Tag: writing experiment

Categories
fiction Writing

The Perfect Home

As soon as Mary pulled onto the drive, she felt that she was at home. After the chaos and living for so long with her mother she knew that anywhere would bring her more comfort than the current situation that she was in, but this place felt more special than that.

The house stood proudly in the sunlight with its green front door matching that of the garage.

‘My favourite,’ she exclaimed as if someone had painted it that colour on purpose as a selling technique.

She smiled as she left the car and headed towards the fine-looking estate agent waiting happily for her on the driveway. Seeing her face, he thought he had an easy task on his hands and Mary knew that he wasn’t wrong.

‘Hello there Mary, I’m Simon.’

‘Hello.’

‘I can see from your face that you already like what you see, let’s head on in.’

The place was bright from the entrance with every wall painted in warming but light colours. The kitchen, again with a green theme, the exact green that Mary adored, was spacious and airy. The floors were cool and the whole vibe felt as if she was in a villa in a remote area of Portugal.

‘It’s perfect,’ she said, thinking out loud.

‘Don’t be too hasty,’ Simon replied in a joking but careful manner, knowing that he was told to be gentle as Mary was a vulnerable customer. ‘I would actually like to let you see the garden first and work our way back through if you are happy with that?’

‘Absolutely.’

The garden was in full sunlight with different levels and little grass. The small patch that was present was lusciously green and there were all sorts of plants dotted about. Hydrangeas, Lavender, grasses blowing in the breeze and a beautiful Honeysuckle just starting to flower from a deep pink spiky bud. Merely looking at the garden made Mary smile and the feeling of being somewhere relaxing and exotic remained, the pebbles enhancing this.

‘Wow,’ she said not knowing how else to express her happiness. She realised fully that it was a small place and wouldn’t be too impressionable to most, but it was perfect for her.

Categories
fiction Observations Writing

A house, who’s lived in it?

The sixties housewife who spent her days swamped in chores,
Her husband who was always ranting each time he came through the doors.
Their three little children, so well behaved,
Then the old man’s father before he went to the grave.

The eighties rock chick, dressed in fluorescent colours,
Her many boyfriends and the rest were just lovers.
A friendly Labrador who obeyed her every request,
She loved this dog and he loved her, for they are the very best.

Then the nineties came and brought in a new clan,
Just a couple and their baby who sat in his pram.
The mother was lucky and didn’t have to work,
While the garden expanded and the baby played in the dirt.

The family moved when the millennium struck,
Father Dixon came into a bit of luck.
Next came a gambler, his name was Phil,
He didn’t last long, bill after bill.

2003 brought another family but the children soon fled,
Margaret and James swear that they will still live here when they are dead.
I always think each time I look at the brick,
Here’s a house, somebody’s home, but who’s lived in it?

Categories
Non-fiction Writing

My Head Is Filled With Stuff

My head is filled with stuff

From ideas to plans to what I’m going to have for lunch, it’s always full of stuff

My head is full of things

A house, my car, the lists that I need to complete, it’s just so full of things

My head is full of people

Friends, strangers, family – it’s packed full to the brim of lovely people

My head is full of ideas

Ideas for books, ideas for stories, interior design ideas and everything in between

My head is full of love

The love I have for others, the love they have for me and sometimes, occasionally I can share it

My head is full of positivity

It thinks well about how lucky I am, to have good people around, to have a good job that I enjoy, a home, belongings, many more days, it’s thoughts about how lucky I am

My head can be full of messiness

It stresses, it cries, it screams, it angers, it does all of those things but it also overcomes

My head can be tired

It fails to think, can’t converse, is exhausted of ideas, wishes to sleep, it sometimes does get tired

My head is sometimes, occasionally, very very rarely full of nothing

It rests, it chills, it soaks up the calm but it is not very often full of nothing

My head is filled with stuff.

Categories
fiction Writing

Dining Room

Dad and I have been waiting for our starter for over fifteen minutes now since ordering and I am beginning to get impatient. The hunger is very real shown through the embarrassing grumbles in my stomach and the angry expression which I can feel upon my face so I try to take my focus elsewhere to forget about it for a while.

