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.

 

Chills.

Feeling blue even in searing sunshine.

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The Hemingway Day. Move.

I am back from my little Spanish jaunt and now I find myself amidst a sea of boxes as the boy and I prepare for a little change of scenery. This week’s WordPress photo challenge is of change, and the timing couldn’t be sweeter. Here’s a moving-day Hemingway Day for a few sections of fiction…

 

Move.

The box labelled ‘Heart’ is heavy.

The Hemingway Day. Take Flight.

Often I point my camera at the sky and my finger finds its way to the shutter. Time and again I am greeted with a photograph that immediately falls victim to the delete button, but once in a while a little gem appears, with a perspective I hadn’t seen before. Sometimes in life, all you need to do is look up…

 

Take Flight.

In here, light led the escape.

The Hemingway Day. Quiet Please.

Apologies if the below contains any mumbles, bad grammar or is just bad writing. Blame it on the tennis-man.

I have everything crossed for Roger Federer to win today, although I find myself in times of trouble watching this current match, my nerves just don’t contain enough steel. I managed to clinch a pair of the illustrious, unobtainable tickets to Sunday’s final, so he needs to win so I can go all fangirl on him. If only he knew that…

Here’s to another man who might’ve also released my inner frenzied follower, Mr Hemingway…

 

Quiet Please.

His hand smelled of Cherry Chapstick.

 

Thanks to the Daily Post for the photo inspiration.

The Hemingway Day. Who’s there?

Greetings on this very special Friday, special because it is National Cream Tea Day here in the UK, which sparks the never-ending debate… cream or jam first? Never mind that, if I hear another person say “scon” I’m going to launch the clotted cream. It’s scone. (And the very fact you can understand what I mean from the spelling means I’m right.)

Here’s The Hemingway Day to diffuse the situation.

Who’s there?

Two shadows. But I stood alone.

 

Thanks to The Daily Post for inspiring today’s post by asking about my muse… she’s called mother nature.

The Hemingway Day. The Drunk.

 

 

Good Friday to you all. May your weekend be spent bare-footed with flowers in your hair (it’s summer solstice on Sunday, get those sunlight hours in while you still can).  Here’s a few short fiction words and a rainbow hued photo from The Hemingway Day…

 

The Drunk.

My personality was locked in bottles.

The Hemingway Day. Watching You.

I smith words. Here are six.

 

Watching You.

 

Foolishly, we thought we were alone.

 

 

At a risk of spoiling the literary illusion, this photo was taken at a very deserted Hampton Court, when it was closed for a snow day. This week’s theme at the Daily Post is ‘Off-Season‘.

The Hemingway Day. Revert.

I expect that for many of you this is a very happy Friday as the sun is finally shining on the UK. For me this Friday is happy because it means I can escape my office, which sits in the rafters of my home and unfortunately has no windows… So from a very hot and bothered writer, here’s the Hemingway Day, and six words of flash fiction.

Revert.

One less candle than last year.

Thank you once again to the Daily Post for continually inspiring my photo snapping.

The Monday Muse. The downfall of the human race.

Oxford. The city that saw me trawling museums as a child and drinking holes as a teenager. It is also home to a reprobate character or two…

Five things I learned this weekend.

1. A man (that you do not know) will find no qualms in stealing a sheepskin rug from under your bottom on the rooftop of a bar because he is cold and there are no blankets left.
2. A man will also find no qualms in standing with his bum pressed up against your shoulder even though there is a shedload of floor space around him and you have spent the last 30 minutes shifting your chair across his toes.
3. The Ashmolean Museum is filled with staff members on ‘backpack watch’ (probably because they’ve seen a knuckle-headed tourist wipe out an irreplaceable Ming vase with the oversized load on their back). The dunderheads always ruin it for the rest of us.
4. Massage therapists will touch your feet even when you ask them not to (and then look shocked when they narrowly miss a roundhouse to the face when they do lay their paws on yours).
5. Waitresses no longer find it necessary to apologise when you inform them that there is a hair in your cucumber sandwich, and they will only replace it once you’ve fully tucked into your scone and hence no longer have the palate for savoury. Of course at this point you have also forced yourself to power through the high tea, forgetting all thoughts of said hair and her return only reminds you of the discovery and makes you want to throw the jammy creamed cake at her phlegmatic face.

Otherwise the city of spires is quite a delightful place to spend your hours.        

Thank you to the Daily Post for inspiring my photo-taking for the second time this week.

The Hemingway Day. Echo.

Just six words of fiction and we can all say howdy-do to the weekend…

Echo.

Her whispers filled the sea air.

Thanks to the Daily Post for the photo prompt, this was taken whilst on a little jaunt across the southern English coast.