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> Home Made Tales, The journey
peter.howden
post 19th Apr 2022, 07:30am
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HOT AIR, (2/2)

The puffed-up inflated parents bellowed, almost hysterically to their little balloon, “we are banishing you from our family home, and though you think it to be severe punishment right now, when you become a larger balloon, capable to have found your own ‘Utopia’, then you will thank us!.

The little balloon was all filled up with mysterious emotion, confused…almost choking as he readied himself to float away from what he had known as his home. Because he was so focussing on to what was this enchanted ‘Utopia’ which his father had called three times in one night but had failed to mention before. In deep thought, accidently bumped into furniture and then the ceiling a few times until he bobbed back into the room where he had shared with his parents, and some mixture of toys. The little balloon landed on the chessboard table, right next to the white queen.

The little balloon had not spoken to anybody, other than his parents and other balloons when the opportunity arose. He decided this was not a time to be short of breath, asked the ridged queen, “Where or what is Utopia?” “For me,” the Queen replied, “Utopia is when my king is not in checkmate…though I’m of the opinion…there is a bigger, better “Utopia” out there… somewhere? The little balloon could not see her pointing anywhere, however saw Her Majesty gazing upward…so he concluded is where the better ‘Utopia’ would…or should be!

So, with no further ado, and with every bit of energy he could muster and vibrate, the little balloon took to the air and a wild adventure. Out through an open window and up to the bright blue skies where he was sure held the secret of ‘Utopia’…and who knows…Perhaps he found it?!
-=-=-=-=-=(11)
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peter.howden
post 25th Apr 2022, 07:19am
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POSTCARDS;

“I’m afraid your hasty surprise visit to our enchanting wee reserved retreat for the ‘Elderly and Infirm’, has been in vain!” “Not that we are not pleased to see you at any time, but the information from outlandish journalist has been nothing but desperate deceitful untruths…I think they call this,(a slow Newsday) as their editors explain times with no tragedy for their tatty issues!”. Those barbarians printed nothing, but Libel and I can promise you…we will be seeking out our lawyers and suing for every single published word….they should not be allowed to operate so!”. “

“Your Aunt is fine and well… although now I have to break a promise but do so in the knowledge you will be overjoyed… as we were when she told us in confidence!” “What I’m about to tell you in the fullest intimacy, will maybe shook you, but remember your aunt has a determined mind of her own and these things can happen …even at her age? “She met a man; they fell in love…It’s as simple and lovely as that.” “Nothing at all sinister about it; Just romantic entwine”…. How dare these papers squander our good name and make our customers madly worried!” “To think or invent such mistrust, hoping it would be believed…that our lovely clients, or as we would prefer to call them…our elderly family.” How dare these rags place thoughts of shenanigans within our organization …What audacity? What madness?”

“Charles is an exquisite man; very thoughtful and smitten by your aunt….have ran away to a secret address in the Mid Pyrenees, In France, where everyone loves a lover.” “They were going to stay in gay Paris, but the mountain air won out.” Now please don’t enlighten those scandalous papers ….Don’t you worry I will have my time in court…they will all rue the very day….Anyway; mum’s the word for I gave a solemn vow”. But these will ease your mind…. here are four postcards…one for every week, sent by your aunt in her beautiful handwriting, expressing everlasting affection devotion to Charles…how sweet.” “As you can see…she has given details as to her intention to stay there as long as they are happy”.

“Sorry…did not quite catch that; what are you saying….your aunt never learned to read…..or write?”
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peter.howden
post 29th Apr 2022, 07:30pm
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Unchanged (1/3)

Sobbing uncontrollably, she just ran blindly into the ominous darkness. Her lover, the shining light forever, brutally shattered her allusion by having another woman. Jean Murry never saw or met the other woman, but all her shattered senses pointed directly to her man being a bastard. The last straw was him leaving her abandoned after the doctor told them, the results of the test which proved, without doubt… she was unable to give birth. In an act of utter selfishness, he taunted her with these appalling words, “you’re a barren bitch…I want a son!”….then left . Her initial reaction was tossing his so-called eternity ring, wildly out the door which it then bounced against a wall…and just vanished.

