Let me try to explain it again.
I just want to get on the plane.
I need some hot sun
Some booze and some fun
I want to fly southwards to Spain.
My needs are really quite plain
I’m not after personal gain
I’m up for some loving
So please quit your shoving
And I can’t take much more bloody rain.
My money’s gone straight down the drain
I think I’d be quicker by train.
A ship with one mast
Would get there as fast
It’s starting to drive me insane.
From flying perhaps I’ll abstain
Do something in similar vein.
Oh! Let’s go there by jeep,
That should be quite cheap.
Though it does go a bit ‘gainst the grain
Enough of this extravaganza
Much more of this rhyming bonanza
And I’ll soon need a nurse
Or a man in a hearse
Perhaps I’ll call this the last stanza
This was written in response to Kreative Kue 225 published on this site.
Kreative Kue 224 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
John W Howell is the author of the John Cannon trilogy of My GRL, His Revenge, Our Justice and Circumstances of Childhood, co-author of The Contract, and blogs at Fiction Favorites.
The Glass by John W. Howell © 2019
“Lets hope he has not made a mistake.”
“A mistake? The guy is clearly off his rocker.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Um. Let’s look at the evidence. One he is sitting out in the hot sun. Two he thinks beer is going to drop from that dark cloud.”
“But as he explained he created a new form of rain.”
“Rain that is supposed to be beer? Don’t make me laugh.”
“I tend to feel sorry for him.”
“Not sure that is the proper emothion. I think more we should get him some help.”
“What would happen if that cloud opened up and filled his glass with beer?”
“He would be a billionaire in no time. That’s not going to happen. Who ever heard of such a thing.”
“I hear thunder.”
“Okay so it might rain.”
“Normally when it thunders I smell ozone. Right now I smell beer.”
“Don’t make me put you in the same straight jacket.”
“Look. It is raining in the glass and there is a nice head on the beer.”
“I see it alright. I am really surprised.”
“What do you say now Mr. Doubting Thomas?”
“Sure glad he is our son.”
My effort was
Okay, let me try to explain it again.
The angle on top of the post is carefully calculated to be twenty-three point four degrees – exactly matching the planet’s axial tilt.
I’m coming to that; the coefficient of friction between the glass and the post’s surface is precisely two per cent more than is necessary to resist the pull of gravity when the glass is empty.
Yes, that’s very important. When it’s— Let me finish, please. When the glass is full, there’s more gravity pulling it down than across the sloping surface— Thank you for that. Yes, it’s because its centre of gravity is closer to the centre of the post. The problem comes when the glass’s centre of gravity falls outside the top of the post.
I’m glad you asked that. The angle of the handle is important, as it has an effect on the overall c of g of the glass.
C of g means centre of gravity. I’m just trying to save saying the same thing too often.
Okay, if you prefer. The angle of the handle is important, as it has an effect on the overall centre of gravity of the glass. Better?
Now. Here’s the fascinating part. Every time a fighter jet passes over; which, incidentally, they’re not supposed to do as this is a designated no-fly zone, although these Top-Gun types seem to live as though the normal rules don’t apply to them; but when one does pass over, it sets up a sympathetic vibration.
No, I don’t know why it’s called sympathetic, and I have no idea what it’s actually sympathetic to; not me, that’s for sure. That vibration affects the stiction that holds the glass in place causing the vessel to slide gracefully towards the lower edge of the platform.
No, there isn’t a plane anywhere near.
Why is it wha… Oh, bugger!
On to this week’s challenge: Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; even just a caption for the photograph. Either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at email@example.com before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here.
Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries next Monday.
In Knight & Deigh, Hannice Knight suffered a back injury that left him without the use of his legs. Sophie Deigh, physiotherapist and recent widow, devoted herself to supporting him.
As Hannice’s body recovered, he became ever closer to Sophie, and soon they found themselves in a relationship they had neither anticipated nor intended and for which neither was fully prepared.
