Hello! If you like mystery/thrillers with a dash of the supernatural, a pinch of romance, and a solid dollop of humour, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published. Current book: Evil Portent.

Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field.
Previously from posts 42 - 45
 
Not daring to go near the horse, and knowing Bert kept his ferocious dogs in the living room, Olive burst into Bert’s house by the front door. She stormed straight into the lounge. The air stunk of alcohol and Bert’s deep snoring made her wish she wore earplugs. He slouched in his favourite armchair, arms dangling over the rests, feet almost in the fire that still glowed warmly.
 
In the opposite chair slept a dwarf. He was tiny, but had muscles like a bodybuilder, straining against his clothes so tightly she marvelled at how he’d ever put them on. Between them on the floor was a gadget that pulsed with a dull glow.
 
Olive’s lips thinned. Momentarily fascinated, she plucked the gadget up for a closer look. It was about the size of a lunch box, made of two metal plates sandwiching an inch thick layer of jelly. Inside the jelly floated odd-shaped bits and pieces, some of them glowing faintly in various colours, swimming around like miniature fish.
 
She thought it would look perfect in her bathroom, alongside the candles and glass of wine, glimmering in all those gorgeous colours while she meditated in the bath. So she tossed it on the sideboard close to the door. On her way out, she’d take it with her.
 
“Wake up, you fat pig,” she screamed at Bert. He smiled and grunted, but didn’t wake. The dwarf, however, did. My God, he seemed drunk, because his two eyes rotated in all directions and he spoke some gibberish that sounded like backwards Arabian.
 
Ignoring him, she bent over Bert and prised his eyelids open with her green-manicured fingernails. “Wake up. What’s going on here? Why haven’t you come to my house? Who’s this?”
 
Bert groaned and held his eyes open without Olive’s help. “Oh, my head,” he grunted, and then smiled as he recognised her. “Hi, Olive. Lovely to see you again. What day is it?” It sounded as though his tongue flopped around inside his mouth like a wet sponge.
 
“Who is that?” Olive pointed at the Herculean dwarf.
 
“Ah, him. He’s called Alien Father, and he’s from a town called Lambden on planet named Ewepiter.”
 
Olive nostrils flared. Not only had Bert ignored her when he returned from number three, but now he mocked her. “And what’s this gadget?” she snatched up the glowing sandwich and shoved it under Bert’s nose.
 
Bert squinted at it and scratched his battered ear. “Better be careful with that. It’s a Doodad that opens a tunnel across the universe and works on the principle of Better-European Idiocy.”
 
“Meta-Euclidean Adjacency,” corrected the Alien Father, flexing his biceps and gazing at them with eyes as wide as saucers.
 
“What did he say?” asked Olive.
 
“He said what I said.” Bert gave a shaky laugh. “Oh, yeah, I forgot, you ain’t got a universal translator like what I’ve got.” He patted a gleaming badge on his sweat-stained T-shirt. “You can’t hear him like what I can. I can even speak to me Chums and me horse now. Want me to translate to English?”
 
Olive didn’t understand why Bert was talking to her like this, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t know whether she should box his ears or phone for an ambulance to take him away to the funny farm. She spun and headed for the door. “When you’re sober, you can come and apologise. And you better make it good.”
 
She didn’t realise she still clasped the gadget until she was safely in her own house again. It had lost its charm for her; whatever it was, she hated it. She opened her back door and flung it into her garden. It bounced twice, rolled along on its thin sides, and stopped in the middle of her lawn, still teetering on edge. A puff of wind nudged it. It fell, on side up, and the tunnel opened, breaching the way for the dreaded Guardians.
*
With Olive out of his face and out of the house, Bert ogled the Alien Father with amazement. The little man’s muscles bulged. “You feeling alright?” he asked.
 
“No, my skin is too tight.” He stretched this way and that, groaning with pleasure as he flexed his bulging muscles. “Your mixture. It works. We must return to Ewepiter without delay so I can crush the Guardians.”
 
“Now you just hold on a minute there,” said Bert. “You might be stronger, but you’re still a little squirt. You ain’t no match for the Guardians. And I don’t suppose you’re any braver either.”
 
The Alien Father slumped back into his chair. “You are right. The idea of meeting a Guardian makes me sick in the stomach.”
 
“Give me your hand and squeeze mine with all you’ve got.”
 
The Alien Father reached across and grasped three of Bert’s fingers. The muscles in the alien's arms twisted into knots as he gritted his teeth. Bert had felt stronger hands on the older children at the stables, trying to prise a coin hidden in his clenched fist.
 
Bert shook the hand off and pretended it hurt. He offered the alien a walnut. “Let’s see if you can crush this before you start on the Guardians.” Again, the alien’s muscles bunched, but the nut didn’t crack. Bert gave him another. “Here, try this one. Use both hands.” This time, the nut popped and crumbled. “Good, now eat what you find inside.” He took the other nut from the Alien Father, crushed it open between finger and thumb, and tossed the kernel into his mouth.
 
The Alien Father stopped chewing his nut. His muscles tensed. One of his eyes swivelled around the room; the other glared at the floor between them. “The Doodad,” he gasped. “It’s gone…”
 
“You stashed it under your chair,” said Bert, hardly paying attention. He had another matter on his mind. “There’s one goings-on I wonder about. I’ve been on your planet for two days, but time hasn’t changed here. It’s like I slipped away half an hour ago and just got back.”
 
“The Doodad also bends time.”
 
Cogwheels turned in Bert’s brain. Bent time? “So, while we’re here,  do you mean time isn’t running on your planet?”
 
“The Doodad returns us almost to the moment we left. If we were away for ten years, the others would see we’d grown old in minutes.”
 
“Got you.” More clanking of cogs. Bert’s head ached from the alcohol and his stomach rumbled with hunger again. “Why?”
 
"Why what?"
 
"Why would we look ten years older?"
 
“Because time continues simultaneously in both worlds while the tunnel is open.”
 
“Oh.” Bert lost his concentration and his posture collapsed. To make sense, he needed to draw a diagram. The Alsatians growled. A deep menacing sound in their throats. “What is it, Chums?”
 
