50 Shades of Beige - A Searing Expose of the Secret Sex Lives of the Over Fifties - Part Two

_{A Searing Expose of the Secret Sex Lives of the Over Fifties,} in Swinging Suburbia.

_{Part Two – Swing if You're Happy that Way}

_{George, looked at their newly arrived guest, momentarily transfixed – like a deer, caught in the headlights - unable to react for fear of being struck down by Lucinda's, own set of super-troopers. It was a variation of the “ Fight or Flight” response, but with a slight change to the options. She had that affect on people – men in particular – whenever she made a grand entrance, a first meeting or simply by the way she said, 
“ Good-morning, Boys !” Lucinda Harris - Lulu, to her closest friends - was a veritable force of nature, with a couple of interesting artificial points thrown in for good measure. Her body was made up of so many dangerous curves, that she was constantly being grabbed by the 'fuzz.' The local police were always pulling Lucinda over, slapping her with their hard citations, she had even been pinched undercover, on the odd occasion.} 
Lucinda liked to let people believe she was of Italian descent – well her mother did use to fantasize about Dean Martin when making love to her father. But, her parents actually originated from the valley, a puritan couple, who liked to sing, enjoy the odd drink, worshiped Rugby and really loved to ….well, they loved all eleven of their children. 
  Lucinda, was two thirds convent girl and one third...home schooled, the authorities agreeing it safer, for all parties concerned.  She was the only known private school-girl in history to be expelled for 
" inciting public disobedience " by the ... PUPILS !

   _{She walked tall – 6 inch stiletto heels were shoehorned into her genetic make-up – and proud, carrying everything before her with just a little behind, for balance. Her hair was dark and lustrous except for an inexplicable white Mallen streak emblazoned from the front to the back of her head. She was always well presented, professionally coiffured, delicately perfumed, an expensive looking wardrobe and strategically positioned jewellery - even her walk was by .. design. Lucinda was a career wife, a position which she was currently accepting prospective future offers, re: husband, number 5. Her companion for the evening was simply known as Adam, a distinguished looking gentleman, whose age was apparently wage related - his wealth took years off him.}

_{Their had arrived earlier than most as Lucinda felt largely responsible for this evenings affair - e}ver since she had revealed herself to Angela as something of a mover and shaker in the secret world of the suburban swing setters. It was a bold move on Lucinda's part, revealing herself in this matter, but she had been a friend of Angela's from almost the first day that she had moved into the close, some 17 years ago. Recently she had been listening – and sympathizing – to Angela, as she opened up about her sex life, or what impersonated as one. Life had increased it's working hours, whilst intimacy had suffered a reduction in demand. One home, two people, three children, five grandchildren and a sixty hour working week, didn't leave much time for the imagination or each other. After listening – for years – to Lucinda's tales of the sexual explicit, revealing some of the more personal facets of her boudoir life, excitement, untamed passion, fantasy, bondage and wild jungle animal lust. Angela would just sit there and take it all in, hardly able to believe that it was actually possible for real people to live life so.....free. Then, one grey day Lucinda decided to plan an intervention on her friend's behalf, in the form of a sex party. She was already “familiar” with some of her fellow residents of Little Hampton Close, and knew that a few of them were also playing around with each other. From there, it was just a small jump to think about bringing them all together, in one big bash ! So, it came to pass that one evening, while they were having another of their all-girl, tete-a-tete's, Lucinda, suggested to Angela, that she & George, should “host” an informal come as you are...swingers party ! To see if they were ready to tip their toes, in the murky extra-marital waters, of mixed doubles.

