Enola

I know you’re a long way away, and I’m sure things are done quite differently down there, so I wanted to remind you to make sure you don’t drink any water that hasn’t been boiled first – unless you can buy proper bottled water.  If you have some from a European country, or perhaps Australia or New Zealand as you are in the Southern Hemisphere, then I’m sure it’s fine.  But perhaps you’d better try and make sure it’s genuine.  Maybe boil it anyway unless you can be sure where it’s come from.  I worry you could pick up a bacterial infection or some sort of tape worm.

Be very careful my darling.

Mummy and Daddy love you very much, and Barker is missing you, as is Mr Tibbles.

 

I decided to ping off a reply there and then.

 

Dear Mother

One of our group was eaten by some wild sheep, but don’t worry, the giant eagles usually pick off the lambs before they grow too big.

The water’s fine here.

Kisses

Enola

 

***

 

Mostly we were too tired to bother with any proper activity, but half of us got out for a hike suggested by Loretta.  Astrid had been the first to leap up and say she’d go.

Magnus stood.  “Good idea.  Let’s meet in Reception in, say, ten minutes?”

Fiona was up for it, which helped Melvyn, Adrian, Hugo and Clive make up their minds.  Mark was keen.  Violet, Selena and Agnes decided they would be safe in a big group.

Two couples who seemed to have hit it off, but who I hadn’t yet had much to do with, came along as well: Bruce and Glenys, Ivan and Bridget.

It was a bit chilly near the coast, and I dropped back and became one of the stragglers at the end.  Mark and Magnus had taken up the role of leaders, with Eileen, Astrid and Loretta competing for second place.

Violet, Selena and Agnes seemed to feel safe following them.

It proved to be a pleasant walk. 

We arrived back at the hotel sometime before seven.  Gerald’s staff had prepared a hearty dinner, and it was ready to greet us along with the news that there had been something strange on Ursula, involving a native herb from Argentina, that had so attracted the sheep and caused them to want to nibble her.

Violet turned to Gerald.  “I was sat next to Ursula on the coach.  Should I wash my clothes?”

Rubbing his hands together, in what I suspected was a nervous gesture, Gerald said, “Yes, yes.  I think anyone who had any physical contact with Ursula should wash their clothes.  What you were wearing at the time.  You know where the machines are, do you?  To the right of the kitchen.”

We had some lovely new potatoes, a variety of vegetables which I must say were cooked to perfection, and a choice of vegetarian quiche, cod in butter sauce, or lamb.  I wasn’t surprised that after the Ursula incident not many people chose the meat.

Mark plonked himself down at my table and I saw he hadn’t been put off the lamb.  “I might be eating a murderer here.  Who knows?  Strange fauna this side of the equator.”

Mark was a rugged type with dark brown hair and a beard that seemed to have a will of its own.  I imagined him playing a lot of rugby at school.  He talked too much, but at least he wasn’t wimpy and whiney, and was quite funny, so I let him twitter on.  I didn’t need to say much in reply.  I didn’t really need to listen.  I didn’t think he’d notice.

After our meal Mark persuaded me to go into the bar and be sociable.

“I’ll meet you halfway,” I said.  “I’ll go into the bar and have a drink, but I won’t be sociable.”

“Fair enough.”

I was a loner, but people did fascinate me.  A bit like going on a safari and watching the animals go about their business.

A couple of interest, one male, one female, mimicked one another, and wore similar black trousers and off-white cable knit sweaters.  With their round middles they reminded me of a pair of penguins.  In a rare moment of speech that evening, I asked Mark if he knew who they were.

“That’s Peter and Peppa from Perth.  I remember because the alliteration made me laugh.”

I was too tired to add how they looked like penguins, but I smiled.

 

***

 

The following morning, we set off with picnic baskets, binoculars cameras and notepads.  Wildlife watching along the north coast.  I was pleased with the photos I took of birds and dolphins.  I even saw some penguins who, to the best of my knowledge, weren’t called Peter and Peppa.

Dinner that evening was good again.  No lamb this time.

Mark, Magnus and a small but sturdy woman called Eileen sat at my table.  They were a chatty bunch, which I hoped meant I could leave them replying to each other while I had my own thoughts.

But somehow Eileen’s voice broke through, “… and did you see those birds of prey swoop down over the cliffs, Enola?  What were they, Magnus?”