Now she was a maniac, ploughing unaware on a foreign mountain road, blinded by his rejection, when suddenly two huge lights pointing straight into her red raw eyes, effectively bring her back to some form of sanity. A large Snow plough, heading straight for a single decker coach and disaster, because the snow drifts and icy conditions made it impossible for either one to change direction. In the moments before the inevitable, she froze as she stood there unable to move. The number 100 of the ‘Bluebird bus’, imbedded into her mind. What followed was total blackout.

Jean’s next recollection was being carried across through a snow blizzard, by a man of big stature and furry coat. They came across an old log cabin, and within minutes they were both inside where a blazing log fire was its only light. Strangely though the fire being massive, there was no feeling of warmth coming from its flames. The manly shape individual placed a large white fleece sensitively over Jean. The covering induced warmth and sleep. She woke up, almost certain of being alone in the supposedly trapper’s cabin, whilst the glow from the fire seemingly cast shadows in the far away corner. A glimmer light flickered on a lone picture, within a silver frame, acted like a lure, enticing the girl’s eyes. A sense of intimacy grew as she concentrated, focusing harder to see clearer. But how could this be… she realized instinctively she had never been here before…wherever here was?
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peter.howden
post 3rd May 2022, 09:56am
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Unchanged (2/3)

As if enchanted in a spent place, Jean looked at the nearest wall, where hung a lady’s photograph, sporting a white fur coat, similar to hers. As if by magic, a bowl of hot chicken soup lay steaming close by. As she supped avoiding burning her lips as the liquid was very hot, Jean had the feeling she was being watched. Almost mesmerized, she fell asleep just when a man entered into the room, kneeling down beside her. Although not one single word escaped from his shadowy mouth, Jean sensed he was comforting her. She felt safe and protected

The very next thing she woke up in hospital with nurses and doctors all around her. One obvious senior medical man saw she was conscious and tenderly took her hand. Very slowly while watching for internal bleeding signs… “you are lucky to be alive in sub cold blizzard conditions”, stated a authorize voice with a hint of amazement; “It was the fur coat that saved you….lucky you had the sense to wear one in such bad weather”. Before the words were finished, she looked down to see an identical coat which the log cabin owner had draped her with.

Jean asked if the man in the log cabin had come in with them, the orderly looked surprised. “No one came in with you. There is not one house or cabin this side of the valley,” added the orderly still looking puzzled. After a moment or two he quietly murmured, “You must have had illusions brought on by survival inner skills due to the harsh coldness!”…. Bewilder…Jean buried herself in her untenable despairing thoughts.
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peter.howden
post 5th May 2022, 10:09am
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Unchanged (3/3)

A much older man entered the room wearing a full white coat and holding a marker board. He stopped, seemingly astonished, “ so you are the miracle found out there in the perilous snow drift,” described with age authority in his words. “Do you know you look exactly like the portrait of the girl who came in here some 30 years ago, I would swear it”. He turned to the nurse and added “no point in worrying the patient about the girl in the painting in the hospital hall, “Yet, they could be almost identical twins? “Stated the senior man. The nurse softly inquired if she was the one whose artist boyfriend had not met her that night at the crossing because he was cheating with another girl.

The doctor quietly answered; “yes; she waited for him at the bend, but tragically was struck by the 1.00 am Bluebird late night bus. She may have stood a chance if she had been admitted but there was no one to help her”. The doctor paused for a moment to shake his weary head, then continued; “The boyfriend and his new girl where travelling on that very bus… but everyone, including the driver were unaware they had hit anyone”. The nurse then questioned, in almost a whisper, “what happened to the man?”. “No one knows however everybody blamed him, but some say he was at the funeral, hidden away from the mourners”.

Jean looked and saw the very coat still clinging to her shaking body, and it was the coat she saw in the picture of a girl. She looked down at her damaged hands and to her amazement she saw her eternity ring. Just before all medical personnel were to leave that ward… the nurse asked if the elderly Doctor knew the name of the girl in the portrait hanging in the entrance to the hospital.