“Intruder. Coming. Evil. Kill it. Intruder. Kill it...”
 
Bert laughed out loud. “I love the way you guys talk to me.”
 
“Danger. Boss. Intruder. Outside. Kill it.”
 
The alien father had lost interest in Bert. He tugged at the armchairs and peered beneath them, his new muscles flexing and heaving. “The Doodad,” he called, panic in his voice. “Where is it?”
 
Bert thought about it. The answer was simple. “Olive took it with her.”
 
They gaped at each other, horror in their eyes, and the Alsatians barked so fiercely that Bert couldn’t figure out a word. All he knew, is that something dreadful outside was happening…
 
Part 46:
In this post: Bert faces a ray gun…
 
A piercing scream reached them from somewhere out back. Bert could recognise Olive’s exquisite voice anywhere. Then his horse brayed and stamped. To his surprise, the Alien Father darted past him through the back door.
 
“Come on, Chums,” said Bert as he followed the little man. “I hope it hasn’t happened like I what I think has happened.”
 
“Kill, kill, kill!” snarled the Alsatians, vaulting through the back door before Bert.
 
The alien father had run out of bravery and hid behind a coal bunker. What Bert saw made his heart leap into his mouth, making it impossible to speak. In the middle of Olive’s lawn, the tunnel gaped open, hissing and throbbing like a maelstrom from hell.
 
A massive Guardian stood there, two heads taller than Bert’s six-foot-five, shoulders broader than the biggest gorilla he’d seen at London Zoo. Olive flopped unconscious over one of its arms like a rag doll. It clasped a ray gun in its other hand, looking just like a kid’s water pistol.
 
Bert didn’t know what plans the Guardian had for Olive, but seeing her in such danger in the arms of the giant drove him insane. Fury vibrated through his being. Almost choking with rage, he bent his head, clenched his hands into fists of granite, and charged.
 
When the Guardian saw him coming, a smirk creased its large jaw muscles, exposing broad, strong teeth. The mocking laughter dumped hot coals into the pit of Bert’s belly, super-charging his headlong rush.
 
The Guardian raised its ray gun coolly and pointed it at Bert.
 
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.
-

Hello! If you like mystery/thrillers with a dash of the supernatural, a pinch of romance, and a solid dollop of humour, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published. Current book: Evil Portent.

Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field.
Previously from posts 41 - 44
 
In the house adjoining Bert's, Olive finished her fifth cup of tea and yawned. Today, she’d set her alarm to ring at nine in the morning: the middle of the night for her! She wasn’t an early riser like her fiancé, Bert, and she wasn’t a nosy person either, but she fidgeted to learn what Bert had found out about the strange dwarfs at number three.
 
After she’d showered and applied her make-up, she’d opened the back door of her house. Bert would then realise she was up, and come in to tell her his news. She’d noticed his horse parked outside his house, so she knew he was there.
 
Olive wasn’t keen on animals, and she’d never had a pet. Bert’s Alsatians and his horse frightened the life out of her, especially the stallion: big docile man and his bigger wild horse. Sometimes, she thought Bert loved his animals more than he loved her. God knows he spent more time with his pets than with her.
 
By now, it was noon, her normal waking time. In another hour she’d have to leave for work, sorting The Stable’s financial books. She pounded her fist against the kitchen table, making her teacup and saucer jump. Why hadn’t Bert come with his gossip?
 
Frustration kicked in, and she dumped her cup and saucer in the stone sink so carelessly the cup’s handle snapped off. A wave of fury crashed through her. Since Bert was so selfish and uncaring that he didn’t see fit to pop in, then she’d go to his house. And she’d make sure the big lout regretted the day he was born.
 
Not daring to go near the horse, and knowing Bert kept his ferocious dogs in the living room, Olive burst into Bert’s house by the front door. Without knocking, she stormed straight into the lounge. The air stunk of alcohol and Bert’s deep snoring made her wish she wore earplugs. He slouched in his favourite armchair, arms dangling over the rests, feet almost in the fire that still glowed warmly.
 
In the opposite chair slept a dwarf. He was tiny, but had muscles like a bodybuilder, straining against his clothes so tightly she marvelled at how he’d ever put them on. Between them on the floor was a gadget that pulsed with a dull glow.
 
Olive’s lips thinned. Momentarily fascinated, she plucked the gadget up for a closer look. It was about the size of a lunch box, made of two metal plates sandwiching an inch thick layer of jelly. Inside the jelly floated odd-shaped bits and pieces, some of them glowing faintly in various colours, swimming around like miniature fish.
 
She thought it would look perfect in her bathroom, alongside the candles and glass of wine, glimmering in all those gorgeous colours while she meditated in the bath. So she tossed it on the sideboard close to the door. On her way out, she’d take it with her.
 
“Wake up, you fat pig,” she screamed at Bert. He smiled and grunted, but didn’t wake. The dwarf, however, did. My God, he seemed drunk, because his two eyes rotated in all directions and he spoke some gibberish that sounded like backwards Arabian.
 
Ignoring him, she bent over Bert and prised his eyelids open with her green-manicured fingernails. “Wake up. What’s going on here? Why haven’t you come to my house? Who’s this?”
 
Bert groaned and held his eyes open without Olive’s help. “Oh, my head,” he grunted, and then smiled as he recognised her. “Hi, Olive. Lovely to see you again. What day is it?” It sounded as though his tongue flopped around inside his mouth like a wet sponge.
 
“Who is that?” Olive pointed at the Herculean dwarf.
 
“Ah, him. He’s called Alien Father, and he’s from a planet named Ewepiter.”
 
Olive nostrils flared. Not only had Bert ignored her when he returned from number three, but now he mocked her. “And what’s this gadget?” she snatched up the glowing sandwich and shoved it under Bert’s nose.
 
Bert squinted at it and scratched his battered ear. “Better be careful with that. It’s a Doodad that opens a tunnel across the universe and works on the principle of Better-European Idiocy.”
 
“Meta-Euclidean Adjacency,” corrected the Alien Father, flexing his biceps and gazing at them with eyes as wide as saucers.
 
“What did he say?” asked Olive.
 