“Boobies.”

Mark laughed.  “Boobies?  We have tits in England.  Why are bird experts obsessed with women’s breasts?”  He laughed again, slapping his hand on the table.

Eileen giggled, but it was quite an earthy sound.  I don’t think she was embarrassed.  I decided she wasn’t too bad after all.

“They’re not so much birds of prey,” explained Magnus.  “They plunge-dive for fish.”

Dessert arrived and my garrulous table mates put their mouths to quieter use.

 

Gerald strode in.  “How did everybody get on today?”

“The penguins were wonderful,” cried Peppa.  “I felt an affinity with them.”  She turned to her husband.  “Didn’t you, Peter?”

“Hmm, certainly.”

You both look like your part of their family, that’s why.

“That was a large flock where we went today,” commented Magnus.

Loretta turned to him with a hint of a smile.  “I believe one says a ‘waddle’ of penguins.”

One of the younger men, Ralph, had more to add to the conversation.  “Actually, a flock of penguins can be called a ‘waddle’, a ‘colony’, a ‘rookery’, a ‘raft’, or even a ‘creche’ if there are predominantly chicks.  They huddle together, you know, when the parents go hunting, to keep themselves safe.”

Mark looked at me with a grin and wiggled his eyebrows.  I put my hand over my mouth to conceal a smirk.

But Ralph hadn’t finished yet.  “Do you know why they waddle?”  No one did.  “It’s to do with their skeletal anatomy and hydrodynamic adaptations.”

A chorus of “Ooh” went round the room.

It was interesting in its way, I thought, but not so Ralph.  He struck me as a show off, which I didn’t like.

Gerald cleared his throat and held up a clipboard.  “Now then, I just need to check my register, before we move on.”  He clicked his pen and proceeded to make a note of the time, and then called our names out in turn, like a teacher at school.

“Belinda?” he repeated.

“Oh, sorry,” said Graham.  “She’s in the loo.”

“Right.”  Gerald continued with the names.  There was no reply to Hugo’s name.  “Is he in the loo, does anyone know?”

People looked at one another.

“Perhaps he’s gone to his room,” suggested Eileen.

“I’ll check in a mo,” said Gerald.  He finished the register without any more absentees.

Belinda returned to the room.

“You didn’t see Hugo, did you?”

“Not in the ladies, Gerald, no.”

Hugo wasn’t in his room.

“He’ll be outside enjoying the evening sun, I expect,” said Peter.

“Yes, it’s nice out,” said Peppa.

Gerald turned to go out.

“I’ll come with you.”  Clive stood and stretched.  “You go left, I’ll go right.”

The Hitler Youth always went Right.

Astrid stood, scraping her chair back on the wooden floor.  “Has anyone seen Hugo since we’ve been back?”

Mumbling was heard around the dining room.

Nobody had seen Hugo.

“When was the last time you saw him, As?” asked Loretta.

Various muscles moved in a wave across Astrid’s face.  “I don’t know.”  She looked around the room.  “Who was he with today, on our outing?”

More mumbling as people consulted each other, but no one came up with an answer.

Now Ralph stood up.  “Who was with him at breakfast?”

Further mumbling and murmuring ensued but no one remembered seeing him.

Ralph shoved his fists into his sides.  “Well did anyone see him when we came back from our hike yesterday?”

The room was silent.

“Bloody hell, man!” said Ivan.

“Fuck me,” said Bruce.

Astrid began pacing about.  “Okay, think back.  Was he even with us yesterday when we went out.”

Fiona raised her hand.  “I was walking with him for a while.  Then I got chatting to Timmy.”  She smiled at the man sitting next to her.

“Thank you.  So he came out with us.  Did anyone see him when we got back.”

It seemed no one had.

Gerald and Clive strode back into the room.

“Any luck?” asked Peppa.

“He’s not out there,” said Gerald.  “Between us we circled the hotel.  No sign of him.”

After pouring himself a glass of water from the buffet table, Gerald dropped himself in the nearest chair.  “Who saw him last?”

Astrid stepped over to him and folded her arms across her chest.  “Gerald, no one can remember seeing him since early in our hike yesterday.”

“What?!”

“Seems that way,” said Mark.

Magnus marched over to the door.  “We’re going to have to go and search for him.  He may be out there injured.  Gerald, bring the first aid kit and water.”