_{George, shook his head, self-consciously aware that time may have passed him, at a slightly faster rate than the “ Outside World.“ - as it so often appeared whenever he gazed upon Lucinda's form. He briefly rubbed his chin to see if he could feel the arrival of a beard, during his recent A.W.O.L from this little Kitchen-Sink based drama.}

_{At this point, both ladies turned towards George, as if expecting to see some sign of physical reaction – from either of their fronts - or possible any pearls of wisdom, from this male member currently standing before them. “ I...I.... I, was just going to pour a drink, would you care to join us ? “ stumbled George, finally.} 

_{Lucinda, prized herself free from the – now – derailed sliding doors and headed towards the kitchen cabinet.     “ I'll get the glasses, you know how I like it, don't you handsome ?... “ Lucinda playfully teased George, “long, cool and 100% “}

_{"Tough ! You'll take what I've got... small, luke-warm and mild,” George served back.}

_{"Uggghh ! The service here leaves a lot to be desired. I have no other course of action open to me. l shall have to go over your head, and appeal to a higher power. Angela ! you simply must do something about your staff situation ! “ Lucinda warmly, joked with her friend.}

_{" I don't understand it, the lady at the agency assured me that he had 'glowing testimonials'. Plus, he was available at short notice, and for all occasions – weddings, birthdays even the odd BAR MITZVAH !” Angela's spirit raised, slightly.}

_{“ What's an “ODD Bar Mitzvah ?” queried Lucinda.}

_{“ A Girl's one ! “ snapped George.}

_{“ " Listen, just pour the drink, Chuckles ! As long as it's wet, I suppose, I won't complain. In the meantime, I need a word with your wife. Now, Angela, there are two points I need to raise with you, my lady. One: What are you doing hiding out here, when you should be out there...” Lucinda fingered towards the bright lights of the living room, “ ...in a more, front of house position by now. You're guests are coming, and need to see more of you, they want your welcoming face and guiding hand. It's so very important that everyone knows exactly where they stand – or lay – with each other, right from the beginning. And, secondly Darling....just why exactly, are you so, well ....naked ?”}

To be continued...
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50 Pages of Grey - Shades of Beige - Chapter One

_{A Searing Expose of the Secret Sex Lives of the Over Fifties,}

_{in Swinging Suburbia.}

_{Part One – Swinging for Beginners.}

_{Time: November, Wednesday, Evening.
Location: Little Hampton Close, a mythical place, situated in an area, we’ll call...Suburbia.}

_{Population: Of Indeterminate Middle Age – most of which are at varying levels of...grey.
It had finally ceased pouring with raining. Now, it was only coming down as cats & dogs, with that new added wind-chill factor, that helps touch the parts that other inclement weather conditions can't reach. A lonely dark figure could be discerned, being swept along in the torrential gale like storm – fortunately, it was heading down-wind.  This particular waterlogged soul, belonged to a Mr George Tuck, resident of aforementioned close, and surviving member of a once special group of  individuals that used to be referred to as...baby-boomers. The street lights shining down from above high-lighted his sharp clean-shaven features as he passed underway, with his long, slow strides. He was hunched unusually over, due to the heavy rain, but his tall thin frame could still be made out. The cold and the wet had long since penetrated George's overcoat, and was well on it's way to numbing what was left of his senses - after a long, hard day at the office. For work, see under: meaningless, under-appreciated, grey existence of a  9-5 occupation at a local fibrous and moulding plant - who were mainly known for their slogan, " Don't get plastered, let us do it for you !"}

_{George had been employed there, almost as long as he had been married – but the hours were more flexible at work – and he had slowly risen through the ranks, to attain a position of junior assistant, to lower, middle management. With aspirations of breaking through to a senior, lower, middle management seat – hopefully, sometime…before retirement, or death, which ever came first.  This is how we find George’s current state of mind, this evening. His only real concern, was the forth coming almanac event, that awaited him, behind closed doors, supposedly in ‘the comfort’ of his own home. Truth be known,  he'd much rather be watching an interesting documentary, on the electrification of the railways, which he had heard about - but his wife, had already, booked the recording schedule for the night, with her weekly dose of " Build Your Own Home in Tuscany" with Kirstie Allwet and " What's in Your Drawers ?," perennial tanned, David Dickinson, visits the home, of some celebrity - or other - of the week, and inspects their family jewels.}    

