Anxious thoughts and perfect blogging

Dissertation deadline looms like a black cloud on the horizon.

Pity they don’t do MAs in procrastination- I’d get a first. At least I can keep writing on my blog. My friend Kath writes flash fiction on hers.

There’s lots of advice on how to write a perfect blog on the web....zzzzz.

Perfection can be boring though, at least that’s how I look at it. Here’s something different- a quick flash called  -

Heartfelt Hotel

Taster Menu

A dash of hubris

Pink and grey hooped socks above stout walking boots leading to grey flannel plus fours announced the presence of a serious walker. One confident to stand out from the crowd, as confirmed by the long pigtail tied behind his weathered, sixty year old face.

Geoffrey Berry, standing for attention, greeted the guests with a booming “Good morning.” Satisfied that his presence had been noted, he chose to sit next to the same couple he had regaled over dinner with his hunting, shooting and fishing tales. He was ready, map in hand, to advise them of the best walks in the Shropshire neighbourhood. But first, breakfast.

“I’ll have the bacon, the mushrooms, the black pudding...”

 Geoffrey, like some Shakespearian ham actor, reeled off all the items on the menu. The bemused, tattooed local waitress quietly muttered to herself, “Just say the full English, you pompous old git.”

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A soupçon of heartache

She glided in behind him, walking in his shadow, as she had done for most of their married life. Head down, handbag clutched in front, she avoided making eye contact with the diners. 

She was invisible.

Sliding quietly into her chair with her back to the room she anxiously examined the menu and sighed.

Phyllis hadn’t really wanted to come. She would have been happier celebrating their anniversary in the Anchor. A nice bit of pork from the carvery suited her better than the fancy food on offer here. Her stomach quailed at the thought of morels veloute, poulpe provencale...

She waited for the details of his forthcoming trip to Paris. Sharon, his pneumatic PA, “invaluable to the business,” would invariably be accompanying him. 

Did he really think she was that stupid?

 Gazing at the chintzy drapes she knew that soon it would be curtains for their marriage as well...

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A concoction of humour

They crashed into the dining room with minutes to spare, hair still wet from the shower they’d just shared.

‘Still in time for breakfast, love?’ asked Liam. The waitress frostily indicated a table. Other diners, mostly elderly, looked on, intrigued. 

After last night in the bridal suite they were starving. Jabbing a varnished fingernail, Tracey ordered ‘the lot’, bar the ‘iffy black puddin.’

The love birds, gazing into each other’s eyes, barely noticed their plates arriving. 

‘Yum’ declared Tracey as Liam raised his fork-speared organic sausage. She began to giggle and suggestively nibble his Cumberland’s Traditional, oblivious to the appalled faces, tittering and outraged harrumphs of the onlookers.

 Isabel had seen enough. 

Clearing their table, she accidentally spilt a jug of iced water. 

‘So sorry!’ 

As Liam busily dabbed his crotch with a linen napkin, Isabel resolved to immediately withdraw her hotel from the Daily Chronicle’s ‘Win a honeymoon’ competition.