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In reply to: The Last Cruise of Helix 25
After a short rest, Molly, Gregor and Petro ventured outside to wander around before the rain started.
“Az Aranysimító,” Molly read the sign above the door. “Nemzetközi Likőrök. What does that say, Petro?”
The old man smiled at Molly, a rare gleam in his rheumy eye. “Fancy a night out, old gal? It’s a pub, The Golden Trowel. International liquors, too. Pénteki Kvízestek,” Petro added, “Quiz nights on Fridays. I wonder if it’s Friday today?”
“Ha! Who knows what day of the week it is.” Molly took Petro’s arm, coquettishly accepting the date. “I wonder if they have any gin.”
“Count me in for a booze up,” Gregor said trying not to look miffed. “Now, now, boys,” laughed Molly, thoroughly enjoying herself.
“What are you all laughing at?” Vera joined them, cradling a selection of fruits held in her voluminous skirt. Gregor averted his eyes from the sight of her purple veined thighs. He said, “Come on, let’s go inside and find you a crate for those.”
Brushing aside the dusty cobwebs, they made their way to the bar, miraculously and marvellously well stocked. Gregor emptied a crate of empty bottles for Vera, while Petro surveyed the bottles on the shelf behind the bar. Molly stood transfixed looking at a large square painting on the wall. A golden trowel was depicted, on a broken mosaic in a rich combination of terra sigillata orange and robins egg blue colours. Along the bottom of the picture were the words
“Nem minden darab illik rá első pillantásra. Ülj le a töredékekkel, mielőtt megpróbálnád összekényszeríteni őket.”
Triumphantly, Petro handed a nearly full bottle of Larios gin to Molly. “I’ll get you a glass but we may need to get Finja in here, they’re all very dirty. That’s nice,” he said, looking up at the picture.
“Not every piece fits at first glance. Sit with the fragments before trying to force them together.”
“Oh, I like that!” exclaimed Molly, giving Petro a grateful smile. “I’d never have known that if you hadn’t been here.”
Petro’s chest swelled with pride and happiness. It was the first time in many years that he’d felt useful to anyone.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
Liz had, in her esteemed opinion, finally cracked the next great literary masterpiece.
It had everything—forbidden romance, ancient mysteries, a dash of gratuitous betrayal, and a protagonist with just the right amount of brooding introspection to make him irresistible to at least two stunningly beautiful, completely unnecessary love interests.
And, of course, there was a ghost. She would have preferred a mummy but it had been edited out one morning she woke up drooling on her work with little recollection of the night.
Unfortunately, none of this mattered because Godfrey, her ever-exasperated editor, was staring at her manuscript with the same enthusiasm he reserved for peanut shells stuck in his teeth.
“This—” he hesitated, massaging his temples, “—this is supposed to be about the Crusades.”
Liz beamed. “It is! Historical and spicy. I expect an award.”
Godfrey set down the pages and reached for his ever-dwindling bowl of peanuts. “Liz, for the love of all that is holy, why is the Templar knight taking off his armor every other page?”
Liz gasped in indignation. “You wouldn’t understand, Godfrey. It’s symbolic. A shedding of the past! A rebirth of the soul!” She made an exaggerated sweeping motion, nearly knocking over her champagne flute.
“Symbolic,” Godfrey repeated flatly, chewing another peanut. “He’s shirtless on page three, in a monastery.”
Finnley, who had been dusting aggressively, made a sharp sniff. “Disgraceful.”
Liz ignored her. “Oh please, Godfrey. You have no vision. Readers love a little intimacy in their historical fiction.”
“The priest,” Godfrey said, voice rising, “is supposed to be celibate. You explicitly wrote that his vow was unbreakable.”
Liz waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I solved that. He forgets about it momentarily.”
Godfrey choked on a peanut. Finnley paused mid-dust, staring at Liz in horror.
Roberto, who had been watering the hydrangeas outside the window, suddenly leaned in. “Did I hear something about a forgetful priest?”
“Not now, Roberto,” Liz said sharply.
Finnley folded her arms. “And how, pray tell, does one simply forget their sacred vows?”
Liz huffed. “The same way one forgets to clean behind the grandfather clock, I imagine.”
Finnley turned an alarming shade of purple.
Godfrey was still in disbelief. “And you’re telling me,” he said, flipping through the pages in growing horror, “that this man, Brother Edric, the holy warrior, somehow manages to fall in love with—who is this—” he squinted, “—Laetitia von Somethingorother?”
Liz beamed. “Ah, yes. Laetitia! Mysterious, tragic, effortlessly seductive—”
“She’s literally the most obvious spy I’ve ever read,” Godfrey groaned, rubbing his face.
“She is not! She is enigmatic.”
“She has a knife hidden in every scene.”
“A woman should be prepared.”
Godfrey took a deep breath and picked up another sheet. “Oh fantastic. There’s a secret baby now.”
Liz nodded sagely. “Yes. I felt that revelation.”
Finnley snorted. “Roberto also felt something last week, and it turned out to be food poisoning.”
Roberto, still hovering at the window, nodded solemnly. “It was quite moving.”
Godfrey set the papers down in defeat. “Liz. Please. I’m begging you. Just one novel—just one—where the historical accuracy lasts at least until page ten.”
Liz tapped her chin. “You might have a point.”
Godfrey perked up.
Liz snapped her fingers. “I should move the shirtless scene to page two.”
Godfrey’s head hit the table.
Roberto clapped enthusiastically. “Genius! I shall fetch celebratory figs!”
Finnley sighed dramatically, threw down her duster, and walked out of the room muttering about professional disgrace.
Liz grinned, completely unfazed. “You know, Godfrey, I really don’t think you appreciate my artistic sacrifices.”
Godfrey, face still buried in his arms, groaned, “Liz, I think Brother Edric’s celibacy lasted longer than my patience.”
Liz threw a hand to her forehead theatrically. “Then it was simply not meant to be.”
Roberto reappeared, beaming. “I found the figs.”
Godfrey reached for another peanut.
He was going to need a lot more of them.
In reply to: Liz Tattler – A Lifetime of Stories, in videos
Glynis making potions (in Dragon Heartswood Fellowship story)
[Scene opens in Glynis’s cozy alchemical nook, where sunlight filters through stained glass, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the wooden workbench.]
Glynis, hair tied in a practical bun, hums a gentle melody, her hands deftly moving among jars of fragrant herbs and sparkling crystals. The air is rich with the scent of cinnamon and cardamom, mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly picked herbs.
Among her collection of vials and beakers, a group of soft, furry baby Snoots frolics, their fur a dazzling array of colors—from vibrant blues to shimmering purples—each reflecting their unique magic-imbued personalities.