    _{George, moved listlessly up the garden path, bracing himself for a moment, at the front door. Then, carefully, quietly, he slid the key into the lock, before slowly and gently turning it - so as not to arouse attention, to his arrival. He briefly held himself, before taking a deep breath, and stepped over the threshold.}

_{“ George, is that you ? You're late ! Get your clothes off and give me a hand in the kitchen,” demanded Angela – a.k.a Mrs Tuck, relationship: wife. “ Oh Lord ! Please let her be talking about food !” thought George. After he had finally managed to secure his saturated, overcoat onto the already over furnished coat-rack, he crossed the small hallway, and entered the kitchen, upon which he found Angela bent over, with her head in the oven. He couldn’t help but notice - at this point - that she was completely naked, except for a small kitchen apron, with the quote of “ Good Chef's & Eggs, Like Plenty of Whipping !” emblazoned across the chest – the apron’s, not hers - and a pair of semi-charcoaled oven-gloves. Seeing her stand there, slightly waning, it reminded him, that there was supposed to be a full, blue moon later that night.}

_{George could see that she was attempting to remove her hot delights from the fiery furnace - that masqueraded, jokingly, as their cooker. He stood there for a moment soaking in the scene, and he had to admit that his wife had worn well with age. She was what you might call a fuller figure woman- but she was still quite firm – in all the right places – and was surprisingly agile for someone who expressed little or no signs of interest, in physical exertion, outside of the bedroom, that is. Her hair was was held-up, with the shared assistance of half a can of heat and flame resistant fixative, along with some strategically placed pins, which belied the fact that she still had quite long - only slightly enhanced -  blonde flowing locks. After 26 years together, George, had to admit to himself, that he still found his wife very attractive, he used to tease her that, “Your body mass index is off the Dick-ter graph ! “ but he hadn't said that – or anything else with sexual content - for quite some time, perhaps this was one of the reasons why they found themselves in this position now.}

_{Angela, arose from the darkened oven, and turned to face George, her cheeks were fully flushed, from over exposing herself to the heat and holding an unnatural position – head lower than her breasts - for longer than the prescribed amount of time. “ Look at my buns ! They're completely ruined, “ she offered up a darkened tray, with the still slightly smoking, cremated remains, for a second opinion. Inspecting them, George gave his verdict, “ Sorry, my Dear. I'm afraid my diagnosis is… terminal. But, at least they died tastefully,” he said, picking one up and biting – carefully – into it. Angela, looked at him, her eyes beginning to tear up, then she suddenly tossed her buns onto the preparation, worktop, before consigning the redundant baking tray into the watery depths of the sink. “ If you were where you were supposed to be, instead of somewhere else . Then, this wouldn't of happened here, now. This is all your fault ! “ was the logical conclusion, a noticeably rising tremble in her voice, with a promise of hysteria close behind. George identified a rapid emotional response situation was developing – which consisted mainly of concentrated levels of listening, interspersed with reassuring pressing to the shoulder areas.}

_{As he stepped towards her, to perform his husbandry duty, he was met with a short, sharp slap on his upper arm, “ What do you think you're doing ? Never mind, you can explain yourself later. Right now, we've a lot to do, and some of our guests have arrived already “ Angela pointed out.}