“And we need blankets,” said Astrid.  “Where are they, Gerald?  We may need them to keep him warm, or to construct a stretcher, or both.  And you need to contact the police again, tell them what’s happening.”

People were making their way over to where Magnus still stood.

Loretta addressed us all.  “It’s lights out there now, but it’ll get colder when the sun goes down.  It’ll also get dark.  So wear some warm clothes and bring torches with you.  Or your phones.  Make sure they’re charged.”

Magnus clapped his hands twice.  “You heard the lady.  Go and get what you need, and we’ll congregate in Reception.”

Ten minutes later, Magnus stood between Astrid and Loretta.  As people gathered around, he handed out blankets and water for those with rucksacks to carry them.  When Gerald arrived, he told him to call the register.  Everyone was present except Peppa.

“She’ll be here in a minute,” said Peter.  “Just got a bit of a nervous tummy.”

Another five minutes passed, and they were all present and correct.

Gerald put his clipboard with the register on the Reception desk.

“Bring that with you,” Loretta ordered him.  “We don’t want to lose anyone else.”

 

Off we all set, north-north-east, heading to the cliffs.  Agnes felt sure he’d fallen off them and that’s why no one saw him.

And Agnes was right.

They didn’t need the blankets or the water, not for Hugo.  It was too late.  His body was in an unnatural position, and he was completely still, despite the sea lapping over the top of his head and his right arm.

 

 

 

Today, 27 July 2025, you are in for a treat!

I am going to serialise a short novel that never quite made it to full length.

It's completely free to read, and you won't find you have to pay money to get off the site once you've read it.

Yes!  Exciting isn't it?  A chapter of a badly titled story called (imaginateively) A Jolly Holiday In The South Pacifc.

Now, I don't want you to think all the action takes place in the salty water that is, technically, the South Pacific.  It's set on dry land, on some islands - although the characters do have to cross the water in a ferry and a dinghy, so I must mention that because I don't want to confuse you, expecting the story to be purely on land only to find out about crossing the water.  But to be honest I think you'll get the idea once you start reading.

If you're very good (or bad, depending on your viewpoint), I will post Chapter 2 next week.  I've decided to do them in numerical order rather than alphabetic, because the story will be easier to follow that way.

 

A JOLLY HOLIDAY IN THE SOUTH PACIFIC

 

CHAPTER 1

 

I think all our group were there, standing around in a tight circle, people pushing from the back trying to get a better view.  Well, Agnes was nearer the hotel building, her skinny limbs folded so tight in on herself she looked like a crying totem pole.

The Manager, Gerald, strode over calling, “Stand back.  Stand back.”

Reluctantly people pushed outwards.

Gerald was just about 5’6” tall but almost as wide across the shoulders.  He forced his way through and arrived at the front to see what we were all staring at.  He scratched his bald pate above its ring of greying hair, his face crumpled up.  “Moosh!  Moosh!”  He tried to shoo away the sheep, sweeping his hands forward rhythmically.

“There’s someone on the ground.  The sheep are licking them.”  A narrow woman with her head higher than the rest of us explained what she could see from her vantage point.

“Eating them, more like,” said Mark, whom I’d been introduced to getting onto the coach at the airport in Ovina City, capital of the Ovine Islands.  I was stuck next to him as we travelled to the south-east of the island, and then via ferry to Little Ovina.  The coach took us round the coast to the east side, from where we travelled in a large dinghy to Flock Island.  Then it was on foot up a moderate rocky incline to the only hotel on the island.

“’Ere, Mark,” said Gerald.  “Don’t just stand there making funny comments, help me move these sheep.”  He moved round to the front of one of them and started to push it backwards.

“Come on, you lot,” called Mark.  “Get shoving.”  He copied the way Gerald manhandled his sheep.

I stepped back.  I didn’t fancy doing that and tried to play the weak little woman, hoping others would sort the sheep.  I preferred to watch.

Apart from Astrid, who was tall and muscular, it was the men who got these wild sheep away and revealed what they’d been so attracted to.

Many a gasp greeted the sight, but I’m afraid something in me made me giggle.  Perhaps it was a nervous giggle.

The tall woman, Salena, who’d enjoyed the early view of a person being on the ground among the sheep, now loped away with her hands covering her face, sobbing.