The doctor’s answer shook the patient when she heard “Yes!... Jean Murray”
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peter.howden
post 9th May 2022, 10:30am
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The rescue of a wee poor soul

Keeking out of the kitchen window, I spied a poor wee timorous soul, lost, confused, and obviously distressed hiding inside a weird unknown area, furthest part of the back garden. There deserted, sadly squatting…like a duck out of water. Having watched David Attenborough wildlife method of taking step by step to woe a distressed animal, into captivity, I knew what must be done. It would take time to make it securely comfortable within the unfamiliar eccentric family clan as ours! Consciously I approached the perfectly stiff beasty, inched my hand down, picked up the wee soul without a struggle or worry.

Gently carrying it into the warmth of our home, deliberately placing it down on a cushion, in a position where it could witness the whole kitchen and all the goings on. For a hopeful reason, we believed there was a chance we had previous experience, particularly with this individual worldwide family. Left for several hours, just to customize the soul as to the surroundings while I prepared a sincere welcome to our strayed family. Over the years we have collected or been given many of the wee beastie’s Ilk, in their tempestuous past. We stoutly believe we have rescued them from the horror where they originally came from,

In a vicious storm in 1992, a cargo ship container tumbled into the North Pacific, dumping 28,000 rubber ducks that were headed from China to the U.S. Currents took them, Over the next 30 years, washed up all over the world…including countless in Scotland . Many landed on the coast of Alaska, some went south to Australia, and remarkably some even went through the Arctic ice via the Bering Straits, to pop up in the Atlantic years later. We will be proud, and overjoyed if we tempt the new individual into our happy brigade??
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peter.howden
post 9th May 2022, 02:25pm
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A Seasonal miracle

Glasgow has been famous or had an infamous name of being an alcoholic’s dreamland holiday, or as a refreshment centre, depending what side of the glass you are standing. At one time with a pub at every Glesga corner, though not in the posh areas for they do their indulgence and depravity, behind well secured close doors. Glaswegians are renowned for being hard drinkers, having no difficulty in a Swally’. Harry enjoyed even more than slight refreshment giving him a tad of a problem as to know when to call a halt to such “sessions”. After this particular hard day’s work, he scurried around the famous Trongate, to visit all taverns such as Crystal-Bells, Candleriggs or renowned Granny-blacks, meeting such men of the same calibre, swapping stories

It was Christmas Eve, with millions of individual star shaped snowflakes dropping to the earth which created an instant festival picture card scene outside. This encourages Harry to stay in the last hostelry, The Hangman’s Rest, with company joyful and glee…longer than first intended. The Hangman’s Rest was an old man’s pub, locked in many decades before décor (Known by Glaswegians as a sawdust pub having to stuff being spread over the floor to hide dirt or blood stains). Harry bought a couple of raffle tickets as he sat down once again with a wee Goldie. Minutes later numbers were called, and one number matched his….the reward was one massive baldy duck.

The next moment Harry was outside, askew with the extra weight, while the crowd were still clapping. Struggling through the snow, though severely handicapped carting this huge bird, he managed to find the bus stop
Alighting from brightly lit bus, trudging home along the street, Harry felt like the little boy out of “Christmas Carol”… when Scrooge ask him to carry the turkey to “Bob Cratchit’s” humble home. Puzzled to discover he held another surprise plastic bag…which contained a pair of deep red stylish Italian leather shoes in a fancy box. Where it came from? or how he manages to be in possession? was an enigma … a miracle all the same, in the mole of Harry Belafonte’s festival song; ‘Scarlet Ribbons’… There is magic in Christmas!
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peter.howden
post 11th May 2022, 07:01pm
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A conclusion from a song

Listening to Bob Dylan, on an old long-playing record(L/P), chanting, “The times are a ‘changing”, the 60s song moulding home spun philosophy for the adolescents, while the old looked on in silent perplexity. Being now much older, looking on at the young, perhaps not muddled, but slightly amused as the fledglings making their mark… similar to the young generation of yesterday. No one likes changes, apart from the youthful replacements, who want to modify anything… but just not quite doing it. To be prickly with the old is their given duty to be so, for they are the future… since first man arose. The old hang on to tradition…. hopeful not having to adjust…too much!

