Day 212 - Font-tastic

 FONT-TASTIC

Prompt - Font-tastic : Choose a unique font and type out a poem, story or journal entry using that font

Can the choice of font change the meaning of the words it's being used to present to the reader?  It can certainly provoke reactions.  The longevity of the disdain, even hatred, for Comic Sans is the clearest example.  Using CS is a sure way to ensure you won't be taken seriously.  You might even lose friends.

Your choice of font does give an indication of mood.  It's the first thing people see when they look at your writing, and they can be led towards the tone of your piece, and the gravity or otherwise of what you are trying to convey, simply from the font it appears in.  Business like?  Intimate?  Angry?  Humourous?  Ironic?  (See, there is a role for Comic Sans...)  All can be initially implied simply from the appearance of the characters in the words, even before someone gets to reading the words themselves.

So here's a short poem, repeated several times, in a variety of very different fonts.  Does the meaning remain the same throughout, perhaps influenced by the first font it appears in, or do further connotations emerge when the script changes?  You decide.  (And no, none of them are Comic Sans!)

The race without a line to cross

Is a race you'll never win

Where there's no win you find no loss

No need to chase after rainbows

Let the rain embrace your skin

Sure the path's the one that you chose

The race without a line to cross

Is a race you'll never win

Where there's no win you find no loss

No need to chase after rainbows

Let the rain embrace your skin

Sure the path's the one that you chose

The race without a line to cross

Is a race you'll never win

Where there's no win you find no loss

No need to chase after rainbows

Let the rain embrace your skin

Sure the path's the one that you chose

The race without a line to cross

Is a race you'll never win

Where there's no win you find no loss

No need to chase after rainbows

Let the rain embrace your skin

Sure the path's the one that you chose

The race without a line to cross

Is a race you'll never win

Where there's no win you find no loss

No need to chase after rainbows

Let the rain embrace your skin

Sure the path's the one that you chose

The race without a line to cross

Is a race you'll never win

Where there's no win you find no loss

No need to chase after rainbows

Let the rain embrace your skin

Sure the path's the one that you chose

Day 211 - Star Crossed

 STAR CROSSED

Prompt - Star Crossed : Write a short modern version of Romeo and Juliet, or think of real-life examples of lovers who are not allowed to be together as inspiration.

Rab and Julie fell in love

They didn't know the danger

Attraction overrules real life

When stranger meets with stranger

And yet they somehow realised

To not be too overt

Kept their passions to themselves

Their meetings were covert  

But joy must have it's outlet

Makes secrets hard to keep

Julie's mum knew something's up

When her girl can hardly sleep

She quizzes her young daughter

Plays the cunning sleuth

Doesn't take much digging

To get down to the truth

"Who's this Rab, and where's he from?"

A mother needs to know

Every detail of the boy

Her daughter has in tow

"From Leith" says Julie, proud that she

Has found herself a boyfriend

Who's not one of the usual crowd

And doesn't condescend

She speaks with pride of her own Rab

And how he's kind and gentle

Isn't that what really counts

His home is incidental

Now dad's asking more about

Rab's parents and the background

Of this lad he's never met

That his daughter has found

A plumber and a cleaner?

He shook his head and sighed

"You don't mix with folk from Leith

When you come from Morningside"

He drove her down to Leith to see

Where Rab's family bided

One look up at the tenement flat

And he saw they were misguided

A poster in the window

Three letters spelling out

Support for independence

Dad now had no doubt

"There's no more Rab for you my girl

Those Nats are not for us

They want to split our country up

Now don't you make a fuss"

Rab's parents didn't help much

His dad got all irate

"No good comes from unionists

You need to get that straight"

But Rab and Julie were in love

They couldn't keep apart

Advice from parents doesn't hold

In matters of the heart

They arranged to get together

But mixed up where they'd meet

Ended up on different sides

Of a very busy street

The traffic seemed to race by

But across the road they ran

He was hit by a Bentley

And she by an old white van

These lovers should still be alive

But parents intercede

A line that no one's allowed to cross

Is a line that we don't need

Day 210 - Footsteps on the Moon

 FOOTSTEPS ON THE MOO N

Prompt - Footsteps on the Moon : Write bout the possibility of life in outer space.

