Space on my bookshelves, that is; so
much so that I was almost relieved when five of the twenty-seven books I’ve
read this year are destined for the charity shop;.
Near-impossible also, to choose a
single ‘winner’ this week. I’m tempted
to name Patricia’s ‘Avant-Couriers’
as persuasion to take this further, and there’s three or more jostling for
position, but in the end it came down to
Dave T.’s ‘Strange Voodoo and Jim Deegan’s ‘Tomorrow?’. And I simply could
not choose between them. Thank you all for taking part and commenting.
Words
for next week: gig plough wit
Entries
by midnight (GMT) Thursday, 28th
February words and winners posted Friday
March 1st
Usual rules: 100 words maximum
(excluding title) of flash fiction or poetry using all of the three words above
in the genres of horror, fantasy, science fiction or noir. Serialised fiction
is, as always, welcome. All variants and uses of the words and stems are fine.
Feel free to post links to your stories on Twitter or Facebook or whichever
social media you prefer.
A story about nothing
ReplyDelete“How can you take a word like plow and make it complicated?”
“They’ve been speaking English a lot longer than we have.”
“Do they still pronounce it the same?”
“Basically, but their version has a wittier undertone.”
“How are we going to turn this gig into a story?”
“We’ll have to do something dark to stay within parameters.”
“Russian Roulette?”
“Not that fucking dark.”
“Hey, look at those armadillos. One’s wearing a helmet or something.”
“Let’s go talk to them. Maybe they have an idea.”
“I hope they speak American English.”
“I’m sure they do.”
What a great opening piece John. Clever interpretation of the prompt words and definitely raised a smile from me.
DeleteJohn's very good at that, raising the bar and such. I'm not overly concerned, I've walked under it a few times when he's does that. Very well thought out story, nice flow and use of prompts.
DeleteClever indeed and incited a definite chuckle. To use one of the prompt words in commenting here...this was exceedingly witty!
Deletebrought a smile, good one, John!
DeleteVery clever!
ReplyDeleteAnd congratulations to Dave T. and Jim Deegan for entertaining stories, as is their usual!
ReplyDeleteBe careful though. Bough and bow can sound the same but mean different things. And bowing to the Queen is not the same as what is done to a violin. Tough, I know, and I apologise for not knowing this another word you lot had learnt to get wrong.
ReplyDeleteI think it's a fondness for the letter u. I do get your drift though. It's kind of like 'steering wheel on the right side' can have different meanings based on where you're at.
Delete(But I thank you for the enjoyment.)
ReplyDeleteI am in fine company with Dave T for last week's honors.
ReplyDeleteJohn: What an original approach you came up with. Great use of the prompts.
Many congratulations to Dave and Jim...such worthy winners in an amazing crop of tales last week. Thank you for the encouragement to continue with "Avant-Couriers," Sandra, but I think I have too much on my plate already with "Kursaal" and "Cripplegate." If I can satisfactorily close either one of those down, maybe I will return to the misadventures of those intrepid horsemen.
ReplyDeletecongrats to last week's winners, always brilliant entertainment from everyone - how Sandra chooses I don't know.
DeleteAutumnal Equinox
ReplyDeleteFather Jehoshaphat's annual journey was always difficult. His destination, far from easily reachable, required the use of wagons and mules on land followed by a Cornish gig and barge over water.
He arrived as the last verse of "We Plough The Fields And Scatter" echoed from the little stone church. The holy man sighed with relief to know he still had time, provided he kept his wits about him. It had been a close call.
The congregation would surely be lost if he failed to preside over the harvesting. Each crop was so very unpredictable.
Interesting story and POV. Is the congregation the crop? I looked up the Song and I do remember Godspell. Lovely use of the prompts. I liked how you called him a holy man instead of a priest.
DeleteThe fact Father was traveling with wagons and mules tells me he might be claiming a share of the crop for his so called services. Something also tells me the congregation won't be all that thrilled at his arrival.
DeleteInsidiously horrible - which is a tribute to the skill and subtlety of your writing. Excellent stuff, Patricia.
Deletecreepy while appearing totally innocent. Clever.
Delete
ReplyDeleteThe Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 48 -
( a couple of words explained - gig - a cluster of hooks (without barbs). Ceratogaulus - extinct horned gopher)
Inside the mat, Armi feigned weak struggling.
