In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Toy Story.”
Ah, Subbuteo, my fantastic, plastic, flick-to-kick hobby. Little plastic men sliding around a cloth soccer pitch after a ball that was bigger than them.
My mates and I had are own street league. I was one of three Manchester United fans, so I had to fall on my back-up plan: Luton Town FC. The night before the start of our summer tournament I would polish the bases of the players to get that extra glide. Cheers Mr Sheen!
During one summer I entered the national UK tournament. My mum pulled the plug on that – I honestly would have been slaughtered – but not before the local newspaper had got word of my entry. I made the left margin of the front page of the newspaper that week. Unfortunately, it didn’t help that the main story’s headline read “Forced to Flee By Psycho Attacker”, as my face beamed out to the local readership.
Like most of my teenage passions – grass hockey, tennis, and topiary* – Subbuteo is now confined to the vaults; it may make a return now and again if it takes mine and my brother’s fancy to play – but that is a rare event.
Has it had an effect on how I am today? Well, I’m quite nostalgic, so it fills me with happiness when I take a trip down memory lane.
* I’ve never been in topiary, really; although, I do think it should be an Olympic Sport.
I took the weight off my feet as my daughter ran to her friend she spotted in the park. I acknowledged her friend’s parents before taking my phone out of my bag. As the girls played I looked up often from my phone to make sure they were okay.
It was a lovely spring day, the air filled with chattering birds and happy children. But there was a constant menace: seagulls. These winged beasters have been the scourge of a number of holidays down the years. And this Saturday they struck again. As I absent-mindedly munched on a pork pie, one of these cantankerous feathered brats took to invading my personal space. Any tactic I used to shoo it away or ignore it rendered futile, until I had attracted the looks of others.
The seagull began pecking at the pork pie as I became more and more exasperated. I vacated the shady spot I had parked myself in to a seagull free zone, waving to my daughter so she knew where I was. Soon, my daughter waved off her friend and I took her to get an ice cream. As we wondered up to see the botanical garden, I realised I was phoneless. I patted myself all over and turned my back pack inside out three times. I was becoming distraught, but my daughter kept me calm.
We retraced our steps and reported it. Finally, I accepted it was gone. Off we trudged to town where I bought a cheap replacement. That pesky bird had robbed me of something personal, but my daughter had restored my faith.
Thankfully, I had a call today to say that the phone had been handed into the park office.
People 1-0 Seagulls.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Full Moon.”
A darkened version of myself: free from constraint, free from ego and with an insatiable appetite for bread.
I’d wear a hat, one with a big brim to block out the sun. I’d masquerade as a kind and modest beggar observing passers-by for the secret life I am conjuring up for each and every one of them. Lives that would involve the mass consumption of bread.
Yes, I will build a bread-er world.
Feel the love, people, feel the love
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In Loving Memory.”
As time moved forwards, he moved backwards. He claimed to have seen Westlife at Wembley Stadium in 1942. By 1934 he had collected all of Val Kilmer’s movies, having started the collection in 1957.
He witnessed the first humans land on Mars in 1925, or so the stories goes, after they had gone through rigorous tests between 2012-2022. He met William The Conquerer at the World Lego Convention in 1876, where they drafted the pilot episode of ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’.
He passed away due to cheese intoxication in 1712 in the presence of his best friend Ryan Seacrest.