One baby Snoot, with fur like a sunset, nudges a vial toward Glynis, its tiny paws leaving prints of glowing stardust. Glynis chuckles, accepting the offering with a warm smile. “Thank you, little one,” she whispers, adding a sprinkle of the sparkling dust to the simmering potion.
The Snoots, enchanted by the alchemical ballet, gather around the cauldron, their eyes wide with wonder as the potion bubbles and swirls with hues to match their fur. Occasionally, a brave Snoot dips a curious paw into the brew, causing a cascade of giggles as their fur momentarily absorbs the potion’s glow.
Glynis, her heart full with the joy of companionship, pauses to gently scratch behind the ears of a Snoot nestled by her elbow. “You’re all such wonderful helpers,” she murmurs, her voice a melody of gratitude.
As the potion reaches its peak, the room is momentarily filled with a burst of iridescent light, a reflection of the harmonious magic that binds Glynis and her Snoot companions in their delightful symbiotic dance.
In reply to: Liz Tattler – A Lifetime of Stories, in videos
The adventures of Arona & Mandrake
[Scene opens with Arona and Mandrake, the adventurous duo, standing on a hilltop, the vast landscape of the Alienor system stretching before them bathed in starlight.]
Narrator (cheerful, enchanting voice): “Join Arona and Mandrake the cat on magical quests across dimensions!”
[Quick flashes: Arona soaring in a hot air balloon, Mandrake snuggled on her shoulder; a playful chase with Vincentius, the mischievous demi-god; a vibrant encounter with the purple dragon, Leörmn.]
Narrator: “Discover hidden keys, unlock enchanted doors, and meet whimsical friends!”
[End with Arona and Mandrake, laughing under a rainbow, the words “Arona’s Adventures: A Journey Beyond Imagination” sparkling above.]
Narrator: “Embark on a journey of wonder and friendship. Adventure awaits!”
[The screen fades to the book cover with magical sparkles and contact information.]
In reply to: Two Aunties au Pair and Their Pert Carouses
November hadn’t counted on May, and the insurmountable difficulties in dealing with May, who may or may not do anything you may care to predict.
Maybe May would and maybe May wouldn’t, May may be there or May may not, May may do this or May may do that, in short, May was either or, this or that, yes or no and maybe never. May was better or worse or maybe May was neither, or both. May was red and blue and maybe purple, or maybe May was sunny yellow, mellow yellow, maybe May was just a banana, for scale.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
When Eris gave Jeezel carte blanche to decorate the meeting room, Frella and Truella looked at her as if she’d handed fireworks to a dragon. They protested immediately, arguing that giving Jeezel that much freedom was like inviting a storm draped in sequins and velvet. After all, Jeezel was a queen diva—a master of flair and excess, ready to transform any ordinary space into a grand stage for her dramatic vision. In their eyes, it would defeat the whole purpose! But Eris raised a firm hand, silencing her sister’s objections.
“Let’s be honest, Malové is no ordinary witch,” she began, addressing Truella, Frella, and even Jeezel, who was still stung by her sisters’ criticism of her decorating skills. “We don’t know how many centuries that witch has been roaming the world, gathering knowledge and sharpening her mind. But what we do know is that she’d detect any concealing spell in a heartbeat.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Truella agreed. “I think that’s the smell…”
“You mean based on your last potion experiment?” snorted Frella.
“Girls, focus,” Eris said. “This meeting is long overdue, and we need to conceal the truth-revealing spell’s elements. Jeezel’s flair may be our best distraction. Malové has always dismissed her grandiosity as harmless extravagance, so for once, let’s use that to our advantage.”
While Eris spoke, Jeezel’s brow furrowed as she engaged in an animated dialogue with her inner diva, picturing every details. Frella rolled her eyes subtly, glancing off-camera as though for dramatic effect.
“Isn’t that a bit much for a meeting?” Truella groaned. “You already assigned us topics to prepare. Now we’re adding decorations?”
“You won’t have to lift a finger,” Jeezel declared. “I’ve got it all under control—and I already have everything we need. Here’s my vision: Halloween is coming, so the decor should be both elegant and enchanting. I’ll start by draping the room in velvet curtains in deep purples and midnight blacks—straight from my own bedroom.”
Truella’s jaw dropped, while Jeezel’s grin only widened.
“Oh! I love those,” Frella murmured approvingly.
“Next, delicate cobweb accents with a touch of silver thread to catch the light,” Jeezel continued. “Truella, we’ll need your excavation lamps with a few colored gels. They’ll cast a warm, inviting glow—a perfect mix of relaxation and intrigue, with shadows in just the right places. And for the season, a few glowing pumpkins tucked around the room will complete the scene.”
Jeezel’s inner diva briefly entertained the idea of mystical fog, but she discarded it—after all, this was a meeting, not a sabbat. Instead, she proposed a more subtle touch: “To conceal the spell’s elements, I’ll bring in a few charming critters. Faux ravens perched on shelves, bats hanging from the ceiling…a whimsical, creepy-cute vibe. We’ll adorn them with runes and sigils in an insconpicuous way and Frella can cast a gentle animation spell to make them shift ever so slightly. The movement will be just enough to escape Malové’s notice as she stays focused on the meeting. That way she’ll be oblivious to the spell being woven around her.”
“Are you starting to see where this is going?” Eris asked, looking at her sisters.
Frella nodded, and before Truella could chime in with any objections, Jeezel added, “And no Halloween gathering would be complete without wickedly delightful treats! Picture a grand table with themed snacks and drinks on polished silver trays and cauldrons. Caramel apples, spiced cider, chocolates shaped like magic potions—tempting enough to charm even a disciplined witch.”
“Now you’re talking my language,” Truella admitted, finally warming up to the idea.
“Perfect, then it’s settled,” Eris said, pleased. “You all have your tasks. They’ll help us reveal her hidden agenda and how the spell is influencing her. Truella, you’l handle Historical Artifacts and Lore. Frella, with your talent for connections, you’ll cover Coven Alliances and Mutual Interests. Jeezel, you’re in charge of Telluric and Cosmic Energies—it shouldn’t be hard with your endless videos on the subject. I’ll handle the rest: Magical Incense Innovations, Leadership Philosophy, and Coven Dynamics.”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
There was a quietness before the rush of tourists, and the placid disposition of cows near the field was a nice relief after the madness of the Coven’s endless succession of rituals, workshops, business cases and budgeting of late.
It would be as close a permission slip from Austreberthe for a holiday as any of them were likely to get in a lifetime, so they’d better enjoy it —Eris had reasoned.
