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> Home Made Tales, The journey
peter.howden
post 14th May 2017, 01:38pm
Post #376

Super Lord Provost
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Posts: 411
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485

Bond Note, Episode fifteen


The Eyn…at last

One moment of almost seeing his maker and eternal death, when, out of nowhere or out of the depths of hell, came a saviour, approaching from a thunderous crashing through the doorway, spreading open all the heavens were to behold. Charlie and his felonious entourage, were taken completely by surprise, as if time itself was motionless. For a second or two, the head mobster lost concentration, opening his mouth in astonishment, while unconsciously lowering his firearm,

Taking advance of the instantaneous confusion and uproar, James springs into automatic action, turning sharply around to relieve the thug’s hand of the violent intimidating weapon. Unfortunately, it stayed tightly grasped in the now frantic villain’s clenched fist… however for some unknown reason he was unable to fire the hazardous armament.

Within this precise moment, James turned again, to witness the eccentric sight of enormous bulging Frank, hurtling through the remains of the shattered door, on a green motor-bike, completely naked apart from being covered, very loosely, by a hospital goony, complete with feeding tubes and flex blood things dangling from his arm and chest. Frank was as the bible quoted “Behold a pale horse; the rider’s name was death, and hell followed him”.

Not one more valuable instant past before the wild Frank, bounding from his borrowed machine, landed right on the fearsome ‘Tam the bam’. With the coiled savagery of trapped injured wild animal, Frank tanked ferociously into his adversary with solid fists. Bouncing Tam’s head of the hard-wooden desk, the hood was knocked near unconscious. In the commotion, some flying debris from the wrecked door, struck Charlie’s hand holding the gun.

Being now defenceless, the Pratt began to run for a hidden exit when…a fluky missile whisked past James’s head, belting Charlie on the back of the head, rendering him completely out of the game, eagle-spread across the floor. In the far corner, Harry looked smug and chuffed. The missile had been Tam’s cosh, and it was poetic justice, James thought. The tosser fanny-bawz, ‘Balgair’ held his hands as high as he could…apprehensively.

Before he had any chance to thank the man, he heard the sirens, and suddenly the place was filled with police officers. James peered down at the now recovering Charlie, and bitterly snarled “You bastard, no one deserved the treatment to give to these girls, especially Danielle; just for your information, the name means – ‘God be my judge’- and I hope so”. Just as he finished spitting out these few words, James could not help but give in to the compulsion of whacking the scum bag. He really relished the crack his boot made.

James welcomed the arrival of the blue bottle brigade, even pleased to see the dinosaur Andy, making his way through the throng. “Looks as if you and your man have knocked hell out of the evidence” the smug little copper quipped. “Not in the least” James proudly replied, bringing out a piece of minute apparatus, hidden well in his person. Glancing at a relieved, but smelly, wee grass; “You see Harry we knew you were listening all the time, and that you would shop me for a couple of quid….so Dirty Dick fitted two being recorded in the tailor’s shop…. clever was it not?”

James’s voice changed as he added “It is just a pity the bastard would not go all the way and let me know where Uncle Saul is” Just then Frank, now having been persuaded to release his hold on Tam the bam, rush over to give James a manly hug which nearly broke his back. “Get oft… you big lump… but thanks Big Man” however I think you are in trouble with the bike” With a boyish grin on his face, Frank admitted that the bike belonged to one of Charlie’s henchmen who had been sent to spy on him at the hospital. “He must have been waiting for me to be released so to fill me in, so I surprised him…..could not leave the bike….could I?”.

Hammy and Dirty Dick were now on the scene, walking through the chaos to check on James. The inspector’s team rounded everyone in the building “Well I reckon that’s the lot” Andy said in a pleasant tone as James handed him the recorder “Thank goodness Hammy had the sense to inform the police station of your crazy plan” the policeman said in admiration. “Thank goodness your big man is always on hand…hey James” Hammy said, winking at James… James agreed.

A young policeman with the inevitable trusty note book, had been given the task of writing down the names and addresses of everyone under the bridge. He now stood in front of James, asking for his details. “My name constable” James hesitated for a moment … “My name is James Saul McKenzie……Reverent James Saul McKenzie and by the way….?”

The End, Perhaps…God Willing
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peter.howden
post 16th May 2017, 08:14pm
Post #377

Super Lord Provost
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Posts: 411
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
My Chronicles 16/05/2017;

There is no getting away from the plain fact just how silly I can be. For someone who believes they can hold appearance of reasonably intelligence, from time to time, I do the most senseless of things…and feel quite proud about it. There are theories even the most astute professionals, in all grades of life, slip into nonsenses now an again. I appear to encourage such behaviour, as an immunization action, to stop an inevitable flow of ridiculousness epidemic spreading throughout my whole lifetime. Does the procedure work…well no…although it has now become an addictive drug, to keep my sanity…or do I question my sanity...I must try!?

I do not know what, why or how this whole creation thing is about, but we only have a unknown limit of time to try and be decent with your family, our China’s, our friends, our neighbours, especially with the people we do not like, our own wee bubble within the crazy unbelievable spinning world… if you can get through this life without deliberately hurting someone, then you have won a watch….but that is impossible…but you have to try …perhaps that is my silliness… but I would rather be daft than stupid… in equal measure there is a difference, at least in my book

There are one or two constants; always mentioned in ‘My Chronicles, which have diverse effects on myself and my family. When I report about ‘She who must be obeyed’ it can be with concern as to Rebecca’s health, or something she has completed having loving care behind the reason. Some may call it constant infatuation, other pure love, but again in equal measure, they both exist in our long relationship, with twist and turns and a creation of new meanings

According to the ancient Greeks, there are three fates, responsible for the thread of human life.
‘Clotho’ would spin, ‘Lachesis’ would distribute …but beware the oldest ‘Atropos’ would cut the thread of existence. We have witnessed the first two, during our half century together enjoying the helter skelter…but not in any hurry to await the third, come ye slow, come ye fast

Aunt Becky is both of our constant, both in quality of life and contentment. My small contribution is some messages, or small jobs around her home. My main input is taking her for a hurl whenever the opportunity arises. Becky does enjoy the Scottish tunes playing while the journey takes in the countryside around the brutal awesome Kilpatrick hills of, majestic catching my eye and mind's eye. Becky life a bairn shows signs of pure glee as she taps the floor of the old jalopy, singing almost every word with enthusiasm.