With frenzied violence, Moloch dashed the mat and Armi in it, to the ground.
Thrown heavily onto a rocky outcrop, Armi was beaten unconsciousness.
Oblivious, Moloch ploughed on, dragging his wildly bumping prize, over the ground as he sprinted. Careering over the hillcrest, he hurtled downward through thorn-gigged bushes toward a gerbil encampment.
Gerbil sentries, alerted by the noisy crashing through the thorn bushes, attempted to waylay him, but on seeing Moloch, let him continue on downhill.
One quick-witted sentry however announced his arrival with several short blasts on a ceratogaulus horn.
Lovely descriptions made it very easy for me to envision this scene. A very good continuation for this series, Terrie.
DeleteThat Moloch is getting on my nerves. For some reason, him happening upon the gerbil encampment made me laugh. Well done.
DeleteVivid verb use deliver this scene in full-colour action.
DeleteDescriptions as visual as ever, this episode moved along at a very merry clip. Many congratulations on managing to ferret out most innovative uses of the prompt words without them feeling at all out of place within the context of the story. Personally, I'm having a hell of a time getting "plough" to mesh with "gig"....and let's not even attempt to toss "wit" into the mix!
DeleteMore to love about them 'dillos! More please
DeleteFast-paced and action-packed start to finish, Terrie. While reading, I had to stop a couple of times to catch mu breath! Well done!
ReplyDeleteThanks Jim, I wanted to create a pacey frantic feel to Moloch's headlong dash. Glad it worked.
Deletethe strength of the story carries you inevitably onward, Terrie, stay with it, see where it goes.
DeleteSergeant Pepper’s Only Snow Plough Crew
ReplyDelete‘In my world you were a band,’ I said. ‘Played gigs at the Cavern.’
‘Hark at him,’ said Paul.
‘Dazzling wit,’ said John, oozing characteristic sarcasm.
‘Rather drive my snow plough,’ said George.
Accents unmistakably Liverpudlian.
‘Four of you,’ I continued. ‘John, Paul, George and Ringo.’
‘We had a Ringo,’ said John, cleaning his glasses.
Paul nodded.
‘Lost in the blizzard of 64,’ said George.
‘Could he play drums?’ I asked.
John put on his glasses.
‘Drums? He couldn’t even drive a bloody snow plough.’
They laughed in unison. I shivered, recognising the nuance of the harmonies.
What would they have been if they weren't pop stars? Loved the line "Drums? He couldn't drive a bloody snow plough."
DeleteThis was fun to read. You caught that Beatle nuance well. Quite remarkable they laughed in harmony.
DeleteClever, imaginative and highly entertaining.
DeleteI just LOVED this. I am a huge fan of John and this captured his attitude to perfection. Poor Ringo. I do believe he was possibly a better drummer than he's given credit for...although he's certainly no Keith Moon or Bonzo Bonham. This was a gorgeous "out of the box" submission.
Deletelove the off beat humour here and the brilliant capture of the nuances of the Beatles as a group of oddball people working together.
DeleteI love it too. Thank you, David T.
DeleteWell done, David! A crisp, humorous take on the Fab Four.
DeleteF E R T I L E * F I E L D S
ReplyDeleteI watched the ploughman and his team make his way across his field. I watched the furrows appear, deep and uniform. I watched him approach the ancient oak at the wire fence, his gig line straight and true, like an arrow. Arrow... that was rather witty of me, considering. I watched him plod on, towards the spot. I watched his team plod over it, and I started to breathe again. Suddenly he halted, and he fell forward into the soft soil. I watched him fly backwards, flinging wet bits of offal from his hands.
Well, time to move again, dammit.
Dave, a good story, it flowed, very good use of the prompts but I'l accept the embarrassment of not understanding it. I think he was killed. Do believe me when I say this was a good story.
DeleteSorry for the confusion, Jeffrey. I try to keep it lean, and sometimes there is not enough meat (He plowed over a dead body)
DeleteDave, there's no need to apologize for a good and well written story. Word conservation is paramount in our stories. I've been chastised several times for what I wrote, in the name of being conservative with words. Please, always write the story that comes to you. What you feel from the prompts.
DeleteI think he needs to dig deeper graves. Vivid scene with the ploughman flinging offal from his hands. I'd never get them clean enough after that.