Picking the assigned one without putting too much thought to it, Eris had found her yurt pleasantly arranged with an attractive purple color, and even if she was only midly fond of the very hippy and communal setup, with a few insonorisation spells, and interior-designer-enlargement spells, the tent had proven adequate enough.
She’d been here already when Truella and Frella had come through the other tents, chatting vivaciously of course. She’d lifted the muffling spell for long enough to overhear about Malové being here. Well, in case there were any doubt, it seemed it was again all about business. Eris was surprised though that Malové would join, but remembered that Malové was known in her youth to have been a mad racer with a fondness for breakneck speeds. She was probably just here for the Games, like many others.
The longwinded story about the camphor chest had started to recede in the background sound of cud chewing so she didn’t get the fine details of it for now.
Now Eris was wide awake from her nap, and it was as good a time as any to setup her Mellona stall. After all that Coven’s busy activity of the past weeks, there was no small irony (or synchronicity, which would be the same, with a better state of mind) that she’d found herself in charge of the Roman Goddess’ stall. Maybe she would find interesting ways to channel the hive’s power to support their queen.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“What? Malové sent you a personal letter? And a golden key! We merely had a memo for the merger,” Truella said, pacing quickly in Jeezel’s bedroom.
“You’ve been swooning over Mr. Dark since we got here,” said Jeezel. “Have you even checked your own things? Maybe you have some kind of message or clue or I don’t know what. But stop pacing like that, you’ll bore a hole in my floor.”
“That’s not your floor,” said Truella with fire in her eyes.
“Girls, stop. That’s not the point,” said Eris, her voice carrying icy breeze of Sweden’s coldest winters. “We don’t even know if that message is from Malové.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jeezel and Truella in unison.
“Yes, what do you mean?” asked a floating glowing orb with Frella’s voice.
Eris brushed a few sparkling dark purple powder from her chest. “Bloody dragon soot,” she muttered. “Well, from what you told us, Silas tried to jinx you when you were discussing about the rituals. Baiting you with the idea that there are amongst or around us forces that would rather see this merger fail. Then, conveniently, handsome Garrett comes to your rescue and warns you about Silas’ evil plot, and talks to you about the very thing Malové supposedly entrusted you with in that letter, and muddying the waters even further with that tale about ancient Punic families.”
“What’s wrong with Punic families,” said Truella.
“Why are you blushing?” asked Jeezel.
“The point is, that it could very well be part of a plot to plant doubts about everyone and everything, so that we make the merger fail ourselves.”
“And then exit the witches from the picture,” said Frella’s glowing voice.
“But who could possibly have hidden the envelope amongst my things without me noticing?” asked Jeezel.
“Who comes and goes into your home?” asked Eris.
“Yes, who?” asked Truella with a sudden renewed interest.
After a few moments of reflection, Jeezel raised her hand to her mouth. “You can’t mean Joe? My fan’s brother who came to do some works for me.”
“I don’t mean anything. But if I recall well, you mentioned you gave him the keys or your home so that he could come do the repairs whenever you’re not there.”
“You gave him your keys?” asked Truella, her eyes wide open.
“But Luminia would have seen him.”
“Well even a familiar needs to go out sometimes.”
“Or maybe after a torrid night, when you’re finally resting,” suggested Truella.
“Ooh! You would love that!” Jeezel said. Then she put the back of her hand on her forehead and moaned: “My brain’s not made for that kind of messy story. I can’t investigate, do the rituals, flirt with the enemy. There are too many things to do and too many possibilities.”
“There, dear. You have us now,” said Eris, still brushing the dragon soot from her dress.
“And I know one who needs to go to the bottom of a chest,” added Truella. “Frella, we need you here.”
“I’m not sure,” Frella said. “I guess someone has to investigate what really happened to Malové. Who knows if that postcard and that love affair are even real? I’ll let you know.”
In reply to: Smoke Signals: Arcanas of the Quadrivium’s incense
Penelope Pomfrett: Let’s start with Penelope, shall we? She’s a statuesque woman with a sharp, angular face that could cut through butter – not unlike an Egon Schiele painting, if you’re familiar. Her hair’s a spun silver waterfall, always meticulously pinned up but with just a touch of wildness trying to escape, like she’s taming a tempest on top of her head. Her eyes are a piercing cerulean blue, always calculating, always observing; she’s the type who looks right through you and into your deepest secrets.
Personality-wise, Penelope’s got the demeanor of a headmistress crossed with a lioness. She’s precise, a bit of a perfectionist, never suffers fools gladly. But beneath that stern exterior, she’s got a heart of gold, especially when it comes to her coven sisters. Stern loyalty and high standards, that’s her in a nutshell. And she’s got this dry wit that’ll catch you off guard and have you chuckling before you know it.
Sandra Salt: Now Sandra, she’s a different kettle of fish altogether. Think earthy, grounded; she’s got that warm, approachable vibe that’s almost tangible. Picture her with curly auburn hair, always escaping its braids to frame her face in a halo of fiery ringlets. She’s got freckles smattered across her sun-kissed cheeks and a smile that feels like coming home after a long journey. Eyes? Warm hazel, like caramel with a hint of green, always twinkling with some hidden mischief or gentle wisdom.
Sandra’s personality is as grounded as the soil she loves to dig her fingers into; she’s the heart and soul of the crew, with an infectious laugh that could light up the darkest of days. She’s nurturing, perceptive, and has an uncanny knack for making everyone feel at ease. But don’t mistake her kindness for softness – she’s got a spine of steel and can summon a fierce storm if she’s wronged.
Audrey Ambrose: Now, dear Audrey, she’s a bit of a mysterious beauty. Think raven-black hair that falls in silky waves down her back, always perfectly styled without a hair out of place. She’s got porcelain skin, smooth and almost ethereal, like moonlight itself took her under its wing. Her eyes are a deep, striking emerald, always seeming to know more than she lets on. Add to that a penchant for elegant, vintage clothing, and you’ve got yourself a picture of classic, timeless beauty.
In terms of personality, Audrey’s a quiet storm. She’s enigmatic, often found lost in thought, with a deep, contemplative nature. While she may come off as aloof, she’s deeply empathetic and has an old-soul wisdom that guides her every action. She’s the sort you turn to when you need profound insight or a steady hand in times of chaos. And that wit – it’s as sharp as her fashion sense, subtle, and spot-on.
Sassafras Bentley: Lastly, let’s paint a picture of Sassafras. She’s vibrant and flamboyant, tall, thin and athletic, with hair dyed in shades of a peacock’s feathers – blues, greens, purples – ever changing with her whims. Her outfits are always eclectic and bold, but practical. She’s got a long hatchet face, and eyes that are a sparking topaz, full of zest and life ~ and secret undercurrents.
