Hinckley's very own writers workshop pages 

Dinner that evening was not filled with lively conversation

"You know you were knocking back hard on the gin Marjorie," said Mr. Prendergast to his wife." Our new next door neighbor, she said nothing to deserve your little out burst earlier this evening; after all it was your idea to invite her in for drinks".

"Humph" snorted Marjorie laying down her fork that was poised in mid air to wards her mouth." I suppose you did nothing either! I saw the way she was dressed, or rather undressed."

Marjorie stopped to draw breath, then went on.

"I also saw the way you were looking at her, so don’t think I did not earlier this after noon. I told you Tom, to come a way from the window, as she came up her garden path, tottering on those high heels of hers. I bet you had been waiting for her. She is not the type we are used to mixing with, no wonder your glass eye dropped out, you nearly followed it---- leaning out of the window so far" 

"I told you dear that I was only passing the time of day," Tom said in a mild voice spooning mint sauce over his lamb." Yes, and all the while looking as if you preferred to be passing the time of night!" replied Marjorie.

Such sparring had become common place between them, as the incomprehension in one, and the despair and subterfuge in the other increased. Toms only little thrills these days came with clandestine flirtations with young women. He liked to take photographs of their legs, accidentally, when capturing more substantial subjects.

The trouble was that he was failing in the marital bed. At first he blamed Marjorie, her flesh grown mountainous, her alluring femininity gone as her hard working arms and rough hands, had become big and business, like her manner long suffering, when he tried to rekindle the lost spark between them. 

He gradually became to think bursting in to sweats, that the fault lay with him. He felt he was no longer a real man. What could he do? 

He found the answer on the internet. A Swedish lady! Who suggested he flew over to meet her.’ Wow’ he thought.’ Nothing ventured, and all that’. As he flew back home from Sweden, a new man!his mind boggled at the pace she had put him through, after their first meeting. Hot thermal baths, then chasing him through the snow, beatings with twigs, to enhance the circulation. Plunging him then in to an iced cold lake with her. Tom thought,’ I shall diet after this,’ but no he was very much alive and kicking.

Tom turned to his companion beside him, on the plane home. In a Swedish accent, she whispered in his ear." Dar- --ling are you in full working order?" he turned bright red.

"What do you think?"

by E.G.Dickinson

 

"Come away from the window, Tom, you’ll catch your death standing there letting it all hang out! What if someone was to drive past and see you? You’ll get reported. Mind you, they’d have to have bloody good eyesight to see anything you’ve got!"

"Oh, shut up moaning, you old trout! Nag, nag, nag.. That’s all I ever hear coming from your bloated mouth!" 

"Don’t you talk to me like that with your lily-white arse, or you’ll get this saucepan up your backside, handle first! 

"Oh, great start to the holiday this is turning out to be. Is my breakfast ready yet woman? I’m starving."

"You needn’t think I’m cooking for you after last night! You must think I’m soft in the head!"

With that, she got up and stormed out of the caravan, slamming the door behind her. Tom sat on the edge of the bed, fuming, as he no longer had anyone to swear at. He hated the way she always left in the middle of an argument. Can’t bloody finish anything she starts, he thought to himself, and in his frustration, he picked up the alarm clock from the ledge and hurled it at the far wall. However, he quickly realized his hastiness as he watched it smash through the window. The sound of breaking glass quickly brought him to his senses.

"Oh my god! What have I done now?" he sighed, but he hadn’t long to think about what he’d done: what had she done for Christ’s sake? The bloody madwoman must have flipped completely, he thought, trying to brace himself as the caravan began to move.

"You haven’t passed your test yet, you stupid bitch!" he yelled, "What do you think you’re doing towing the sodding caravan around?" 

But she wasn’t towing the caravan, was she? How could she, when Tom could see the car through the broken window as the caravan trundled past it.

How the hell far was it to the cliff edge, Tom found himself thinking as he dutched the table and edged towards the door.

"And don’t bother to come back, pasty-arse!" he heard Fran shouting.

She had let the brakes off! Frantically, Tom began pulling on the faded jeans he’d cast 

a heap the night before, but he’d left one leg inside out and his shorts and socks

were tangled in the other. He knew there wasn’t time to sort theni out. The crazy cow

could do anything.

The caravan was building momentum. Crockery bumped in the cupboards and the cupboard above the gas cooker flung open, cascading tins of beans and spaghetti hoops to the ground.

"You’re bleeding mad, woman!" he yelled, as a bottle of ketchup landed with a thud on the nape of his neck.

"Mad? Mad?" he heard her screeching, "I haven’t even started yet. I’ll show you what mad is!

Tom looked up to see the road veering towards him. Fran stood clapping on the grass verge. Just in time, he leapt from the caravan door, not caring that he was half-naked, His anide gave as he hit the ground and he crumpled in a heap.

Fran was beside herself, bent double with laughter. Tears rolled down her cheeks, The caravan rolled on, before finally coming to rest between a pale blue Volvo and a gnarled oak tree.

Tom plucked his face from the still damp grass, aware that a crowd was gathering.

"Give me your bloody jacket, woman," he shouted, "You’ve had your laughs."

"Not such a smart-arse now are you?" Fran chuckled, watching him squirm to cover his nakedness. "Looks like this holiday’s not going to be so bad after all!"

BY VARIOUS MEMBERS