DeleteYou've caught the momentum and the rhythm of this so well, I could hear the crows cawing.
DeleteShudder...Shudder. I thing I missed the significance of this on a first reading, but certainly got the full effect second time around.
Deletething=think...!
Deletemoody writing for a very nasty scenario. Good read, thanks!!
DeleteYou so expertly you walk us through this tale to the climax, Dave. You used "watched" wonderfully!
DeleteMust-See
ReplyDeleteGIG OF THE CENTURY!!!
Arrive early to avoid having to plough through the crowds for a prime spot. Some of these performers have not been on stage in years. Decades even. To wit, a line-up the like of which has never before been seen.
Admission is somewhat pricey, but you would expect to pay top dollar when Janis, Jimi, Kurt and Amy (to name but a few) are all on the bill.
Tickets available NOW at the Club 27 box office.
You are truly on fire this week Patricia - so different from 'Autumn Equinox' and impressive in a totally different direction.
DeleteA novel and very interesting take on 27, Patricia. Great thinking!
DeleteNow, THAT's a concert to go to. Patricia, easily one of your bet stories.
ReplyDeleteWhat a great concept: the Club 27 box office. My son was obsessed with these artists and the dead at 27 anomaly. I was so glad when he turned 28.
ReplyDeleteoh yes, good one, Patricia, capturing the whole 27 feel in one short piece.
DeleteAs both my boys are musicians, and obsessed with J. Hendrix, et al, I look upon the 27 club with reverence, fondness, and a little melancholy. I too, became happier when my boys reached 28.
DeleteKursaal (Episode One Hundred Fifty Two) - "So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye...."
ReplyDeleteGouged ruts marring the field after departure of the travelling circus might have been made by an inept half-wit driving a broken plough. Along with the gig economy employees of the mini-carnival, Dugas and Degas Corviday (Maximillian's cousins) had apparently also joined the exodus since the pair had disappeared.
Arbuthnot Jester was temporarily disappointed. Many bewitching ladies had now vanished into the night, but he remained optimistic. After all, tomorrow was another day.
As Arby reminisced on his most recent conquests, he noticed a few items left behind, including a Scorned Sisterhood membership register and lifetime pass to the Mysterium.
---------------------------------------------------------
To read the earlier installments (a suggestion only) which led to this point in the tale, please visit:
http://www.novareinna.com/kursaal.html
A link to return to "The Prediction" can be found on the site. Thank you.
---------------------------------------------------------
NOTE: The Travelling Circus, Dugas and Degas Corviday, Arbuthnot Jester, The Scorned Sisterhood and The Mysterium have all featured in previous episodes.
Uh oh, is Arby going to read the registry? He may be in for a surprise. There's something sad about the rutted landscape once a circus leaves town.
DeleteJust to clarify, it's the little travelling circus that just showed up one day that has departed...not the actual Kursaal itself.
DeleteSuperb opening sentence.
Deletecircuses showing up and going again always bring a sort of Autumn sadness whenever they come. This fits well with the mystery and the creepiness of the Kursaal.
DeleteMore pieces filled in. I am liking this Kursaal of yours
DeleteA Requiem
ReplyDelete“Tempest, why is the ending the same in all the books?”
“Maverick, the story was dad’s gig. He was too impatient to wait. He would plough through any project. Fancy wit and writing were good enough for Faulkner, Fitzgerald, and Keats. That’s a good group to be with. His only concern was the family. That’s why he gave each of us a series to continue.”
‘For my two families, immediate and fan. Enjoy my worlds with their believers. Control yours as you choose. My check engine light is on and the sun is setting. I live in my three worlds.
It sounds like dear old dad is setting his offspring up to continue the stories. Perhaps, they'll vary the endings this time around. Great title.
DeleteNice references to literary "greats," although I confess to having no overwhelming delight in reading any of their works. Keats in particular holds no joy since his poems were part of my English Literature GCE exam. Nonetheless, an enjoyable submission and like John, I particularly liked the title.
DeleteA BAD IDEA
ReplyDeleteDespite a guarantee from the odd yet friendly stranger at the bait shop that I’d find a glut of huge fat frogs in this dense, essentially uncharted region of the swamp, I feared my effort might be a bad idea while plowing through the thick underbrush.