“Bloody hell, I was right,” said Mark, his right palm holding his thick dark hair away from his forehead.  “They were eating her.”

On the ground, covered in mud, grass, sheep saliva and blood lay one of our group, Ursula.  It was possible she was still alive, technically speaking, but she didn’t look it with her breastbone and intestines open to the air, and her neck and limbs at unusual angles.

In a similar way he had tried to herd the sheep away from their entertainment on the ground, Gerald the Manager waved his arms at us and encouraged us to go back into the hotel.  Mark helped him.

Some of us were reluctant to leave.  It was like our eyes demanded we stop and stare.  But eventually we made our way inside and into the bar.

Astrid took charge, by which I mean she went behind the bar and poured herself a large brandy, downed it in one, then asked what the rest of us wanted.  Loretta helped her, after herself having a large whisky.

I didn’t know what to make of Loretta by then.  She had long wavy blonde hair, but there her femininity stopped.  So far I’d only seen her in combat trousers and an army green jumper with fabric patches at the shoulders and elbows.  I tried humour on her and asked for a Manhattan, but she gave me a withering look in response.  I had a glass of cider.

 

This episode had started in the middle of the night, maybe around one o’clock.  We all went out to see what the sheep noises (with some human screaming) were about.  At least, that’s what disturbed the first of us, and we woke the rest clattering about and shouting to one another.

The phone signal on Flock Island is intermittent and weak when you find a spot where there is one.  The hotel had the one internet connection run under the sea from Ovina to this smaller island.  Gerald contacted the police via email. Yes, I know.  Hardly rapid response.

Nobody was quite sure what to do with poor dead Ursula while we waited for the police to get back to us.  For the time being, two men, friends, were keeping guard over her, repelling the sheep and flies and whatever else there might be out there.  Most of what we knew to do we’d seen on TV or in the movies.

“What about preserving the crime scene, if death by sheep could be considered a crime?”  This question came from the athletic looking blue eyed blond, Clive.  He struck me as resembling a member of the Hitler Youth

 Mark was quite sure we should put her in a freezer.

“What about the food in the freezers?” asked Gerald.

Astrid was standing beside him, a large glass of brandy in her hand.  “We don’t want to leave ourselves short of food, or risk it going off and getting food poisoning.”

Loretta overheard and joined in.  “Let’s go and see how much we can take out of one freezer and put in others.  Or put some in the fridge if we use it up tomorrow or the next day.  Come on, Astrid, you and I have got the sense to work out if we can make enough room for… it.  Don’t know if we can trust the men not to make a pig’s ear of it.”

“Or a sheep’s ear,” said Mark, keeping his gaze away from the two women.

 

A few had nodded off on the sofas and armchairs in the bar by the time Gerald heard back from an officer on Ovina.  Others had gone to bed.  I thought there was too much of a buzz about the place to sleep.  It’s not every day you come across a corpse being eaten by a flock of herbivores.

Tapping a knife on a bottle on the bar, Gerald called us to attention.

The room came alive to the sounds of befuddled questions and grunts.

“Listen up.  We’ve got some police officers coming over from Ovina.  They’ll be coming by dinghy, so they’ll probably be here in twenty minutes or so.  I’d better go and – Oh.  How did you get on in the kitchen, ladies?”

“She’s in,” said Astrid.  “We woke up those two men outside who were watching over her and they helped us.”

Personally I could imagine Astrid flinging Ursula over her shoulder and carrying her in by herself, but of course I didn’t comment.

Adrian and Melvyn came in from their body shifting duties and flopped against the bar.

“Any gin going?” asked Adrian.

“I could murder a Scotch,” added Melvyn.

“Thanks for your help out there, guys,” said Gerald, preparing their drinks.

Melvyn scratched his head.  “Bloody weird thing to happen.”

After downing half his gin, Adrian commented.  “I thought sheep were vegetarians.”

Mark brought his glass up for a refill.  Maybe they’re a different breed down here in the South Atlantic.”

Pulling a pint for Mark, Gerald shook his head.  “Nah.  Sheep are the same the world over, aren’t they?  I always assumed they were the same as the ones we had in Gloucestershire.”

 

The police arrived and started questioning us all.  About an hour later the forensics people came and studied the scene, dug up some soil samples, and left with a sheep with blood on its face, and a half-frozen Ursula.  Finally the police departed and most people drifted back to bed, even though the sun was up.

