olly-buckle
Well-known member
- Location
- E. Sussex
Have you considered magazines? There are hundreds of them, and they must need copy.
-
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Just for a laugh
- Thread starter Tetters
- Start date
Jersey Devil
Well-known member
Even I got scared
Anniekay
New member
- Location
- Quitman, Ga.
Anniekay
New member
- Location
- Quitman, Ga.
I couldn't stop laughing Pal. I'm going to have to wait at least 10 minutes or maybe more, before I read part two. Surely it could be published in parts as one piece? Any editor in his/her right mind would be an idiot to decline this kind of work. You should have a copyright on this !!!!
Sheal
Well-known member
- Location
- Ross-shire Scotland
See if this amuses you.
We had a really good Christmas this year. Lots of my family came to stay, and we had a wonderful day, full of food, drink, games, and good company.
Early on Boxing Day morning, suffering from the excesses of the previous day, I had to get up. My mouth was as dry as a desert, my insides churning with the huge amounts of turkey and Christmas cake they had been asked to deal with. Everyone else was still in bed. I went downstairs and into the living room.
It was obvious straight away that all was not well in there, even in my befuddled state. The cat was sitting on the back of the settee, looking very unhappy. He was also wearing one of those hats that you get out of a Christmas cracker. It was too big for his head and had slipped down around his neck. He was turning his head from side to side as if looking for something, and his tail was lashing from side to side. Every now and then he gave a low rumbling growl. He took the chance of the open door and fled.
I peered blearily around the room. The tree in the corner of the room was shaking like it had the jitters, and pine needles were falling off it and onto the floor. Even though there was no draught in the room, the decorations were swinging from side to side.
As I watched, one of the Christmas baubles rolled across the floor and knocked over a line of toy soldiers. I looked across to the sideboard where we had left the remainder of a bowl of mulled wine. There were ripples in it as if something was swimming in the red liquid.
My heart sank. I knew exactly what was happening. The Oopsydiddlydandydees were up to their usual antics. Since the only way to see or hear them is with the special glasses, I staggered back upstairs to the bathroom. I keep the glasses in the bathroom cabinet. Fortunately, they were still on the shelf. Sadly though, someone or something had covered the glass with toothpaste. It took me a while to clean them before I went back down to the living room.
It was swarming with Oopsydiddlydandydees. They had made themselves Santa Claus outfits with red crepe paper. They all had white beards made from the cotton wool which our youngest had used to make snow around a Christmas scene. They looked like the oddest Santas you could imagine.
Some of them were sitting at the top of the Christmas tree, pulling the needles off and letting them fall to the ground like a green snow storm.
Another gang was unscrewing the bulbs from the fairy lights and dropping them, one by one, into the tin of sweets which was under the tree. That did not stop the ones who were in the tin unwrapping the sweets and licking the chocolate off, before wrapping the centre of the toffee back up again.
Yet more of them were swinging from the decorations which we had so carefully put around the room. The drawing pins which held the streamers up could not take the movement and most of the streamers were now dangling down to the ground.
Some of them had collected the toy soldiers which our grandson had been given as one of his presents and were using the baubles from the tree as bowling balls. They screamed with delight as the soldiers were knocked over.
In the mulled wine bowl, some of them were swimming, while others were drinking the strong stuff from hazelnut shells. They were very drunk and singing badly out-of-tune, very rude versions of carols.
In front of the fire, they had lifted the edge of the rug and were busy stuffing walnut shells under it.
All the time they were shouting, “It wasn’t me, guv.”
“I can see you,” I shouted.
For a second, they all stopped what they were doing and looked at me. Then they carried on, but this time they shouted, "Ho, ho, ho. I didn't mean to do it, honest, guv!"
Then a look of absolute horror appeared on their round faces. "The monster with the vacuum!" they screamed, and as quick as a breath of wind, they were gone, leaving behind their Santa Claus suits and cotton wool beards all over the floor.
I turned around. She who is always right was standing in the doorway. The look on her face would have melted lead. I knew there was going to be trouble. Her foot was tapping.
“Look at this mess,” she said. “That’s the last time we have your family over for Christmas.”
The only thing I could think of to say was, “It wasn’t them, honest, love.”
We had a really good Christmas this year. Lots of my family came to stay, and we had a wonderful day, full of food, drink, games, and good company.
Early on Boxing Day morning, suffering from the excesses of the previous day, I had to get up. My mouth was as dry as a desert, my insides churning with the huge amounts of turkey and Christmas cake they had been asked to deal with. Everyone else was still in bed. I went downstairs and into the living room.