Upon locating the place, I saw the stranger was right. The frogs were incredibly huge.
That fact notwithstanding, I quickly realized that I must be a card-carrying nitwit to be frog-gigging in this godforsaken, virtually inaccessible morass.
Unfortunately, I was right about being a nitwit. The frogs are attacking. I don’t stand a chance.
Yeeuch!! We currently have ~27 frogs in a weed-laden pond which measures about 2' square. The idea of them grown big and attacking is truly nightmarish.
DeleteThe friendly stranger didn't lie and the frogs were bait. He didn't mention for what. J.D. another very good story
DeleteThere's a small amount of satisfaction to see the frogs doing the gigging for a change. An entertaining piece.
DeleteI'd never considered frogs to be a particularly evil threat, so thank you for another addition to my roster of "the stuff of nightmares."
DeleteFrogs I can just about cope with, snails I can't, either way this one gave me a creepy shudder!
DeleteRevenge of The Amphibians! About time!
DeleteWarning aside [Threshold 237]
ReplyDeleteBefore Raven had chance to answer to my question, one of the quicker-witted Norse princelings arrived. ‘You need to move –‘
‘We want to, but –‘
‘Away from woman’s space.’ Green eyes examined both of us. ‘Tomorrow you go –‘
Raven grunted. Shifted in discomfort. ‘How, when neither of us can ride?’
‘A gig.’ He nodded towards a distant hut, the grounds before it rutted, twin-wheel ploughed. ‘Your stallion might feel it beneath his dignity, but you need be gone.’
He stepped closer, soundlessly mouthed another word. I glanced at Raven: had I misread?
No. What he’d mimed was ‘sacrifice’.
When you gotta go, you gotta go. I found it amusing about the stallion feeling undignified pulling the gig. Now maybe Raven and the woman will get back on track, begin the emotional healing process and display their desires to be together.
Delete"Sacrifice"????? Did I also misread that? What sacrifice? The stallion? Something other than the horse? Oh, this episode has left me with more questions than answers.
Deletea good serial needs a cliff hanger and Sandra does them brilliantly!
DeleteI'm looking forward to the next (hopefully) many episodes. Thank you
Delete[Change of focus 316]
ReplyDeletePettinger, claustrophobic in the shiny-tiled, toffee-coloured bathroom, and increasingly exasperated – Valdeta tricksy as ever he’d known – persisted. ‘Are you, all three of you, safe with this gig? Film opportunity, or whatever you’re here for? I know you’re used to living on your wits, and they’re not likely to fade. Not as your –‘ Belatedly, he swerved to tactful, uncertain whether she’d worry more about losing her looks or her sex appeal. Ploughed on, ‘Because if not, I’m sure Filip –‘
Swiftly triumphant, ‘Yes, Yanno. Filip. He doesn’t think I’ve lost either.’
Which was an utter load of bollocks.
Wasn’t it?
I think Pettinger wisely paused before mentioning Valdeta losing either her looks or sex appeal. But she still caught his drift and had quite the comeback. Very nice.
DeleteYou are treading on thin ice there, Pettinger...but probably not for the first time or the last, come to that. I love the word "tricksy" and always have. I remember it chiefly from Antonia's seafaring serial. "Utter load of bollocks"...what a wonderful comment that is.
DeleteThis was almost an "open mouth, change feet" moment for Pettinger. I trust he learned from this near faux pax.
Deletewill he? Pettinger has a mind of his own and sometimes I think he forgets that and lets the situations carry him along...he almost did this time but being a sharp witted man, pulled back at the last moment.
DeleteDelicate subjects and careful dialogue. It's interesting to see the repartee.
DeleteSquatter’s Rites 19
ReplyDelete“Your witness, Mr. Gyst.”
“You in your gig, sailing the protoplasmic oceans. Ploughing past the dangers of Scylla and Carbides, to visit our world. You’re a being of good wit, Mr. Minor.”
“You’re a snake. They smell perfume, I smell fresh ambergris.”
“Interesting statement. Didn’t know you can still smell. Sure that odor wasn’t yours? You can’t do anything with property. How did you pay for your lawyer?”
“I gave Mr. Cheveyo my personal money.”
“Really. That means you’re a liar. You gave away property of the estate which you recently said you didn’t want or need.”
Mr. Minor is keeping his cool for now, but how long will that last? I enjoyed 'sailing the protoplasmic oceans'.