Chan spotted them first.  "Look".  He pointed at the small figures moving from bush to bush further down the hill.  The others let their vis systems focus in on the spot he was indicating and, one by one, let out their own words of amazement.  Silently smiling, each processed their own thoughts on the moment.

"What?  What is it?"  Simone had to know immediately what the various gasps had meant.

"We've actually seen something moving.  From this distance they look a bit like hares, but less upright and with what might be horns instead of ears sticking up.  I'm uploading footage now."  Bimbe wanted the two left on board ship to be a part of this.  The six of them had spent half a lifetime readying themselves for that first glimpse of alien life that had evolved well beyond single cell level.  

"We've got it.  Amazing.  Just amazing" responded Garrett, partnering Simone in an orbit four hundred kilometres above the surface where Bimbe, Chan, Greta and Husam were witnessing a sight that no other human had ever seen.  The sight that said mission accomplished.

Thirty two years and seven months.  Nineteen light years.  Five solar systems.  Twelve planet surveys.  That was the short version of the journey from Earth to here.  A here that didn't even have a proper name yet and was simply referred to as Omicron C.

Of course for most of those years, the interstellar periods where the ship reached NLS - Near Light Speed - the group had spent in stasis.  Not the deep frozen state that the other hundred and fifty eight bodies on board remained in for now, but a lighter regime that allowed them to be wakened more quickly by the ship's emergency systems if necessary (it hadn't been) and making it easier of them to reanimate for the approaches to the systems and the survey work which followed.  Physically they'd all aged around five years.

Ten of the first eleven planets which they'd investigated were easily dismissed.  The probes found no evidence of life, the atmospheres and topographies unsuitable.  They'd spent a lot longer looking at Zera B.  Just-about-breathable atmosphere, plenty of water, some signs of bacteria and other low level organisms, but they'd eventually concluded that if multicell life were to evolve it was still millennia away, and the habitation possibilities for colonisation too few.  They never went down to the surface themselves, despite the obvious temptations.

But here they were now.  They'd been in orbit around the planet for nearly seven months.  It was a bit smaller that Earth, but had a similar mix of land and water surface ratios.  The atmosphere was more oxygen rich, the gravity about seventy five per cent of what they knew from home (what used to be home...), but still more than the artificial grav level they had become used to during their conscious periods on board the ship.  The surface was hotter, with desert across all tropical regions, but more temperate, and lush, terrain on the huge land masses at either pole. 

 But the clincher was evidence of life.  Not just vegetable, but animal too.  Sensors showed bird like creatures in the air, a huge variety of different sizes and shapes of creatures on land, and evidence of plentiful sea life.  

Testing could tell them so much, but the moment finally came when humans would descend to the surface of a plant in another solar system.  There was no argument about who went and who stayed, they all knew their roles.  And the two who remained behind knew that, unlike Michael Collins, their moment would come soon after.  

The landing craft had targeted a hilly region not far from the south pole, where there were few trees and several plateaus that offered a good solid landing ground.  The descent went smoothly, the landing without incident.  The four got into their exosuits and set out for their first walk in this new world, Bimbe allowing Chan the honour of being first to step out.  They'd been walking for only twenty minutes when Chan made the spot, the small creatures running away from these strange machine-like interlopers.

There was much to do.  More exploration, yet more sampling.  Only when they were fully convinced, when the algorithms and formulae provided all the evidence needed, would they beginning the reawakening of the other colonists.  It would take more than ten years for a signal to reach Earth, another twenty or so before anyone would join them.  They all knew this, but Greta couldn't stop herself saying the sentence that were all wanting to utter.

"I think we've found our home."

Day 209 - Sneeze

 SNEEZE

Prompt - Sneeze : Write about things that make you sneeze.

What makes me sneeze?  The obvious things of course - pepper, dust, a common cold.  There are all kinds of small nasal irritants about which might provoke a convulsive expulsion of air from the lungs through the nose and mouth, which is all a sneeze is.  It feels like little could be gained from listing them, for I am not aware of any special causation that I face that isn't also shared by the majority.  We're all familiar with the sensation of sneezing, and the situations in which it occurs.

