The Hemingway Day. Chills.

This week’s WordPress Photography challenge is to capture the extra(ordinary). This little guy’s sole purpose in life is to tell us sun-basking humans how tepid the water is within which he bobs. He does an ordinary job. He floats in an ordinary way. He even retains his air of ordinary when the waves of a belly flop come quivering in his direction. It’s his permanent vacant gaze in the wake of such revulsion that I find quite extraordinary.

Here’s a six-word Hemingway Day inspired by our elephant friend.



Feeling blue even in searing sunshine.


Fortune’s Fool.


After keenly acclimatising with my novel city surrounds, I started to become accustomed to the spiced variety of London’s inhabitants. Among these peculiar, habitually eccentric individuals, were the crystal gazers of Soho…

I often alluded to the fortune tellers’ apparent aptitude in glimpsing the future, by pointing out their inability to gauge my imminent refusal of their services. Surely they could save themselves the trouble before even crossing the threshold of my frosty reception? After several encounters I did advise one particularly persistent woman that she should put her skills to good use and increase her trade by only selecting the people who sought the telling of their fortunes. In response, she glared at me with her Romany eyes and muttered something under her breath. She then brandished her dirt ridden hand over my head and I suspected I had become subject to a deadly curse.

I was somewhat unbothered by the thought of having a curse cast upon me by a woman I deemed ‘un-psychic’, until one day during another unwelcome trip she informed a colleague of mine that her baby was going to die. I took great pleasure in telling the old woman that with no baby to speak of, her information was fatally flawed. Singing her mother tongue obscenities she retreated, and the girl I was working with, not quite triumphant in her fight to conceal her tears, made a dive for the back room.

In sympathy I shouted my opinion of our guest towards the girl, ‘silly old bat’ and ‘institutionalised’ making a definite appearance in my description.

It was then that she confided in me that she was indeed with child, but that she was yet to tell a single soul. This little nugget of information was to spark a spine tingle, in what felt like a slow motion reveal in a Hitchcock film whereby the femme fatale realises her time has come; the moment I considered that my card was well and truly marked.

Regardless of the subsequent eight months that the expectant mother bore with a nervous disposition following said prophecy, both mother and baby have since become and have remained healthy and happy. As for my cursed existence from there on in, it might have plunged and peaked here and there, but it has done so much akin to everyone else’s. Be that as it may, a couple of times a year, when things might be looking particularly troublesome, the clairvoyant’s callous sounds will dart into my head and for just a few seconds, I will be left wondering if my judgment day still looms in the distance…