DeleteNice mythological references here. I admire the way you often weave such "nods" into your tales.
DeleteA very interesting and enjoyable exchange of dialog, Jeffrey. So crisp and direct. Nicely done!
DeleteI'm enjoying this story, and it goes without saying that is written very well, with proper form and powerful ideas.
DeleteA Mexican Cutie
ReplyDeleteIt was a good gig while it lasted. His shows were entertaining and witty. His songs were heartfelt. He had it all -- until the after-parties took over -- getting ploughed every night, waking up God knows where and with God knows who. But even so, luck still had a say in things. Who knew the pretty senorita he seduced was El Chapo’s mistress. Who knew the kingpin had just escaped prison for a third time. Who would’ve thought El Capo would be stupid enough to show up straight away at her apartment. But no one was surprised to find he carried a gun.
Wondering whether this could have been some type of set-up. Did the "Mexican Cutie" maybe know more than she was letting on? So easy to have it all and then possibly lose it all in one fell swoop. This was a nice, tight, well-composed scenario that leaves me, for one, wanting to know what happens next.
DeleteYes, as Patricia says, tight and smooth, both writing and prompt insertion. And does sound like the beginning of, or blurb for, something larger.
DeleteA true Femme Fatale. Bravo!
DeleteYep, that kind of messing around will get a dude in trouble, John. I'm guessing El Chapo's senorita was in for trouble, too. This was a different approach and a good one.
ReplyDeletelots of questions here, John, a new serial for us?
DeleteStop the Week; I Want To Get Off (36)
ReplyDeleteMy grandmother said, don’t tell the devil your plans. Good advice but we plough on, don’t we? And stand back shocked when it all goes wrong. Shaun’s ex-wife, still a good friend, had a stroke last weekend. She’s had to be moved to her daughter’s home and so the roll on happens, grandchildren taken care of, you name it… somehow he retains his wit and copes with customers, today discussing past gigs with those who didn’t know he’s a singer. Somehow the shop keeps going, the work progresses, we cope with it all. We have to, don’t we?
Yes, one must cope. I loved your grandmother's saying. It seems like I should have heard it before, but I don't think i have. This is my favorite of this series to date. Keep rolling on.
DeleteThe good and the bad, are all part of our trip around the sun. How we deal with it shows our true mettle
DeleteDon't you just love those little sayings our mothers and grandmothers quoted at opportunistic times? My own Mum had so many of them, including "You know what thought did!" Always did puzzle me then and continues to do so since she never did explain. Anyway, yet another intimate glimpse into the world of your delightful shop, Antonia. I do hope this serialization continues for an exceedingly long time. I would miss it so much.
DeleteYup, we cope, and look back and look back and wonder how. But how much easier with a man with wit and courtesy.
DeleteThe Mad Italian 95
ReplyDeleteA plough leaves deep furrows as the farmer gigs-up the horse dragging it along, or they did in my day. Now it’s motorised but – like the Parliament sessions, nothing changes. There is little wit these days, just accusations and a determination to overturn the will of the people in an effort to get the Remain vote accepted. Those furrows will disclose things better left hidden, like finding a skeleton instead of a hoard of Viking gold, and whose fault will that be? Those who cannot leave something alone but have to pick at it like a healing scab.
...hord of Viking gold... like a healing scab... just a couple of the marvelous images, Antonia. Very, very nice!
DeleteThe Italian is on fire this week: very entertaining as well as thoughtful. I loved the comparison of horse drawn vs motorized ploughing and then comparing it to Parliament.
DeleteI sometimes wish I know more about what is going on governmentally in the Mother Country, but then again, I have Leonardo on hand every week to bring me up to snuff, so who needs the regular...and far more boring...news?
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 178 - No Ticket To Ride
ReplyDeleteMiss Constance looked beyond the Railway Arches to the gigs that stood waiting for...Constance wasn't sure what...or who. The carriage wheels were spotless and had obviously not ploughed through any muddy terrain to reach their destination. Strange, since land surrounding the Junction was often a quagmire. Indeed, the condition of the stanhopes themselves and their motionless white horses was really quite pristine.
"Can't find my train ticket, Sis," said George, digging through the pockets of his battledress blouse.