Of greater interest are the times when one sneezes for no apparent reason; and the bigger question that arises for those in the vicinity, of the quality and quantity of the sneeze itself.  I mention the former being conscious that I am a more frequent sneezer than some.  It can come upon me quite suddenly, with only a second or two of warning, from no obvious cause.  Nobody else is sneezing, only me.  My partner often finds this hard to understand, since she isn't affected in the same way - but has to endure the consequences of the impact it has on me...#

Which brings me back to that bigger question I mentioned.  Why is there such a huge range of variations in the ways in which people sneeze?  They can range from the lower velocity, near soundless, almost imperceptible, delicacy of the more 'polite' sneeze, through to loud, uncontrollable explosions that cast moist breath out into the atmosphere for several meters.  The latter are ones you hear on a bus, in a queue, across a supermarket, and wonder who and why and how there is such a noise being blasted out into the world.  Those are the sort of sneezes I have.

Too often.  They seem to come upon me at almost any time (not good when you're sitting in a concert hall or cinema!), and usually in threes.  As soon as one sneeze had been completed it feels like there's another right behind it, and another to follow that one.  And then they are gone.  If I try to stifle them too much it can feel genuinely painful, as if the force of the explosion is occurring within rather than being expelled.  Get the blocking action really wrong and my head hurts, my ears hurt, my chest feels like it's been punched.  So better out than in is a saying that genuinely applies here.

Except others may not agree.  My wife certainly doesn't.  A loud sneeze from me merits a tut.  The second one of 'those' looks.  And third an accusation of "putting it on" or the comment "there's no need for that".  As if I was doing it on purpose.  This has become ritualised between us, so that it no longer has meaning, except in symbolic terms.  It is far less of an irritant than whatever the bloody thing was that set me off to begin with!

Day 208 - Video Inspiration

 VIDEO INSPIRATION

Prompt - Video Inspiration : Go to Vimeo or YouTube and watch one of the videos featured on the home page.  Write something based on what you watch.

Click to see video chosen.

"Come on wimp, nothing's going to happen."  Stephen was starting to get annoyed at Mansar's recalcitrance.

"It'll be OK, if we stick together.  Nobody really believes this stuff, do they?".  Rachel held out her hand to encourage him to join her.  Mansar sighed and moved towards the opening, waving the proffered hand away.  He sensed that failure to join them would strain Stephen's tenuous friendship beyond his limited ability for tolerance.  They moved into the cave, phone lights providing a bare minimum of help to their progress.

But progress they did, jokily at first, more tensely as they went deeper, the walls became damper, the air colder, and sounds more eerie.  

"How much further?"  Mansar had put off asking as long as he could.

"Can't be much to go now, eh Steve?"   Rachel was beginning to sound  less certain.

"Nearly there.  Nearly there."  The repetition suggested Stephen, the leader of the trio in all matters of adventure, was less cocky now.

But he was proved right shortly after when they followed a curve in the tunnel and suddenly there was light beyond the feeble illumination of their torches.  They were in cavern, roughly oval in shape, with a high, high roof reaching up into the hill and open at top.  As midday approached the sunlight was falling in a fierce white cone that spotlit the centre of the space, making the granite floor sparkle and casting sharp shadows around the walls.  They gasped at the beauty of it, fear forgotten, elated that they had had the courage to enter the mysterious Fairies' Chamber, right when it was said to be at it's most magical.  Mansar had to admit it had been worth overcoming his fears.

"What now?  Is anything supposed to happen?"  Rachel's hopes had surfaced.

"Yeah, the fairies all come out and give us a meal and a few drinks.  All we have to do is summon them."  Stephen spread his arms out wide, put his head back, and falsettoed a call of enchantment.  "Come to us great fairies, and bring forth food and drink for your honoured guests."  He giggled at his own bravado, the others tried to join in, but both felt this had been a mistake.  They were right.

There was a sudden swelling of the light, and when their eyes had adjusted they saw, at regular intervals all round the oval, small glowing figures, about a metre high, of uncertain and shifting appearance, and blocking their exit.  One rose into the air, expanded, and took on the clearer, but still fluid, shape of a woman.  She came closer to the terrified teenagers.

"Who summons me thus?  What gives you this right?"  Her voice was young but authoritative, deep in tone yet light in character.  The stunned threesome remained silent.  "Well....?", the speech more commanding now.