It was obvious straight away that all was not well in there, even in my befuddled state. The cat was sitting on the back of the settee, looking very unhappy. He was also wearing one of those hats that you get out of a Christmas cracker. It was too big for his head and had slipped down around his neck. He was turning his head from side to side as if looking for something, and his tail was lashing from side to side. Every now and then he gave a low rumbling growl. He took the chance of the open door and fled.
I peered blearily around the room. The tree in the corner of the room was shaking like it had the jitters, and pine needles were falling off it and onto the floor. Even though there was no draught in the room, the decorations were swinging from side to side.
As I watched, one of the Christmas baubles rolled across the floor and knocked over a line of toy soldiers. I looked across to the sideboard where we had left the remainder of a bowl of mulled wine. There were ripples in it as if something was swimming in the red liquid.
My heart sank. I knew exactly what was happening. The Oopsydiddlydandydees were up to their usual antics. Since the only way to see or hear them is with the special glasses, I staggered back upstairs to the bathroom. I keep the glasses in the bathroom cabinet. Fortunately, they were still on the shelf. Sadly though, someone or something had covered the glass with toothpaste. It took me a while to clean them before I went back down to the living room.
It was swarming with Oopsydiddlydandydees. They had made themselves Santa Claus outfits with red crepe paper. They all had white beards made from the cotton wool which our youngest had used to make snow around a Christmas scene. They looked like the oddest Santas you could imagine.
Some of them were sitting at the top of the Christmas tree, pulling the needles off and letting them fall to the ground like a green snow storm.
Another gang was unscrewing the bulbs from the fairy lights and dropping them, one by one, into the tin of sweets which was under the tree. That did not stop the ones who were in the tin unwrapping the sweets and licking the chocolate off, before wrapping the centre of the toffee back up again.
Yet more of them were swinging from the decorations which we had so carefully put around the room. The drawing pins which held the streamers up could not take the movement and most of the streamers were now dangling down to the ground.
Some of them had collected the toy soldiers which our grandson had been given as one of his presents and were using the baubles from the tree as bowling balls. They screamed with delight as the soldiers were knocked over.
In the mulled wine bowl, some of them were swimming, while others were drinking the strong stuff from hazelnut shells. They were very drunk and singing badly out-of-tune, very rude versions of carols.
In front of the fire, they had lifted the edge of the rug and were busy stuffing walnut shells under it.
All the time they were shouting, “It wasn’t me, guv.”
“I can see you,” I shouted.
For a second, they all stopped what they were doing and looked at me. Then they carried on, but this time they shouted, "Ho, ho, ho. I didn't mean to do it, honest, guv!"
Then a look of absolute horror appeared on their round faces. "The monster with the vacuum!" they screamed, and as quick as a breath of wind, they were gone, leaving behind their Santa Claus suits and cotton wool beards all over the floor.
I turned around. She who is always right was standing in the doorway. The look on her face would have melted lead. I knew there was going to be trouble. Her foot was tapping.
“Look at this mess,” she said. “That’s the last time we have your family over for Christmas.”
The only thing I could think of to say was, “It wasn’t them, honest, love.”
Well that story was almost convincing, and I'm beginning to think of you now as an Oopsydiddlydandydee - which is, of course quite disturbing.
If you are looking for opinions on the subject, forgive me if you're not please, I think that the particular subject matter wears thin after a while, and it was the total novelty of the subject that had such an effect on me. If I wanted to put a book together, I think I would make each subject matter completely different, yet on a jovial spectrum. I would also write some pieces that were stupidly short - much the same way as Spike Milligan would have.
Each piece in my opinion is written in a most convincing and expert manner, you obviously have a great deal of talent.
As I said, I did not think it was possible to sustain the ideas for any length of time, which is why this will be the final one. I did consider one for after a bout of re-decorating and possibly Valentine's Day, but no, a stretch too far.
Constructive criticism is always welcome, by the way. No serious writer is unhappy with help which improves the finished product.
Constructive criticism is always welcome, by the way. No serious writer is unhappy with help which improves the finished product.
Jersey Devil
Well-known member
My doctor said that at my age I need to install a bar in my shower...so I did
Logan
Well-known member
- Location
- Redditch west midlands Worcester
This is the second chapter of one of my books. Lemmy is the hero and he has had a bang on the head. Chapter 1 just sets the scene.
He opened the front door and peered out. The street that should have been there was definitely missing, as was the pavement. The concrete path that went along the front of the house was still there. Beyond that, though, it was just grey under a bright blue sky with a few wispy clouds.
Carefully, he closed the front door and went to the back door. The concrete path was there, but the garden had been replaced by the same sort of grey covering. There were no houses in view either, just the same bright blue sky.