A bump in the Knight followed Hannice as he juggled business, hedonism, marriage and ultimately parenthood.
Knight after Knight is the third and final part of the Hannice Knight story. Starting after the marriage of Hannice and Sophie’s only son, David to Jess, the only child of Jason and Noelani Reeves of Hawaii, it traces the Knight family’s progression through the generations.
Knight after Knight. Chapter eight, part two.
As soon as we arrived at Nocturne, it was obvious that some of the external work was already underway. Judging by the tall posts that appeared at about two-metre intervals around, the new, a start had been made on the inner fence. Apart from that, the old place didn’t look any different from my last visit and, in fact, remarkably similar to when I lived there. The walinzi allowed us through the gate and the driver dropped us by the front door. Lindy called the man he named as General Factotum and asked him to take our luggage up to guest bedrooms two and three, then led us into the house.
“So, is he a retired soldier?” Max asked.
“General factotum,” Lindy said, laughing, “is the expression we use to describe a member of the household staff who can be called on to fill any number of requirements, like Man Friday but less dismissive, more respectful. I think so, anyway. It’s not his real name.”
“What is his real name?” she asked.
“Something I can’t pronounce. I call him General and he doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, I think I heard him boasting about it once.”
“So,” I said, “we’re in guest bedrooms two and three?”
“What’s wrong with one?”
“Number one isn’t a guest bedroom. It’s where I sleep.”
“Have you numbered all the rooms?”
“Only where there’s more than one with the same function. It’s more efficient.”
“But this is your home. There’s no need to organise it efficiently.”
“Don’t let Roger hear you saying that, Boss. He always said that one of the things he loves about me is the level of organisation and efficiency I bring to everything. Besides, it may be a home for me, but for the staff, it’s a workplace.”
“I’ll not interfere, Lindy. It’s only for a few nights until we get our accommodation organised.”
“What will you be looking for?”
“Either a small house or an apartment. As long as it has at least two bedrooms it’ll do us.”
“Why don’t I have the workmen refurbish the lodge whilst they’re here, Boss? That was built as a kind of coach-house for the servants and I’m sure it will do the job.”
“I dread to think what sort of state it’s in. It was never opened whilst I was living here.”
“It’s solid, clean and dry,” Max said, “I had the staff open it up seven or eight years ago for archival storage of paper records and for storing grandfather tapes from the office computer backups. The father tapes were held in what was my study.”
“And is now my study,” Lindy said, “I do remember that, Max. It was more than eight years ago – more like a decade. But we haven’t been getting backup tapes from the office for about four years – backups are all done online to the KGT server in the office, which replicates with sister servers in all the other regional offices.”
“You’re right,” I said, “we chose to do that, rather than pay for space on someone else’s cloud. We have seven servers scattered around the world, each of which, as well as replicating all the others, also backs up to at least two divisional servers. I think we should be resilient enough.”
“So that building only needs decorating and furnishing. If you remember, Boss, it has three double bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms and three reception rooms which can serve as lounge, dining room and office.”
“Okay, Lindy, but on one condition.”
“You charge us market rent for it.”
“Sure thing, Boss. I just won’t be drawn on which market.”
“Lindisfarne Julian Aldredge,” I said, “you are incorrigible.”
“And encourageable, don’t forget,” he replied with a grin.
“That’s between you and Roger.”
“It is,” he said, “but before we think about all that, I have a wedding to organise.”
“Haven’t you organised it yet?” Max asked, incredulously.
“Are you listening to yourself, Max? Of course I have. It’s me, remember? It’s what I do. Organise things. What’re you like?”
We laughed, then he talked us through all the arrangements. He had missed nothing. All we had to do, as ‘honour attendants’ was, as he had said, to stand with him at the ceremony, handing him things as needed, witness the official documents then eat, drink, be merry and, in Max’s case, make a speech.
I’m delighted to say that it all went smoothly and the happy couple went off to New York for a week’s honeymoon, leaving Max and me in temporary charge of Nocturne.