Well good afternoon Everybody, happy Friday! Thank you for your help last week. The votes have been counted, a list has been made and my head is down getting the making underway…
Speaking of heads, do you ever have the feeling that important information might be dropping out of a trapdoor at the back of your head? I have that feeling often. Sometimes I wonder if I could retrace my footsteps, finding all the thoughts lying on the floor behind me and stuff them back in where they belong. But, alas, it’s not possible. Although, it does seem as if some of the more worrisome thoughts do seek me out in the middle of the night having found a sharp needle to waken me with…
Anyway, be all this as it may, there have been more pressing matters afoot on the table recently… I’ll pour you some tea whilst we lend an ear to Craig and his troubles. I’m afraid I ate all the biscuits yesterday. Sorry…
Living on the Edge 217; Pier Pressure…
From the beach I couldn’t tell what was going on. It looked like three friends playing silly games. Had I known, I think I’d have headed their way and said something…
“Please don’t make me,” whimpered Craig. “it’s dangerous!” But the twins weren’t listening. They were only interested in how much weight the last section of the derelict West Pier would take. And how hilarious it would be when Craig fell into the water below.
“But it’s haunted!” stammered Craig clutching at any excuse he could muster up that would dissuade them from goading him any further.
“Haunted! Listen to him! Big baby!” jeered Stetson.
“It’s a beautiful evening for a swim, especially with the ghosts of those who’ve gone before you!” interjected Stefan, unable to hide his cruel sense of humour.
“But I can’t swim!” wailed Craig…
And that was it. I need not have worried. The birds had seen and heard enough. They took flight and prepared to dive bomb the insufferable pair. They would not have bullying. Not on their watch… xxx