Lemmy scratched his head, forgetting about the bump. "Ouch," he said as he accidentally touched it.
Gingerly, he stepped out onto the concrete path. He followed it all the way around the house. "This is very odd," he thought. No other houses, no garden, and no sound either.
When he reached the back door again, he stood and looked at the grey area in front of him. Slowly, he pressed one foot on to it. It felt solid enough.
"It is quite safe, you know," said a voice from somewhere at his waist height.
That made him jump. He looked down. Standing by his side was a large bird, a very large bird. Lemmy stepped back inside the house.
"There is nothing to be afraid of," said the bird. "Welcome to my land."
"Wh.who are you?" stammered Lemmy. He found it rather worrying to be talking to a large bird.
"Me?" replied the bird. "I am the one and only Cloud Cuckoo and this is my land. This is Cloud Cuckoo Land. You are most welcome. "
"Er,er, thank-you," said Lemmy, a bit at a loss as to what he ought to say.
"Pleasure," said the bird. "Now we have a great need for you. There is a major problem in the middle of the land and only you can fix it
"Me?" squeaked Lemmy. "I don't know anything about fixing problems. My mum says I am only good for causing them."
"Be that as it may," said the bird. "There is a problem, and no-one who lives in Cloud Cuckoo Land can fix it. It has to be someone from down below, and you are the only one from there who is in my land at the moment."
"Down below?" asked a very puzzled Lemmy.
The bird pointed to the grey stuff with its wing. "Down below," it said. "Now are you going to help or what?"
Lemmy shrugged his shoulders. "If I can help, I will, but don't blame me if I make things worse. What exactly is the problem?"
"In the middle of Cloud Cuckoo Land is a Great Grandfather clock. Something has gone terribly wrong with it and it is going backwards. If you listen carefully, you can hear it."
Lemmy put his hands behind his ears and strained to hear. From the far, far distance came the sound of a clock ticking. Or tocking, as the case may be. It really was going backwards. Instead of saying 'tick tock', the Great Grandfather clock was saying 'tock tick'.
"I don't know anything about clocks," he protested.
"You could at least come with me and look at it," said the bird. "We are terribly worried that when it reaches 0 o'clock, Cloud Cuckoo Land will disappear. When the clock began to go backwards I went and looked at the Time table."
"Time table?" asked Lemmy. "Like the ones in the 'Bus station that say when 'buses are due and where they are going?"
"The time table here tells when everything is going to happen, " replied the Cuckoo.
"Useful," said Lemmy.
"Not really, said the Cuckoo. "The time table is very complicated and hard to read. It just showed that I had to find someone from Down Below to fix the clock."
"Does the time table show that I managed to do it?" asked Lemmy.
"No," said the Cuckoo. "Sadly it just goes blank. We really need your help."
"All right," said Lemmy. I will do my best. How do we get to the clock?"
"Follow me," the bird ordered. It walked off on to the grey stuff. Nervously, Lemmy followed. When he did not sink or fall through, he felt a lot more confident.
When they had gone a little way, they came across a line of carriages To Lemmy's amazement, they looked like a line of gravy boats, exactly like the ones his mother always put on the table with Sunday lunch.
"Climb in," said the bird as it got into one of the boats.
Lemmy followed, feeling relieved that it was not actually full of gravy. "What is this?" he asked.
"This is the Gravy train," replied the bird. You are very lucky. Lots of people would really like to get on the Gravy train."
With a jerk, the train began to move.
"But how does it go?" asked Lemmy. "I don't remember seeing an engine."
"It goes without saying," replied the bird.
He opened the front door and peered out. The street that should have been there was definitely missing, as was the pavement. The concrete path that went along the front of the house was still there. Beyond that, though, it was just grey under a bright blue sky with a few wispy clouds.
Carefully, he closed the front door and went to the back door. The concrete path was there, but the garden had been replaced by the same sort of grey covering. There were no houses in view either, just the same bright blue sky.
Lemmy scratched his head, forgetting about the bump. "Ouch," he said as he accidentally touched it.
Gingerly, he stepped out onto the concrete path. He followed it all the way around the house. "This is very odd," he thought. No other houses, no garden, and no sound either.
When he reached the back door again, he stood and looked at the grey area in front of him. Slowly, he pressed one foot on to it. It felt solid enough.
"It is quite safe, you know," said a voice from somewhere at his waist height.
That made him jump. He looked down. Standing by his side was a large bird, a very large bird. Lemmy stepped back inside the house.
"There is nothing to be afraid of," said the bird. "Welcome to my land."
"Wh.who are you?" stammered Lemmy. He found it rather worrying to be talking to a large bird.
