Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

Air temperature rose and fell. People are reading this like runes. What joy, what doom awaits? I am not speculating, only trying to work out when best to catch up on late planting.  The polytunnel is a steamy breathing earthy space. Seed trays are incubating.  Peek repeatedly under repurposed plastic and crockery hoping for that poke of green.  There’s one self seeded tomato - how smug it stands in the scatter of egg shells, though the nasturtiums tumble around a hundred times bigger.  Lime shoots pee-oww from every crack of bark; we made soda from the first batch, it has a fresh-bitter bite.  Dandelions are strong and fast - from their flowers I made a mock-honey. No wonder the bees love these florets! Today in the dampness I felt that the earth was holding warmth, and pressed boot soles into soft clay-mud around the empty horse field - while Dog snuck off to feast on things unknown, hiding in the rising crops, sheepish i...

I get in the van, wiggle the driver’s seat - because today I am the driver. I check, I can reach the pedals. Note: headlight controller here, wipers there, horn may be employed by a palm strike, brake is the one in the middle - it is very much like a car, only longer and higher. And all we are doing is rolling merrily down the A30 to visit family, no stress of punctuality, no test to be passed.  Emerge from drive, take the corner, no troubles.  Take deep breath: it’s only a dual carriageway, not even a motorway, and there’s nothing exactly to be nervous of, not when you address the vagary. Tis only new, tis only the healthy worry of stepping into a new phase, of becoming Van Driving Me.  Admittedly, when the window trim came swiftly loose and smacked the side window I was unnerved. But after we stopped and checked and it would not pull free, and we fixed it back with electric tape (all that was available) it was bearable. It might come loose again but w...

            Mr, having reduced his salt intake and increased his exercise regime, has gained some attacks of debilitating cramp.  Nocturnal cramp. A midnight that bites. Pained, not entirely wakeful, he spirals down our stairs to stretch it out - misses the bottom step, crashes into the oven, knocks a crock of fruit tea over the kitchen floor, breaks the crock, the best beloved iron pot that his Mum gave him, that I make all my syrups in, that we use every day, for everything. Mr has sadness, cramps, and a bruised knee. We throw bath towels to the floor, soaking up spilt tea.  Put the broken pot back on the hob.  Accident? Omen? We try to sleep and find it difficult. Somewhere upwards of our bed the moon is waning. Early morning mist and frost we see: we too are bleary, we too are cold. Coffee must brew. It is slow, but the sun strengthens.  Washing pegged to line. Wind blows fresh, not col...

I am scared.  We have worked hard and scrimped and saved and now we’re spending the money. Like a magic trick: pouff!! It will be gone. Now we pray to the Universe that we are not mistaken. We open our eyes wide to see the curviness of the learning ahead. Those are some hourglass figures! We have paid the deposit, made the necessary investigations concerning insurance, and the specific details of conversions.  A long wheel base Ford Transit ex-fleet highway maintenance van stands on a forecourt with a SOLD sign. It has a head dent and it smells of a diesel spill. It has a chem-loo which you’ll thank me for not describing. Low mileage, service history in full. Fair price. Is this really happening?  I’m lurching into this experience like a learner driver kangarooing their clutch control. It seems that we have bought a van, yes.  The man who puts windows in is about to be booked. From collection we have 90 day...

Blue Sludge Blues & Other Abominations by Shannon Lawrence Release Date: March 15, 2018 Horror short story collection A collection of frights, from the psychological to the monstrous. These tales are a reminder of how much we have to fear: A creature lurking in the blue, sludgy depths of a rest area toilet; a friendly neighbor with a dark secret hidden in his basement; a woman with nothing more to lose hellbent on vengeance; a hike gone terribly wrong for three friends; a man cursed to clean up the bodies left behind by an inhuman force. These and other stories prowl the pages of this short story collection. Excerpt From Maelstrom : "As I sit listening to the crash of waves outside my hotel window, the fan tap-tapping away above my head, I wait for it to come for me." Buy the Book Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon Canada | Amazon Australia | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo Also available from Apple and other countries t...

The lying was done. We had a surprise party, as suspected. That surprise, during which the weather was exceptional sunshine, meant Mr would not suspect further. So, confused but knowing family life can be confusing, he arrived at the address in Jacobstow prepared to babysit. But we had blithely lied. We had Friday night fajitas instead, with moderate beers, and the tired children (fed earlier) had moderate tears, and the grownups fell asleep in chairs. Saturday we mustered to Widemouth Bay, to walk on the beach with teeny whirls of snow. It was bound to happen, so Grandchild 3 fell in a pool to fill up her boots and go back to the car to shiver. Grandchild 4 opened bare hands, bright pink, showing his collection - sea snails, he said, and helmet crabs - they don’t have their own houses, they wear other shells like hats, he said, that’s helmet crabs. Grandchild 1 was feral on rocks. Grandchild 5 cried, we guessed she was cold. On the way back to warmth we took a wrong tu...

(Friday was quiet... Saturday had a surprise birthday barbecue in it.) Granma (aka Mummy) Grace in her wheelchair, layered in coat, hat, scarf, gloves, mittens, light filtering glasses and blanket; she grins, showing a gap, proving over and over that real beauty and perfection are not the same. Mr does the chair pushing, to the Post Office on Cowick Street, and joins a queue. It is sixty years to the day since our Grace had waddled up the snow littered street to fetch the midwife and the midwife said you’ve got one coming have you, well pop home and put the kettle on, I’ll be down in a bit. Grace laughs: yes, she says, it was snowing. Dog and me wander, she is nose to ground, head full of information she gleans from urine. (A little collie greets her, but she’s barely distracted, chasing a story peed into brick.) Drizzle hovers. The wind is pushing it down the neck of my coat. It sticks in my hair. Then Mr takes Dog, and I take Grace, and she balances a basket ...