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> Home Made Tales, The journey
peter.howden
post 29th Jun 2020, 05:11am
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‘The Key’(2)

The Dastardly Schemes


Silent rumours have drifted in the wind, relating to the depths of depravity ‘The Key’ scheduled, and practiced schemes for, yet , almost every individual nation, regime, corrupt politicians and tyrants chose to obey impotently when ‘The Key’ demanded controlling status, total Immunity from investigation sternly expected, while most of the populations were ignorant of the sly facts . The exclusive worldwide unbreakable contracts with almost every state president , prime minister, premier, or ruler, were wholly privy to this being true… ‘The Key’, holds total control nigh the whole globe, honest and unethical organizations .

Although it may be ‘Chinese whispers’, allegedly, ‘The Key’ callously systematically ran through statistics, to send each month, 19 % of children in their care, into darken dungeon holes of illicit sweat shops, limitless servitude around the four corners of their venal empire. When the exhausted ,sick starving children pathetically died before their time, the demised funerals paid by avaricious companies and governments able to raise citizens taxes. Misinformation discharged throughout the airwaves, hiding appalling human behaviour, behind the tragedy of predicted broods running away from their homes, which already exists in all societies.

Mafia crime syndicate seven groups, Golden triangle, Khan, and heavies Ndrangheta, of the past, violently cease to exist, unless signing the silent clique code, that all traffickers in such a trade, henceforth organized, and turned by ‘The Key’. The gangs and peoples with monies illicitly gained, endorsed such deals, seeing such contracts a way to clean up dirty monies, but soon realized they were dead end pacts, costing exceptionally additional returns than what they put in.

As the law demands no unconfirmed testimony, Individual clients from international stock markets, led to the financial ruination by…’No get out’, without death agreements, via organized monetary slaughterhouses…no one complains… for above all… fear, coupled with no one can be trusted.

Next …Reputed, final solution
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peter.howden
post 30th Jun 2020, 07:36pm
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Granddad’s letter.

It is amazing to watch just how much our children change over the years, where we were lucky...and luck has a lot to do with it... our family held on to being good natured and decent people who respected their parents and Grandma, but simply idolized granddad. They were so impressed of his life story, which over the years his whole family reckoned they knew every step he had ever taken throughout his 89 years. Almost the moment each one of his family was born, he gently steered them, before bedtime, read ‘Fairy Tales’ holding a moral attitude. These ethical tales mixed up with events throughout his own long life, his grandchildren felt privileged to stay at his home.

On several occasions, with a wry smile he declared, when he had broad shoulders, because of dire circumstances, as he put it, he went down the pits shafts as a Banker man, among cursed Blackdamp… stole his best mate from him. Later, after the miners’ strike in 1943, witnessed and worked with Bevin boys… held them in high esteem

One thing always remained a mystery, an unopened stamped letter, clearly addressed to Grandpapa, inside an extravagant photo frame, taking pride and place on the lintel of the ever-burning ingle-neuk. Granddad was asked about this despatch many times, his answers were evasive, or talked around it with another anecdote, remaining constantly enigmatic. The respect the entire family held for their proud grandparent, they never mentioned he forgot to specify the reason for the posted despatch…and no one knew when it was delivered…or why it was kept sealed.

Unfortunately, even strong old oxen’ have a contract with passing nature, as did ‘Boxer’, the strong determined but ignorant horse from Animal Farm. Now his hour had come, quietly, with everyone he loved, and they loved him, being at his bedside. After the terrible shock and heart crushing loss, which would never go away, they had a wake, talking only about their recollections and wisdom of their much-treasured Grandpa.

Their warm memories sprung thick and fast, with every word uttered held tenderness from within the hearts of respective orators, until one family member caught a glimpse of the letter, on the mantelpiece, sort of glowing radiated from the coal fire. ‘I wonder what is in the letter’ said the inquisitive youngster, as he moved towards the fireplace…then unexpectedly stopped in his track by Granny…who softly spoke, ‘I believe it’s time the family knew your Grandfather’s secret’.
She calmly motioned all present, to sit down and pay attention, then continued. ‘we found out way back, your grandfather had ‘Alexia’ disorder. An unusual quietness surrounded the room, you would have heard a pin as their elderly granny continued in a low sincere voice.