“He said what I said.” Bert gave a shaky laugh. “Oh, yeah, I forgot, you ain’t got a universal translator like what I’ve got.” He patted a gleaming badge on his sweat-stained T-shirt. “You can’t hear him like what I can. I can even speak to me Chums and me horse now. Want me to translate to English?”
 
Olive didn’t understand why Bert was talking to her like this, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t know whether she should box his ears or phone for an ambulance to take him away to the funny farm. She spun and headed for the door. “When you’re sober, you can come and apologise. And you better make it good.”
 
She didn’t realise she still clasped the gadget until she was safely in her own house again. It had lost its charm for her. Whatever it was, she hated it. She opened her back door and flung it into her garden. It bounced twice, rolled along on its thin sides, and stopped in the middle of her lawn, still teetering on edge. A puff of wind nudged it. It fell, on side up, and the tunnel opened, breaching the way for the dreaded Guardians.
*
With Olive out of his face and out of the house, Bert ogled the Alien Father with amazement. The little man’s muscles bulged. “You feeling alright?” he asked.
 
“No, I feel strange, like my skin is too tight.” He stretched this way and that, groaning with pleasure as he flexed his bulging muscles. “Your mixture. It works. We must return to Ewepiter without delay so I can crush the Guardians.”
 
“Now you just hold on a minute there,” said Bert. “You might be stronger, but you’re still a little squirt. You ain’t no match for the Guardians. And I don’t suppose you’re any braver either.”
 
The Alien Father slumped back into his chair. “You are right. The idea of meeting a Guardian makes me sick in the stomach.”
 
“Give me your hand and squeeze mine with all you’ve got.”
 
The Alien Father reached across and grasped three of Bert’s fingers. The muscles in his arms twisted into knots as he gritted his teeth. Bert had felt stronger hands on the older children at the stables, trying to prise a coin hidden in his clenched fist.
 
Bert shook the hand off and pretended it hurt. He offered the alien a walnut. “Let’s see if you can crush this before you start on the Guardians.” Again, the alien’s muscles bunched, but the nut didn’t crack. Bert gave him another. “Here, try this one. Use both hands.” This time, the nut cracked. “Good, now eat what you find inside.” He took the other nut from the Alien Father, crushed it open between finger and thumb, and tossed the kernel into his mouth.
 
The Alien Father stopped chewing his nut. His muscles tensed. One of his eyes swivelled around the room; the other glared at the floor between them. “The Doodad,” he gasped. “It’s gone…”
 
Part 45:
In this post: Bent time…
 
“You stashed it under your chair,” said Bert, hardly paying attention. “There’s one goings-on I wonder about. I’ve been on your planet for two days, but time hasn’t changed here. It’s like I slipped away half an hour ago and just got back.”
 
“The Doodad also bends time.”
 
Cogwheels turned in Bert’s brain. Bent time? “So, while we’re here, time isn’t running on your planet?”
 
“The Doodad returns us almost to the moment we left. If we were away for ten years, the others would see we’d grown old in minutes.”
 
“Got you.” More clanking of cogs. Bert’s head ached from the alcohol and his stomach rumbled with hunger again. “Why?”
 
“Because time continues simultaneously in both worlds while the tunnel is open.”
 
“Oh.” Bert gave up. To make sense, he needed to draw a diagram. The Alsatians growled. A deep menacing sound in their throats. “What is it, Chums?”
 
“Intruder. Coming. Evil. Kill it. Intruder. Kill it...”
 
Bert laughed out loud. “I love the way you guys talk to me.”
 
“Danger. Boss. Intruder. Outside. Kill it.”
 
The alien father pulled the armchairs about and peered underneath, his new muscles flexing and heaving. “The Doodad,” he called, panic in his voice. “Where is it?”
 
Bert thought about it. The answer was simple. “Olive took it with her.”
 
They gaped at each other, horror in their eyes, and the Alsatians barked so fiercely that Bert couldn’t figure out a word. All he knew, is that something dreadful was happening…
  
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.
-

Hello! If you like mystery/thrillers with a dash of the supernatural, a pinch of romance, and a solid dollop of humour, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published. Current book: Evil Portent.

Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field.
Previously from posts 40 - 43
 
While the alien father toasted his hands, Bert set about making his special porridge. He found a large basin and dumped in one giant mug of oat-based instant-breakfast cereal and three mugs of energy protein powder. It needed one full bottle of vodka to mix it into a thin gruel. Then he added an eggcup of salt, a teacup of sugar, and a tin of Popeye spinach. Three minutes in the microwave made it pleasantly warm and thick.
 
He carried the porridge, two cereal bowls, two spoons, and a jar of honey back into the lounge and set them on the floor between the armchairs. After making himself comfortable, he spooned porridge into one bowl, smothered it in honey, raisins and sliced banana, and handed it to the Alien Father. Then he filled his own dish.
 
The Alien Father dipped the tip of his spoon into the porridge and tasted it carefully. Bert watched with keen attention; his own spoonful halted in front of his mouth. The Alien Father’s eyebrows shot up and a smile exploded across his face. “This is good,” he said and spooned porridge as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.
 
Happy that his experiment worked out so well, Bert gobbled his own bowlful. To his surprise, the Alien Father ate his just as fast. Bert refilled both bowls. Compared to the bamboo tips porridge he’d choked on lately, and even though he'd rather have a slab of bloody beef, his own vegan creation was heaven.
 
When he reached to fill the bowls for a third time, he saw the Alien Father had fallen asleep, his dish and spoon nestled on his swollen belly. Reckoning his alien friend wouldn’t want more, Bert finished the rest, eating straight from the basin.
 
Two minutes later, stomach full, head spinning, comfy and warm in front of the fire, the threat of the Guardians forgotten, Bert fell asleep too.
*
In the adjoining house next to Bert, Olive finished her fifth cup of tea and yawned. Today, she’d set her alarm to ring at nine in the morning: the middle of the night! She wasn’t an early riser like her fiancé, Bert, and she wasn’t a nosy person either, but she fidgeted to learn what Bert had found out about the strange dwarfs at number three.
 
