Monthly Archives: June 2014

Your mum

– Tap the icon. Yes.
– No, not that one. The other one. The one with the camera.
– Have you got it?
– Ok, yes. The camera icon.
– Icon.
– Eye. Con.
– It’s a graphic. An image. A little square. It represents the app.
– Yes.
– Yes, an app.
– An application.
– It’s a little programme inside your phone.
– No.
– No, not like Eastenders.
– A computer programme.
– Yes.
– No, I know you’re not on the computer.
– No, I don’t want you to turn the computer on.

– Have you turned the computer on?
– Mum?
– Mum, turn the computer off.

– Are you looking at your phone now?
– Ok, good.
– Tap the camera icon. The square. The square with an image of a camera in it.
– Got it?
– Have you got it?
– No, a camera. Not a tap.
– No, I know there aren’t any pictures of taps.
– I meant touch. Touch the square with a camera in it.
– Ok. Great.
– Now, I need you to take a photo.
– Take a photo.
– Take…
– Take a…
– What do you mean, “where do you take it from?”
– No I…
– Mum?
– Mum?

– Where did you go?
– The back bedroom? Why?
– Mum, why did you get the big photo album?
– No, I didn’t.
– No. I said, “take a photo.”
– What do you mean, “which one?”
– No, I don’t want you to take a photo from the album.
– Yes, with the phone. You wanted to show me the new carpet.
– Ok. No, I understand
– It’s very complicated, yes.

– No, no, I’m still here.
– Do you have the camera app open?
– On your phone, yes. Does the screen look like a camera.
– No, you’re right. It looks like your table. Yes, that’s right.
– Yes, sorry, I should be clearer.
– So press the button and take the picture.

– Have you taken it?
– Have you?
– I’m not rushing you.

– Have you…
– …ok good.
– Now you need to send it to me.

– No.
– No mum, I know your printer is broken. I know. That’s not…
– Mum…
– Mum…
– Mum. I’ll fix your printer the next time I see you.
– Yes.
– That’s right.
– I need you to email it.
– Yes, like you did with the photo of dad and the bucket of fire.
– Mm. How is he now, by the way?
– Still sore? Well it did go all the way up his thigh, to be fair.
– Yes, yes it was a bit silly.
– I know, yes, he can’t hold it like he used to. You’re right.
– Have you found the email button?
– The arrow. The share arrow. No, not like Robin Hood.
– No, I know it doesn’t say “share” but that’s what it does.
– Ok, have you touched that button?
– The share button. The arrow.

– Good. Ok, now the email button.
– Yes, the one that looks like a letter.
– Write my name.
– No, MY name. Yes. My name.
– No, not “myname”. Type, Peter.
– Ok?
– Ok.
– Now send it.
– Send.
– Press send.
– Yes, send.
– Ok. Got it.

– Yes. Yes, that was easy, wasn’t it.

unnamed


 

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Up, high

“So, now what?”

What do you mean, “now what?”

“I mean, how the hell am I going to get down?”

oooh. Yeah. Gotchya. Hmm. We could jump I suppose.

“Jump? Are you serious? It’s at least 50 feet high!”

It’s more like 8, really.

“Shut up. This is your fault. I never wanted to climb up here in the first place.”

Yes you did. That’s why you did.

“Shut up. Why do I ever listen to you?”

Because nobody else talks to you?

“Shut. Up!”

“Right. How are we going to get down?”


This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Over 120 people taking part. And hey, if you still can’t get enough – why not check out my almost-FREE eBook, People WatchingUS link hereUK link there.

 

tree2bcrook

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Time Management

– You really should start work, it’s twelve minutes past nine.

“I’m very well aware of the time, thank you very much. It’s just that, well, I was going to finish my coffee before I start really working.”

– You won’t though, will you? The dregs of your coffee are already stone-cold. You’ve had it since eight thirty. When you finish it, or realise you don’t want to finish it because it’s too cold and ‘bitty’, you’ll just end up getting out of your seat and making tea.

“Why do you keep writing the time like that?”

– Hush. Are you going to start work now or not? It’s thirteen past nine, now.

“You’re weird.”

– I’m weird? You should check yourself before you wreck…

“Don’t say that. You sound like a complete penis when you say that. Besides, I’m just about to start work. Right………. nnnn…….”

– For crying out loud. At least open Word, or Excel, or perhaps the website you’re supposed to be working on. At least look busy.”

“I am busy. I’m planning.”

– Planning what? It certainly isn’t your day.

“Stuff. I’m planning stuff.”

– You’re planning on going to the toilet aren’t you? You’re planning on wasting another five minutes by walking downstairs and draining the so-called lizard. Pfftt. More like pinching the worm.

“I wasn’t.”

– But?

“But I am now.”

– I despair.

“I hate you.”

– I know.

 


OrangeTwit

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Malcolm, Mildred, Jason and Joy

Malcolm and Mildred had lived here for years. At first just a house, they’d eventually made it their home.

Mildred was pregnant, and if history (and the size of her tummy) were anything to go by, she was pregnant with septuplets. At this stage in proceedings Malcolm had taken on the role of hunter-gatherer. Every morning he’d be up early scratching around, looking for items that would sustain his ever-growing family. Lately things had been quiet. Times were tough.

Jason and Joy had lived here for years. At first it was their home, but the rat problem had become intolerable.


 

This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Over 120 people taking part. And hey, if you still can’t get enough – why not check out my almost-FREE eBook, People Watching. US link here, UK link there.

old-wallpaper-mary-shipman

 

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That Flag

That flag up in my window,
the one of red and white
It doesn’t mean I’m racist,
or looking for a fight.
It doesn’t mean I’m ‘chav-scum’
or ‘simple’ and on the scrounge.
It doesn’t say I’m full of hate,
or I’d kick you when your down.

That flag displays my passion,
support for England’s boys.
It shows my love, my dreaming,
my trust in them and Roy.
It says it’s time for football,
on an international scale.
It says I wear 3 lions
on my shirt, my heart, my smile.

So even though they’re miles away
I’ll hang my flag for them.
For Wayne, Joe, Glen,
and Chamberlain,
for Raheem and Studgie-D.
For Cahill, Hendo, LaLaLa
and our maestro, Stevie G.
Come on England!

 

3lions

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