Daily Prompt: Thanks for the flowers


“What a lovely flower.”

“Good morning and it’s our welcome gift on your first day at your job. I am your instructor, Mr. Geoffrey Demon. No, I wouldn’t put the flower too near the computer, we like to keep the air fresh around our electronic devices. I think the head of the department, Mr. Reaper,  explained the job.”

“Oh yes, it looks like fun. I just have to post a new challenge every day by choosing a word.”

“But you must not repeat words. That would disappoint our customers. They like things to be original.”

“That is obvious. Do I take them in alphabetic order.”

“I wouldn’t advise it, it would not be so original would it Fred?”

“Did I see that flower nod its head?”

“No, of course not, it must have been a breath of wind through the window.”

“But there are no windows.”

“Then it was probably the air conditioning system around the computer. And now I will leave you to the job.”

“And now to choose a word, there are so many. “Begin” would be a good word, today is a new begin for me in a new job. B-e-g-i-n in a new place.”

“This word is not original and has already been used. It is also a command, and we do not command. we convince.”

“Who said that? Oh it was the computer with its monotonous voice. I must try something else or do you have a suggestion.”

“The computer is allowed one suggestion, but only one. Choose eternal.”

“That’s is a strange word, but if the computer suggests it then it will be used.”

“You will use it.”

“But it is for the people writing on the challenge.”

“No,  you must write. The computer  needs an average of 100 entries per day.

“But the customers write, I just suggest the word of the day.”

“Mistake, there are no customers, just viewers to appreciate. Begin writing.”

“There is something wrong. I was given a task to complete and it would be impossible to write 100 different prompts in a day.”

“Not in a day but every day until your life finishes here.”

“My life finishes. Is this a death sentence?”

“Do not use that word. You are only passing through for a further examination. Begin to write.”

“This is strange, the orchid is also getting nearer to the computer and its pouch seems to be getting bigger. Where is the department head. Mr. Reaper, Mr. Reaper.”

“Did someone call? Oh she’s gone, another one for the next department. Fred must have absorbed her. She must have chosen the wrong word. They all choose the wrong words. Death, are you here? Send me a worker that has got used to the idea of being here for eternity. This is not a paid job with a contract. Another one for the re-incarnation.”

Daily Prompt: Thanks for the flowers

Daily Prompt: A Sludgy Event

Wetland by the River Aar

At last the Jabberwock family found it, their ideal home.

“Jumby don’t so so much gallumphing, you ruin the structure of the wongle. Papa Jabberwock is crumbling a blong for you and your wocky sisters.”

“But Mama Wocky, I need a plonderous blong. Papa is such a conservative glangle. My last blong had no room for my slithy toves. Their gyring and gimbling used up all the sludge. Without sludge there is no flankle.”

“Jumbly stop complaining. You should look after your slithy toves better. Feed them on a good green sludge and they will be happy, otherwise they interfere with Mama Wocky when she is brandling a plongle soup. None of us like to fish pieces of slith out of our food.”

“But that was not my fault. Junior Brumble put the plings and the plongs together in the same sludge and they began to cromple together.

“Don’t blame it on your brotherwock, I heard you telling him to see what would happen if plings and plongs would mix.”

“I though they would mimsy along together Papa.”

“No slithy tove does a mimsy, it cromples. Do I have to explain the facts of a Jabberwock life to you.”

“No Papa, of course not, we have Jabberwock biology in the school. I just wanted to see it in genuine Jabberwock brilligity.”

“And now you know.”

“Perhaps I could have a bigger blong with a tove corner.”

“No, they will not live in my wongle. They flong their slith everywhere and I am continuously shlidering to keep it out of my soup.”

“OK, mum, then perhaps their own clong for them in the sludge. All my Jabberwocky kloogles have a clong for their slithy toves. Papa, build me one.”

“And who will feed them?”

“They will feed themselves, when the slith begins to shlong and glick, they will hond and hind, the food takes care of itself.”

“But they will chingle afterwards, what a mess.”

“No, mamma Wocky, I am sure that Junior Brumble will take them for a slithy chongle in the flatsch and the chingle will stay outside. Slithy Toves are very clean, especially when they can gyre and gimble in the wab.”

“I am not walking with Slithy toves, they smell and slongle.”

“But Junior Brumble I though you liked them.”

“I did before they began to cromple. It all began with two and now we have 200. They squelch everywhere and gyring and gimbling has become a real mud bath.”

“But I am sure you can swop a few at school for a frumerous bandersnatch.”

“Oh yea, great.”

“What do I hear there Jabberwock sons. No, I do not want a frumerous bandersnath in my wongle. It will eat my chumble before it begins to galumph, not to mention the plooging.”

“But mama Jabberwock, they are so lovable, especially when they begin to groog.”

“No, we do not have room for a bandersnatch, as frumerous as it might be and one frumerous bandersnath comes seldom alone.”

“I have an idea”

“What Papa Jabberwock.”

“I will plant a doodle of tum tum trees. The bandersnatch just loves them, he can live on the top and keep an eye on invaders if they approach the tulgey wood.”

