Daily Prompt: The Twilight Zone

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

Ever have an experience that felt surreal, as though you’d been suddenly transported into the twilight zone, where time seemed to warp, perhaps slowing down or speeding up? Tell us all about it. If you haven’t had an experience in real life that you can draw from, write a fictional account of a surreal experience.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us SURREAL.

Misty Day in Solothurn

I take the camera everywhere. You never know if one day you will have the opportunity of taking THE Photograph. The one that will make you famous, the one that will be be put on the front page of a magazine called “Photographer”. So, OK, I dream on until that day when it happens.

I was actually in the moving car and was snapping away, Mr. Swiss was driving. It was a misty day and what the lens captured was more luck than judgement. I arrived home and downloaded the results on the computer. It was then that a photo appeared with a lamp post. I know lamp posts are not the thing to stay in the viewer’s memory, not exactly Pulitzer prize worthy, but it might be the success of the year, what the Pulitzer people were searching for: a Swiss lamp post in a Swiss field taken with a moving camera.

“Where did you take that photo?” asked my other half.

“On the way home from the shopping trip, just near the monastery.” Our town has a cathedral, and a few monks that live in the monastery.

“But what is that house?”

“What house? There is no house near the monastery, It is just field of green grass.”

“Look again” he said.

And sure enough I saw the faint outlines of a farmhouse. I also did not remember seeing a farm near the monastery. The monks were quite self-sufficient. They had a few cows, some chickens and even planted all sorts of herbs and vegetables, so it certainly was not part of the monastery. I decided to have a closer look. Later that day I took a walk to where the photo originated. The mist had cleared although everything seemed to be covered by a sickly yellow light. The lamppost was now, well just a lamppost. Nothing special and in the background was …. nothing: just an empty space, a large field.

It was then I met a monk walking towards me on the path. He seemed quite ancient, and his walk was slow and careful. He looked at me with his rheumy eyes peeping out of a patchwork skin, flecked with brown stains , and I wondered if he was actually able to let me have some information, although quite frankly he would have played an ideal role in “The Walking Dead”. He greeted with a quavering shaky voice and I answered with a “hello”. He stopped and looked at through me.

“You are searching?” he said

“Yes I am, but how do you know?”

“I know all, you want to know where the farmhouse is.”

“But…….”

“There is no longer a farmhouse here. It burnt down to its four walls many years ago. The devil takes his own eventually.”

“What do you mean?”

“There were demons at work. The farmer knew this and he we warned him, but history repeats itself. His rooster would not crow and his barn was infested with bats. Ask not, just accept. ”

“But I have a photo of the farmhouse on my computer: a white building with a large attached barn.”

The monk gazed in the direction where the farmhouse would have been.

“This photo was taken at midday today?”

“Yes it was. How do you know?”

“Fifty years ago, to this day, the farm was food for the flames. Its existence is nevermore. The farm had to go forever.”

“How do you know, did you see it?”

But the monk was no longer there, the mist had appeared again and there was nothing to see, perhaps just the faint outlines of a farmhouse. I think I read too many horror books, now where did I read the word “nevermore” – a poem by Edgar Allen Poe about a raven?

Of course, when I arrived home I took another look at the photo. What photo? Even my computer decided it did not want to be possessed. All the photos from my morning shooting session were there, but there was no photo showing a lamppost with a farm in the background.

Daily Prompt: The Twilight Zone

Pingbacks in the Twilight

27Feb2014

Daily Prompt: Let’s Dance

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

In my earliest memories of dancing, I’m under my auntie Nancy’s dining room table, (which had been pushed off to the side of the room), watching my mom, dad, aunties, and uncles all dancing on the hardwood floor to a never-ending stack of 45 records, dropping one after the other. I remember foot-high stacks of 45s all around the record player. The song that I remember playing most? Twistin’ the Night Away by Sam Cooke. Every time I hear that song, I remember auntie’s spontaneous dance parties. What are your earliest and fondest memories of dance?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us MOVEMENT.

Me dancing with Marrocan Ladies in a Bedouin tent

Of course I can dance, we can all dance if we have to and want to. In case you do not recognise me, I am second from the left amidst a troop of Moroccan dancing ladies in a large Bedouin tent, just part of the action and a memorable week in Marrakesh some many years ago when my hair was still its original colour.

