Short Stories to Entertain

Boiled Sausages and Curly Butter The pipes banged at exactly six thirty. A resonating thumping that carried through the whole building. Every morning the same without fail. It was the cook turning on the cold water to fill the egg poaching pans at the same time as Mrs Gloria Dubonnet stood up, pulled up her very ample knickers and flushed the loo in her small flat immediately above the kitchen. The row persisting until the cistern replenishment was complete. Then resuming as the many guests trotted in their pre-agreed order to the three bathrooms, one on each floor. Each turn of a tap or flush of a loo starting a kind of harmonic organ like arrangement the sort that might be heard in a very contemporary recital.  Ample is an extremely good way to describe Gloria Dubonnet. Had a large behind and sufficient, in fact more than sufficient frontage. Her golden hair, dyed of course, hung in ringlets to below her shoulders and complimented her rouge enhanced cheeks, brilliant red ...

A Rooster, Battenberg Cake and a Secret Code The time was exactly four in the afternoon and the front doorbell rang four times. That was all, not because the ringer only rang four times, but because the bell ran out of energy. It was clockwork. The contraption secured to the front door just above the lock and consisted of a bell about four inches across fixed to a winder on a metal plate that was screwed to the woodwork. To encourage the bell to work it was simply turned clockwise several times compressing the spring. Winding it up. The activating button on the outside was attached to the mechanism via a push rod. When pushed the spring was released and the bell revolved at pace causing ringing. When released the bell stopped. In this instance the ringer had pressed the button five times. Reginald Oldershore was sitting in his comfy armchair in his front room having his afternoon cup of weak everyday tea and Battenberg cake served on his best china. The china tea pot covered ...

Scuffed Toes and a Thin Branch He was sick to death of all the quips. All the snotty nosed little kids rushing up, poking, taunting and generally being obnoxious. And boy could they be obnoxious. Without much effort. Not needing too much encouragement. The six to ten year olds were the worst. Running after him shouting “Long Leg Lenny, Long Leg Lenny don’t trip over Long Leg Lenny it’s a long way down.” Things like that.   And worse. Such language for an eight year old. Young Bobby Stumpings needed an extended appointment with a bar of soap. The thing about that though was Lenny did not have long legs. Sure he was seven foot two inches tall. In his stocking feet as well. Put on proper shoes and wow. Bumping the bonce on the clouds. No his legs were short, would fit very neatly onto someone just approaching six feet tall. The extra was not in his head that was fairly normal. Fairly because he did have an extended chin that made his face look long but overall his head wou...