Rachel was the first to find her ability to reply.  Shakily.  "We only came out of curiosity, we didn't think you were... well, real like."  She regretted her choice of words immediately, but at least she'd spoken.

"I am Mavrola, Queen of the Grafell Fairy Clan.  Do you still doubt my existence?"  Three heads shook frantically.  "Any yet you doubted, and might still convince yourselves you were dreaming once you have left.  I will put doubt beyond you."  The three looked at one another, hoping to see some spark of understanding in either of the other's faces. When they looked back at Mavrola she was disseminating into a cloud of twinkling lights and moving currents.  The cloud moved towards, over, through and around them, leaving behind a tingling from within, a momentary dizziness, and a sense of difference.  

The cloud spoke.  "For the next twenty four hours you will not be who you seem.  Return at midday tomorrow if you wish to be yourselves again."    And vanished, along with her cohort of shining accomplices.  Once again the only light came from the sun hole above, already past it's high point and shifting focus.  

Rachel looked at the others.  Except she found she was looking at Mansar and... herself?  How could that be?  Where was Stephen?  She looked at her arm.  She was wearing his jacket.  Looked down and saw his jeans, his shoes.  She felt taller, broader, and her hair was so much shorter.

"Who's pretending to be me?" asked Mansar, more aggressive than she'd ever heard him before.  He was looking at her, except that she was a he now and... this was confusing.  If she was now in Stephen's body, Stephen must be in Mansar's.  Which meant Mansar must be in hers.  Was this what the queen meant when she'd said they wouldn't be who they seem?  

"I think we better get out of here" she, he, said, and they jogged their way out of the tunnel and the cave entrance.

Outside it was bright and hot, and they looked for the shade of a tree to sit under.  Nobody said anything at first, all three trying to figure out what they could do.  Mansar was the first to speak, but from Rachel's body.

"We're stuck like this until 12 tomorrow, aren't we?"

"Looks like it", said Rachel, "so how do we get through until then?"

"I'm brown.  I've got a wimp's body.  This can't be happening.  Why us?"  The loud complaining tone sounded odd coming from Mansar's body.

"Because you insisted we go in there and see if the legend was true, thinking it wouldn't be.  So stop whining and let us think what we're gong to do now."  Rachel's sharp mind speaking angrily from Stephen's body was an impressive combination.  They all fell silent again. Stephen with head downcast.

Again it was Mansar who spoke.  "I was wondering if we could stay out all night, go back in at 12 tomorrow, get changed back, and then go home and say we'd got lost?  But I hate that I'd have to miss out on my audition."

"Audition?  Oh, you were trying for a part in that play, weren't you?  I know you wanted that a lot.  And I'm supposed to be on a sort-of date tonight with Sara, how will I ever explain about standing her up?"  Stephen's form slumped as Rachel realised just how much she wanted to be with Sara.

"Well never mind that, I've got hockey training at eight, and stand a chance of getting into the squad if I keep on.  I don't want to miss out."  said Stephen.

"You don't look like much of a hockey player right now" said Rachel, as Mansar, looking at Stephen as herself.  She burst out laughing at how ridiculous they all were, and her sudden levity infected the others.  It was a horrible situation to be in, but they could see how funny it was too.  The laughter helped them to calm down.

"There must be a way to get through this, but we need to help each other.  If we spend the afternoon coaching each other on what to expect maybe we can get through this.  How about it?"  The boys looked at one another, still coming to terms with knowing that the person they were seeing wasn't the person inside, and nodded.  Could they get away with it?

Rachel taught Mansar how to be her.  He was horrified that he'd miss out on his mother's cooking and have to put up with microwaved meal instead.  "That's all my parents ever do" said the girl.  "And you need to meet Sara by the chippie.  Looks like being a nice evening so go for a walk with her, but don't go trying anything on, you're not a boy, OK?"

"No chance of that.  I'm gay too."

Stephen sneered.  "No surprise there."

"You're going to have to stop saying things like that.  You're me now."  

"Oh mansar, that's wonderful.  And you'll know what it's like having to bottle things up, like I do.  I think my dad is homophobic.  But maybe I should come along and make sure it all goes OK.  You could..."

"You can't do that!"  Stephen jumped up, fists balled.  "You need to go along and make sure I don't get dropped."