It looks like they want to know what I was up to in the ballrooms of long ago. I do not even know that myself. We dressed up on a Saturday evening after a visit to the hairdressers in the afternoon. It was the days of the “buffont” hair styles where you hair looked like a stylish balloon. It was the evening when I would regularly have an argument with mum because she felt I should wear a “head scarf” as it was cold outside and I would catch pneumonia, or something like that if I did not cover my head (and squash the efforts of the hairdresser). I would refuse, we would have a ten minute argument and I walked out of the house with a stupid scarf on my head, which I removed as soon as I turned the corner. I survived.

After a half hour journey on the London Underground, the adventure began at the Mecca Dancing Hall, Leicester Square, in the middle of London in the sixties. Two bands on a revolving stage: one was a smaller group and the other a full orchestra. They played all the modern songs. What was I doing in this place? What most of us were doing as a teenager. We were hunting for fresh meat, in the shape of man to put it frankly. Dancing was just a means to the result. If it was a fast tricky rock and roll, the men just drank their beers and looked on. If it was a slow “let’s get to know each other better” sort of thing, you were overwhelmed with offers. I was a tall person, even at that time, so I learnt only to accept a dance if he asked me when I was standing. There would then be no disappointments when I stood up to accept and he realised he had actually asked a zulu lady to dance.

Dancing at home occurred at Christmas and other parties when all the family were present. Dad liked to dance and was usually the whole evening on his feet. We listened to our 45 rpm records, but Sam Cooke was rarely heard. It was mostly Mrs. Mills, who was an English piano playing lady that played all the old tunes from the thirties and forties in the sing-along style for the golden oldies of the day and me and my cousins had our own thing in another room with perhaps something more modern, although the choice was restricted. I remember it was even 78 rpm records we listened to, where we changed the needle on the record machine after ten plays, as it was then worn down – probably one of the first examples of the throw away mentality.

I visited a girls only high school, and being on the taller side (the third tallest in the class), I had to play the man when we had dancing lessons. This was a definite disadvantage when visiting a dancehall. There is nothing more embarrassing than taking the lead on a slow smooch number in a dance hall when you have the man of your dreams in your arms.

These are some of my earliest memories of dance, but it seems I do not have any fond memories. No, I did not meet Mr. Swiss in a dance hall. If at all, I could have met him in a jazz club, but this was also not the case and I am not here to divulge all the details of my private life.

Today I might have a little dance in the kitchen whilst cooking up a plate of spaghetti , but this is a solo performance. As there is a certain golden-oldie risk in falling if my right foot thinks it is the left foot, I do not dance very often. My active sports are now reduced to Tai Chi, nice and slow, although even here I have problems when having to stand on one leg.

Daily Prompt: Let’s Dance

Dancing Pingbacks

26Feb2014

Daily Prompt: Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

What is the best dream you’ve ever had? Recount it for us in all its ethereal glory. If no dream stands out in your memory, recount your worst nightmare. Leave no frightening detail out.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us IMAGINARY.

PC150024

“I would like to thank you all for this unexpected prize. I really did not expect to be honoured. There are so many others in this world of Blog that write daily, the sweat pouring from their fingertips at the computer and now I have won the first prize. This was a surprise, an honour, something I least expected. Did I deserve this I ask myself? Of course: there are many others that write day for day in the hope of achieving this prize, but the most talented win at the end.

Is this a dream? Pinch me to see if I am awake. I would like to thank my publishers for the efforts involved in suggesting a Daily Prompt. It is not an easy job and I realise there are times when I might even sound ungrateful, impatient, displeased, but this is the shadow side of 150 shades of blogging life.

You cannot please all of the bloggers all of the time, but you can please a special blogger that has sacrificed an hour of her time daily to achieve this well deserved hard earned achievement.

(Pause for applause, cheers and banners showing “Up with Angloswiss. We love you.”)

There are times in the life of a Blogger when the genius of the blogging effort seems to go unnoticed. Times when the thought occurs, is it really worth the while to endure the hardships of finding a new idea inspired by the powers behind the scenes of the blogging organisation? My advice is do not despair, where there is a blogging will there is a successful path and for such a gifted blogger as myself, the reward suits the efforts involved.