“Brilliant idea papa Jabberwock*

“Of course and the bandersnatch just loves slithy toves for dinner.”

“But dad.”

“No arguments children, now go and help your mother in the kitchen, and make sure there are not sliths in the soup. They make me sneeze.”

And so a normal day in the home of the Jabberwocks begins again.

Daily Prompt: A Sludgy Event

Daily Prompt: Particular Memories

Lego etc.

My two sons did not grow up in a world full of computers, pads or mobile phones. Their toys were something to touch. Lego was a great favourite. At the beginning it was just coloured bricks that fitted together until the special bricks arrived: they were the ones where you could build your own garage, perhaps even the Tower Bridge of London. There were even “duplo” bricks, twice the size, but ideal for the hands of a toddler.

I remember No. 1 son constructing the bridge, even with the part where you could raise it to let the big ships go through. Being an autist he had a gift for anything that had to fit together. He is still the person that is a big help if you buy flat pack furniture: whilst we are searching for the screws and trying to understand the detailed plan, he has already built half of the furniture.

And so Tower Bridge was in the bedroom on a shelf for many years, until he was finished with school and the seriocity of a working day arrived. No. 2 son also had his talents with lego, but he was more into the Playmobil family.


They were little miniature people all dressed to fit the part. they had their own houses and attachments. Of course both sons played with everything, it was their growing up world, living in mini situations.

Eventually these toys were discarded, they were no longer needed. The school books and the computers replaced them as well as the music disks. My evenings of clearing away the various models were finished. I no longer inadvertently trod on a painful piece of lego and did not have to search for the sherrif hat or the tools that the men used in their playmobil towns.

The model railway pieces were also packed into a plastic bag and the floor space was at last clear to walk over. Everything was put into the cellar and there is stayed for at least 30 years, even a little bit more. I kept every brick, every railway line and every Wild West Fort. My oldest son is today more into music and visiting rock concerts. No. 2 son is married and has grandson No. 1.

He was surprised when I told him I still had all his  toys in working order. He thought I had disposed of them many years ago. There was a small problem that they were all packed in a box on the top shelf in the cellar, but Mr. Swisss, with the help of No. 1 son, has now managed to transfer them and they are now ready to go.

This week No. 2 son’s family will be here for a day and this afternoon there was an excursion to the cellar and the toys are now ready for transport to the next station in their life. I hope that they no longer feel so neglected when one day my grandson No. 1 will be able to annoy his parents with all the bits and pieces laying around. Perhaps they might even have the Tower Bridge in a room somewhere, or perhaps a sherrif’s office in the kitchen.

Daily Prompt: Particular Memories

Daily Prompt: Atmospherical Conditions


“Why are you closing all the windows? We have no fresh air.”

“Look out of the window, they are burning again.”

“But it is only white smoke, nothing dangerous. You even see white smoke in the Vatican City when they elect a new pope.”

“But we are far from the Vatican and live in a country village with clean air. We do not need that pollution and we are not catholic.”

“It is not pollution, I cannot smell anything.”

“Of course you can’t, I have shut all the windows.”

“An I am sure if they were open we would have no bad smells.”

“I don’t like it. Since they built that place there is continuously smoke belching out of that funny shaped chimney and the pope doesn’t live here either.”

“I don’t know what they are burning, but I am sure it isn’t dangerous.”

“How do you know? I don’t trust that government lot, they are always up to no good.  One morning we will be laying dead in our beds, because of their games with the air. It might even be something to do with a foreign power to show them that they can drop their bombs where they see the smoke signals.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, now open the windows. Look you cannot smell anything, it is perfectly safe.”

“Are you sure, it looks strange to me smoke belching out like that.”

“They are probably just burning local household refuse. It is all done differently today: much cleaner with no smell.”

“I am not so sure, I can even hear a siren sounding”

“That is probably a local exercise, they try them out now and again to make sure they are still working.”

“But look at all those dead cows in that field.”

“They are not dead, just having their midday sleep.”

And so life continued in a small village somewhere next to a nuclear power plant. You get used to the continuous smoke eventually and do not really think about it.

The next morning they were found dead in their beds, together with the other inhabitants of the village. If only they had kept the windows closed, but perhaps that would not have helped.  It was the first nuclear power plant in the area, but even they have their problems.

Daily Prompt: Atmospherical Conditions

Daily Prompt: Mushroom Man


Basil Shroom loved mushrooms and they were so easy to grow. He found his first mushroom in the cellar. It was a damp cellar and in one corner he saw it. It fascinated him with its brilliant white shining head in a forgotton dark corner. He noticed that it grew on its own. There would be a white spot in a damp corner and soon a head would poke through the earth and he loved the damp smell. He quickly noticed that one mushroom came seldom alone and there were soon mushrooms growing everywhere.

His mother would send him to the cellar when she had a visitor. He did not really mind. He liked the smell of the mushrooms and now and they became his friends. He began to read about mushrooms, what they like to thrive and grow and soon he had his own mushroom plantation in the cellar. His mother was surprised, as she no longer had to send him to the cellar, he would go on his own.

One day she realised that she had not seen Basil for a couple of days and so she visited the cellar to see what he was doing. She tried to open the door to the cellar, but it was stuck. She pushed with all her strength.