"But I can't even skate very well.  Although I've been to watch a few hockey games, so I suppose I know a bit about it.  If I go I'll have to pretend I've twisted my ankle and don't want to risk it tonight."

"That might work.  Just apologise and sit and watch.  Shout a few things during the practice game.  If I tell you who's who you..."

"But what about my audition?  Your're going to have to go along and try your best."  Mansar gave his Rachel form an ease of movement she didn't know she had in her.

"Me?  Play at acting?  No way.  I'd hate it."

"Then it looks like I won't be going to the rink."

"What?  But you have to.  I could lose out if you don't."

"And Mansar will definitely miss out if you don't.  We all help each other, or this doesn't work, OK?"  Rachel as Stephen was an impressive combination of moral and physical authority.  Stephen, in the slighter body of Mansar, felt his leadership of the group gone.  Perhaps it had never really been there?

They agreed they'd spend the rest of the afternoon telling each other how to be them, go home to where they looked the part, went on each other's evening out, and get back together in the morning in penty time to be in the fairy cavern before noon.  And if the queen had lied to them... they'd have to deal with that when it happened.

Another sunny day.  They met up at ten thirty and walked together up the hill where the cave entrance was.  Nobody seemed to want to talk first, each worried at what their alter ego might have done for their chances.  Rachel broke the silence.

"I think it went OK Steve, the coach reckons I've, I mean you've got a good hockey brain."

"Really?  How come?"  Stephen sounded impressed, but suspiciously added "What did you say to him?"

"I kind of suggested that maybe it would be good one of the defencemen stayed back a bit more because they were getting caught out, and that Cartie could be better on the right as he looked like that backhand flick of his could be more effective there.  Coach thought they were good ideas.  He said something about not having decided on a captain yet."

"What?  Really?"  Stephen looked stunned.  "That's brilliant.  That's... that's... I hadn't really thought like that before but I can see you're right.  Maybe next week I'll see if coach'll put Cartie on the right of my line, I can see that working."  His, Mansar's, face beamed with the possibilities.

Rachel turned to her self, what she hoped would soon be her reunited self, and looked questioningly at Mansar.

"Sara really liked me.  You.  Yeah, you.  And I can see why you like her.  We had a good time, and she's really interested in drama.  I told her that I was trying to get into acting, well that mansar was, and she seemed to like the idea.  Maybe you should both come along?  They really need some smart people backstage.  That's if I'm still part of the group."  He looked at Stephen with trepidation.  "Am I?"

Stephen paused, built the tension a little.  "Oh, yeah, you're in.  No bother.  Looks like you'll be the baddie - what's he called? - Grayling."

"Wow, I didn't think they'd want me for that, it's a big role, on stage a lot.  How'd you do it?"

"Just shouted a bit and got angry, then tried to look menacing.  The director seemed to like that."

"That's... amazing.  Thanks."

"I found myself enjoying it so I did drop in that you had a friend who might look the part for your sidekick - you know, the one that gets to do the fighting.  You don't mind, do you?"  Even on Mansar's face Stephen's blush was obvious.

"Steve!  You?  An Aaactor?"  Rachel drew out the last word pretentiously, teasing.  They all laughed.  "Anyone else got a big revelation to make?"

"Well..." Mansar began, sounding far more cheerful than he had ten minutes before, "I was in before your parents so I went round to Patel's shop and got a few things, cooked a meal or them coming home.  They loved it.  Told them my pal Mansar had taught me."  He grinned.  

Rachel came over and hugged Mansar.  Stephen was surprised how normal it looked to see his own image go up and put his arms around his little Tunisian friend.  He joined them and they stood, arms around one another, for a while.  

Stephen's night as Mansar had been a surprise.  Such a warm loving family, a reminder of distant times when his mother had been alive.  He thought he now understood more about why his dad had turned out as he was.  The exception had been Lasani, Mansar's older brother, who bullied his sibling at every opportunity.  Why had his friend never mentioned it?  Lasani was a lot bigger than Mansar, but no more than the equal of Stephen.  He might be paying the older boy a visit very soon, and suggest, in his own way, that he lay off his wee brother.

Mansar had, he hoped, reminded Rachel's parents that there was more to life than the rubbish they took from the microwave.  He liked the idea that Sara might be joining the drama group.   Knowing someone who'd come out to their parents, even if they weren't parents quite like his, might be a help in deciding how he could be himself, openly.  