‘He believed, it must have been caused when a cranky mule kicked him, at the side of his head, just about the same time we became one for each other…some 68years ago’, Grandma, near tears explained, ‘once he had recovered at home, there was no money for fancy doctors, we made a pact…no one would be told’. She stopped to take a few breaths, then added; ‘maybe he was holding suborn pride, but from that very day…we set up home, I took all the lettering, bill paying and the like…he was a good man, he worked hard for his money’

One of the older children present, pipped up ‘But gran, Granddad read, great fairy stories, to all of us, every time we were at your house… word for word perfect’. The grey-haired lady smiled, ‘we practiced for two nights before you came, apart from reading and writing, he had a good memory and active brain’. ‘He tried for years to be literate …but for some reason, it just did not happen…we were non-believers, so we could not blame him!’.

Taking time to sip some black tea, she added, ‘some 50 years ago, that very letter arrived, and Granddad decided, if he could not read it…it would stay unopened’. She inhaled a deep breath before restarting with, ‘Well that was not strictly true…we both thought it may be a letter, from the authorities, asking us to go to court…because we were not married, we jumped the broomsticks!’

The family sat there in total silence, but just gaping at this kind Nanna, with astonishment. The oldest son asked when they would open this letter. The mother smiled shyly ‘it was your father’s secret all this time; it will be buried with him’.
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peter.howden
post 2nd Jul 2020, 07:31pm
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Infinity minus one;

Somewhere in Scotland....in a once proud, but now dilapidated building, a constant rubbing noise, relentlessly scrapping sort of din...a chilling hum, right behind the thin protection of the shaking walls of unknown strength. A exposed group of startled, near panicking peoples huddled together, due to space confinement rather than choice, forced to share intimate feisty responses and emotions usually hidden from any other soul. The pathetic group completely ignorant if human life existed elsewhere

The emergency battery lighting blinked sporadically, everything electronic was non operative. No contact could be made with the outside world, if there was such a thing left, as every computer, every phone, every apparatus, or anything relying of vital internet satellite worldwide web...was now completely defunct. No satellite no man-made contraption remained operative from that fatal period.

In a universal elapsed moment, an unpredicted powerful Steller flare-up “Super Nova’...fleetingly outshone the entire ‘Milky Way’ galaxy, radiating massively more energy as the actual Sun. This uncalculated collapse changed Earth’s rotating angle, against the right-handed rule of 23.5 degrees...to minus 1.34 degrees. Every 92 of the Earth’s elements instantly altered, as did the density of the once blue planet. The atmosphere just plunged.

With the moon completely off-balance, causing acceleration orbit and destroying earth’s tides and the so called atmosphere static without wind. Disseminated electric and atom tremors have turned the all-inclusive form of existence, every species of life on the entire planet, have become carnivores or blood sucking miniature vampires including; Parasites... Mosquitoes... Hornets...Black fly....Bees...wasps...Ticks...the list is endless throughout the world.

Within the crumpled building, the frightened penitentiary remaining occupants, huddle within the dark stale room. Lifesaving air condition bottled oxygen aeration, operated by battery, is lifelessly silent because they daren’t open the airborne vents leading from the crumpled structure...in fear what may enter....unwanted. Clamours from outside, constantly try penetrating the last defence off ill-practical walls shuddering under immense pressure...deemed to be flying swarms of killer midgies.

Over the past alarming weeks, while contacts over the old fashioned airwaves was possible, the dreaded news in Scotland of close total inhalation of human beings in every hamlet, Town, City... by these flying doom carriers... then the airwaves croaked......Now in isolation they may be the last of the human race... with the paradox...barricaded in the premises of Glasgow University...once biologically working on a serum… to prevent midgies biting indiscriminately!

Is it worth praying?~
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peter.howden
post 5th Jul 2020, 01:25pm
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There are some passages in this last episode, which some readers of a certain disposition, may find disturbing…the author apologizes in advance

‘The Key’(3)
Depraved key


Almost from the start, blackmail, fraud and drugs, people trafficking, all aspects in pornographic markets, were financially advantageous for this enigmatic firm, ‘The Key’, while operating as a upstanding fruitful legitimate company, monopolizing a wide field of enterprises. They organized under the theory, if you constantly advertise into the face, and ears of the populous, something so utterly ludicrous, becomes genuinely believed. Then, while this is so, with a slight of hand…do what they want. They inspired only absolute pleasure, beyond any humans imagination, could be yours if only the wanting of a full payment…or direct debit.

