1517. Is it Robbie’s lucky day?

He was getting on in life, and for all his obsession with sex, Robbie had never “done it”. It’s all he could think of half the time – sex sex sex. How come every male under the sun had “done it” and he’d never “done it”?

When he walked into a room all he could think of was sex. He wondered what it was like. Was it something to do with his childhood that prevented him from “scoring”? How come his father had never told him how to go about doing it? How was he meant to go about it now that he was older? He was sure that everyone – absolutely EVERYONE – was doing it. He decided he was too old and decrepit now to fumble around and “learn the ropes”. That would be embarrassing. He’d seen a bit of porn and it all looked complicated.

And that was when he met Mabel. Mabel was the best thing since sliced bread. He invited her to his fourteenth birthday party.

1516: A surprisingly happy conclusion to a stressful experience

Anne had lost her wedding ring, but she knew exactly where it would be. Every day she made a loaf of bread. It had happened before. It would be in the baked loaf. It would have slipped off while she was doing the kneading. She was constantly telling herself to take the wedding ring off before make the bread. When would she ever learn?

She had just enough time to take the bread out of the oven before scurrying off in the family van to take her son and some of his friends to their hockey match. She would worry about the wedding ring later. And then on the way home she would pop into the supermarket to get a few things. Another parent was to drop the boys home.

Of course, when eventually she did get home the inevitable had happened: her son and his friends had scoffed down the entire loaf with heaps of butter.

“You make excellent bread, Mrs McElwey!” said Angelo Whatnotski.

“Did anyone find a wedding ring in the bread?” asked Anne.

No one had. Oh well, how stressful!

Later that day, just as she was peeling the potatoes for dinner, Anne spied her wedding ring on the bench next to the flour bin. She had taken it off after all! O happy day! O happy, happy day!

What a pleasure it is to behold a surprisingly happy conclusion to a stressful experience!

A whinge, a whine, a whimper, and a wine

“Whinge” is such a good word that I thought I’d use it. This posting is a slight departure from the norm; hence, I haven’t given it a sequential number as per usual.

Whinge: Am I the only one on Word Press who has to log in MANY A TIME in order to give a like or a comment? It’s driving me crazy – and in fact stops me from liking and commenting. It’s not everyone’s site that does it, just some. What an annoying thing! What is its meaning? It’s only fairly recently begun to do this. I’ve cut down on the number of blogs I read, like, and comment on daily to save time and frustration.

Whine: I’ve almost finished my aim for 2019: to compose 153 pieces for the piano. I chose 153 because that’s the number of piano pieces in Béla Bartók’s Mikrokosmos. Of course, they’re not exactly up to Bartok’s standard, but I still dunnit. Despite some helpful and kind suggestions from a couple of readers, I still don’t know what to do with them. I hate to foist 153 piano pieces on my unsuspecting half dozen or so faithful followers. Even if a piano piece was surreptitiously snuck into a posting once a week it would take 3 years, by which time I’ll possibly be in a hole in Kopuatama. (Kopuatama, for those not well-read, is the name of the local cemetery). So I’m going to post the music in blocks of fifteen now and again, provided no one feels compelled to listen to them out of a sense of friendship and loyalty. Relatively low self-esteem was always one of my finer hallmarks – which probably accounts for the fact that I’ve only once sent my brilliant post-modern novel manuscript to a publisher. (I think the publisher has since died, and can only hope that my MS was the cause of it).

One of these is Bartók

Whimper: Last Spring (it’s a cold Autumn here in New Zealand now) I was unable to find any globe artichoke plants in any plant shop. Being particularly partial to artichokes, and given the exorbitant expense of buying canned artichoke hearts, I planted a packet of artichoke seeds. Artichokes require a coldish winter. I had 32 seeds germinate, and planted then around the garden. They are a lovely structural plant anyway with gorgeous thistle-like edible purple flowers. The artichokes have flourished. Each single plant takes up several square yards. I’ve never had them so big. Imagine 32 gigantic plants. There’s no room even for a humble carrot, and I haven’t the heart to pull any out! Roll on Spring with its promised feast! I’ll just nip out now and get you a photo!

Here is one of 32!

Wine: My car died just on 12 months ago. Death came suddenly and in the middle of a busy highway. I phoned the Automobile Association and in an effort to ascertain where exactly I was I opened the car door and the dog leaped out onto the road. Picture, if you will, me on the phone (the only time I’ve ever used my mobile) dashing between roaring articulated trucks and trailers in an effort to catch the dog. We are both lucky to be alive. The whinge part however, is that I haven’t yet been able to replace the car! I was to be paid for months of work this past week, but the money has not yet arrived. Getting a car is top of my list, as I’ve been borrowing an old truck every time I run out of wine groceries. Contemporary used cars seem to come in 50 shades of grey – I will certainly be looking for something more titivating than 50 shades of grey (colour being the only thing I know about automobiles).