(More claps, cheers and stamping of feet)

At this moment I would like to spare a thought to those whose success slipped out of their fingers in obtaining this award. One of my rivals blogging friends is now recovering in hospital from an accident. It seems she was pushed fell whilst crossing the road and hit by a passing car. Another auspicious blogger fell into the local river and narrowly escaped a drowning fate. They cannot be here today, but I hope are watching the broadcast on the television and at least mentally taking part, if not physically.

At this point I would like to thank Mr. Swiss who avoids listening to his favourite music whilst my creative ideas are developing during my blog writes out of respect for my genial talents. I would also like to thank the faithful 2,478 followers, disciples, who spend hours reading my first class blogs day for day, with untiring patience and liking or even passing a comment. These are not just statistics, but readers who have realised my qualities efforts in the blogging world. I thank you all.

(Clapping cheering and a standing ovation) and then I awake. It was all a figment of the imagination? Just a dream, not true?

I was thinking also of writing a nightmare, but I just could not bring myself to fail in the task of being Blogger of the Year and I did not want to disappoint my public.

“What did you say Mr. Swiss? You think I have overdone it again.” It is not easy being a genius, but after all it was just a dream. Or was it?

Daily Prompt: Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)

Dreamy Pingbacks

25Feb2014

Daily Prompt: We Got The Beat

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

Have you ever played in a band? Tell us all about that experience of making music with friends. If you’ve never been in a band, imagine you’re forming a band with some good friends. What instrument do you play in the band and why? What sort of music will you play?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us PERFORMANCE.

Group of Singers

Me in a band, of course. I think my first experience was when I started school at the age of five. They immediately recognised my musical talent; even then I had a loud clear voice, although they chose me as the first triangle player in the group. When I did “ping” with my metal beater it was the signal for the other members in the band to tap their triangles as well. I was so talented.

I was also a member of the school choir. I was singing “Morning Has Broken” before Cat Stevens was born, while it was still part of the hymn book we had in the school.

My real musical life began at home. We had a piano. I do not know when this piano entered our family, but I grew up with the piano. It was a large black upright piano and the metal strings were straight and not overstrung, just to give an idea of how old this piano was. I suppose I inherited my talent to actually play this instrument from my mum and Aunt Lil. Every time we had a family party they were called for the music. Reflecting on this family inheritance, I remember that both could play quite well with the right hand. They had large hands and could even span an octave, which made it sound quite professional.

Unfortunately the left hand was not so professional. Mum and Aunt Lil would just do thump, thump on the keys that the left hand found on the piano. The result was that the right hand was playing in the key of C (they somehow never discovered the black keys on the piano) and the left hand played in all variations. I am sure if Charles Ives had heard them play, he would have featured them as soloists in one of this concerts. You know Charles Ives. He was the bloke that developed a programme of experimental music, with musical techniques including polytonality, polyrhythm, tone clusters, aleatoric elements, and quarter tones. OK I got that from Wikipedia, and I am sure that Mum and Aunt Lil did not realise how advanced their musical talents were.

The main thing was that we had a few good parties around the piano and everyone joined in singing the old songs. Their musical gifts were even requested by all. The piano survived many years, in spite of the many glasses filled with beer that had stood on its top, and the many glasses of beer that had been emptied into the piano.

One day it was decided that I could take piano lessons. In the meanwhile I had learnt the recorder at school, but it seems that the tones of this instrument were not so pleasant to the ear and probably it was planned that one day I also would accompany the sing song around the family parties. It was a special offer at school, class group piano lessons for free, so I had my first experience of reading music notes. This must have been successful as I progressed to private piano lessons, at a special price, and even played a few Chopin etudes and walzes, coupled with Beethovens Moonlight.

There was one small problem. We still had the same piano (it must have been at least fifty years old) and the strings were not so solid as they were. Imagine hammering away at a professional rendering of a Debussy prelude and suddenly there was an explosion inside the piano. Mum came running to see what had happened, but no problem, one of the metal strings had given up. Over the years three strings broke in this way and there were certain notes that I could no longer play so well, as they were just an echo of their original quality.

I am today still convinced that if I had a new piano, my talents would have qualified to win the International Chopin Piano Competition. I was sure that what Vladimir Ashkenazy could do I could do even better, but he probably had a better piano at home.

