This story was started while we were visiting the Rosemarkie Caravan Site in July 2022.
The piece is in response to a Writers’ Circus challenge to write ‘a shaggy doggy story’.
There are dolphins most days at Chanonry Point which juts out into the Moray Firth.
Read on and learn what happened one day in July.
Fankle is a Scottish word, meaning ‘in a tangle’.
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This is a story written in response to the Writers’ Circus challenge for February 2021 on the theme of “a secret”.
The story came easily because it is based on fact, an experience recounted to us by close friends shortly after it happened to them, while events were fresh in their minds.
Of course I have done what tellers of such tales often do, I have extemporised to spin you a confection.
Although not my original intention, I think this story offers an insight of tenement living in a posh ‘wallie” close in Glasgow’s West End of that time.
(wallie = ornately tiled)
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This piece is a record of the “Toast to the Lassies” address I gave to the Mackintosh Choir Zoom Burns Supper on Wednesday 3 February 2021.
It is offered as a ‘written’ version in a PDF which is a slightly expanded version of the ‘spoken’ version included as an MP3 file.
This address was confected from a variety of Wikipedia entries and yes, I am able to say I am regular supporter of Wikipedia which, with all its many faults, is a wonderful resource.
This little confection is based on a series of events which happened to friends shortly after they
moved to live in a luxury flat.
Yes, I confess: as written it is an exaggeration of the original but I hope it might make you smile
over morning coffee.
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Our grandson Ethan is in primary 3 and was asked to write a story about a spy, as an exercise in
creative writing.
Here is his story, complete with his own illustrations.
About a year ago, Ethan got the reading bug and has become a voracious reader.
At school a few weeks before this story, he began a project about The Vikings.
When the topic was first introduced, Ethan was already well informed. Invited to tell the class what he knew about The Vikings, he launched into a ‘lecture’ which prompted his teacher to say,
“Well, if anyone needs to know anything about The Vikings, just ask Ethan”.
Thank you Ethan for giving me permission to publish your story on my website.
Click here to download the PDF.
I have fond memories of living in Pollokshaws, in our single-end.
Here is a tale which conflates a few different memories all true.
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Our newset grandson, Isaac Rory Bonthron, is to be known to be know as Zac.
In October we visited Abingdon (near Oxford) to enjoy his company.
Here is an account, and a first glimpse at Zac’s personality.
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This little tale arose from a Writers’ Circus challenge.
The opening section is from newspaper cutting and sets sets the scene.
The story is off-beat but it is mercifully short!
Suitable for all ages.
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This tale was stirred from my memory banks by a friend at Writers’ Circus.
At the time, there was a challenge to write 500 words “To make Sir Billy Connolly laugh.”
In by youth I worked in the same shipyard as Billy and our paths crossed when I asked him to sing at a folk night organised by a church youth fellowship I was involved with. He was very funny and I am sure he would readily agree, so were many others we worked alongside at that time.
Here is the tale, from those long ago days when the shipyards were full of characters larger than life.
(I did try to get it down to 500 words but they could not contain the story and do it justice.)
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This little tale has been lurking in the back of my mind for years. It is based on a family story told many times by my father, Jack, who did indeed cycle out to far flung building sites, in all weathers, his yellow cape and sou’wester his only protection against rain, sleet and snow, often returning home frozen to the bone.
At that time, building trade workers were paid ‘travelling time and expenses’ and, with ‘overtime’ at ‘time and a half’ for weekday evenings and ‘double time’ on weekend days, every extra penny was welcome in our single end at 84 Greenview Street, in Pollokshaws.
(To read a bit more from this period, before the re-development of Pollokshaws under the slum clearance programme, try searching on this website for ‘The Go Between’.)
When Writers’ Circus set a challenge to write on the topic of ‘rubbish’, I decided to try to write it down. Yes, the link is tangential but it was the best I could muster.
The title of this piece?
My Mum was a tea drinker, Betty the Tea Jenny. Like Granny Bremner, Mum was teetotal all her life. Her tipple was American Cream Soda.
So, read on, delve back into the past. Nostalgia never dies.
Many thanks again to Kareth my Editor, who hoes tirelessly through my output of drivel to correct all sorts of spelling, logic and grammar errors and meticulously ensures necessary ‘commas’ are added while battling to eliminate my penchant for the spurious ‘that’ word!
Click here to download the PDF.