Sassafras is the party animal of the lot, always bringing fun and chaos in equal measure. She’s got a joie de vivre that’s downright infectious, a real firecracker with boundless energy. Her natural charisma draws people in, and her laugh – oh, her laugh! – it’s the kind of sound that warms the soul and invites everyone to join in her revelries, unless she’s being rude, aloof and secretive. Underneath all that sparkle, though, she’s fiercely protective of those she loves and more insightful than she lets on.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“Are we going down a sewer?” asked Truella as if you’d asked her to put her hand into dragon poop to see why they had diarrhoea. She was wearing the green blouse of a nurse. Jeezel’s thought the colour was almost a match with the witch’s face.
“Don’t be difficult,” said Frigella a bit annoyed. “You spend most of your free time in a hole as a hobby.” She was readjusting her purple blouse, which seemed to be bit too big for her.
“It’s my hole,” said Truella. “I know what’s in there. It’s got nothing to do with that murky miasma of decayed dreams and digested dinners piling up down there as a testimony of Limerick’s population’s contemplation of their puny lives on their pitiful thrones. And the stench, it cuts through the air, it would make a maggot gag. I tell you, certain portals are best left untraveled. I wonder why Malové has left you in charge of the portal.”
“We won’t go through the sewer,” said Jeezel. “It’s an ancient spell I got from my grand-mother Linda Pol from the time of her Time Travelling drag show. It creates a vortex impervious to any smell. If maggots gag it’ll be because they saw your panties.”
Truella, who had never learned how to hold her tongue, started to open her mouth when Malové arrived. She inspected every witch’s nurse attire and winced at Jeezel’s white blouse that made the tall witch look like one of those nightingale from the 50’s.
“Will you be able to breathe?” she asked. “We don’t want to be stuck here because you fainted before finishing your spell.”
“This is my natural silhouette, whispered Jeezel. The fabric is very stretchy. Anyway, I’m using sigils to cast this spell.”
Truella stopped her snort short when Malové glanced at her own blouse.
“As for you, your words are not the only thing you could iron out.”
Then she gave a nod of appreciation to Frigella and Eris. “Then we’re good to go.”
Jeezel started to draw lines and curves in space above and around the manhole, she looked like a peacock flaunting its feathers. Then she used her orange gloss to draw the one sigil around the manhole and invoked its name. Frigella who was seeing it performed for the first time had the impression Jeezel said “Fern” but she wouldn’t put her hand in a witch’s fire for it. The manhole cover shimmied and shook like it was coming to life. It lifted, hovering with all the grace of a duchess at high tea before sliding aside.
“Et voilà,” said Jeezel with glitter in her eyes. “Who’s first?”
Eris, intrigued by the vortex of glowing and sparkling with all the magical energy coursing through it, jumped right in, not waiting for anyone to answer.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Truella had already left for that monkey hunt in the Mediterranean. Eris had to go back before nightfall, which was quite early at this time of year as she had chosen to live in such a remote place in the midst of a frozen forest. Jeezel only thought it romantic because of the icicles that would form on your eyelashes and brows, making you the perfect avatar for the Snow Queen musical. And Frigella… She said she was tired but from the sight of her aura, she undoubtedly was onto something fishy.
Jeezel looked at her dress. Once a divine creation, it has turned into a disaster. Irremediably stained with soot, it’s foul smell would make any dragon lose their appetite. She felt a mix of sadness and guilt for all the murex that gave their shells for that unique shade of purple she was so proud of.
She wasn’t sure even Teddy Steambolt could muster his magic to save the divine creation. She imagined his eyes widen as saucers when she entered his Palace of Pristine with the lifeless garment in her arms. He would most certainly swoon and gasp at the same time.
“Oh, The tragedy!” he would wail, his high-pitched lament resonating in the cathedral ceiling of his atelier of cleanliness. “What calamity hath befallen this exquisite creation?”
“Teddy, dear,” she would say, “It was indeed a tragedy. I lost seven of my nails and my hair was ruined. You’re the alchemist of cleanliness, you’re my only hope for a miracle.”
And he would take her dress and perform his magic from which it would emerge reborn, and all those murex wouldn’t have lost their home for nothing.
She was about to follow the others when Malové reminded her: “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
A broom and a bucket of black soap were floating on her right.
Her sigh would have made a blue whale blush with envy. Her role tonight would not be the Snow Queen, but Cinderella, another of her favourite diva.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“It’s amazing, all the material we gathered over the years, it makes one’s head spin…” Godfrey was poring over quantities of papers, mostly early drafts stuck haphazardly in a pile of donations boxes that Elizabeth had generously contributed to the National Library’s archives of great works and renowned authors, but mostly as way of spring cleaning.
He had materialized some of the links from the pages with webs of purple yarn tied to the wall of the dining hall. It had soon become a tangled mess of interwoven threads that he had to protect from the cleaning frenzied assaults of energetic feather duster of Finnley.
She’d softened her stance a little when she’s realised how often her namesake has popped in the various storylines, almost making her emotional about Liz’ incorporating her in her works of fictions —only to remember that most of the time, she’d been the working hand behind the continuity, the Finnleys appearances being an offshoot of this endeavour.
Godfrey had almost forgotten he was actually a publisher to start with, before he became more of a useful side-kick, if not a useful idiot.
The phone rang in the empty hall. Soon after, Finnley arrived with the heavy bakelite telephone, handing it over to Godfrey unceremoniously. “You might want to take this, it’s Felicity…” she mouthed the last word like it was the name of the Devil himself.
“Dear Flove protect us, don’t tell me Liz’ mother is in town…”
“Well, at least she has comic relief value” snorted Finnley on her way back to her duties.
Topic: Storylines & Complements
Storylines
You may have noticed it – the little purple tags next to your comments are linking them to particular storylines.
It should help reconnect comments spread across threads, when they belong to a particular storyline. The definition of those is rather fluid, but in general, it tends to revolve about a commonality of protagonist or group of protagonists (they are easy to spot, they are the one(s) driving the storyline plot forward…
).Since the tagging is mostly manual, and there are quite a few homonymous characters, you may still find comments that shouldn’t belong in the storyline. It will take some time to clean.
Of course, some comments do belong to multiple storylines, particularly when there are some cross-overs (e.g. protagonists from the Pop*in story going to the Flying Fish Inn, and meeting Arona!)
New feature: Complement Storylines
This new feature is now available ; basically, it should allow you to continue (or insert) on a storyline, especially those long gone… For the storylines that already have their own distinct threads, you don’t need really the feature but you can also use it.
How to do?
You can go to a storyline, let’s say… Dead Dick Tracy, Peaslander, etc.
If you find a particular storyline you like that is missing (I guess nobody regrets the Tw’Elves,… but who knows?