Today I leave the playing in a band to Mr. Swiss. Since we have been together, and that is many years, he has played drums in various jazz groups as a hobby.

Daily Prompt: We Got The Beat

Musical Pingbacks

24Feb2014

Weekly Writing Challenge: The Object

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

In the case of the idea drought, an object provides something basic to observe and describe, a starting point that might ultimately lead you into a deeper story.

It was just there. No-one knew how it arrived, but it was sitting on the breakfast table. Julian saw it first of all. He was having breakfast before school and his mum was busy making sandwiches for his morning break.

“Mum, what’s that?”

“What’s what Julian?” and she continued spreading the butter on the bread, not looking to see what her twelve year old son was talking about.

“That thing on the table, it even has a switch and the top half is almost transparent, as if it were a window. Is it some sort of new computer thing dad brought home?”

Julian’s mother decided to see what the fuss was about and threw a glance at the table. It was a rather strange object. A thought of an unidentified flying object came to her mind, but it was not flying, although still unidentified.

“Julian time to go to school.”

“But mum, what about that …….”

“To school, I will have a word with your father.”

Mrs. Smith was now alone at home, but not quite, the strange object was still on the table. She touched it, but it was cold. She took a closer look at the top half and was sure she could see something inside. Suddenly Mrs. Smith’s cat appeared, jumped onto the table and arrived next to the object. It sniffed the object, hissed, jumped from the table and disappeared as fast as she could out into the garden through the cat flap.

Mrs. Smith was now worried. She listened to the object and heard a faint ticking sound. Was it a bomb? The cat was scared and had disappeared. She decided to call her husband at work. She pressed the number and his secretary took the phone.

“Hello, Carol Smith here, can I speak to my husband?”

“He is not in the office this morning. He had to go urgently to the head office. Can he call you back?”

Carol told the secretary that she needed to talk to her husband urgently. There was something wrong in the kitchen and she was frightened and would be calling the police.

The machine was ticking and there was a click and a light shone in the top half. She called the police and described the problem. The police told her to immediately leave her house. They would send the bomb disposal squad. They mentioned something about terrorist problems. Five minutes later a van arrived encased in steel and two men climbed out, both dressed in armoured clothing and a helmet with a vizier pulled over the face. A third man also left the van. He seemed to be the chief and was telling the men what to do. Carol gave the men in the armoured clothing the keys and they entered the house carefully.

Suddenly there was the screeching of car wheels and Fred Smith, Carol’s husband arrived.

“What’s wrong Carol, my secretary called me with an urgent request to go home. Something about the police.”

“There is a bomb on the table Fred. Probably planted by a terrorist group.”

“Is the top half of the bomb almost transparent, and does it look like there is something inside.?”

“Yes Fred, exactly. Do you know something I do not know?”

She immediately though of her husband belonging to a terrorist group.

“Sorry Carol, I had no time to tell you.”

“What did you want to tell me?” she asked, almost believing that her husband was going to give her a confession of being involved with gangsters, terrorists.

“It was a gift from an advertising agency. A mini steamer and I know you wanted a steamer for the vegetables. I thought it would be a surprise if I set it up quickly before I went to work this morning. I put some vegetables inside. It has a timer and will start cooking by steam half an hour before we eat, just the right time to cook the vegetables.”

“Ok, men, everything in the clear” called the chief bomb expert, hearing what Mr. Smith told his wife.

“It was a hoax, no threat.”

The bomb disposal unit left, after Carol had served them a few beers for their trouble. The steamer was a success, and naturally Fred Smith sent some to the helpful men from the bomb removal team to show that it was just a kitchen machine and not a potential danger. The cat returned in the evening, took a sniff at the machine and decided it was not such a threat to his feline life.

The Martians have landed

Weekly Writing Challenge: The Object

Object Pingbacks

24Feb2014

Daily Prompt: Shake It Up

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

You’re 12 years old. It’s your birthday. Write for ten minutes on that memory. GO.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us RECKLESS.

