This will hurt me...

A Brave New World. It turns out that he was really a girl, and she was at heart a boy. Naturally, this meant things became complicated reasonably quickly. Rather than get caught up in the “He said, She said” (or, for that matter, the “(S)he said, s He said”), they agreed upon a catch up to clear the air. “What do you want to do?”, He said. “What do you want to do?”, She said. “I need coffee”, She said. He nodded, and she sighed. “I don’t really like the coffee here”, He said. So She took her bag and left.

Seen better says. The Derwent Estuary, as seen from Errol Flynn Reserve. October 2011. Theme Thursday again, and far be it from me to try and give you some kind of cheap THRILL by penning a brief Drabble inspired by the above tired boat. But I shall. He loved that boat like he loved his wife. In many ways she resembled the little runabout: THRILLing to begin with; developing into a sturdy and dependable relationship of shared joy. And it was. Eventually his eye was drawn to bigger, flashier models. Faster, sleeker, smoother and seemingly capable of giving him whole new range of experiences. She knew it too. It wasn’t quite resentment and it wasn’t quite resignation. There was anger. Nobody likes being taken for granted, especially after giving your all for so long. So early one evening, amidst a gentle chop, over the side he went.

A chicken for Ezra’s birthday, handmade by his loving mother. July 2010. [Addition: as noted by my darling wife in the comments, you can find the pattern for this chook - and it lays eggs too - at ikatbag.com .] It has been a while, but I think this week I shall celebrate Theme Thursday and try my hand at another drabble! Lucky you. BRUSH Colin was excited. A BRUSH with fame. An encounter with celebrity. A taste of the high life. A hint of something ‘better’. That was what he said he wanted. That was what he thought he wanted. Then he met Derrick. Derrick was on the Soaps. His face would be familiar. Wizened Detective # 2 . Drunken Politician on Right . Cantankerous Father-of-the-Bride . Derrick was famous, but not too famous for the number 37 tram. Colin cleared his throat. Colin adjusted his tie. Colin began to speak, “pleasant weather.” Derrick grunted and pushed passed. Colin looked out the window. The BRUSH off.

Water jets in Franklin Square, Winter '09 . Theme Thursday today, and what a task I have! The theme is RHYTHM, so I set myself the goal this morning of penning a lightning fast drabble on today’s them on my way to work on the bus this morning. Alas, my trusty notebook was elsewhere! Thus, I fished out a receipt from the fresh fruit market in Salamanca [APPLES GRANNY SMITH SML KG], and set about squeezing out 100 words on the back. I’m glad to say that I had the requisite number done and dusted by the time I hit the bridge and was able to dip back in to Dame Rebecca West’s interesting little tale The Return of the Soldier . Let’s take the easy way out and call this one RHYTHM . The rhythm of their relationship was a familiar one. He worshipped her, she loathed him. He adored her, she was disgusted . He would whisper the sweetest, gentlest paeans of his affection into her lovely ear as they made love, and she would shun his offerings a cat might a command. When he arrived home, h...

Here is an early evening shot of the (former) warehouses down in Salamanca Place. Have a drabble. Clive “I don’t know anything,” he said. He meant it. He really didn’t know anything, apart from that fact, of course. This was a problem. It was a problem that affected most aspects of his life, and – eventually – his death. For example, he would forget about turning off his lights, thus his power bill would be immense most months. He would forget to pay his power bill, and the electricity would duly be shut off. He’d forget that his power was shut off, and the place would get awfully cold during winter. Naturally, one particularly cold winter, he died of exposure. To be continued...

A convict peep show? I don't know! It's a hole in a sandstone building. I know that people have been dying for another drabble . Never let it be said that I'd fail to deliver (much). People Brian was a fellow who assumed that he knew why he did the things he did. A rational man, Brian had long considered his actions the result of a deliberate and clinical assessment of the facts . Ultimately, he believed that he did things because he chose to do so. Then he met Cheryl. Cheryl worked in accounts. She liked a drink, loved a laugh, and found Brian quite tolerable. After he deduced this, Brian began to suspect the soundness of his judgement. His aforementioned clarity of thought had deserted him and this caused him no end of great worry.

This bit of worn asphalt down near the waterfront has had plenty of work put in to drawing attention to the hazards of a crack in the footpath. Of cousre, one wonders why someone could go to all this effort, but actually avoid fixing it. Personally, it looks like overkill to me (I mean, it's been left untended for at least a month now), but I am sure that the fact it lays right on the pub crawl trail has nothing to do with the effort of looking to avoid potentially litigious drunkards. Not long ago, I discovered the beauty and challenge of the drabble . For the uninitiated, a drabble is a work of fiction exactly one hundred words in length. The purpose of the drabble is brevity, and it is a real test of an author's ability to express [hopefully] interesting and meaningful ideas in an extremely confined space. As such, it may prove a useful friend to the blogger who remains pressured to find material to continue posting a couple of times a day. So , here's a drabble I whi...