Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

  So, they’ve gone and I’m all alone, as usual. No, that’s not true. I can hear the mice chittering in the corner and the rats scrabbling under the floorboards. But there’s another sound, one I’ve not heard before. A sort of whistling susurration. ‘What the hell do you want?’ I asked as a strange woman appeared in the doorway, flouncing about in a fluffy pink ball gown. ‘I am Fuchsia, your fairy godmother. I’m here to make your dreams come true,’ she replied, smiling inanely. ‘Oh, F … goodness sake. Well, you look like a fairy alright. And if you keep wafting that wand around like that, you’ll light up like one. Those candles burn, you know.’ ‘Sorry,’ she clasped the wand in both hands and stood still. ‘You are in a bad mood, aren’t you? But, you shall go to the ball, Ashes.’ ‘Cinders! With you in charge I’ll probably end up in the castle dungeon. I’m staying put.’ ‘Oh, no, you have to go! Please, Ash... Cinders. I’m on probation for my new job....

1967  I’ve been at the roadside for six hours.  The tractor that dropped me off here, turned off down a stony, dusty track,   Before disappearing into a dip, never to be seen again.  Since then, there’s been the occasional car, a moped, two tractors and a smoke-belching wagon.  But none of them even slowed, let alone stopped.  A baking hot mid-afternoon has now transformed into a cool mid-evening.  I’m standing next to a tree. It needs to be climbed and I’ve nothing else to do.  Maybe some passing driver will fall for the novelty approach and come screeching to a halt.  Even high up the tree there’s not a single building, let alone a village, to be seen.  After thirty minutes a Fiat 500 putters towards me. Up in my lofty perch I stick out a thumb, waggle it about and grin inanely.  The four occupants stick their arms out of each window, waggle them wildly and grin back inanely. The Fiat continues its journey.  I wonder whe...