"Me?" replied the bird. "I am the one and only Cloud Cuckoo and this is my land. This is Cloud Cuckoo Land. You are most welcome. "
"Er,er, thank-you," said Lemmy, a bit at a loss as to what he ought to say.
"Pleasure," said the bird. "Now we have a great need for you. There is a major problem in the middle of the land and only you can fix it
"Me?" squeaked Lemmy. "I don't know anything about fixing problems. My mum says I am only good for causing them."
"Be that as it may," said the bird. "There is a problem, and no-one who lives in Cloud Cuckoo Land can fix it. It has to be someone from down below, and you are the only one from there who is in my land at the moment."
"Down below?" asked a very puzzled Lemmy.
The bird pointed to the grey stuff with its wing. "Down below," it said. "Now are you going to help or what?"
Lemmy shrugged his shoulders. "If I can help, I will, but don't blame me if I make things worse. What exactly is the problem?"
"In the middle of Cloud Cuckoo Land is a Great Grandfather clock. Something has gone terribly wrong with it and it is going backwards. If you listen carefully, you can hear it."
Lemmy put his hands behind his ears and strained to hear. From the far, far distance came the sound of a clock ticking. Or tocking, as the case may be. It really was going backwards. Instead of saying 'tick tock', the Great Grandfather clock was saying 'tock tick'.
"I don't know anything about clocks," he protested.
"You could at least come with me and look at it," said the bird. "We are terribly worried that when it reaches 0 o'clock, Cloud Cuckoo Land will disappear. When the clock began to go backwards I went and looked at the Time table."
"Time table?" asked Lemmy. "Like the ones in the 'Bus station that say when 'buses are due and where they are going?"
"The time table here tells when everything is going to happen, " replied the Cuckoo.
"Useful," said Lemmy.
"Not really, said the Cuckoo. "The time table is very complicated and hard to read. It just showed that I had to find someone from Down Below to fix the clock."
"Does the time table show that I managed to do it?" asked Lemmy.
"No," said the Cuckoo. "Sadly it just goes blank. We really need your help."
"All right," said Lemmy. I will do my best. How do we get to the clock?"
"Follow me," the bird ordered. It walked off on to the grey stuff. Nervously, Lemmy followed. When he did not sink or fall through, he felt a lot more confident.
When they had gone a little way, they came across a line of carriages To Lemmy's amazement, they looked like a line of gravy boats, exactly like the ones his mother always put on the table with Sunday lunch.
"Climb in," said the bird as it got into one of the boats.
Lemmy followed, feeling relieved that it was not actually full of gravy. "What is this?" he asked.
"This is the Gravy train," replied the bird. You are very lucky. Lots of people would really like to get on the Gravy train."
With a jerk, the train began to move.
"But how does it go?" asked Lemmy. "I don't remember seeing an engine."
"It goes without saying," replied the bird.
This tale is clearly one that my grandchildren would like to hear me read to them. Not only that, it would be a sneaky way to read a kids book and get away with feeling like a big kid at the same time. Good imagination, with a play on words that makes me smile!
If you do that, the bots would find it. There are two ways of looking at that, and for one thing it would be accessible for anyone to read for nothing - probably spoiling chances to sell it, and secondly it would definitely need a completely different thread of its own, as this one is supposed to be for shorter jokes for everyone to contribute to.
A short story on a gardening theme might go down well for members who actually have nearby children in the family to read to. Mine are all in Australia.
@olly-buckle is also a writer, and we listen to some of his stories on YouTube.
Of course, the potting shed is a good place to air members' interests and hobbies aside from gardening. You could always put up a poll to see what the others think.
A new thread might be entitled ''A book for bedtime'' What d'you think?
A short story on a gardening theme might go down well for members who actually have nearby children in the family to read to. Mine are all in Australia.
@olly-buckle is also a writer, and we listen to some of his stories on YouTube.
Of course, the potting shed is a good place to air members' interests and hobbies aside from gardening. You could always put up a poll to see what the others think.
A new thread might be entitled ''A book for bedtime'' What d'you think?
Last edited:
Logan
Well-known member
- Location
- Redditch west midlands Worcester
olly-buckle
Well-known member
- Location
- E. Sussex
I agree, I have had some 'How dare you criticize' remarks, some people! I think your writing is pretty good, you could probably tighten it up a bit in places.
Try, 'It was obvious all was not well, even in my befuddled state', qualifying words like 'straight away' don't add anything, obvious is obvious and we know where you were looking. I look through my writing for the word 'that', it's usually a clue I could phrase it better.
Sheal
Well-known member
- Location
- Ross-shire Scotland