After she’d showered and applied her make-up, she’d opened the back door of her house. Bert would then realise she was up, and come in to tell her his news. She’d noticed his horse parked outside his house, so she knew he was there.
 
Olive wasn’t keen on animals, and she’d never had a pet. Bert’s Alsatians and his horse frightened the life out of her, especially the stallion: big docile man and his bigger wild horse. Sometimes, she thought Bert loved his animals more than he loved her. God knows he spent more time with his pets than with her.
 
By now, it was noon, her normal waking time. In another hour she’d have to leave for work, sorting The Stable’s financial books. She pounded her fist against the kitchen table, making her teacup and saucer jump. Why hadn’t Bert come with his gossip?
 
Frustration kicked in, and she dumped her cup and saucer in the stone sink so carelessly the cup’s handle snapped off. A wave of fury crashed through her. Since Bert was so selfish and uncaring that he didn’t see fit to pop in, then she’d go to his house. And she’d make sure the big lout regretted the day he was born.
 
Not daring to go near the horse, and knowing Bert kept his ferocious dogs in the living room, Olive burst into Bert’s house by the front door. Without knocking, she stormed straight into the lounge. The air stunk of alcohol and Bert’s deep snoring made her wish she wore earplugs. He slouched in his favourite armchair, arms dangling over the rests, feet almost in the fire that still glowed warmly.
 
In the opposite chair slept a dwarf. He was tiny, but had muscles like a bodybuilder, straining against his clothes so tightly she marvelled at how he’d ever put them on. Between them on the floor was a gadget that pulsed with a dull glow.
 
Olive’s lips thinned. Momentarily fascinated, she plucked the gadget up for a closer look. It was about the size of a lunch box, made of two metal plates sandwiching an inch thick layer of jelly. Inside the jelly floated odd-shaped bits and pieces, some of them glowing faintly in various colours, swimming around like miniature fish.
 
She thought it would look perfect in her bathroom, alongside the candles and glass of wine, glimmering in all those gorgeous colours while she meditated in the bath. So she tossed it on the sideboard close to the door. On her way out, she’d take it with her.
 
“Wake up, you fat pig,” she screamed at Bert. He smiled and grunted, but didn’t wake. The dwarf, however, did. My God, he seemed drunk, because his two eyes rotated in all directions and he spoke some gibberish that sounded like backwards Arabian.
 
Ignoring him, she bent over Bert and prised his eyelids open with her green-manicured fingernails. “Wake up. What’s going on here? Why haven’t you come to my house? Who’s this?”
 
Bert groaned and held his eyes open without Olive’s help. “Oh, my head,” he grunted, and then smiled as he recognised her. “Hi, Olive. Lovely to see you again. What day is it?” It sounded as though his tongue flopped around inside his mouth like a wet sponge.
 
“Who is that?” Olive pointed at the Herculean dwarf.
 
“Ah, him. He’s called Alien Father, and he’s from a planet named Ewepiter.”
 
Olive nostrils flared. Not only had Bert ignored her when he returned from number three, but now he mocked her. “And what’s this gadget?” she snatched up the glowing sandwich and shoved it under Bert’s nose.
 
Bert squinted at it and scratched his battered ear. “Better be careful with that. It’s a Doodad that opens a tunnel across the universe and works on the principle of Better-European Idiocy.”
 
“Meta-Euclidean Adjacency,” corrected the Alien Father, flexing his biceps and gazing at them with eyes as wide as saucers.
 
“What did he say?” asked Olive.
 
“He said what I said.” Bert gave a shaky laugh. “Oh, yeah, I forgot, you ain’t got a universal translator like what I’ve got.” He patted a gleaming badge on his sweat-stained T-shirt. “You can’t hear him like what I can. I can even speak to me Chums and me horse now. Want me to translate to English?”
 
Olive didn’t understand why Bert was talking to her like this, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t know whether she should box his ears or phone for an ambulance to take him away to the funny farm. She spun and headed for the door. “When you’re sober, you can come and apologise. And you better make it good.”
 
She didn’t realise she still clasped the gadget until she was safely in her own house again. It had lost its charm for her. Whatever it was, she hated it. She opened her back door and flung it out into her garden. It bounced twice, rolled along on its thin sides, and stopped in the middle of her lawn, still teetering on edge. A puff of wind nudged it. It fell, on side up, and the tunnel opened, breaching the way for the dreaded Guardians.
*
 
Part 44:
In this post: Bert and the Alien Father crack walnuts…
 
With Olive out of his face and out of the house, Bert ogled the Alien Father with amazement. The little man’s muscles bulged. “You feeling alright?” he asked.
 
“No, I feel strange, like my skin is too tight.” He stretched this way and that, groaning with pleasure as he flexed his bulging muscles. “Your mixture. It works. We must return to Ewepiter without delay so I can crush the Guardians.”
 
“Now you just hold on a minute there,” said Bert. “You might be stronger, but you’re still a little squirt. You ain’t no match for the Guardians. And I don’t suppose you’re any braver either.”
 
The Alien father slumped back into his chair. “You are right. The idea of meeting a Guardian makes me sick in the stomach.”
 
“Give me your hand and squeeze mine with all you’ve got.”
 
The Alien Father reached across and grasped three of Bert’s fingers. The muscles in his arms twisted into knots and he gritted his teeth. Bert had felt stronger hands on the older children at the stables, trying to prise a coin hidden in his clenched fist.
 
Bert shook the hand off and pretended it hurt. He offered the alien a walnut. “Let’s see if you can crack walnuts before you start on the Guardians.” Again, the alien’s muscles bunched, but the nut didn’t crack. Bert gave him another. “Here, try this one. Use both hands.” This time, one nut cracked. “Good, now eat what you find inside.” He took the other nut from the Alien Father, crushed it open between finger and thumb, and tossed the kernel into his mouth.
 
The Alien Father stopped chewing his nut. His muscles tensed. One of his eyes swivelled around the room; the other glared at the floor between them. “The Doodad,” he gasped. “It’s gone…”
 
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.
-

Hello! If you like mystery/thrillers with a dash of the supernatural, a pinch of romance, and a solid dollop of humour, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published. Current book: Evil Portent.

Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field.
Previously from posts 39 - 42
 
Bert's Alsatians sniffed him suspiciously. “Where’ve you been, Boss? Where’ve you been?” he heard them say. “You smell funny. Take us with you next time, we’ll protect you. Who’s that with you? Shall we kill him?”
 
Bert shook his head again and wondered how long it would take before his brain settled. “This is my friend.” He reached behind his back and yanked the Alien Father into view. “Say hello to him—nicely!” His Chums moved closer to the Alien Father, sniffed at the strange little creature, and growled deep in their throats.
 
“They’re meat-eaters,” said the Alien Father. He scrunched his eyes shut and was so rigid he trembled.
 
“Tasty!” said Bert’s Chums.
 
“Out of bounds,” said Bert. “Go to your corner and don’t even look at him.”
 
They slinked off, ears plastered flat against their heads.
 
Bert pulled the Alien Father with him into the lounge. Two bulky-stuffed armchairs squatted on each side of the open fire, and a well-cushioned settee stretched along the furthest wall. A light beige carpet covered the floor. Sitting on the mantelpiece, a clock ticked lazily, and above that on the chimney breast hung a large picture of an angel with tears in her eyes. Dogs’ hairs coated everything.
 
An even bigger surprise greeted Bert. Someone had lit his fire and the logs blazed cheerfully, just like when he’d hurried away to visit the newcomer dwarf at number three all those days ago.
 
“Sit in that armchair next to the fire and warm yourself,” said Bert. “Olive’s been here, bless her. Put the Doodad by your feet where it’s safe. We don’t want Olive tinkering with it.” He gave a little wink. "Women!"
 
Bert nudged his chair closer to the warmth and threw in two logs. The Alien Father tugged and pushed his armchair, but he was too weak to budge it. So Bert reached across, dragged it for him, and scooted him into the cushions head first. “And now,” said Bert, rubbing his hands, “I’m going to make you my ‘Piss De Resistant.’ “
 
While the alien father toasted his hands, Bert set about making his special porridge. He found a large basin and dumped in one giant mug of oat-based instant-breakfast cereal and three mugs of energy protein powder. It needed one full bottle of vodka to mix it into a thin gruel. Then he added an eggcup of salt, a teacup of sugar, and a tin of Popeye spinach. Three minutes in the microwave made it pleasantly warm and thick.
 
He carried the porridge, two cereal bowls, two spoons, and a jar of honey back into the lounge and set them on the floor between the armchairs. After making himself comfortable, he spooned porridge into one bowl, smothered it in honey, raisins and sliced banana, and handed it to the Alien Father. Then he filled his own dish.
 
The Alien Father dipped the tip of his spoon into the porridge and tasted it carefully. Bert watched with keen attention; his own spoonful halted in front of his mouth. The Alien Father’s eyebrows shot up and a smile exploded across his face. “This is good,” he said and spooned porridge as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.
 
Happy that his experiment worked out so well, Bert gobbled his bowlful. To his surprise, the Alien Father ate his just as fast. Bert refilled both bowls. Compared to the bamboo tips porridge he’d choked on lately, his own creation was heaven. When he reached to fill the bowls for a third time, he saw the Alien Father had fallen asleep, his dish and spoon nestled on his swollen belly. Reckoning his alien friend wouldn’t want more, Bert finished the rest, eating straight from the basin.
 
Two minutes later, stomach full, head spinning, comfy and warm in front of the fire, the threat of the Guardians forgotten, Bert fell asleep too.
*
In the adjoining house next to Bert, Olive finished her fifth cup of tea and yawned. Today, she’d set her alarm to ring at nine in the morning: the middle of the night! She wasn’t an early riser like her fiancé, Bert, and she wasn’t a nosy person either, but she fidgeted to learn what Bert had found out about the dwarfs at number three.
 
After she’d showered and applied her make-up, she’d opened the back door of her house. Bert would then realise she was up, and come in to tell her his news. She’d noticed his horse parked outside his house, so she knew he was there.
 
Olive wasn’t keen on animals, and she’d never had a pet. Bert’s Alsatians and his horse frightened the life out of her, especially the stallion: big docile man and his bigger wild horse. Sometimes, she thought Bert loved his animals more than he loved her. God knows he spent more time with his pets than with her.
 
By now, it was noon, her normal waking time. In another hour she’d have to leave for work, sorting The Stable’s financial books. She pounded her fist against the kitchen table, making her teacup and saucer jump. Why hadn’t Bert come with his gossip?
 
Frustration kicked in, and she dumped her cup and saucer in the stone sink so carelessly the cup’s handle snapped off. A wave of fury crashed through her. Since Bert was so selfish and uncaring that he didn’t see fit to pop in, then she’d go to his house. And she’d make sure the big lout regretted the day he was born.
 
Not daring to go near the horse, and knowing Bert kept his ferocious dogs in the living room, Olive burst into Bert’s house by the front door. Without knocking, she stormed straight into the lounge. The air stunk of alcohol and Bert’s deep snoring made her wish she wore earplugs. He slouched in his favourite armchair, arms dangling over the rests, feet almost in the fire that still glowed warmly.
 
In the opposite chair slept a dwarf. He was tiny, but had muscles like a bodybuilder, straining against his clothes so tightly she marvelled at how he’d ever put them on. Between them on the floor was a gadget that pulsed with a dull glow.
 
Olive’s lips thinned. Momentarily fascinated, she plucked the gadget up for a closer look. It was about the size of a lunch box, made up of two metal plates sandwiching an inch thick layer of jelly. Inside the jelly floated odd-shaped bits and pieces, some of them glowing faintly in various colours, swimming around like miniature fish.
 
She thought it would look perfect in her bathroom, alongside the candles and glass of wine, glimmering in all those gorgeous colours while she meditated in the bath. So she tossed it on the sideboard close to the door. On her way out, she’d take it with her.
 
“Wake up, you fat pig,” she screamed at Bert. He smiled and grunted, but didn’t wake. The dwarf, however, did. My God, he seemed drunk, because his two eyes rotated in all directions and he spoke some gibberish that sounded like backwards Arabian.
 