Rachel felt excited that Sara seemed to like her, that Mansar had been such a pal, and that maybe her diet would be improving too.  You never knew, did you?

They walked into the cave entrance, each with their own hopes and fears, and got to the cavern.  At noon the cloud of lights suddenly coalesced around them, coming from nowhere and returning thence in seconds.  Again the slight dizziness, the tingling, the need for the eyes to readjust.  Rachel looked a the others, saw Mansar and Stephen.  They looked as relieved as she felt.  Each was back in their own shoes, but none were the same as the people who'd come in there yesterday.  The trio linked arms and walked back towards the sunlight.

Day 207 - Volcano

 VOLCANO

Prompt - Volcano : Write about an eruption of a volcano

The grey people.  With their grey possessions, boarding a grey train.  The ash was universal now.  It got into hair, eyes, mouths.  It was the surface you walked on, through, it was piled up against the walls, it blew in through doors and windows and through the slightest cracks.  The ash had been falling for... he stopped to try and remember how many days it had been now, but time no longer had any connection with reality.  All there was left was the ash, the heat, the noise, the vibration, the steady flow of the red-gold-white death and destruction that was now less than half a kilometre from the outskirts of the town.  That and the final few people.  The key workers who'd kept things going, the medical staff who'd remained, the rail engineers making sure that the line would still be clear, a few fire fighters to put out the blazes that were becoming more and more frequent as red hot gobbets of molten rock joined the ash fall, the police who'd been pointlessly assigned to stop looting a few stragglers who'd tried to resist the inevitable, and some of his own staff.  And him.  Like the captain of a sinking ship, the mayor had to be the last to leave.  Had to be seen to be last, for there were a few journalists too, and one camera crew too, although how their equipment continued to work under the descending blanket was a mystery to everyone else.

He looked around to see if there was anything left to be done.  The intense background rumble rendered shouting redundant, so he had to wave wildly to a couple of police and direct them to get those journalists on board.  Immediately.  Everyone else seemed to be doing as they'd been told.  The stationmaster came up and leant in close to ask if he could get his staff on now.  He nodded agreement, indicated urgency of movement.

There was another explosion of gloopy thunder that shook the land and rattled the structure of the station.  What little remained of the overhead glass shattered in the flexing of the metal frame, a few more overhead fittings fell down, the whole edifice leaned over a bit more.  It didn't have much longer.  It was time to go.

Once last look round.  His own staff were now looking at him expectantly. He waved them on, started walking towards this, the last train to leave the town.  Perhaps the last train ever.  From the town he'd been born in, had lived in for most of his life, the town that would soon become a modern day Pompeii.  Seventy kilometers from here, along those ash-submerged tracks, his family waited.  There was home now.

Day 206 - Greed

 GREED

Prompt - Greed : Write about someone who always wants more - whether it be money, power, etc etc

This was what he'd working towards for the past decade.  For that sense that anything was now possible.  There had been some reasonably lucrative moments working with lobbyists, some trips abroad where he made contacts that would serve him well later.  But being on the backbenches didn't provide nearly enough opportunity, so he had to play the long game, suck up to him, get the dirt on her, make himself one of them.  And now, finally, it had all been worth it.

Now people did what he said, immediately.  (Or at least they said they did.)  Now he had the power to award contracts worth millions, to build a base that would grow, even once he was out of office.  For he didn't want to put up with the annoyance of bloody journalists for any longer than he had to, prying little creeps that they were, although he had his pets there too.  Money bought people, as simple as that.

So there hadn't been too much fuss when his sister-in-law's company had got that consultancy, and what there was had died down soon enough, when the latest dead cat got thrown up.  And nobody had linked him to the Cayman islands account that was filling up nicely from his ensuring that Robertson got that major NHS supplies gig.  The PM was happy with him - or rather she had to be, given what she knew that he knew and what it would do for her if it ever got leaked - and knew he wasn't after her job.  Being in charge of Health was his dream job, the one that would set him up for life.

It had set him up with plenty women too.  Amazing how attractive a paunchy middle aged man became when he had cash to flash and a title to boast of.  Sir Malcolm.  Nice, eh?  Ah, this was the life.  Power.  Money.  Recognition.  And a future kept well away from his colleagues at Treasury.