Sky over Feldbrunnen

Were the dark days disappearing and the bright days arriving on my 12^th birthday? I cannot remember. It was 1958 and according to my Internet information US lunar probe Pioneer 3 reaches 107,269 km, falls back. I had no idea what the internet was talking about , but it seems to commemorate the fact that it was my birthday and this wonderwork of modern science was launched on this day. Unfortunately, it was a disappointment. It was intended to pass the moon but fell back to the earth after only reaching 107,269 kilometres. What a disappointment that must have been. Did this influence my future life?

I do not remember falling back to Earth at the time, I was too busy learning for the school, doing homework, and falling in love with Kenneth Allsop. You do not remember Kenneth Allsop? If you originate on the other side of the Pond or in another country somewhere in Europe you would not have seen this fascinating person on the British TV. He was a journalist and interviewer on a daily news programme called “Tonight”. He was also a book author, nature lover and a sort of Jack of All Trades. He did a memorable interview on the TV with the Beatles and he just appealed to me. I remember he wore striped shirts. They were fashion at the time. Of course I was 12 and he was 38 years old at the time, so our romance was never to be. Unfortunately he died at the age of 53.

As I only just discovered the fact that a lunar probe failed on its mission on this day, it probably had no negative influence on my birthday. The celebrations continued and neither mum nor dad realised the failure of this spacecraft. I seem to have survived this day in 1958, but I have no idea what I did, what I received for my birthday present and whether I had a party. At the age of twelve I had already realised that there was another sort of human (they had deeper voices) but as I was an only child and was visiting a girls only school, my discoveries at the time were somewhat restricted.

I probably had a cake. Mum used to buy them in the local Marks and Spencers store, strawberry frosties they were called I think. She always made sure the Christmas decorations were already hanging in the kitchen/living room/television room/room for everything. Our housing was somewhat limited in space. It was just the kitchen, mum and dad’s bedroom and my bedroom, although at that time we had acquired a room downstairs in the house as Grandad was older (around80 at that time) and decided just a one room bedsitter would do him. He left the kitchen to the cat. Mum cooked for him and Aunt Lil, across the street, cleaned for him. We were well organised domestically.

Otherwise no remarkable events or memories occur to me of that special day.

If you had asked about my 60^th birthday, or even 65^th birthday I could have supplied more information, but my 12^th? I sometimes do not even remember what I did yesterday morning, or five minutes ago, although I am perhaps exaggerating a little. After my golden oldie sleep today at lunch time I cleaned the windows, ate a strawberry yoghurt and decided to see what intelligent assignment the Daily Prompt had ready for me today. Luckily it said just ten minutes of writing, but I have been a little longer, as when I write the time runs away with me and if I cut it down, then it might be I lose the chance of my Pulitzer literature blog prize.
It is now time for a Tai Chi training session, nice and slowly says the guru on the DVD. Of course, we cannot risk any headlines in the local newspaper “Local woman breaks leg whilst practicing Tai Chi”.

Daily Prompt: Shake It Up

Shaken Up Pingbacks

23Feb2014

Daily Prompt: Walking on the Moon

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

What giant step did you take where you hoped your leg wouldn’t break? Was it worth it, were you successful in walking on the moon, or did your leg break?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us RISK.

Sunrise in Feldbrunnen

One morning as the sun was rising I took a photo. Nothing special you are thinking, but it is a rare occasion when I am awake and venture in the outside world with a camera in the hand to take a photo of a sunrise. My photo collection is mainly composed of sunsets.

My life consists of moonwalks, and not in the Michael Jackson style. I have been breaking out all my life. The first breakout was from the East End of London. My education was behind me and now it was time to go. One day I took a look at my surroundings, at the people around me and decided there must be more to this life thing, so I packed my case and left, although I took a few precautions.

Where to go? Definitely nowhere in England, somewhere over the sea (England is an island as we all know). I found a job in a little country called Switzerland. I had big ideas about improving my knowledge of French, but I arrived in a moon town where they spoke German. This was no problem; German was a foreign language as well. Unfortunately the Swiss spoke their own dialect. I managed to cross my first moon crater, picked up some moon dust on the way and then I met a Moonman. OK, I call him Mr. Swiss today. Was this the end of my Moonwalking?