Ignoring him, she bent over Bert and prised his eyelids open with her green-manicured fingernails. “Wake up. What’s going on here? Why haven’t you come to my house? Who’s this?”
 
Part 43:
In this post: Translate to English

Bert groaned and held his eyes open without Olive’s help. “Oh, my head,” he grunted, and then smiled as he recognised her. “Hi, Olive. Lovely to see you again. What day is it?” It sounded as though his tongue flopped around inside his mouth like a wet sponge.
 
“Who is that?” Olive pointed at the Herculean dwarf.
 
“Ah, him. He’s called Alien Father, and he’s from a planet named Ewepiter.”
 
Olive nostrils flared. Not only had Bert ignored her when he returned from number three, but now he mocked her. “And what’s this gadget?” she snatched up the glowing sandwich and shoved it under Bert’s nose.
 
Bert squinted at it and scratched his battered ear. “Better be careful with that. It’s a Doodad that opens a tunnel across the universe and works on the principle of Better-European Idiocy.”
 
“Meta-Euclidean Adjacency,” corrected the Alien Father, flexing his biceps and gazing at them with eyes as wide as saucers.
 
“What did he say?” asked Olive.
 
“He said what I said.” Bert gave a shaky laugh. “Oh, yeah, I forgot, you ain’t got a universal translator like what I’ve got.” He patted a gleaming badge on his sweat-stained T-shirt. “You can’t hear him like what I can. I can even speak to me Chums and me horse now. Want me to translate to English?”
 
Olive didn’t understand why Bert was talking to her like this, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t know whether she should box his ears or phone for an ambulance to take him away to the funny farm. She spun and headed for the door. “When you’re sober, you can come and apologise. And you better make it good.”
 
She didn’t realise she still clasped the gadget until she was safely in her own house again. It had lost its charm for her. Whatever it was, she hated it. She opened her back door and flung it out into her garden. It bounced twice, rolled along on its thin sides, and stopped in the middle of her lawn, still teetering on edge. A puff of wind nudged it. It fell, on side up, and the tunnel opened, breaching the way for the dreaded Guardians.
 
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.

​Hello! If you like mystery/thrillers with a dash of the supernatural, a pinch of romance, and a solid dollop of humour, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published. Current book: Evil Portent.

Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field.
Previously from posts 38 - 41… 

Bigfoot nuzzled Bert’s neck. “Ain’t you let anyone close enough to take you back to the stable?” said Bert. He reached into his pocket for his phone and then recalled how the Alien Mother had smashed it for parts to repair the Doodad.
 
Now he’d have to borrow Olive’s phone to find out why his best mate Alf hadn’t looked after his pets. That's if she could find it, or the battery wasn't flat like normal, or she hadn't dropped it in the bath again. He wondered what Olive had been up to while he’d been away. Most likely taken the opportunity to go off flirting. But then he noticed her back door slightly open, a sure sign she was up and about.
 
Bert hugged Bigfoot’s neck and whispered in his ear. “Sorry I’ve been gone for so long. It won’t happen again. I love you, mate.”
 
To his astonishment, his horse said, “I love you too, mate.” Bert shook his head. The journey between planets must have jangled his brain.
 
The Alien Father reached out and stroked Bigfoot’s knee.
 
“Don’t he scare you?” said Bert, eyebrows raised. Hardly anyone was brave enough to touch his horse, and his horse seldom allowed anybody to approach him.
 
“He’s like me, a grazer, a hunted animal, but so proud, so strong.”
 
“Yeah, he’s a good friend,” said Bert. "So are you, and I don't eat my friends. We'll soon have you just as strong as Bigfoot." He waggled a finger in his ear. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen a horse. We’ve got loads of animals here on Earth. Come inside and meet me Chums.”
 
“Chums?”
 
“Yeah, me Alsatians. Two little fluff balls. They’re dogs. Can’t understand why, but nobody likes them either.”
 
Bert's Alsatians sniffed him suspiciously. “Where’ve you been, Boss? Where’ve you been?” he heard them say. “You smell funny. Take us with you next time, we’ll protect you. Who’s that with you? Shall we kill him?”
 
Bert shook his head again and wondered how long it would take before his brain settled. “This is my friend.” He reached behind his back and yanked the Alien Father into view. “Say hello to him-nicely!” His Chums moved closer to the Alien Father, sniffed at the strange little creature, and growled deep in their throats.
 
“They’re meat-eaters,” said the Alien Father. He scrunched his eyes shut and was so rigid he trembled.
 
“Tasty!” said Bert’s Chums.
 
“Out of bounds,” said Bert. “Go to your corner and don’t even look at him.”
 
They slinked off, ears plastered flat against their heads.
 
Bert pulled the Alien Father with him into the lounge. Two bulky-stuffed armchairs squatted on each side of the open fire, and a well-cushioned settee stretched along the furthest wall. A light beige carpet covered the floor. Sitting on the mantelpiece, a clock ticked lazily, and above that on the chimney breast hung a large picture of an angel with tears in her eyes. Dogs’ hairs coated everything.
 
An even bigger surprise greeted Bert. Someone had lit his fire and the logs blazed cheerfully, just like when he’d hurried away to visit the newcomer dwarf at number three all those days ago.
 
“Sit in that armchair next to the fire and warm yourself,” said Bert. “Olive’s been here, bless her. Put the Doodad by your feet where it’s safe. We don’t want Olive tinkering with it.” He gave a little wink. "Women!"
 
Bert nudged his chair closer to the warmth and threw in two logs. The Alien Father tugged and pushed his armchair, but he was too weak to budge it. So Bert reached across, dragged it for him, and scooted him into the cushions head first. “And now,” said Bert, rubbing his hands, “I’m going to make you my ‘Piss De Resistant.’ “
 
While the alien father toasted his hands, Bert set about making his special porridge. He found a large basin and dumped in one giant mug of oat-based instant-breakfast cereal and three mugs of energy protein powder. It needed one full bottle of vodka to mix it into a thin gruel. Then he added an eggcup of salt, a teacup of sugar, and a tin of Popeye spinach. Three minutes in the microwave made it pleasantly warm and thick.
 