My dead car being taken away

That concludes this collection of whinges, whines, whimpers, and wine. Thank you for reading, and please feel welcome to leave comments – whether sharp or blunt.

1515: A rocky patch

Leonie and Lyall’s marriage was going through “a rocky patch”. Leonie was taking a few days off “to clear the air” and had gone to stay with her sister for the weekend. It would give Lyall the opportunity, said Leonie, “to think things through”.

It was Sunday morning and Lyall had thought he’d heard something during the night. He never registered because it simply sounded like Leonie. In his half-dazed sleep he never considered that she shouldn’t be there, and it wasn’t until the morning that he thought “what the heck?” Not to worry! There was nothing missing as far as he could see, so it wasn’t a burglar. Leonie must have forgotten something, although why she would drive for half an hour in the middle of the night to retrieve a forgotten item was anyone’s guess.

Lyall made a cup of coffee and settled in his favourite armchair with the Sunday paper. That was when he noticed the lottery numbers. Goodness! They looked like the numbers he took every week!

The thing was he couldn’t find his ticket.

1514: Life on an exoplanet

Shauni and Campion were a fairly happily married couple. They were without offspring even though they had made repeated attempts on a fairly regular basis. That is why they volunteered to be the first people to visit an exoplanet inhabited by intelligent creatures: Shauni and Campion had no ties to Mother Earth.

How different things were on the exoplanet! Thank goodness there was plenty of food available; both animal and vegetable. The Gdtmzxpqians were nurtured via something akin to photosynthesis, so there was no competition for Shauni and Campion on the food chain. All in all their life was fairly interesting. The Gdtmzxpqians were peaceful creatures, although Shauni and Campion were unable to learn their extraordinary complex language. The problem was that the Gdtmzxpqians conveyed speech sounds by squelching their hands under their armpits – rather like young boys on Planet Earth when they wanted to make rude noises. The aliens’ mouths were openings solely for inhaling nitrogen.

After several months Shauni discovered she was expecting! What excitement! Everything was near perfect, except they were tired of being caged in the Gdtmzxpqian zoo.

1513: Prone to tragedy

It’s such a shame. They were such a lovely couple. They were so down-to-earth – which is unusual for filthy rich personages.

To think how full of promise their lives had become! They had recently moved into their brand-new multimillion dollar mansion. It suited them down to the ground. It had a games room – or should I say “rooms”? The covered heated swimming pool was a delight. The tennis courts attracted so many genuine friends. The kitchen (Jacinta jokingly referred to it as a “my humble kitchenette”!) was big enough for Rufus, their world-class chef. In fact, Rufus had been with the household for years, ever since he was hired by Archibald’s first wife many years ago. Archibald joked that Rufus was the only real jewel in the family fortune.

And then last Thursday Jacinta’s body was found floating in the tropical aquarium. Archibald was devastated. How could she have drowned? He had suggested to her dozens of times not to overfeed the African banded barbs (Barbus fasciolatus). She wouldn’t listen. Fate had clearly decreed that she should drown in the fish tank because of her over-feeding fixation. How she fell in was anyone’s guess.

Some people are prone to tragedy. That is certainly the case with Archibald. Jacinta was his fourth wife to have inadvertently drowned in a tropical aquarium. Jacinta was the brightest star in my firmament of life, said Archibald. Rufus was more matter-of-fact: That’s the last time she’ll criticise my Caraway Crusted Pork Loin with Stewed Cabbage and Sautéed Apples.

1512: Two blocks of cheese

For almost two years Eileen Harrison had poisoned the cheese in her refrigerator. She herself only occasionally ate cheese but her husband, Archie, adored it: Edam, mild and creamy with 28% less fat. Archie would eat no other. He always had a big hunk of it at lunch time between two slices of bread.

It was almost a conjugal duty for Eileen to make sure there was fresh cheese (and a block to spare) in the refrigerator. It was part of the reason she was attempting to poison her husband – apart from the fact she had a secret lover who was excessively rich and she pined for that long-promised vacation in Bali. Archie was obsessed with everything, not just cheese. It was driving Eileen nuts. And yet, no matter how much poison she injected into the block of cheese, it had not the slightest effect on Archie.

Archie’s obsessive, meticulous behaviour was the reason the poison had failed to work; it was the reason why Eileen’s dalliance with her lover had failed thus far to produce a trip to a Balinese resort. The two smallish blocks of cheese sat in the refrigerator on top of one another. Archie figured that Eileen would place the more recent purchased cheese on top; but she didn’t put it on top, she always put it on the bottom because the top one was the poisoned bit. But Archie would take the bottom block because that was the oldest. He was neurotic about that. That is why the top block was sodden with poison and the bottom block was mild and creamy with 28% less fat and fresh and delightful.

So the poisoned cheese sat on the top untouched for almost two years; untouched that is until the lover paid a visit one lunch time.