This was why he was in the cabinet.  This was why he'd become a Tory MP.  

Day 205 - Hunger

 HUNGER

Prompt - Hunger : Write from the perspective of someone with no money to buy food.

She parked the car, took a long time switching off the engine.  Stupid, when every penny counted.  Sat with both hands tightly gripping the wheel.  Looked in the mirror.  Tommy looked back blankly.  She turned to face him, emptiness exchanging glances, marvelling at his ability not to cry.  Part of her wished he would, just so she could join in.  It would do her good, but she'd moved beyond tears in the last few days.

Turning back her hands went back to their places on the wheel, as if she were about to make a getaway.  As if she could escape, had choices, had a life beyond the one that now enclosed her, the walls that moved ever nearer.  If she stayed here, frozen in time, maybe... Maybe what?  Maybe nothing.  She was as she was, however it had happened.  Del leaving, redundancy, savings gone, benefits wrestled from the system, sanctioned for one day - one! - of missing out on her appointments when Tommy had been too sick to leave.  How quickly the money was sucked away, like the water swirling out of the bath she could no longer afford to run.  How it came down to most basic of choices - be cold or be hungry?  Let Tommy be cold or be hungry?  

Her GP gave her the referral.  She reached across to her bag and pulled out the piece of paper.  Use it and she'd have enough to be warmish, fullish, get through the days until the payments resumed.  She'd looked reluctant, he'd looked encouraging.  He'd looked at Tommy, saying the lad had to come before pride.  That pride had it's place, that true pride lay in caring, in surviving, in being smart enough to know when pride could withstand the knocks.

She looked back at Tommy.  He gurgled a smile.  He had hope, trust, the rest of the day ahead of him, and a tomorrow.  She forced a smile back, nodded, understood.  One more grip of the wheel.  One more breath as someone who coped?  No, she mustn't do that to herself.  The doctor had said that this was coping, that coping was taking help when you needed it, because maybe you'd be the one helping some day.  She got out of the car, put the child into his wonky pushchair, and walked into the Foodbank.

Day 204 - Strength

 STRENGTH

Prompt - Strength : Think of a time when you've been physically or emotionally strong and use that as inspiration.  

I am not a strong man.  Pigeon chested, narrow shouldered, easily puffed.  I don't readily put on weight, which is a good thing, but that also means I don't readily put on muscle either.  Charles Atlas would forever have been kicking sand in my face.

So why did I let myself be roped into helping Jimmy with his house move?  What possible use did I think I could be?  What possible help did he think I could be and was he really that desperate for bodies?  Apparently so.

There were three of us.  Jimmy himself of course, short, wiry, played a lot of football, but did much the same desk job as me.  And his pal Graham.  It was easy to see why Graham had been asked.  While I was a good half a head taller than our house moving friend, Graham towered over me.  Must have been at least six six.  And as wide as the pair of us put together.  Graham looked like he could pull the van, not just load it.

We set to.  I asking Jim what the plan was.  Plan?  He didn't know he needed one.  The big man just looked like he wanted to get on with lifting big things, and no plan was going to help or hinder him.

"Plan, yeah.  We need a bit of a plan, don't we?  Shouldn't we try to make the best use of the space in the van so we don't have to make two trips?  And make sure the stuff we might need at the other end is last to go on?  You know, kitchen stuff so we can get a drink or whatever?"

Jimmy looked impressed, as if I was the first person in the world to come up with this idea.

"Yeah, nice one.  Plan.  So - what d'you think?"  This to Graham.  

"Can I just move some stuff while you do the plan?"  Keen lad, our Graham.

Jimmy looked at me.  I could see the role of senior planner falling my way so I tried to improvise.

"What big things have you got that could hold smaller stuff?  Wardrobe?  Can I have a quick look round to see?"

"Yeah, there's a wardrobe in there" he said, pointing to the bedroom, "and that sort of cabinet thing I keep the booze and plates and stuff in."

