Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

He lay on the bed in his custody cell wondering what possible, provable defence he would need. He had never met Valerie therefore his fingerprints could not have been anywhere on her. He certainly did not know what she looked like and he had never been in the bathroom, where it was alleged she had died. The house though was his as part of a new development site. He wondered how the police arrived and also how they knew where to go. He could not imagine it was coincidental. He ran through everything over and over again, then a wry smile crossed his face – Mitchell, of course. It had to be. He wanted the Heathrow site. The events of the last few days prior to his arrest clearly pointed him to the Housing Minister. He realised that Mitchell would be clean but that he was the murderer in absentia. His outlook was bleak. He, Robert Henry Bond, property developer of some repute, received a call from Edward Mitchell, Member of Parliament Surrey East. Mitchell knew Robert had sites all over th

Dear imaginary friend, I say imaginary but of course you are, in fact, real. You even have a name, Ronald (D), but I have no idea what you look like, how old you are, or whether you have family who call by. I hope so. All I know at this point is that you live on your own in the community, have a love of poetry and all things arty. I think we will get along just fine, Ronald, because I love these things too. However, this will be the briefest of relationships, but please know that there are lots of us who care out there, beyond your four walls and I hope that my letter is the first of many you will receive in the future. I know I will ponder about your expression upon receiving it, a nervous yet excited smile, or maybe even a whoop as you tear open the envelope? Will you read it straight away or settle down with a pot of warm, milky tea and a ginger biscuit to take your time? I wonder what you will think as you pour over the content, whether it was enough to warm your lonely heart

23 rd December 1965 He knew something was amiss as he approached the front door; water was leaking out and trickling down the steps like a small stream over rocks. He climbed t hem but, as he turned the key and opened the door, a deluge stormed out, caught him by surprise and took his legs from underneath him. He was momentarily dazed but recovered quickly enough to dodge a floating milk bottle coming straight at his head. He swore as he climbed back up the steps, but the deluge had abated so entrance to the house was easier. Once inside he stood and took in the scene before him. “Chaos, bloody chaos,” he said aloud. He’d left a light on when he went out that morning but assumed the water had put paid to the electricity supply. He made his way gingerly towards the kitchen to fetch the torch which he found in its usual drawer. Switching it on gave him the full picture of the damage. “Bloody hell, what a mess,” he said to himself as he shone the light at the ceiling, at which poin

Milk finished, I put the bottle in the empties crate, wipe a hand across my mouth and push open the door to the school playground. It’s cold. I pull my socks up trying not to touch the grazes on my knees. I fell over kicking a tennis ball around the yard this morning, before school started. Scuffed my shoes as well. I’ll get a telling off for that. All join on for cowboys, they shout out loudly, five boys in a line, arms around shoulders, wandering around the yard looking for more to join in. But it’s not cowboys for me today. To the side of the outdoor lavatories, there’s a game of chips going on. One lad stands with his back to the wall and facing him, six more are leaning over, hands on knees, one behind the other. I watch, mouth wide open, as a rough-looking boy, sleeves rolled up, runs full pelt towards the end of the line and leapfrogs as far as he can, landing heavily in the middle of the row of backs. The whole line collapses. Shrieks of laughter. They pick themselves

2 January 2021 Dear Chrissy Welcome to the new on-line support for Mexley’s beginners’ writing course. Just make sure you write something every day. This will build up your confidence. 3 January 2021 Dear Ray That’s all very well but some days it’s difficult to think of anything . 4 January 2021 Dear Chrissy Try writing a journal. Just write down everything that happens and bring it to the next on-line meeting. If you feel a bit shy, try sending it to me first. 5 January 2021 Dear Ray Ok, here goes. Started off really well, lots of time to write this. Then Sophie came to help. It’s not easy to write a journal with a cat sitting on the key board. Especially when she catches the mouse for you as well. But as a writer you have to overcome these things. What else? Went to work. Came home, watched TV. And so to bed. 6 Januay 2021 Dear Chrissy Actually, Chrissy, we do expect our students to write a little more.