“Basil open the door” she called.

She heard a sort of squashing sound and Basil appeared. His mother screamed when she saw him and collapsed. Basil was not sorry, he had forgotten he had a mother. He was happy with his mushrooms and they liked Basil. They had even begun to speak to him. Perhaps it was because they had sent out their spores into his head and grown into his brain. Basil was no longer alone, the mushrooms fed him and looked after him.


Daily Prompt: Mushroom Man

Daily Prompt: The Swiss Honks

Road to Langendorf 26.08 (1)

It honks on our roof tops, at least the high rooftops. Placed in strategic positions there are strange objects. It is part of our Swiss civil defence: a warning system. At appointed days during the year, at least twice, there is a horn outbreak. Not everyone doing their own thing, that would be pointless. If you are going to have an exercise, then everyone together.

We are warned by radio, even the television that the Swiss will be having an alarm exercise. The time generally appointed is after lunch, when you are settling down to a midday sleep. Just as you begin to hug your bed and get comfortable, the first rise in the sound level begins. It is not a simple honk, that would be too easy. It is a rise and fall, a siren. It echoes from the hills and dales, in the towns and even the villages. Every manufacturing plant has one, and even schools. In our little village, inhabitants approximately 1,000, not counting the cows and sheep, or cats and dogs we also have our warning siren or perhaps even two.

The whole exercise is to discover if the sirens are still working. There can be nothing worse than an attack from a foreign country and you are not prepared. And so the noise begins, an up and down of the musical scale, for at least five minutes. Perhaps even longer. It seems like an hour, but then I am exaggerating of course. You must always be prepared, but it is only an exercise.

If it would be the real thing then we all have our appointed places where we should take refuge. There are special reinforced rooms in cellars of large buildings for the safety of the population, and everyone should know where to go. Somehow, since moving into my little village 20 years ago, I never found out where to go, but we have some sort of room in the cellar which has a very heavey iron door. People sometimes store furniture there, but that would most likely be my place of refuge. You are completely protected, although there might be a danger of suffocation if you do not have the strength to open the door afterwards.

When Mr. Swiss was young and lovely (no longer young but still lovely) he was exempted from his duty as a Swiss soldier due to health problems, but he was still eligible for the civil defence. He learned how to rescue victims from burning buildings (although the buildings were not actually burning, it was just an exercise) and he attended classes to know where the safer places were for the common people. We were then living in the town, so I asked him where our safe place was. He said, with pride, I would be in the large building opposite. He would not be with me, as his position would be in the headquarters of all civil defence people. I told him to forget it, if we go, we go together. Yes, we swiss are prepared – let them come, although we are still not so sure who they are.

But there will be honks and sirens and the cows will moo. I hope I can take my cat with me.

Feldbrunnen to Langendorf 16.11 (1)

Daily Prompt: The Swiss Honks

Daily Prompt: Dubious Times

Clouds 13.11 (18)

If I had been told when I was younger that one day I would be living in a place with a view like this from the back yard, I would not have believed them. They were the places that you see on the films on the TV or in the cinema, they were not real. Crops growing in a field just a walk away? The only thing that grew wild in East London, the center of the concrete jungle, were dandelions and weeds sprouting on the bombed sites left from the war. And cows as neighbours? It happened because I wanted to go places and see other things. I had no doubt, I just did it.

Although I am a doubting Thomas basically. My dad always said he only believed what he saw which was a little exaggerated because he believed all the rubbish that the newspapers printed. Today we call it fake news, but dad was convinced it was true. My mother-in-law had the same syndrome and she lived in another country, speaking a different language, but journalism has its own language, it wants to convince.

If you want to buy something then do not rely on internet with all the various summaries and advice, because you will become confused. I am convinced that the various manufacturers pay for various sites to promote their goods. On the other hand you have to be able to believe something somewhere and so let’s go back to the good old common sense and your own opinion which seems to be a forgotten article today. We are so being influenced by money and power.

Anyone look at facebook? That is a wonderful example of what not to believe. How is it that a camera is filming just at the right moment in time when dogs or cats, or other animals are performing a once in a lifetime stunt? Do the animals see the man with the camera and decide to become famous in facebook. I do not think so, it is all a so-called scam, organised to attract people to watch. And why do the accidents happen in Facebook. Someone is standing on the river edge and suddently they fall in the river. Perhaps there is an attempt at a gymnastic exercise where the person doing it falls in a silly stupid way. The tricks played with the toddlers that are eventually perhaps injured and cry really annoy me but it is all very dubious. Do the parents actually organise their kids to be hurt? And of course the camera is again in the right place at the right time.

I am gradually getting like my dad who only believed what he saw, but I still do not believe newspapers, I just read them and form my own opinion. Did Mr. Putin meddle in the American elections although Mr. Trump is now convinced that he did not.  Theresa May of Great Britain is also sure that Mr. Putin steered the British elections. I have a sneaking suspicion hat somewhere someone is earning money with this dubious news.

Did I write this blog myself? Believe what you want to.

Daily Prompt: Dubious Times