They seemed like a starting point so I suggested the pair of them got the wardrobe out while I looked at what could go inside, and if there was any other big things we needed to put in first.  And that's what happened.  I made a few notes, turned that into a list, and stuck it up by the front door.  Plan made.  And, without too many questions, that's what they went with.  Which also meant it was my turn to carry stuff.  I grabbed a couple of bin bags that looked like they might squash into the wardrobe, and went out to the van.  Where I saw...  WTF?

They'd put the wardrobe in, then blocked it off with the cabinet before putting anything inside.  But there were a couple of small boxes in the cabinet already.  Did I accept that this was the way things were, or ask the to get it sorted out into a more practical layout (but who was I to tell them what to do?), or... try and do it myself?  Well, what was the worst that could happen?  (I tred not to think about the answers to that question.)

So I dragged the cabinet out, turned it and opened the wardrobe door.  I'd just managed that and turned, sweaty and breathing hard already, to face the others as they came out with a few chairs.

"No, no, not those yet.  They can be tetrised in later, once we've got the big stuff.  Bring me some more medium size boxes and big bags like these."  And, to my amazement, they did.

Which left me in the van, trying to bring order to the madness.  I eased the wardrobe along a bit, to make best use of space, then started filling it with the boxes they brought out.  Bugger- they were boxes of books.  But I staggered the three yards between van door and my target, got the box in place, turned to see more boxes, and two vanishing backs.  I worked on.  Filled the closet to capacity, moved the cabinet and filled that.

"A few smaller boxes!" I shouted on one of my brief glimpses of the porters.  I needed to work faster, they were starting to box me in.  Breathing hard, aching more with each minute, I move furniture around, filled what I could with what I had, stacked, tied, sweated.

"How much more?"  I asked a suddenly tired looking Jimmy as he leaned on the tailgate.  

"No much.  Just the stuff you said we should leave to the end."  He looked up at the assembled construct of his worldly goods.  "Jeez Andrew, where did you get the strength to do all that?  I kept saying to Graham we'd best go and help you in the van, some of that stuff was really heavy, but every time we came back you'd moved the thing s we were talking about.  How'd you do it?  You didn't even stop for a few biscuits like us."

"BISCUITS!  You had biscuits and you didn't tell me?"

"Well, you seemed really into it, and I didn't know if it was part of the plan, so I thought you'd best be left as you knew best."

Maybe I did.  Maybe I'd done more than I'd thought myself capable of.  But I still wanted biscuits.

Day 203 - Boredom

 BOREDOM

Prompt - Boredom : Write about being bored and make a list of different ways to entertain yourself.

Boredom?  What's that?  I have to cast my mind back a good few years to remember.  Although doing so is aided by looking back at my old diaries from the eighties.  Then I spent much of my time feeling bored.  Because I was at work.  I have had some truly tedious jobs during my career, and often I would try to break the monotony by writing.  Sometimes fiction, mostly just stream of consciousness stuff about whatever was in my head.  Or by writing diary entries.  And in the late eighties I even wrote some computer games (which were never shared with others).  But it was still a boring place to be.

Which was not always true, and sometimes work could be interesting, more so when I moved from Titchfield to Southport.  But it still had the ability to be mind numbing.  Then came retirement.  There a lot of people who fear being retired, and many whose fears are realised for they feel at a loss.  I have never felt that way, and I doubt I ever will.  Since I left work I have some of the very best years of my life.  And the problem is not boredom, but cramming everything into the limited hours of each day.

There are always so many things to do, so many alternatives.  Every day I write, and I try to walk a good distance.  There are books to read, social media to be absorbed in, computer games to play, TV programmes to watch, music to listen to and more books to read.  There are odd jobs around the house, and sometimes bigger projects.  Most days have some food shopping, and the enjoyment of cooking (and sometimes reading when there are periods of waiting for things to be ready).  

And we do stuff.  Maybe not so much now in these strange pandemic times, but that will change.  So there are music and comedy gigs to go to, plays to see, films to watch.  Rugby matches to go and shout at (not just live, but also on TV, with hockey and tennis added into the latter).  And all that takes planning, especially when it comes to the bigger festivals, or when we have guests here to share the experience.

Even in lockdown I was never bored.  Trying to exercise.  Being more creative with the cooking.  Writing more, trying out different hobbies that could be done at home, watching some of the entertainment that was unique to that period, like The Black Isle Correspondent, and the Stand's Saturday Night shows.  

Boredom?  What's that?