All the hills are Scottish hills, which I have seen in person, makes me feel good to be alive…. every now and then certain views just blow me away making it worthwhile just witnessing that very moment…. the moment, the amazing sight, just fail to be capture if trying to photograph… but stay in my mind’s eye. I have in my mind, a wish to try the N.C500, advertised as Scotland’s answer to the Route 66…plenty of rolling stones outside, and thumping through my speakers.

The spectacular route runs from Inverness, to the Kyle of Lochalsh on the West Coast, via the craggy north coast to John O'Groats, before heading down the east coast, finalising the loop in Inverness.

Selfish bandit that I am…..
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peter.howden
post 17th May 2017, 06:20am
Post #378

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 411
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
Sorry for the errors and mistakes made in this passage....rushing too much
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peter.howden
post 21st May 2017, 10:40am
Post #379

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 411
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
Home Spun Stories

The Afflicted

What are dreams, and what purpose do they serve, do they lay in wait, crowded but holding forgotten cells of the mind, craving to opt out unannounced, striking ludicrous imperfection, clouded in fearful apparitions…perhaps a mixture of uncertainties humans find impossible to fathom being a mobile home for the Gods to influence tomorrow’s behaviour…or a passage Auld Nick uses for his sardonic purpose.

Have dreams the power to prophesy the future, or just a reflection of what might, or ought to have happened? a series of thoughts, metaphors, and ambiances in a person's mind during sleep. Are dreams, a light of a day’s sensation reproduced in a murky curve of the mind while in slumber, then to awake not to remember in part, or to find innocent, or not accurate...up till now an uneasy emotion lingers, hovering invisible. Perhaps simply caused by a piece of unsettled cheese, as ‘Scrooge’ wrongly predicted, as far as that story goes… seeming to be there and not be there at the same time…ding bloody dong…. who can tell.

It may be plausible we possess animal instincts from way back, keeping out the terror inflicted on the world, compelling chaos to be at bay, returning and creating a haven when reality is too much to bare...for sin has no boundaries…indeed are we not animals beneath our pretence. Now is this day and age I was to witness there was something unknown out there…. An unconceivable troubled journey stretched the night longer than it should have been, causing trepidation dread of the illusive enormous physical in its layer, ready to strike the innocent in an instant notice.

The evening prior to the darkest hour of that night, triggered by personal turbulence. A conversation was struck between companions as to the sincerity ancient bible faith, mainly Moses in bondage with his peoples the Israelites. A lengthily discussion took place whither there was the 10 ‘Plagues of Egypt’ which included Boils, Blood, and frogs plus a massive sand storm “Cashimh”. Pros and Cons on the singular plague of billions of ‘locus’ flying and crawling over man and beasts alike, destroying all crops before them…. with tragedy to blindly follow.

The time of awake and the time of troubled sleep is unclear, for both are linked, making it hard to tell when one began or the other ended. Normal reveries spanned usually at the dead of the darkest hour of any given night…however this experience could not be classed as so. To accompany all the while, there was a distinct sweet aroma of boiled cabbage draughts through alert nostrils, whimpering in most cracks and crevices of my now anxious mind.

What was real…what was dreaming? It may sound perfectly feasible for rational heads, to automatically separates reality from fiction, however, this is normally achieved in the welcoming birth of light trumpeting a new day. During the depths of gloomiest passage of this nightmare, fearing each second worse than the previous moment while most terrifyingly acceptance for the one to come, there was no hiding place…no refuge…the unrestrained and the civilized man… to ease my psychological pain.

Macabre ogres of the most horrendous slimy description, invading all parts of my mind where sagacity had abandoned long ago. Small crawling serpents invading under tense skin, searching to destroy my soul, while all around fell under the spell of the unknown conqueror of sanity. I do recall from within the height of the excruciating plague, wishing I could pray to end it all…no matter what the cost.

After an unidentified interval, there was nothing…nothing at all, drifting between worlds I did not know, yet… a faint whiff of cabbage, and a gooeyness at my delicate touch. Half-awake and perspiring profusely from my brow, I just managing to raise an exhausted head slightly from the softness of the pillow. A strange awareness in the distance a noisy dense jungle atmosphere, while personally suffering from an interfering wriggling sensation crawling over my stark-naked unprotected body.

Rolling onto my back, suddenly being wide awake though for numerous moments, preferring to keep my sticky eyes closed…At that precise moment… my mind boggled… …. The lurid illusion was coming alive…. was this the ultimate reckoning.

The daylight sank into my eyes, forcing a meeting with fate. Opening one eye with great difficulty due to the conjunctivitis discharge, and an honest fear in what I would see. I now knew I was naked lying diagonally across the divan, with an old hairy crochet blanket slowly dropping off to the floor below. In the hubbub of the cruel night’s secrets I must have lain on the remote controls of the television, blaring in the corner of the room. This unconscious action must have switched on the google-box apparatus, now showing the knowledgeable ‘David Attenborough’ in some sweaty jungle or other.

and the boiled cabbage…. just a haunting odour from my school days past
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