)You normally will see a little link with the replies.
COMPLEMENT.
Let’s say you just want to continue the story. You go the last comment, and you click on the
COMPLEMENTlink of the last comment.Normally, if you got there, the hardest remains to do: write a comment.
If all goes well, it’ll be posted in the New found pages thread, a little bit like old time “Circle of Eights” single thread full of unrelated comments, but this time, each one will have a little purple “storyline” tag, that will make it available inside the storyline you selected…
In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys
Youssef had brought his black obsidian with him in the kitchen at breakfast. Idle—Youssef had realised that on top of being her way of life, it was also her name—was preparing a herbal brownie under the supervision of a colourful parrot perched on her shoulder.
“If you’re interested in rocks, you should go to Betsy’s. She’s got that ‘Gems & Minerals’ shop on Main street. She opened it with her hubby a few years back. Before he died.”
“Nutty Betsy, Pretty Girl likes her better,” said the parrot.
Idle looked at his backpack and his clothes.
“You seem the wandering type, lad. I was like you when I was younger, always gallivanting here, there, and everywhere with my brother. Now, I prefer wandering in my mind, if you know what I mean,” she said licking her finger full of chocolate. “Anyway, an advice. Don’t go down the mines alone. Betsy’s hubby’s still down there after one of the tunnels collapsed a few years back. She’s not been quite herself ever since.”
Main street was —well— the only street in town. They’ve been preparing for some kind of festival, putting banners on top of the shops and in between two trees near the gas station. Youssef stopped there to buy snacks that he stacked on top of the obsidian stone in his backpack. The young boy who worked there, Devan, seemed quite excited at the perspective of the Lager and Cart Race. It happened only every ten years and last time he was too young to participate.
The shop had not been difficult to find, at the other end of the street. A tiny sign covered in purple star sequins indicated “Betsy’s Gems & Minerals — We deliver worldwide”. He felt with his hand the black rock he had put in his backpack. If Idle had not mentioned the mines and the dead husband, Youssef might have reconsidered going in. But the coincidence with his dream and the game was too intriguing. He entered.
The shop was a mess. Crates full of stones, cardboard boxes and bubble wrappings. In the back, a plump woman, working on a giant starfish she held on her lap, was humming as she listened to loud rock music. Youssef recognised a song from the Last Shadow Puppets’ second album : The Element of Surprise. Apparently, the woman hadn’t heard him enter. She wore a dress and a hat sprinkled with golden stars, and her wrists were hidden under a ton of stone bracelets. The music track changed. The woman started shaking her head following the rhythm of the tune. She was gluing small red stones, she picked in a little box, on one of the starfish arms.“Bad Habits! Uhu. Bad Habits! Uhu.”
Youssef moved closer. His shadow covered the starfish. The woman raised her head and screamed, scattering the red stones in her workshop. The starfish fell from her lap onto the ground with a thud.
“Oh! My! Little devil. Look at what you made me do. I lost my marbles,” she said with a high pitched laugh. “Your mother never taught you? That’s bad habit to creep up on people like that. You scared the sheep out of me!”
“I’m so sorry,” said Youssef, getting on his knees to help her gather the stones.
When they were all back in their box, Youssef got back on his feet. The woman looked a him with a softened face.
“You such a cutie with your bear shirt. You make me think of my Howard. He was as tall as you are. I’m Betsy, obviously” she said with a giggle, extending her hand to him.
They shook hands, making the pearls of her bracelets clink together.
“I’m Youssef.”
Youssef didn’t need to insist too much. Betsy was a real juke box of gossips. He just had to ask one question from time to time, and she would get going again. He was starting to feel his quirk could be more than a curse after all.
“When the tunnel collapsed,” Betsy said, “I was ready to give up the stone shop. The pain was too much to bear, everything in the shop reminded me of Howard. And in a miners’ town, who would want to buy stones anyway. We’ve been in bad terms with Idle and her family for some time, but that tragic incident coincided with her brother Fred’s disappearance. They thought at first Fred had died in the mines with Howard, because they spent so much time discussing together in Room 8 at the Inn. I overheard them once, talking about something they found in the mines. But Howard never told me, he was so secretive about that. We even had a fight, you know. But Fred, the children found some message later that suggested he had just left the family. Imagine, the children! Idle was pissed with him of course. Abandoning her with that mother of theirs and that money pit of an Inn and the rest of the family. And I needed company. So we started to get together on a regular basis. She would bring her special cakes, and we would complain about our lives. At some point she got involved with that shamanic stuff she found online, and she helped me find my totem Bear. It was quite a revelation. Bear suggested I diversify and open an online shop and start making orgonites. I love those little gummy bears so much. So, I followed Bear’s advice and it has been working like a charm ever since. That’s why I trusted you straight away, lad. Not ’cause of your cute face. You got the Bear in your heart,” she said putting her finger at the center of his chest.
My inner Bear, of course, thought Youssef. That’s the magnet. His phone buzzed. He took it out and saw he had an alert from the game and a message from his friends.
You found the source of your quirk, the magnetic pull that attracts talkative people to you.
Now obtain the silver key in the shape of a tongue to fulfil your quest.Zara : Where are you!?
We’re at the bar, getting parched! They got Pale Ale!“I have to go,” said Youssef.
“Wait,” said Betsy.
She foraged through her orgonite collection and handed Youssef one little gummy bear and an ornate metal badge.
“Bear wants me to give this to you. Howard made it. He said it was his forked tongue key.”
She looked at him, emotion in her eyes.
“I know you won’t listen if I tell you not to. So, be careful when you go into the mines.”
In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys
Two young women, identical to the purple lock of hair hiding their left eye, entered the room. They moved as one person to the table, balancing their arms and bouncing on the floor like little girls. Youssef couldn’t help a shiver as he remembered The Shining.
“We are the twins,” they said, looking at him from behind their purple lock of hair. “Don’t mind us.”
One spoke a few milliseconds after the other, giving their combined voice an otherworldly touch that wasn’t reassuring. One took the sheets of paper from under the obsidian stone and the other the notebooks. After an hesitation they left the stone on the table and went back to the door.
“Wait,” said Youssef as they were about to leave, “What was on that paper? It looked like a map.”
“We leave you the stone,” they said without looking at him. “You might need it.”
As they shut the door, Youssef jumped out of his bed and tried to catch up with them. People couldn’t just enter his room like that. But when he flung the door open, the corridor was empty. He had the impression echoes of a combined laugh remained in the air and, tired as he was, decided not to look for them. Better not break the veil between dream and reality.