“Help yourselves to anything in the kitchen,” Gerald had said before yawning so deeply I thought the sides of his mouth might split.  “Just don’t burn the place down or do anything against health and safety.”

A guy called Hugo sidled up to me as I was about to climb the stairs.  “Are you alright?  Do you need any company after such a dreadful event?”

I looked him up and down.  He wasn’t tall or short, or fat or thin, and definitely not my type.  “Are you offering to sleep on the floor to make sure no murderous sheep come to get me?”

Grinning, he said, “I could get closer than on the floor if you like.”

I kneed him in the balls.

 

 

Novels are not all about the plot

20 July 2025

 

I first took up writing stories when I lived in a cave, and I scratched words out on a piece of slate.  Things became easier with the discovery of chalk.  Quill and parchment I found messy, so I was glad when paper and ballpoint pens became readily available.

A few years ago, with a convenient keyboard and computer, I decided I might have a crack at writing again, aiming at a whole novel. Now and then I would have a go at the book I wanted to write, and some bits I thought came out well, and some boring.  I drew up a list of hilariously named characters, then lost it.  I would cut out whole chapters and replace them with something brand new I’d dreamt up, but what I was producing read nothing like a novel.

I joined a writing group on Meetup (run by Andrew Nichols) and started sharing the odd bits.  Someone put me onto Scribophile and I shared more.  At last the penny dropped that what I was writing was what I felt like playing around with, for my own enjoyment, but not something anyone else would want to read.

Somehow my unpleasant characters evolved from being only annoying to me to being criminals, and instead of nasty comments I had murders!  I must point out here that I write fiction.

I had discovered the need to write for readers, not just for myself, if I wanted to ever make a book and sell it!

That realisation took long enough, but then I had another road to travel, that I’m still on: how to write in a way that is easy and engaging to read.

After getting some sort of plot, the first bad habit I had to stop was writing such looooooong, rambling sentences.  Use of punctuation other than commas and dashes needed to enter my work.

Then I had to get out of the habit of starting most sentences with subject, verb, like: “He said”, “She stood”, “They went”, and so on.  I learnt how to shuffle things around.

“She smiled at him and said she was going that way too” could be:

“Smiling at him, she said she was going that way too.”

Cunning, huh?

The brilliant horror writer Steven King once wrote, “I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs…”  He went on to point out one on its own can stand out, but too many and the effect isn’t great.

I don’t think he said anything like that referring to examples, so I’m going to continue to pave this blog with them.

Smiling at him brightly, she said happily, “I’m going that same way coincidentally.”

“We could easily both go together,” he replied cheerfully with a grin.

They gladly walked together closely side-by-side until eventually they arrived simultaneously at their destination.

It’s nice to know what kind of mood our characters are in, which is basically happy that they can spend the time together.  But it might be easier to read if a few words were missed out:

Beaming at him, she said, “I’m going that way too.”

“We could go together.”

They walked side-by-side all the way.

I like words, obviously, that’s why I created this website.  But the later version of our mini story gets to the information quicker.

Now you’ll be stunned to spot that I didn’t put a dialogue tag after what the bloke said.  As well as missing out the adverb cheerfully, and the excess words “with a grin” (already implied in the word “cheerfully”), I omitted “he said”, “he replied”, “he responded” and all other variations, because, assuming in the story we know it’s a male she’s talking to (boy, man, talking dog), and there’s nobody else in that bit of the story, we don’t need those extra words.  We can understand them by the context.

Sometimes it’s best not to be a word hoarder, so the readers can find their way through more easily.

But you can add a few to give feeling.  Imagine you’re writing about a man who has to creep up on a bad guy who’s holding a woman hostage.  You could say that he crept up on him “feeling scared”.  Or you might say he crept up on him “with the sound of his heart pounding in his ears and sweat trickling down his back”.  To express feeling you can dip into your word hoard happily.

Similar applies to talking about where someone is.  Consider: “The café was very nice.”  Or: ”The café was full of people chattering and laughing.  It smelt of fresh baked scones and lemon icing.  The wooden tables were polished with no stickiness.  Fresh flowers in a variety of old bottles adorned each one.”