Of course not, married life with a Swiss is one big inter galactic survival challenge. I was under the impression that everyone spoke English, even if they were not English. This was my first mistake on the lunar horizon. Of course, Mr. Swiss spoke English and perfectly. His mother did not speak English, my step children did not speak English (they were too young) and all his friends spoke Swiss German with each other. Either I remained a Mars woman or I joined in, so I did. I became a moon woman with a Martian accent, but eventually learnt this alien language.

The next crater to overcome was the food and cooking. Being woman I could adapt and instead of serving fish and chips (French fries for those from another planetry zone), I was doing a moonwalk through Rösti and Bratwurst. I discovered that veal was not something to be avoided (as in moon basis England), but to be eaten, preferably on Sunday as it was and still is an expensive animal in the lunar world.

I became a working woman, which was also like putting my foot on unknown territory. I discovered that desks in a Swiss office were organised and neat, making little piles everywhere in case the Chief Moonman appeared. He was to be impressed at all times. Here I did my small step for woman and one large leap for womankind by being the first to have a chaos on the desk. Moon people are polite, so they say nothing, just give my desk a sideways glance now and again. When my Chief Moonman noticed that I still found what he wanted, he said no more. He realised that I was from another planet (England?).

During the past years I managed to break my left arm on two occasions in two different places, but my legs are still in one piece. The biggest risk I take is when I arise in the morning, as there are many adventures to be overcome during the day. I battle my way to the cash desk in the supermarket, and meet many extra terrestials on the way. Generally miniature moonwalkers that now have their own miniature trolleys to help mummy moonwalkers with the shopping. They are an annoyance and the biggest risk for encouraging the breakage of a leg when they push their mini trolley in your path.

Today I cleared some moon leaves from the garden. I began the job yesterday and as our earth sun was shining and it was warmer, I decided to finish the work. I realised this was one moonwalk I could have left. The worst part was filling the two green moon containers with the garden refuse and pushing it along the path until it arrived where it will be collected by the astronauts next week. I now have a clear garden and some of the moon flowers are already showing their heads. I even saw extraterrestrial life forms on the moon landscape when I had shifted the moon dust to one side: a firebug crossed my path and two spiders. I think I disturbed their winter moonsleep.

And now to upload my epic report from outer space, through the cyber landscape of Internet, whilst Bill Gates looks on and claps his hands. I wonder here his origins are? I heard it was planet Microsoft which is often updated. Is he virtuel or does he really have two brains, one on the cyber level and one for earthly needs?

Daily Prompt: Walking on the Moon

Moonwalking Pingbacks

22Feb2014

Daily Prompt: Tainted Love

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

Ever been dumped by a boyfriend or girlfriend? Was it a total surprise, or something you saw coming? Tell us your best worst breakup story. Never been the dumpee, always the dumper? Relate the story of a friend who got unceremoniously kicked to the curb. Change the names to protect the innocent if you must.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us RELEASE.

Sky over Feldbrunnen

Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent, although I do not even remember the names and I am always innocent.

I had a stormy time in one of my relationships when my boyfriend was struck by lightning, or did I tell him to stand under the tree?

Enough said. It seems that the powers that be in the WordPress central are being very inquisitive. I am now approaching the platinum oldie age, the golden days are slowly slipping into the background, and I really cannot remember who, where and why and I am sure they cannot remember me either.

Of course I could tell them about my worst breakup story. The one where I discovered my boyfriend was going out with my best friend. I was found not guilty of attempted murder.. I did not really mean to hurt them, just two warning shots and the judge was convinced it was an accident. I did them both a favour, as they did not marry. I think she married a circus clown and he entered a monastery.

One of my ex-boyfriends was a millionaire. He was quite wealthy and he really seemed to like me, but he had had the irritating habit of eating garlic. I like garlic myself, but I know when to eat it and when not and definitely not when I was going out on a date. Unfortunately he could not swim. How was I to know that? Just after he had bought the engagement ring, genuine diamonds, he drowned, so I was on my own again. I managed to sell the ring for a few thousand and the coronary’s office reached the verdict of accidental death. There were no witnesses at the lake. I made sure we were on our own and I had a good lawyer.

As far as my real love life is concerned, I am happily married (since 46 years) and if Mr. Swiss blogged he would confirm this fact, but he does not blog (thank goodness).

This is a short episode today. I have just spent an hour in the garden with Mr. Swiss removing the memories of winter. When you become a golden oldie, your back tells you to stop and I have a pizza to make for the evening meal.