Intrigued by what the girls said, he took the black stone from the table and the last snicker bar from his backpack. He noted he would have to go to the grocery store tomorrow to buy some. Once he was back on his bed, he engulfed the snack and, while chewing, turned the stone around, trying to figure out what the girls meant by “You might need it”. The stone was cold to the touch and his reflection kept changing but nothing particular happened. Disappointed, he put the stone on his pillow and resumed the game on his phone.
Youssef finds himself in a small ghost town in what looks like the middle of the Australian outback. He’s standing in the town square, surrounded by an old post office, a saloon, and a few other ramshackle buildings.
He had a hard time focusing on the game. He started to feel the fatigue from the day. He yawned and started to doze off.
Youssef is standing in the town square, surrounded by an old post office, a saloon, and a few other ramshackle buildings. Scraps of mist are floating towards him. A ghostly laugh resounds from behind. He turns swiftly only to see a flash of purple disappear in a dark alleyway. He starts to run to catch them but a man, thrown out of the saloon, stumbles in front of him and they roll together on the dust.
“It’s not that I don’t like you,” said the man, “but you’re heavy.”
Youssef rolls on the side, mumbling some excuses and looks at where the twins had disappeared but the alleyway was gone.
“I think you broke one of my rib with your stone,” says the man, feeling his chest.
He looks as old as the town itself and quite harmless in his clothes, too big for him.
“What stone?” asks Youssef.
The old man points at a fragment of black obsidian between them on the ground.
“Don’t show them,” he says, “or they’ll take it from you.”
“What did you do?”
“They don’t like it when you ask questions about the old mines.”
In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys
With the flurry of activities going around, in life and virtually, Xavier had trouble keeping track.
His sanity demanded some clarity of intention and some focus. Too many threads were open, and of all things, he didn’t like loose ends.
Somehow that silly notion of the Golden Banana quest did pose him a nagging reminder of something incomplete he was eager to get a resolution to. That, or he was unconsciously getting annoyed at seeing his 3 friends making strides in their adventures. The pirate quest was fun enough, but he’d rather enjoy it without having to check everything against being a possible clue.There were no rules against cheating. The thought struck him. Maybe that was it. The simplicity of it!
Since they made the rules, they could make them, break them, amend or bend them.
He looked up on the internet for an image he could feed AL, and *bam* it was there! In all its glory, a gorgeous Golden Banana on a purple cushion, in a pirate chest. The reward for an online game… That was eerie!He’d had a sneaking suspicion the game was not just about virtual any longer. Synchronistic happenings like that were more than just random.
He logged into the game only to discover a simple message.
“Congratulations on completing your quest. You may enjoy your trip until the next stage of your journey.
Look for the cook on the pirate boat, she will give you directions to regroup with your friends.
And don’t forget to confirm your bookings.”In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys
The four adventurers, Zara, Xavier, Yasmin, and Youssef, stood in awe in front of the giant orb that seemed to open up to another realm. The light emanating from the orb was so bright, it was as if the sun was just inches away. The stalactites that hung from the cave’s ceiling sparkled like diamonds in the light, adding to the otherworldly beauty of the scene.
“Look around,” Yasmin said, her voice filled with wonder. “Beauty is everywhere. You only have to look to see it.”
The group was ready for an adventure and they knew that the orb in front of them was the key to their mad journey. Xavier stepped forward and reached out to touch the orb. As soon as his fingers made contact with the surface, the orb lit up and a pathway formed, leading into the brightly lit realm.
The group stepped through the pathway and found themselves in a world unlike anything they had ever seen before. The sky was a vibrant shade of purple and the ground was covered in a lush, green grass. The orb they had just passed through was now behind them, but in front of them were smaller orbs, each one leading to a different path.
Zara, Xavier, Yasmin, and Youssef looked at each other with excitement in their eyes. They knew that this was just the beginning of their mad journey.
Xavier stepped forward and reached out to touch the orb. As soon as his fingers made contact with the surface, the orb lit up and a pathway formed, leading into the brightly lit realm.
They walked into a small village, where they were greeted by a group of people wearing clothes that looked like they were from the 1920s. The people told them that they were in the land of the “Quirks”, a place where everything and everyone was a little bit different, and that they had to find the “Key of Quirks” in order to leave the land.
The four friends, Zara, Xavier, Yasmin, and Youssef, soon found themselves on a mission to find the “Key of Quirks” that would allow them to leave the land of the Quirks. As they walked through a forest, they came across a fork in the road.
Zara, the leader of the group, turned to the others and said, “Alright, we need to decide which way to go. Yasmin, what’s the plan?”
Yasmin, the brains of the group, replied, “I suggest we take the left path. According to the map I found, it leads to the Quirky Quests area, where we might find the key.”
Xavier, the joker of the group, chimed in, “I vote for the right path. It’s the road less traveled, and you know what they say, ‘the road less traveled is the road to adventure’ ”
Youssef, the muscle of the group, added, “I don’t care which way we go, I just want to find some food. I’m starving!”
Zara rolled her eyes, “Xavier, your jokes are getting old. And Youssef, we’re on a mission, we can’t just focus on food.”
Xavier grinned, “But Zaraloon, where’s the fun in that?”
Yasmin interjected, “Can we please focus? We need to make a decision. I propose we split up, Zara and I will take the left path, and Xavier and Youssef can take the right path.”
Youssef nodded, “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. That way, if we don’t find the key, at least we’ll have found some food.”
Xavier grinned, “Sounds like a plan, Xavimunk is ready for adventure!”
Zara shook her head with a smile, “Alright, let’s do this.”
The group split up, and as they walked away, they could be heard playfully bantering and joking with each other. Each one exemplifying their unique and distinct characters.
In reply to: Train your subjective AI – text version
Asking the AI to expand on the glossary of the original Circle of Eights Story:
Locations
Malvina’s Cave: A dark and damp cave located in the heart of the Gripshawk mountains, known for its population of Glukenitch creatures.
Lan’ork: A vast and diverse continent known for its Eastern Lagunas, home to the Indogo flamingos. Dragon Head Peninsula: A rugged and mountainous region, home to the Langoat creatures and also known for its rich deposits of dragon ore.
Asgurdy: A sprawling desert region, known for its nomadic tribes who use Saurhse as mounts for transportation.
Golfindely: An idyllic coastal region known for its beautiful beaches and crystal clear waters, home to the Golfindel and Grake creatures.
Magical Schools
Dragonian Magic: A form of magic that is practiced by Dragonriders and Dragon tamers, which involves the manipulation of dragon energy and bonding with dragon companions.
Gripshawk Magic: A form of magic that is practiced by Gripshawks, which involves the manipulation of the natural elements and telepathic communication with other creatures.