Almost all the banks, and the prosperous populace had invested heavily, plus nearly all the pension money programs for the workforce, and retirement proposals, were blind Associates. With vast amounts of wealth from all scientific ecologists, collaborating in the drugs markets, their private researchers, and genii, managed a miraculous phenomenon…to duplicate D.N.As, which could be injected into the body, masking the real genetic code. They enthusiastically sold this to individual criminal elements, to avoid detection for any crime committed.

Promoting a trumpeted dreamland for the elderly pledged to their loved ones, guaranteed luxury stay with ‘The Key’. The private announcement, regardless of age, the ability to release each associate, from all illness and pains, by huge advancements in health care, supplied by the scientific medical team. Their stay would be a walk along a constant sandy beach where every day was simply supreme. Their deception was second to none, for not one whisper of disaffection, not a single complaint had anyone in the whole world ever received.

An anonymous whistle-blower called, unfortunately midway, the communication was cut dead. The following “ The centre of this diabolical myth, ‘The Key’, built gigantic aeroplane hangars worldwide. Ring-fenced with highest Tec security beyond any country in the world. Inside, row after row after row, isle after isle, ally after ally of elderly people in rags, completely drugged with a tube in their mouth, sitting on wooden commodes, filth running wayward into connecting sewers. Three infusions, ether tainted with knock out drops, two, liquid food supplied three times a day, three, drugs a supercomputer determined medications, preventing any reality”.

“‘The Key….A human battery farm, with money being the golden eggs. They eat, sleep and latrine there …until they died, and their contra”…. Disconnected…the authorities fear the worse?
-=-=-=-
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peter.howden
post 6th Jul 2020, 11:12am
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Fairy tale

The first meeting was not supposed to happen, but like all fairy tales… once upon a time it did. Mark was walking past a stores window in the fashionable part of town. Helen was acting as stand-in for her sister, the window-dresser of female lingerie for the large department store. Helen’s sibling become unwell, afraid she might lose her position, asked Helen to stand in. Helen’s code of sisterly duty came first, though not sure if she could cope, being a novice in art School where actual work was not quite her bag.

Mark yearned for something completely different from his dreary life, something with risk and action, not available in this small township, forcing him to make up his mind, that very day, to be on his way to sign up and join the Army. He stopped at the large window, standing almost motionless, staring …not realizing the assortment of underwear the window exhibited…for he could not help watching Helen’s angelic whimsical face. She turned around and heard music coming from outside as this guy was looking in. He tapped the window gently…motioning her outside. Dropping everything Helen instantly submitted. In pure excitement their first date was arranged for that very night

From that moment, very second, they danced, sang, and giggled into a whirlwind romance. Mark joked she was his Helen… launching a thousand slips. and she laughed. She cried at ‘Girl’s-pictures’ on the screen, he cared so much he held the tissues, popcorn, and coca cola. As a couple they would dance at the drop of a hat, swooning the moony along with old records, dancing without moving their feet or limbs, but so close together it was almost indecent. locked in a heaven all of their own, as Peggy Lee sang, ‘The folks who lived on the hill’, full in the knowledge it was written for them.

Walking home holding hands in the local park, dreaming sweet dreams, vowing it would last forever. They would grow old disgracefully together, collecting old age pensions at the post office, then that so endeared and warmed their hearts.

Just as swift as it had begun, she was gone, in a hint of a windless whiff, no letter of reason…just gone. All that was left was the bottle of perfume, Mark had bought to celebrate their togetherness. Not one photograph for him to hold...he reminisced with great heartache.

He never did join the army, but passed the window regularly, hoping above hope, his Helen would be there. While staring in the abyss of the window, Mark would mentally sing, though sometimes was caught out by a stranger as he mumbled a verse, or two, of Ray Davis song, “Thank you for the days”, because those precious days was a lifetime for him.
He knows men should not cry…but failed to keep the tears from falling.
The end
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peter.howden
post 8th Jul 2020, 07:24pm
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A loss

What a difference a day can make, solely because it has, throughout my stay on this mortal coil, proved to be virtually 100% true. When facing a unholy crisis with little control, or tricky situation dragging, as the next day seems an eternity away, we forget the time marches on regardless.

Apparently somewhere around late 16th century, days had gone haywire causing the Catholic Church difficulty estimating the vital question, when exactly Easter should be, coming to grips calculating equinox, important to the sums. Religious academics in the know, stared at the moon, reformed the old Julian calendar, knocking off 11 days in a new Christian Gregorian calendar. This Legislation caused instant riots all over the place, with mobs demanding their missing days restored. God’s representatives here on earth work in mysterious ways?