He carried the porridge, two cereal bowls, two spoons, and a jar of honey back into the lounge and set them on the floor between the armchairs. After making himself comfortable, he spooned porridge into one bowl, smothered it in honey, raisins and sliced banana, and handed it to the Alien Father. Then he filled his own dish.
 
The Alien Father dipped the tip of his spoon into the porridge and tasted it carefully. Bert watched with keen attention; his own spoonful halted in front of his mouth. The Alien Father’s eyebrows shot up and a smile exploded across his face. “This is good,” he said and spooned porridge as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.
 
Happy that his experiment worked out so well, Bert gobbled his bowlful. To his surprise, the Alien Father ate his just as fast. Bert refilled both bowls. Compared to the bamboo tips porridge he’d choked on lately, his own creation was heaven. When he reached to fill the bowls for a third time, he saw the Alien Father had fallen asleep, his dish and spoon nestled on his swollen belly. Reckoning his alien friend wouldn’t want more, Bert finished the rest, eating straight from the basin.
 
Two minutes later, stomach full, head spinning, comfy and warm in front of the fire, the threat of the Guardians forgotten, Bert fell asleep too.
 
In the adjoining house next to Bert, Olive finished her fifth cup of tea and yawned. Today, she’d set her alarm to ring at nine in the morning: the middle of the night! She wasn’t an early riser like her fiancé, Bert, and she wasn’t a nosy person either, but she fidgeted to learn what Bert had found out about the dwarfs at number three.
 
After she’d showered and applied her make-up, she’d opened the back door of her house. Bert would then realise she was up, and come in to tell her his news. She’d noticed his horse parked outside his house, so she knew he was there.
 
Olive wasn’t keen on animals, and she’d never had a pet. Bert’s Alsatians and his horse frightened the life out of her, especially the stallion: big docile man and his bigger wild horse. Sometimes, she thought Bert loved his animals more than he loved her. God knows he spent more time with his pets than with her.
 
By now, it was noon, her normal waking time. In another hour and she’d have to leave for work, sorting The Stable’s financial books. She pounded her fist against the kitchen table, making her teacup and saucer jump. Why hadn’t Bert come with his gossip?
 
Frustration kicked in, and she dumped her cup and saucer in the stone sink so carelessly the cup’s handle snapped off. A wave of fury crashed through her. Since Bert was so selfish and uncaring that he didn’t see fit to pop in, then she’d visit him. And she’d make sure the big lout regretted the day he was born.
 
Part 42:
In this post: Green manicured fingernails…

Not daring to go near the horse, and knowing Bert kept his ferocious dogs in the living room, Olive burst into Bert’s house by the front door. Without knocking, she stormed straight into the lounge. The air stunk of alcohol and Bert’s deep snoring made her wish she wore earplugs. He slouched in his favourite armchair, arms dangling over the rests, feet almost in the fire that still glowed warmly.
 
In the opposite chair slept a dwarf. He was tiny, but had muscles like a bodybuilder, straining against his clothes so tightly she marvelled at how he’d ever put them on. Between them on the floor was a gadget that pulsed with a dull glow.
 
Olive’s lips thinned. Momentarily fascinated, she plucked the gadget up for a closer look. It was about the size of a sandwich box, made up of two metal plates sandwiching an inch thick layer of jelly. Inside the jelly floated odd-shaped bits and pieces, some of them glowing faintly in various colours, swimming around like miniature fish.
 
She thought it would look perfect in her bathroom, alongside the candles and glass of wine, glimmering in all those gorgeous colours while she meditated in the bath. So she tossed it on the sideboard close to the door. On her way out, she’d take it with her.
 
“Wake up, you fat pig,” she screamed at Bert. He smiled and grunted, but didn’t wake. The dwarf, however, did. My God, he seemed drunk, because his two eyes rotated in all directions and he spoke some gibberish that sounded like backwards Arabian.
 
Ignoring him, she bent over Bert and prised his eyelids open with her green-manicured fingernails. “Wake up. What’s going on here? Why haven’t you come to my house? Who’s this?”
 
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.
-

Hello! If you like mystery/thrillers with a dash of the supernatural, a pinch of romance, and a solid dollop of humour, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published. Current book: Evil Portent.

Life in the Clouds #4: Evil Portent ® James Field.
Previously from posts 37 - 40… 

The Alien Father dodged behind Bert. “You first. Dash into the tunnel full speed. That way, the dissolving experience is less formidable and you’ll be through in seconds.”
 
Bert took his advice, lowered his head, and charged into the tunnel's deep throat. A feather pillow slapped his face, another struck his back, and then he stumbled into number three, Flintstone Cottage, The Stables, London, England, Earth.
 
The Alien Father bumped into his legs, looked all around, eyes blinking rapidly, and rotated the Doodad into the off position. He shivered. “It’s cold here.”
 
After the sweaty tropical warmth of Ewepiter, Bert was glad. “Much better, don’t you think?”
 
"No."
 
"It's because you haven't got any fat on you, but we'll soon put that straight." A quick glance told Bert everything was how he’d left it. Strange nobody came to see what had happened to him. “Let’s go to my place. I’ll light the fire and you’ll soon warm up.”
 
"Is it far?"
 
"Two houses away."
 
"I'll bring the Doodad," said the Alien Father. "As long as it's turned off, the Guardians can't come through."
 
This was good, and Bert gave the 'thumbs-up'. Now he'd have the whole morning to fix the energy drink and round up weapons. He strode out into the backyard, headed along the alleyway past Olive’s mid-terrace house, and stopped at his own residence at the terrace’s other end. "Home-sweet-home," he mumbled.
 
By the sun’s height, it was early morning, the same time of day he’d parted. How many days had he been away? He'd lost count. At least two.
 
His horse, Bigfoot, still saddled and tethered to the handle of his outside toilet, whinnied and pawed with his hoof. He could also hear his two Alsatians inside the house grow excited at his return. This was even stranger, hadn’t anyone taken care of his pets while he’d been away?
 