Ugling Magic: A form of magic that is practiced by Uglings, which involves the use of charms, spells, and potions to manipulate the physical world.
Guilds
Dragon Riders Guild: A prestigious guild of dragon riders, responsible for maintaining peace and order in the world by using their dragon companions for protection and transportation.
Gripshawk Hunters Guild: A guild of skilled hunters who specialize in hunting and capturing exotic creatures for various purposes.
Ugling Alchemists Guild: A guild of alchemists and potion makers, who create various potions and elixirs for medicinal and magical purposes.
Organizations
The Order of the Buntifluën: A secret organization dedicated to the study and use of Buntifluën artefacts for the betterment of communication and understanding between sentient beings.
The Glubolín Network: A network of individuals who possess Glubolín devices, used for communication and sharing information across long distances.
The Sabulmantium Society: A society of scholars and adventurers who study the properties and uses of Sabulmantium devices for divination and navigation.
Here are a few new invented terms with their potential IPA pronunciations and definitions that would fit in this fantasy world:
Dragons:
Krynn [ ˈkrĭn ] : A subspecies of dragon known for its ability to control and manipulate time.
Creatures:
Kelpies [ ˈkĕl-pēz ] : Aquatic creatures resembling horses, known for their ability to shape-shift and lure unsuspecting victims into the water.
Magical Artefacts:
Dragonwhisper [ ˈdrā-gən-ˌhwis-pər ] : An ancient and powerful magical artifact, which allows the user to communicate and control dragons telepathically.
Necrotalisman [ ˈnĕk-rə-ˈtā-lĭz-mən ] : A magical artifact in the shape of a talisman that grants its wielder the ability to control and summon the dead.
Plants:
Blightthorn [ ˈblīt-ˌthôrn ] : A poisonous plant known for its dark purple flowers and thorny stem, its extract is used in dark magic
Faeleaf [ ˈfā-ˌlēf ] : A rare plant found in the deep forest known for its bright green leaves, its extract is used in healing potions
Locations:
The Shadowland [ ˈshā-dō-ˌland ] : A mysterious and dangerous land overrun by dark magic and controlled by Necromancers.
The Hidden Vale [ ˈhī-dən-ˈvāl ] : A secluded valley located deep in the mountains, home to the reclusive Faeleaf plants.
Organization:
The Necromancers’ Circle [ ˈnĕk-rə-ˈmän-sər-z-ˈsər-kəl ] : A secret organization of powerful necromancers who seek to expand their control over death and the dead.
Here are a few more invented terms with their potential IPA pronunciations and definitions that fit in this fantasy world, having less to do with necromancy, and more with various forms of consciousness or energy manipulation, magical or mythical creatures or species:
Creatures:
Eterneon [ ˈē-tər-ˈnē-ən ] : A species of winged creatures known for their ability to manipulate and harness the energy of the stars, they are highly sought after by astromancers and star-gazers.
Psicon [ ˈsī-ˌkän ] : A species of psychic creatures, known for their ability to read minds and influence emotions.
Magical Artefacts:
Energyshield [ ˈen-ər-jē-ˌshēld ] : A magical artifact that creates a protective barrier around the user, deflecting or absorbing any kind of energy-based attacks.
Empathstone [ ˈĕm-pāth-ˈstōn ] : A small, glowing stone which allows the user to sense and control the emotions of others.
Magical Schools:
Energyshaping [ ˈen-ər-jē-ˌshāp-ing ] : A school of magic that involves the manipulation and control of various forms of energy.
Empathymagic [ ˈĕm-pā-thē-ˈmaj-ik ] : A school of magic that involves the manipulation of emotions and the ability to sense the emotions of others.
Locations:
Eternity’s Edge [ ˈē-tər-nə-tēz-ˈēj] : A remote and mysterious cliff located high in the mountains, known for its strong emanations of star energy and rumored to be home to a hidden community of Eterneons.
Psicon’s Den [ ˈsī-kän-z-ˈdĕn] : A secret cave system located deep within the forest, it is said to be home to a colony of Psicon creatures.
Organizations:
The Energists Guild [ ˈen-ər-jist-z-ˈgild] : A powerful guild of magic users specializing in Energyshaping magic.
The Empath Council [ ˈĕm-pāth-ˈkoun-səl]: A secretive group of Empathymagic users, dedicated to the study and control of emotions.
Topic: The Sexy Wooden Leg
The Rootians invaded Oocrane when everybody was busy looking elsewhere. They entered through the Dumbass region under the pretense of freeing it from Lazies who had infiltrated administrations and media. They often cited a recent short movie from president Voldomeer Zumbaskee in which he appeared in purple leather panties adorned with diamonds, showing unashamedly his wooden leg. The same wooden leg that gave him the status of sexiest man of Oocrane and got him elected. In one of his famous discourses, he accused the Rootian president, Valdamir Potomsky of wanting to help himself to their crops of turnip and weed of which the world depended. And he told him if he expected Lazies he would be surprised by their resolution to defend their country.
By a simple game of chance that reality is so fond of, the man who made the president’s very wooden leg was also called Voldomeer Zumbasky. They might share a common ancestor, but many times in the past population records were destroyed and it was difficult to tell. That man lived in the small city of Duckailingtown in Dumbass, near the Rootian border. He was renowned to be a great carpenter and sculptor and before the war people would come from the neighbooring countries to buy his work.
During the invasion, crops and forests were burnt, buildings were destroyed and Dumbass Voldomeer lost one leg. There were no more trees or beams that hadn’t been turned to ashes, and he had only one block of wood left. Enough to make another wooden leg for himself. But he wondered: wasn’t there something more useful he could do with that block of wood ?
One morning of spring, one year after the war started. Food was scarce in Duckailingtown and Voldomeer’s belly growled as he walked past the nest of a couple of swans. He counted nine beautiful eggs that the parents were arranging with their beaks before lying on top to keep them warm. He found it so touching to see life in this place that he couldn’t bear the idea of simply stealing the eggs.
He went back home, a shelter made of bricks, his stomach aching from starvation. Looking at the block of wood on the floor, he got an idea. He spent the rest of the day and night to carve nine beautiful eggs so smooth that they appeared warm to the touch. He put so much care and love in his work that the swans would see no difference.
The next morning he went back to the nest with a leather bag, hopping heartily on his lone leg. The eggs were still there and by chance both the parents were missing. He didn’t care why. He took the eggs and replaced them with the wooden ones.
That day, he ate the best omelet with his friend Rooby, and as far as one could tell the swans were still brooding by the end of summer.
In reply to: The Elusive Samuel Housley and Other Family Stories
My Grandparents
George Samuel Marshall 1903-1995
Florence Noreen Warren (Nora) 1906-1988
I always called my grandfather Mop, apparently because I couldn’t say the name Grandpa, but whatever the reason, the name stuck. My younger brother also called him Mop, but our two cousins did not.