It is a myth, we become wiser as we grow older, because our minds were set when very young. Aristotle philosophized; “Give me a child until he is 7 and I will show you the man.”, as do all religions practice in their own way. However, somewhere along the line, we collect useless baggage, complete with phobias of all descriptions, and biasness, sometimes willing and sometimes anonymous, but we do with some degree of foregone conclusion. One thing is certain…there is always uncertainty, known as the unknown, to react or prepare. The up-and-coming generation seeing through virgin eye, attempt to break down dusty traditions, to have a new horizon and holy grail…. which is the same as the last horizon, but perceived at a different angle

Personally, the older I become, I make the silliest of mistakes, with the only difference throughout my years, now I’m more likely to admit my foolishness…but, only to myself! They say we are losing our marbles…but I’m missing my jorries? This very morning, I have misplaced my favourite tea mug…any attempt to remember where I laid it down leaves me…as Sinatra’s song goes…#Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered?#.
-=-=-=-=(16~)
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peter.howden
post Y'day, 07:09am
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The Fall

Over many years we have been extremely fortunate observing, at the back of our garden, a small sapling, cultivate into a magnificent tree, stretching higher into the skies. By the shape of the falling leaves, it could be of mountain ‘Alder’ family, however, in my mind…the trusty enormous stature tree is, a Robin Hood’s essential observation post, with its many strong branches, vital as a look-out way beyond the wild forest …able hide his loyal merry band of free spirit outlaws, ready for a scuffle, with the naughty soldier thugs belonging to the sheriff of Nottingham.

All through the summer, watching from the kitchen window, the wildlife equally enjoying the fabulous tree, while I admire it personally when refilling the birds feeding cages. The only fly in the ointment is, each autumn, the tree, sheds ...and sheds…and keeps shedding a colossal amount of limp dreary leaves tumbling to the ground below. Because I have obtained a university honours master’s degree, in being a grumpy old man, the sheer clearing the ground endless dull leaves is laborious to say the least

Outside the fence at the front garden, is a much smaller, younger unknown type of tree, which, during the year is rather plain, if not boring, as trees go. Yet, in early Autumn… its miraculously changes, into superb golden statue, small …but out of this world. As Autumn fades, touching toes with winter…the gilded display dropping to the round, not losing its amazing colour, in fact appears to emphasise a unique brownish yellow pathway around its roots…and way beyond as the winds predict.
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peter.howden
post Today, 09:28am
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Jim stepped down to nowhere (episode 1/2)

Before stepping down from the Pullman, Jim checked he had everything prior to leaving the compartment, for one thing he had learned about surviving this journey, depended on this being done, and any equipment could save your life in these foreign parts. He had naively expected a warm welcome from some of the town’s inhabitants, just a hint of relief, for he was expected, but then again, unforeseeable setbacks caused unknown delay.

Jim stepped down from the train into a stale silence preventing any sensible conclusion. This scary stillness cloaked the entire station making it impossible to hear one single footstep, although the platform was packed with bodies dressed identical, all heading in the same direction. An eery sensation causing an undesirable internal chill, scrambling through his body, which no earthly fire would be able to rid it from his pulse. The chances of medics or indeed the luxury comfort of an ambulance was beyond the likes of Jim’s means or rank, and he had no intentions of needing one. Walking briskly, almost marching out of the main transport building, heading to what was obvious the main street of this tumbled down deprived wayside

Then without warning, from somewhere in the darken skies, a hazy din suddenly circled louder and louder, becoming thunderous, making everyone either crouched down, or attempt hiding behind some kind of protection. Jim found inexperienced individuals actually with their faces flat on the ground, arms and legs spread out, leaving themselves, well and truly open to anything…then scramble to their feet, seeking other cover. Jim unfortunately witnessed more than a dozen hamlets, villages, and small towns, over the last two drudgery weeks, with each day exactly the same…. Exhausted …almost razed to the ground
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
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