A voice beckons from the entrance where the diners have only just arrived, but a man in a black suit impatiently fidgets which I guess is so that he will be noticed by the wait staff. His wife is swiftly tugging at his suit jacket to prompt him to quit the act, but his frustration is showing through the redness and stern expression all over his face. The quiet atmosphere in the restaurant calls for only whispers so though he is speaking soft but firmly, his words appear as a bellowing as if he’s at a fun fare with a homophone attached to his jaw.

Eventually a nervous waitress attends to them when he almost leads her to an available table and pulls out the chair for himself before his gentlemanly duties of allowing his wife a seat first.

A man to the left of the couple is clearly indulging in a similar form of scrutiny as myself as I can clearly see his right eye glaring at them while attempting to act subtle by keeping his left eye focussed on the menu. His hands are shaking as if he is waiting on a first date with a beautiful lady but the rest of his body appears to be waiting on no one. His gaze keeps shifting between the couple and his menu so that when the waitress asks him if he is ready to order, he directs her away to give him some minutes more.

While the couple to his right are ordering with the poor waitress, his attention shifts to elsewhere in the room bringing my focus there as well. It is at this moment that I realise I am no longer people watching but rather following this man and his thoughts.

A couple are quietly but equally loudly showing their affection for one another. The observing man looks concerned at this but the man involved is beaming with happiness and pride. Having already demolished their starters to not miss out on lovingly kissing while they await the mains, the lady sidles up to the man in a teasing manner ending with her sat upon his knee.

So that I don’t look obvious in my observations and because it’s making me a little queasy, I remove my gaze from the two and back to the single man who looks more depressed than before. The couple to the right are onto their mains when I notice Dad’s Mussels coming out.

Categories
Observations Seasonal Writing

Appreciating England

There’s a place that I go to and it’s on the coast. Whenever we drive there along the winding roads and through the leafy trees of summer with banks scattered in wild flowers, I am happy. Some flowers are planted for purpose, looking content where they are, some just sprouting as wild as the weeds – I appreciate England.

It’s on the Suffolk coast where I go and the drive continues on roads that are pathways between the never-ending green hills, something that I would miss if ever I move to a city. It is why I appreciate England.

Somebody said to me once “as soon as you reach Dennington the world and everything around you changes”. Look it up on a map, go there. It does. The people get fewer but friendlier because everyone is so relaxed by the fresh sea air that is never very far away. It is why I appreciate England.

That is a reason why we are so very lucky to be living on an island that is surrounded by the sea, never is it far away (the sea that is). Unlike in parts of America, Australia, Europe and Africa, little old England offers a seaside escape wherever you’re anchored. It is why I appreciate England.

The countryside, though in my opinion is the best, is not the only wonderful aspect. The cities are also exciting and have their own reasons to be celebrated. We have old towns like York, huge towns like Manchester and London, pretty towns like Bury St Edmunds and Ely – and these are only ones that I personally love – this is why I appreciate England.

The simple things like glorious sunny days which we look out for more because they don’t happen very often when the sky is deep blue and the sunshine warms the skin. It is why I appreciate England.

The birdsong starting in the early hours of the morning and continuing when rush hour begins for people who are lucky enough to walk to work listening to it. It is why I appreciate England.

The old cars driving along country roads on sunny Sunday’s when everyone is enjoying a day off. It is why I appreciate England.

The sheep filling the fields, and cows and horses and lots more animals. It is why I appreciate England.

The smell of cut grass when the temperature exceeds fifteen degrees Celsius. It is why I appreciate England.

Warm cups of tea and shortbread biscuits. It is why I appreciate England.

Old churches, old ruins, old buildings, just oldness. It is why I appreciate England.

The traditions, the royals, the character traits of moaning and queuing. It is why I appreciate England.

ROAST DINNERS AND LOTS OF GRAVY. It is why I appreciate England.

So there we go, it isn’t all bad and these are only a few of the reasons. It is why I appreciate England.