I am now looking forward to reading your stories of unrequited love and how you dealt with the situation. Perhaps you tried to push him under a train, from a bridge into a deep river, or put some arsenic in his soup – there are many ways. It might just have been a little argument and a bullet in the gun was accidentally fired. Anyhow I hope it is a real juicy breakup story, sort of “50 shades of how to dispose of your boyfriend and get away with it”.

Daily Prompt: Tainted love

Tainted Pingbacks

21Feb2014

Daily Prompt: Nothin’ But A Good Time

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

Imagine that tomorrow, all of your duties and obligations evaporate for the day. You get the day all to yourself, to do anything you please. What types of fun activities would make your day?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us FUN.

Crocus

I only have good times. I am a golden oldie, freed from the plague of having to do anything, just pleasing myself. Every day is for I, me and myself, and life is one big funfair. I arise in the morning look out of the window and what do I see: a field of crocus, not exactly a field, but a large area of the lawn. It is almost Spring, the ground is awakening. What is now my task? I look at the time and see it is not even seven o’clock in the morning. I notice again that the crocus are not yet open to receive the light of the day and I decide the crocus are being very sensible, so I will join them. I am not ready for this day yet.

My duties are none, although a feeling of hunger suddenly creeps on me. Another glance at my iPhone shows that it is now almost eight in the morning. I like my iPhone for showing the time. It has a discrete lighting effect, makes no noise, fits nicely on the bedside table and I can switch it off according to my requirement. How did I lose an hour? I just closed my eyes for a few moments and the time has been digested in a mysterious way. The crocus are still closed, but my eyes are now open: my duties and obligations have evaporated, so what shall I do with this day of freedom. I hear the scratch marks of paws on the bedroom door. Who forgot to tell the felines that I had the day off?

I make my way to the kitchen and look at the table which is not covered with my cooked breakfast, or a cup of tea. It is do-it-yourself day. Perhaps Mr. Swiss is secretly doing the daily prompt and also has a “Nothin’ but a good time day”. I ignore this, make some breakfast and switch on the computer.

“Good morning” says Google, “today is Victor Sokolov’s birthday”. Who? You are thinking. I found it on Wikipedia. I also do not know who Victor Sokolov is or was, some sort of Russian.

I take a glance at Facebook and see that Mr. Mark Zuckerberg has bought Whatsapp for a few billion dollars. I think that is the one my son told me abou,t that he has on his androidal telephone. I had a look on Internet to see what Whatsapp actually does, but only discovered it does a lot more than Facebook. I have problems keeping up with Facebook, so I think I will not bother with Whatsapp. I am already stressed out on a day when everything evaporates. Lucky Mark, I wish him well with it and all its related virus programmes. Poor Mark will never have a free day with all his problems and duties just disappearing. The man must be a workaholic, but he is doing it all for our benefit. You just have to like him.

After sharing the woes and problems of my Facebook disciples, those whose washing machine has again broken down and others that had to go to work and do not want to (what’s work), I decide to take a break with the problems of the world, so I switch off the computer, not without at first doing a clean-up of visited links and cookies and letting my Anti Malaware programme to run. You never know who is attacking you in between the bytes. For a day with nothing to do, I have already had my fair share of stress it seems.

So now for the stress-free day-to-do-what-you-like: this is a difficult problem, I am confronted with decisions and things to do that I can do and do not have to do. I then realise I need assignments, challenges, in my golden oldie life. What is fun? This evening there is a concert in the local town, starring Blue Dög and his band, a well-known local blues gitarrist. My son will be there and offered me the chance to go with him. Not that I do not like blues gutar, of course I love music, the louder the better, but there is a problem. Mr. Blue Dög will probably be appearing at ten in the evening and then I am thinking about my golden oldie slumbers. I wished my son a nice evening and told him mum will stay at home (and probably read a book). I decided I do not need this fun. I will watch the crocus open on the lawn during the day, feed the birds and write a prize suspicious daily prompt blog.

