As reported previously, the Writing Wall is now a space for creative writing. Here are three more entries in the category “Challenge”.
A BIT OF A TURKEY So Christmas Eve is over. Karen’s cooked her socks off and it’s only Christmas morning. Her head in recipe books, I know there are treats to come for Boxing Day visitors and beyond. And after all it’s MY mum, well into her nineties now, who we’re staying with. So I stake out my territory. On Christmas Day at least, I’ll do the main turkey roast. Up with the turkey on Christmas morning, unfamiliar with this old and treacherous oven, I play safe, get the bird in early. As the morning goes on I get the other stuff ready, and in or on as the case may be. So much easier than it used to be, so many lazy corners cut by judicious shopping, but still some juggling in this tiny kitchen to make it all come right in synchrony. And finally, the meal is laid. The turkey, perfect, two sorts of sausage, two sorts of stuffing, bacon, bread sauce, cranberry sauce, roast potatoes, roast parsnips, Yorkshire puds and gravy, sprouts, red cabbage and carrot batons. And as I begin to carve, my mum says “Where are the onions? Aren’t we having onions?”. Followed by “Isn’t there any mustard? I always have mustard with meat.” So that went down well, then. Only three more days …….. Chris Poole
THE CHALLENGE: ‘NOT LOOKING FORWARD’
The journey was quicker than expected. An 8.30am appointment required factoring in the rush hour traffic but even so we arrived early at the hospital car park.
The previous month there had been tests, the diagnosis was made and treatment started today. I don’t ‘do’ hospitals and even need to lie down for the annual flu jab. Was it the fear of white coats, the smell or the injection itself? It wasn’t always like this. At the age of six I loved my hospital stay for a squint operation. The children’s ward was overflowing so a bed was found in the elderly ladies’ ward. They enjoyed having a youngster to talk to and help them make trips to the bathroom. My reward was the many unwanted bars of chocolate brought in by their kindly visitors. For weeks afterwards my toys had the full hospital treatment, tucked up in bed then wheeled around on a tea trolley to the ‘operating theatre’.
Here we are then, take a deep breath, register at the desk. The eye test was first and speedily done. Why hadn’t I tried to memorise the letters before the plasters were stuck on my glasses? Then it was the interminable wait. Had they forgotten me? I’m sure the lady with the green hat came in after us.
Ushered into a side room, pleasant chat to relax but please just do it. The huge blue plastic sheet covered me and a small aperture cut. Deep breath look to the left, don’t move and it was done. Phew, stumbling back into the waiting room and we were off to find a much-needed cup of coffee.
Gill Tift
CAMPING
Was that thunder? Within moments I was awake. The tent was suddenly lit by a blinding flash followed seconds later by a deep ominous roar. Was it getting closer? I waited for the next flash and counted the few seconds before the eruption of sound. By a quick, half remembered calculation I estimated that I was six miles away. I groped for my head torch; my watch said 5 a.m. I didn’t want to pack a wet tent and where there is thunder and lightning there will inevitably be rain, rain indeed in lavish waterproof penetrating proportions. We had, between us and any hope of shelter, at least three miles to walk with heavy packs that would only get heavier as they became soaked. My wife was now stirring. She agreed, we should pack and go. I dragged on my waterproofs and exited our tiny backpacking tent. Too late, it was already raining. Not a deluge yet but in the inky blackness, with vivid flashes illuminating our environs in ghostly relief, I knew the deluge would come. I threw sleeping bag and sleeping mat hastily and inexpertly packed into my rucksack. The rain was now steadily increasing its intensity. No time to lose it was imperative to get the tent down before it became so wet that it was impossible to carry. I was getting wet, very wet. The tent was becoming wet, very wet. Yet within, all was calm and dry and yes, above the sound of thunder I could hear gentle even breathing.
Laurie Palmer