My earliest memories of my grandparents are the picnics. Grandma and Mop loved going out in the car for a picnic. Favourite spots were the Clee Hills in Shropshire, North Wales, especially Llanbedr, Malvern, and Derbyshire, and closer to home, the caves and silver birch woods at Kinver Edge, Arley by the river Severn, or Bridgnorth, where Grandma’s sister Hildreds family lived. Stourbridge was on the western edge of the Black Country in the Midlands, so one was quickly in the countryside heading west. They went north to Derbyshire less, simply because the first part of the trip entailed driving through Wolverhampton and other built up and not particularly pleasant urban areas. I’m sure they’d have gone there more often, as they were both born in Derbyshire, if not for that initial stage of the journey.
There was predominantly grey tartan car rug in the car for picnics, and a couple of folding chairs. There were always a couple of cushions on the back seat, and I fell asleep in the back more times than I can remember, despite intending to look at the scenery. On the way home Grandma would always sing, “Show me the way to go home, I’m tired and I want to go to bed, I had a little drink about an hour ago, And it’s gone right to my head.” I’ve looked online for that song, and have not found it anywhere!
Grandma didn’t just make sandwiches for picnics, there were extra containers of lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and so on. I used to love to wash up the picnic plates in the little brook on the Clee Hills, near Cleeton St Mary. The close cropped grass was ideal for picnics, and Mop and the sheep would Baaa at each other.
Mop would base the days outting on the weather forcast, but Grandma often used to say he always chose the opposite of what was suggested. She said if you want to go to Derbyshire, tell him you want to go to Wales. I recall him often saying, on a gloomy day, Look, there’s a bit of clear sky over there. Mop always did the driving as Grandma never learned to drive. Often she’d dust the dashboard with a tissue as we drove along.
My brother and I often spent the weekend at our grandparents house, so that our parents could go out on a Saturday night. They gave us 5 shillings pocket money, which I used to spend on two Ladybird books at 2 shillings and sixpence each. We had far too many sweets while watching telly in the evening ~ in the dark, as they always turned the lights off to watch television. The lemonade and pop was Corona, and came in returnable glass bottles. We had Woodpecker cider too, even though it had a bit of an alcohol content.
Mop smoked Kensitas and Grandma smoked Sovereign cigarettes, or No6, and the packets came with coupons. They often let me choose something for myself out of the catalogue when there were enough coupons saved up.
When I had my first garden, in a rented house a short walk from theirs, they took me to garden nurseries and taught me all about gardening. In their garden they had berberis across the front of the house under the window, and cotoneaster all along the side of the garage wall. The silver birth tree on the lawn had been purloined as a sapling from Kinver edge, when they first moved into the house. (they lived in that house on Park Road for more than 60 years). There were perennials and flowering shrubs along the sides of the back garden, and behind the silver birch, and behind that was the vegeatable garden. Right at the back was an Anderson shelter turned into a shed, the rhubarb, and the washing line, and the canes for the runner beans in front of those. There was a little rose covered arch on the path on the left, and privet hedges all around the perimeter.
My grandfather was a dental technician. He worked for various dentists on their premises over the years, but he always had a little workshop of his own at the back of his garage. His garage was full to the brim of anything that might potentially useful, but it was not chaotic. He knew exactly where to find anything, from the tiniest screw for spectacles to a useful bit of wire. He was “mechanicaly minded” and could always fix things like sewing machines and cars and so on.
Mop used to let me sit with him in his workshop, and make things out of the pink wax he used for gums to embed the false teeth into prior to making the plaster casts. The porcelain teeth came on cards, and were strung in place by means of little holes on the back end of the teeth. I still have a necklace I made by threading teeth onto a string. There was a foot pedal operated drill in there as well, possibly it was a dentists drill previously, that he used with miniature grinding or polishing attachments. Sometimes I made things out of the pink acrylic used for the final denture, which had a strong smell and used to harden quickly, so you had to work fast. Initially, the workshop was to do the work for Uncle Ralph, Grandmas’s sisters husband, who was a dentist. In later years after Ralph retired, I recall a nice man called Claude used to come in the evening to collect the dentures for another dental laboratory. Mop always called his place of work the laboratory.
Grandma loved books and was always reading, in her armchair next to the gas fire. I don’t recall seeing Mop reading a book, but he was amazingly well informed about countless topics.
At family gatherings, Mops favourite topic of conversation after dinner was the atrocities committed over the centuries by organized religion.My grandfather played snooker in his younger years at the Conservative club. I recall my father assuming he voted Conservative, and Mop told him in no uncertain terms that he’s always voted Labour. When asked why he played snooker at the Conservative club and not the Labour club, he said with a grin that “it was a better class of people”, but that he’d never vote Conservative because it was of no benefit to the likes of us working people.
Grandma and her sister in law Marie had a little grocers shop on Brettel Lane in Amblecote for a few years but I have no personal recollection of that as it was during the years we lived in USA. I don’t recall her working other than that. She had a pastry making day once a week, and made Bakewell tart, apple pie, a meat pie, and her own style of pizza. She had an old black hand operated sewing machine, and made curtains and loose covers for the chairs and sofa, but I don’t think she made her own clothes, at least not in later years. I have her sewing machine here in Spain.
At regular intervals she’d move all the furniture around and change the front room into the living room and the back into the dining room and vice versa. In later years Mop always had the back bedroom (although when I lived with them aged 14, I had the back bedroom, and painted the entire room including the ceiling purple). He had a very lumpy mattress but he said it fit his bad hip perfectly.Grandma used to alternate between the tiny bedroom and the big bedroom at the front. (this is in later years, obviously) The wardrobes and chests of drawers never changed, they were oak and substantial, but rather dated in appearance. They had a grandfather clock with a brass face and a grandmother clock. Over the fireplace in the living room was a Utrillo print. The bathroom and lavatory were separate rooms, and the old claw foot bath had wood panels around it to make it look more modern. There was a big hot water geyser above it. Grandma was fond of using stick on Fablon tile effects to try to improve and update the appearance of the bathroom and kitchen. Mop was a generous man, but would not replace household items that continued to function perfectly well. There were electric heaters in all the rooms, of varying designs, and gas fires in living room and dining room. The coal house on the outside wall was later turned into a downstairs shower room, when Mop moved his bedroom downstairs into the front dining room, after Grandma had died and he was getting on.
Mop was 91 when he told me he wouldn’t be growing any vegetables that year. He said the sad thing was that he knew he’d never grow vegetables again. He worked part time until he was in his early 80s.