They will even let me out to go shopping where I see the smiling faces of other shoppers and the sales ladies. I even got a free box of goodies from my local supermarket today. I am collecting sticky labels on a card, according to how much I spend, and when it is full I am rewarded. Today was the day that I had a full card in my hands and when I arrived home I opened the parcel. Oh what joy, a celebration containing a free packet of wild rice and a bottle of cocktail sauce. I gave the chewing gum and the ice tea bottle to my son and the biscuits to Mr. Swiss. I had to share this fun box with someone.

So there we have it, a day not to be compared with others. I so hope that the Daily Prompt will be a restful prompt tomorrow. I was exhausted just thinking of things to do today to enjoy my fun.

Daily Prompt: Nothin’ But A Good Time

Good Time Pingbacks

20Feb2014

Daily Prompt: New Sensation

Posted in Challenges by angloswiss

Ah, sweet youth. No matter whether you grew up sporting a fedora, penny loafers, poodle skirts, bell-bottoms, leg-warmers, skinny jeans, Madonna-inspired net shirts and rosaries, goth garb, a spikey mohawk, or even a wave that would put the Bieber to shame, you made a fashion statement, unique to you. Describe your favorite fashions from days of yore or current trends you think are stylin’.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us FAD.

TMC Wholesale

Are they talking about the days when I could walk into a shop and choose which garment I wanted from the range they had which were all my size? Was it the days when there were short tight skirts. I could show my knees and slim legs and even a few of the other species would might whistle as I passed by. Yes, I think they are. Luckily I never felt myself inspired by Madonna and I still do not know who “Bieber” is.

The idea of a Goth garb appeals as I like pay a visit to the local graveyard, especially on a gloomy day. I can see myself walking between the rows of forever hunting grounds dressed in a white frilly blouse with a long wide (emphasis on wide) black coat and a necklace composed of ivory skulls. A pair of high black lace up boots would just put the finishing touch, with a few buckles. My ancestors would be proud, I am sure, especially the branch that originated in the Carpathian mountains, where was that place? I remember, somewhere near Bistritz in Transylvannia. Yes, those were the days.

Now I am restricted to visiting the department with the jeans look. They have them in so many sizes and widths, even elastic (they stretch). Yes, Levi Strauss, you are my hero. You saved my reputation. My bulges and non-existent waist line just melt into the material. Even if the jeans shrink in the wash, it is no problem. Just draw in your breath and try to make the two sides meet in the middle. If you are lucky you can do this without your face turning blue and not having to breathe out again in between. Making the button meet its hole is the first battle to be won, but the work is not done. The zip must meet all the way. You might be unlucky and an unforeseen injury could occur if some flaps of skin are pinched in the middle. Generally after thirty minutes you should be successful. The nice thing with denim is that it breathes with the body. As soon as you warm up after this effort the material gives and you are convinced you have not put on weight since the last wash.

If you tend to be gothic, denim is also available in black. They might not have been bought as “skinny jeans”, but they are eventually become skinny on any figure.

The top to wear with the jeans could prove a problematic search. Just go to Wikepedia on your computer and enter the words “wide tops to cover your belly” and you have the solution at your keyboard finger tips. You can even spare yourself the embarrassment of asking for this type of garment in a shop, where everyone can hear.

“Do you have any wide tops to cover my belly?”

The assistant will remain cool, she is used to all shapes and sizes. It just might be that the other customers burst into a hysterical fit of laughter and there might be some sideways glances in your direction and pointing fingers. So remember, order it all online.

What is the point of describing my favourite fashions of days gone by when I cannot even remember them? Fashion changes, the figure changes, and eventually you are just happy to find something that fits. Thank goodness you tend to forget as you get older.

Daily Prompt: New Sensation

Sensational Pingbacks

Being honest the title is based on a remark made on one of my blogs by a supporter.
"You always turn a topic inside out and on its head" were words also applied by a visitor to one of my blogs. I think she hit the nail on the head.

Prompts are there to act on, not just tell everyone what you had for lunch or your likes and dislikes. I trust that on my blog you find something spiced with humour. Mr. Swiss, my other half, has been known to say that not everyone always understands my humour (I do not always understand his).

Blogging is for me coupled with having fun. I do what I want to and not what I have to.

Disclaimer: Not reponsible for any spelling or grammatical mistakes. I do my best, but having two langugages revolving in my brain (yes, I have one), sometimes the result is more bi- than unilingual.