Maybe you feel there’s a book inside you thumping its fists and kicking its feet to get out.  Have a go, it’s great fun.  Play with words and find the tone you want for that particular story.  And if you don’t have a story, you just fancy writing about someone being in a particular situation – perhaps one you’d personally find scary, or you’d love the chance to be there – just go ahead and write it.  You may want to expand on it, describing what happened afterwards, or before, or to someone else in the same situation but feeling different about it.

You may end up with a whole story.  Or you may not want to.  They are your words.  Enjoy them.

 

If you want to put anything on this site for others to read, then feel free to do so.  If they’re frightfully rude or incite violence, I’ll cut those bits out, but generally speaking it’s fun to share words.  Send them to info@judymcdowellwords.co.uk

 

 

Moaning Words

 

It’s Sunday 13 July 2025, and I think it’s time for some BLOGGY WORDS, because I cannot upload my fourth book as a paperback, no matter how hard I try.  And I’ve been working at it most of the weekend.

So many things present themselves as the answer to why it’s not working, and I keep trying to change them, and it keeps saying the cover’s been uploaded correctly, and the inside has been uploaded okay, but I have to then preview the book.  Sometimes it shows the cover, just reaching the outer limits of the template, with an Error alert at the side saying it should be something point something inches this way and that.  I have a choice to click to see if the site can correct it, which I remember it did on my first encounter with this bit.  But no, it’s not helping this weekend.

So I copy the sizes it’s demanding and put them in the box in the cover making site, and it refuses to change the dimensions.  Sometimes it says it’s done it, but when I try to upload it, the only file is the same old size I originally set it for.

Other times I don’t even get to see the cover; it goes straight onto a preview of the manuscript.  Sometimes it looks like it fits, and the only thing I don’t like is that the text seems to insist on justifying itself in the centre vertically on the page, which looks a bit odd at the end of the chapter if there’s only a line or two, and it doesn’t show the page numbers.  Nothing will put these things right, but I can live with that.  At least I’m getting better and getting rid of spelling mistakes!

But somewhere I have to click to say I accept the quality of what I see.  But where is the button?  I click on save and continue.  I know that when I tried that before, it told me to preview, and I assumed it somehow knew I hadn’t been able to see the cover.  But even when I’ve viewed both, save and continue was not allowed, because I had not accepted my preview…  Which of course I had.

This is the third book I’ve done, first making an eBook, then continuing to make a paperback.  I have done it before.  It is possible.  But not to me today.

Do other people have this sort of problem?

 

Another computery thing that bugs me is that I used to do my grocery shopping (excuse me using one of Trump’s favourite words there) with Sainsbury’s.  I’d paid for a year’s ‘free’ delivery in advance, but then I started getting messages that they couldn’t get the money from my bank account.  I’d check the account, and there was always enough money in it, but it just would not go.  Then it would go, then it wouldn’t.  In the end it became impossible.

I tried Tesco, but I needed more accurate delivery times.  I tried Morrisons, getting free delivery with my Prime membership, and then Co-op the same way, but the choice of items was just too few.  So I had to go to the more expensive Ocado.  They are efficient, have always managed to get the money out of my bank, and they put things in bags (returnable).  Great, just that bit more expensive, which is not so good for an aspiring but not yet successful writer!

And then there was the milkman.  Some time ago I decided I’d go back to having milk delivered in nice returnable glass bottles.  The environment is very important to me.  But after time I started receiving milk that wasn’t usable, even when I bought a special box, with handle, to put the bottles in to keep them cool.  So I stopped for a while.  Later I thought I’d try milk deliveries again and had no problems.  Until I started getting messages that the company hadn’t been able to collect the money from my bank.  I’d check my account and ask them to try again; and sometimes the money would go through, sometimes it wouldn’t.  The latter got too frequent, and I never knew if I’d receive my nice fresh milk in its environmentally friendly glass bottles, so I had to give up again.

I have a feeling there was something else, apart from a company swapping me to its sister company, saying it couldn’t take my payment.  But they were trying to take it before it was due, and I found I’d suddenly become subscribed to this other thing that was effectively the same, and they could take the money.  Oh well, I could live with that too.  I wonder if that makes any sense to you.  It scarcely does to me.

But I think there was something else.

So the other day I swapped banks!  I’d kept putting it off because I knew it meant proving who I was, and there are no branches to go into even if I could.  But eventually I sat at the table and concentrated hard.  It was so straightforward I was shocked.  Now, if it really does pay what I need it to, then I shall be thanking NatWest from the bottom of my heart.  But I have to wait another eight days to find out.