Due to the intrusion of this naughty Coronavirus, my personal strange case is not a day, or two, but a whole missing year! May sound like a case for the literary character Sherlock Holmes, probably easier explained, either my inability to count, or a convenient loss of memory. Truth to be told, my reckoning of dates is a time squeeze box, jamming all the years together, my age coming out as 74…missing one year? More to the point, where did the 365.25 days disappear, are they floating in the illusive cyberspace and will they return to haunt me?

I do not believe I’m vain, though occasional wish some mornings while shaving and gawking, not to have a wrinkled prudish face, but a dashing handsome profile, in admiration lines of handsome. A time stealer no more no less, but my shaving mirror cannot grant this small request , for the needs are a magic mirror, with the ability to lie convincingly while, projecting an image beyond compare… which never existed

Time moves relentless, however, sometimes my brain finds it hard to calculate exactly what day it is. I’ve lost a whole year… and why hasn’t life waited for me? During this prudent tedious lockdown, no one can promise tomorrow. Tomorrow never can be guaranteed… being a lifetime away.
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peter.howden
post 9th Jul 2020, 01:12pm
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What’s Up “Doc”

He was a great world renowned ‘Chef de Cuisine’, valued knowing the basic work which could add delightful heaven to the client’s taste buds. Similar to all the greats; knew just how much of ‘this and that’ ingredients make gastronomic magic, down to the very last dash. He was untidy, gruff, but dependent on the lower grafters. Show me a master chef who isn’t or does not have a skivvy, or two up his, or her sleeve. His big fault was health and safety approach on both equally without thought or concern.

A pot of water with just a tad squirt of his secret liquid, was always near the boil, purging through sterilization, all his utensils, including his keen, razor sharp knives, he described as cherished delicate whittles. He never used, or trusted, any wandering Shantieglan to grind his precious instruments, he alone, with loving care, stone sharpening the blades to a hair breath keen edge.
Treasuring one of his cutting appliance above all others, had an awful nasty habit of taking it from the always steaming water cleansing pot, then drying it with a dangling tea towel he was wearing under his armpit, , which he swore, saved valuable time and was perfectly hygienic. Either claims were suspect; however, no one in the classy restaurant dare tell him…. never mind chastise this naughty habit,.

Instead of insisting obeying Health & Safety rules, the owner laughed off in a childish pansy manner. The manager, and a couple of brave souls in the kitchen would mumble word for word, ‘There will be a revolting horrible accident happen one day, his oxter being slashed deep inside…Mark my words!’, they all quoted uniformly….then added before finishing their spiel; “could be disfigured for life, (and possibly ruin the soup)…the last part they never said…only thought it …for no-one had the stomach for antagonizing this already brusque human.

The fateful day arrived with no pointers, no clue what would happen, and the far reaching effects with the head chef’s ‘Haute cuisine’ dishes. Working normally by keeping a skewed eye on all the other commis chefs, preparing his Special gourmet surprise, while observing ‘waste not, want not’ perfect ethos. The lethal moment came closer with all pots and pans on full blast, or just simmering away ingredients for a master stroke in his culinary dish.

Automatically reaching for his trusty knife, as he had so many times from the boiling purgative pot, but this time was to be horribly different. Without looking his main cutlery hand reached in the correct direction, but, contacted a heavy metal spoon, instead of the hilt of the knife. Having been purifying for some considerable time, the whole spoon was nigh to boiling temperature when his fingers first got in touch.

His digits meeting the scorching spoon, burnt and scaled his skin, then producing huge instant blisters . With indescribable agony, he attempted to rid himself of this calamity, but the spoon just sunk in deeper into his fingers, damaging the very nerves of his whole hand. The shouting squealing in pain did not last an eternity, but it just seemed so as one brave helper, had the savvy to smother the hand and the offending utensil with a soaked cold watered towel, giving enough relief to quell the distress calls for a brief moment or two at least.

The tragic consequences were losing his intimate senses, in his golden hand holding an acute touch for the amount of ingredients, to most minuscule tad needed to supply his famous recipes. His books were cooked, as the world never forgave him in his reckless moment. Basically, he returned to being a mere skivvy …Par-average at that…..in one greasy diner….with a global famous Scottish clan title?
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