"You truly are witless as they come, George," sighed Constance, eyes fixed upon the stock-still vehicles. "You were never issued one!"
---------------------------------------------------------
To read the earlier installments (a suggestion only) which led to this point in the tale please visit:
http://www.novareinna.com/cripplegate.html
A link to return to "The Prediction" can be found on the site. Thank you.
----------------------------------------------------------
This series is so surreal; waiting for a train, sometimes boarding the train, but never leaving, or so it seems. The pristine wagon wheels and horses really add to the atmosphere at the Junction. I think both Cripplegate Junction and Kursaal could be a Netflix series I would watch.
DeleteAgree with John, this has very filmic, Georgette Heyer noir, qualities and I love the intrigue of the carriages, so smoothly done,
DeleteIt seems that Miss Constance might be staring at a painting - or from one - the motionless gigs, the spotless wheels, motionless horses. Eerily entertaining, Patricia.
DeleteCripplegate Junction is a truly mysterious location, pleased I don't travel any more, I'd be worried the whole time the train might end up there and I'd never escape...
DeleteTemptation
ReplyDeleteSun through the cracks between the barn’s roof timbers created stripes alive with husk-freed motes, dancing witless as dervishes and spot-lighting his discarded corduroy trousers, their texture putting me in mind not only of Oliver Mellors but also a September-ploughed field. Similarly post-harvest, the blond stubble of his beard had brought much of my skin to cherry-ripe.
His voice, husky as a post-gig Springsteen, had murmured loving encouragement, his fingers skilfully tickled my fancy, but ultimately everything he offered failed to match the pull of liquid new scarlet scatter-patterning the polished silver curve of a sickle.
There is truly nobody, in my opinion, who can match you for this type of tale. They are always the total package. I don't believe I've asked before, but you are a published author, aren't you? If not, then you should be. From descriptions to killer conclusion, this was a masterpiece in 96 words. Yes, I counted because I wanted to know the exact length of perfection.
DeletePatricia, I counted too.
DeleteTalk about creating marvelous pictures with words! You indeed are a master artist, Sandra! Beautifully done!
DeleteThanks for asking, Patricia, but published, apart from short stories in anthologies, no not really. HOWEVER today I received what, fingers crossed, will be the final proofs of books 1 and 2 in a series of what are best described as 'love stories with murder' plus book 3 which I will make sure to tell you about when it's ready because DI John Pettinger plays a part therein.
DeleteAll are self-published (having been beta-read) in part because I also wanted to design their covers, but also because I don't want to wait what seems to be the customary 3 years to see it in the shops. Watch this space (and/or check my linesofcommuncation blog.)
Sandra, my God, this was really good. The language was exquisite. Everything from, the diverted sunlight to the corduroy vs the plouged field to the cherry-ripe (my favorite) skin to the post-gig voice... very nice. The ending was quite shocking and well done, but the language is what does it for me on this one.
ReplyDeleteThank you John! I sometimes wish I could keep this up for an entire novel, but never do.
Deletevivid piece of writing, Sandra, bursting through the grey day we have had to light up my mind. Thank you!
DeleteThe Adventures of Rosebud, Pirate Princess #168
ReplyDeleteSome Places Have Forests. Some Have Fire.
The fire ploughed and gallivanted, spreading ever closer.
“We must keep our wits about us, at any second - Elle, watch out!”
The fire leapt onto the deck, where the gig would be if Natasha had one.
“Oh dear! What do I do?!”
Sploosh!
“Oh I don’t like that.”
“But now you won’t catch on fire, and neither will Natasha-”
Sploosh!
“Good job Hex, mind the sails though.”
Loved the opening sentence
DeleteAww I missed the cutoff, but here's my story anyway. :)
ReplyDeleteIn the Furrow
Aven lies in the furrow, listening to the rumble of the plough as it moves away. She smells dirt, aromatic and wet. The calls of the Liberators are muted here by the high, earthen walls around her, and she takes a deep, shuddering breath.
Walt is out there somewhere, among them, planting the ships for the Seraphim. “It’s just a gig,” he’d said. As though he’d forgotten what the planet killers had done.
Aven wanted to fight, but she was without wit or strength. She could lie here though, in the path of the blades. She could be another body.
Thoroughly enjoyable, very possibly one of my favourites (as are so many of your posts)
DeleteThank you, Sandra! :)
Delete