Oh, yes, I’ve remembered.  I haven’t received a penny in royalties despite selling 17 books.  I know it’s only a few books, and a matter of pence per book, but no monthly payments have arrived in my bank account, and it’s been over a month.  So, will I get paid in my new account?

If you’re desperate to find out what happens and I just forget to tell you, please feel free to remind me.  All this sort of stress (and there’s much more you really don’t want to hear about) has rendered my memory pretty pathetic.  In fact, I could write a whole book about all the things I forget to do, but I’d never remember to even get started, let alone what the things were.

Words Have Consequences

5 July 2025

 

 

Consider: Donald Trump says he’s going to slap tariffs on imports from most of the countries in the world, and the stock markets go into freefall.  Yup, those words had consequences alright.

 

Imagine walking up to a complete stranger in the street and saying, “You stink and you’re really ugly.”  This is most likely to cause upset in the complete stranger, very likely to cause anger, and may well result in your getting thumped, or being shouted at in an unpleasant manner.  Of course, the complete stranger in the street could have spent some time cultivating a look of ugliness and a strong unpleasant odour; in which case they may have felt recognised, validated even.  Somehow your words will have had an effect.

 

If a parent constantly tells their child they don’t want to hear what they have to say because they’re worthless, the child is likely to grow up with issues, and keep a therapist very busy for years.

Imagine, though, that child being a very rich one.  The parents’ words may end up buying a counsellor a nice house, staff to clean it and cook their meals, wonderful holidays.  Words have consequences, but not always what we expect!

 

Then there’s situations like: the driver in a car says, “Left here?”  And the passenger says, “Right.”  Confusing.

 

In England and Wales in 2015-16 people were going around saying if the UK left the EU we’d save £350million per week which could go towards the NHS instead.  They even wrote it on the side of a big red bus.  They said all sorts of other garbage about the EU, and lied about the sovereignty that we still had, and people who didn’t bother think or learn more about it fell for it.  Consequently England, Scotland and Wales had to leave the EU, even though Scotland voted not to.  In theory Northern Ireland left, despite being dead against it.  But after 4-5 years of fretting about it and arguing, it actually happened.  But NI got left in the Single Market and Customs Union for all practical intents and purposes.  And anyone born in NI (or had a parent born in NI) is entitled to an Irish passport.  But not us in poor old GB.  Our economy has suffered a great deal, and many of us have suffered in other ways – but that’s too much to write here.

Lies have costly consequences.

 

Going back in time a tad, in 1170, Henry II of England said something like: “Will no one rid me of thus turbulent/troublesome/meddlesome priest?”  He was referring to Thomas Becket.  As a consequence, four knights travelled from Normandy to Canterbury and killed.  Oh dear.

 

Henry VIII of England suddenly came over all pious and told the Pope he couldn’t be truly married to his wife, Catherine of Aragon, in the eyes of God, because she had previously been married to Henry’s brother Arthur, who’d died.  Of course, he was fibbing and just wanted shot of Catherine so he could marry Anne Boleyn, but Catholics weren’t allowed to divorce.

Anyway, he got away with it and turned England Protestant.  As a consequence many people died over who should or should not be monarch, and generally because people fight and kill over religion.  I’m sure “the Irish situation” would have been a lot different if it weren’t for the religious divide.

 

The consequence of some words is laughter!

 

“Don’t worry about the world coming to an end today. It is already tomorrow in Australia.”
– Charles M. Schulz

 

“Do not take life too seriously. You will never get out of it alive.”
– Elbert Hubbard

 

“People say nothing is impossible, but I do nothing every day.”
– A. A. Milne

 

“Rice is great when you’re hungry and you want 2000 of something.”
– Mitch Hedberg

 

“Life is hard. After all, it kills you.”
– Katharine Hepburn

 

“Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them and you have their shoes.”
– Jack Handey

 

And my two current favourites:

 

“If you’re too open-minded; your brains will fall out.”
– Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Wo

“A day without sunshine is like, you know, night.”
– Steve Martin

 

 

Please feel free to share anything Wordy you'd like to, via the Contact link (even though it does say "Info").  Just no hate speech, please.

Let's put the Word into World - ha ha ha ha

 

 

 

 

Words About Words