Bert felt jealous, cheated on, and blue. Then he discovered he could morph into a giant nightmarish slug...
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On Wednesdays and Sundays I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ novellas. You can check in regularly and read them bit for bit, or leave a message in my 'contact' page, and I'll send the entire digital story to you for free when published.
Life in the Clouds #6: Take a Slug ® James Field.
One month later, seated at her cluttered dressing table, Olive took a large mirror and laid it in front of her. Then she placed a sheet of writing paper on the glass and wrote: "Now is the time for all good women to leave their life of poverty and buy a Mercedes Benz."
She studied her round, friendly script and then rewrote the sentence in a small, finicky hand, that of a harsh religious freak. Ten times she rewrote the words in that false pinched writing. Satisfied, she tore up the paper and placed it to one side, ready to burn in the lounge fireplace downstairs. She replaced the mirror and tapped it with satisfaction. A glass underlay doesn't leave an imprint.
A quick glance at her cheap, heavy watch informed her it was six-thirty in the evening of a peaceful spring day. A Wednesday. Soon, she'd have a $200 fitness tracker strapped to her wrist. Eager to progress with her plan, she picked up her bulky handbag and her tatty gloves and skipped downstairs.
The Stables forbade cars to park anywhere in the hamlet for longer than fifteen minutes. Those who lived and worked there, like her, parked their car in a row of garages by the main gate. Some residents used bicycles to get about, but Olive preferred to walk. If she waggled her backside just right, she usually attracted a wolf-whistle or two.
Her 2004 model Morris Mini coughed into life, and she drove out of the garage, away from The Stables, toward the London suburb of Chipwick. The town is one of those petty little places with a scruffy high street, overpriced grocery shops, and shoddy pubs. But it serves as a centre for the locals.
She parked on a double yellow line and pretended to look at the tires; kicking them to see how much air they held. While she did, she cast secretive glances up and down the street. With no traffic warden in sight, or anyone she recognised, she hurried into one of those dingy shops that bought junk and sold antiques.
To be continued…
The real world:
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
Image by Rudy and Peter Skitterians from Pixabay
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The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
There’s a lot to like and a lot to dislike in this story. I like that it’s cosy, funny, and heart-warming. The plot, however, is a tragedy. There are two murders, and every character in the book, of which there are many, has a motif. With so many twists, turns, and red herrings throughout the narrative, it lost me in a virtual maze.
But the author commits the gravest crime: he introduces a new, guilty character right at the end of the story. Tut, tut, naughty.
View all my reviews