Bigfoot nuzzled Bert’s neck. “Ain’t you let anyone close enough to take you back to the stable?” said Bert. He reached into his pocket for his phone and then recalled how the Alien Mother had smashed it for parts to repair the Doodad.
 
Now he’d have to borrow Olive’s phone to find out why his best mate Alf hadn’t looked after his pets. He wondered what Olive had been up to while he’d been away. Most likely taken the opportunity to go off flirting. But then he noticed her back door slightly open, a sure sign she was up and about.
 
Bert hugged Bigfoot’s neck and whispered in his ear. “Sorry I’ve been gone for so long. It won’t happen again. I love you, mate.”
 
To his astonishment, his horse said, “I love you too, mate.” Bert shook his head. The journey between planets must have jangled his brain.
 
The Alien Father reached out and stroked Bigfoot’s knee.
 
“Don’t he scare you?” said Bert, eyebrows raised. Hardly anyone was brave enough to touch his horse, and his horse seldom allowed anybody to approach him.
 
“He’s like me, a grazer, a hunted animal, but so proud, so strong.”
 
“Yeah, he’s a good friend,” said Bert. "So are you, and I don't eat my friends. We'll soon have you just as strong as Bigfoot." He waggled a finger in his ear. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen a horse. We’ve got loads of animals here on Earth. Come inside and meet me Chums.”
 
“Chums?”
 
“Yeah, me Alsatians. Two little fluff balls. They’re dogs. Can’t understand why, but nobody likes them either.”
 
Bert's Alsatians sniffed him suspiciously. “Where’ve you been, Boss? Where’ve you been?” he heard them say. “You smell funny. Take us with you next time, we’ll protect you. Who’s that with you? Shall we kill him?”
 
Bert shook his head again and wondered how long it would take before his brain settled. “This is my friend.” He reached behind his back and yanked the Alien Father into view. “Say hello to him-nicely!” His Chums moved closer to the Alien Father, sniffed at the strange little creature, and growled deep in their throats.
 
“They’re meat-eaters,” said the Alien Father. He scrunched his eyes shut and was so rigid he trembled.
 
“Tasty!” said Bert’s Chums.
 
“Out of bounds,” said Bert. “Go to your corner and don’t even look at him.”
 
They slinked off, ears plastered flat against their heads.
 
Bert pulled the Alien Father with him into the lounge. Two bulky-stuffed armchairs squatted on each side of the open fire, and a well-cushioned settee stretched along the furthest wall. A light beige carpet covered the floor. Sitting on the mantelpiece, a clock ticked lazily, and above that on the chimney breast hung a large picture of an angel with tears in her eyes. Dogs’ hairs coated everything.
 
An even bigger surprise greeted Bert. Someone had lit his fire and the logs blazed cheerfully, just like when he’d hurried away to visit the newcomer at number three all those days ago.
 
“Sit in that armchair next to the fire and warm yourself,” said Bert. “Olive’s been here, bless her. Put the Doodad by your feet where it’s safe. We don’t want Olive tinkering with it.” He gave a little wink. "Women!"
 
Bert nudged his chair closer to the warmth and threw in two logs. The Alien Father tugged and pushed his armchair, but he was too weak to budge it. So Bert reached across, dragged it for him, and scooted him into the cushions head first. “And now,” said Bert, rubbing his hands, “I’m going to make you my ‘Piss De Resistant.’ “

While the alien father toasted his hands, Bert set about making his special porridge. He found a large basin and dumped in one giant mug of oat-based instant-breakfast cereal and three mugs of energy protein powder. It needed one full bottle of vodka to mix it into a thin gruel. Then he added an eggcup of salt, a teacup of sugar, and a tin of Popeye spinach. Three minutes in the microwave made it pleasantly warm and thick.
 
He carried the porridge, two cereal bowls, two spoons, and a jar of honey back into the lounge and set them on the floor between the armchairs. After making himself comfortable, he spooned porridge into one bowl, smothered it in honey, raisins and sliced banana, and handed it to the Alien Father. Then he filled his own dish.
 
The Alien Father dipped the tip of his spoon into the porridge and tasted it carefully. Bert watched with keen attention; his own spoonful halted in front of his mouth. The Alien Father’s eyebrows shot up and a smile exploded across his face. “This is good,” he said and spooned porridge as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.
 
Happy that his experiment worked out so well, Bert gobbled his bowlful. To his surprise, the Alien Father ate his just as fast. Bert refilled both bowls. After the bamboo tips porridge he’d choked on lately, his own creation was heaven. When he reached to fill the bowls for a third time, he saw the Alien Father had fallen asleep, his dish and spoon nestled on his swollen belly. Reckoning his alien friend wouldn’t want any more, Bert finished the rest, eating straight from the basin.
 
Two minutes later, stomach full, head spinning, comfy and warm in front of the fire, threat of the Guardians forgotten, Bert fell asleep too.
 
Part 41:
In this post: A broken cup…

In the adjoining house next to Bert, Olive finished her fifth cup of tea and yawned. Today, she’d set her alarm to ring at nine in the morning: the middle of the night! She wasn’t an early riser like her fiancé, Bert, and she wasn’t a nosy person either, but she had to learn what Bert had found out about the dwarfs at number three.
 
After she’d showered and applied her make-up, she’d opened the back door of her house so Bert would realise she was up and come in to tell her his news. She’d noticed his horse parked outside his house, so she knew he was there.
 
Olive wasn’t keen on animals, and she’d never had a pet. Bert’s Alsatians and his horse frightened the life out of her, especially the stallion: big docile man, bigger wild horse. Perhaps they respected each other. Sometimes, she thought Bert loved his animals more than he loved her. God knows he spent more time with his pets than with her.
 
By now, it was noon, her normal waking time. In another hour and she’d have to leave for work, sorting The Stable’s financial books. Why hadn’t Bert come with his gossip?
 
Frustration kicked in, and she dumped her cup and saucer in the stone sink so carelessly the cup’s handle snapped off. A wave of fury crashed through her. Since Bert was so selfish and uncaring that he didn’t see fit to pop in, then she’d visit him. And she’d make sure the big lout regretted the day he was born.
 
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.
-