_{“ WHAT ! That's a bit premature isn't it ? I thought the invitations we sent out, clearly stated an 8pm, arrival. I haven't even had a drink yet, and I definitely need a stiff one, before I can face them and everything else tonight ! George responded. “ Hey !If anyone around here deserves a stiff one, it's me ! I've been slaving away all day, to make this party a success. I've been dusting, washing, hovering, polishing, cooking, I moved all the furniture around in the living room, I recovered the cushions and I even puffed the pouffe ! I've virtually been on all fours, bent over backwards, so everyone will feel relaxed, comfortable and have a memorable time tonight ! So, you’d better give me one, right now !” Angela demanded. But, before he could raise a reply, the double sliding glass doors - that led into the main room – were suddenly pulled apart. “ Coooeee ! Only me ! Have you got room for a little one ? I was just wondering if either of you could do with a helping hand ? “ From the narrow opening, she had created, Lucinda thrust her head - closely followed by her ample breasts - through. George looked up towards heaven - for strength – as Lucinda, had clearly landed, and as custom demanded, he knew he was going to have to bite his tongue - as both of her questions were loaded with the usual irony, and if wrongly handled, the ramifications could be explosive !}

_{To be continued...}

For further installments - check out my blog...
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Freedom of Speech - Fact or Fiction

Firstly, let me open by stating that I truly believe in the right for 'Freedom of Speech' just as much as I stand against any form of censorship. For me, these two are part of the fundamental building blocks, in any open, democratic and civilized society. It's just that – if we're being genuinely honest with ourselves, doesn't really exist – what we perceive as a rallying call against oppression or the right to openly speak out for social reform, is little more of an ideal, a Utopian concept, an illusion of free expression,

For, truth be known, we only really apply this notion when referring to the larger human issues

on the world stage. Religion, politics, terrorism, extremists, racism, global economy or even immigration, these are all perfectly exceptable recipients for our verbal protestations. However, when we come to exposing our more personal beliefs or feelings in a public forum, then things become – shall we say, abit more debatable.

This is in part, due to the scourge of the nineties – Political Correctness. This seemingly innocuous

movement, weaved its way through council initiatives, leaked down into various quangos', cultivated itself in public relations offices across the country, then finally, the alternative comedy circuit, took up the cause. Result: people are now held socially and morally accountable, for expressing any of their – less mainstream – intimate feelings or ideologies. If you are reported as saying you are – or not – in favour of a particular facet of modern, progressive life – then be prepared to be possibly judged and vilified by your “peers” or in some cases, even face criminal prosecution. Is this the Freedom of Speech, we are so protective about ?

Humour has been a serious victim of this injustice, of late, it is always going to offend – unless you're Michael McIntyre - some faction or other, it always has and it always will .This medium - and anyone who has a different point of view contrary to the masses - has to be protected, not just from those who reply with violent force, but from anyone who seeks to silence and reject anything that doesn't meet with own opinions.

Let us stand together, for true Freedom of Speech and against all religious intolerance.

We might not agree with what others believe in, but we should accept their right to believe in it.

The pen is mightier than the sword ..but only if you're allowed to write in the first place..

The Avengers - TV series - Homage

Opening scene, Steed and Emma speeding along a quiet, country road, The Bentley's engine roaring as smoothly as the driver, himself,  Autumn leaves were sent flying wildly behind them, in their slipstream.

Emma: “This had better be serious, Steed ! After all, it's not everyday that I get given free backstage tickets, to see the great opera singer, Loosey Fatalottie. Up close and personal, so to speak”

Steed: “ Serious, Mrs Peel ? I'm always serious, especially when it comes to affairs of the state”

Emma: “ Well, Fatalottie is a big act to follow, Steed, and I was really looking forward to it!

Steed: “ I do feel bad about abducting you away from a night of musical accompaniment.

I might not be able to match the big fellow, but I could stretch to raising you “Three Tenners !”

Emma: “ Oh, Ha Ha ! So, what is so urgent, that needs our immediate attendance ?”

Steed: “ Ah ! Well, it seems that the entire population of a sleepy little village in Surrey, have...completely....vanished into thin air.”

Emma: “ Missing persons or mass migration ? Either way, shouldn't this be more a police matter, than ours ?”

Steed: “ Normally, I'd agree with you, Mrs Peel. But, it just so happens, that this particular village

is situated rather close to a Hush-Hush Secret Energy Research Facility. Currently, conducting completely deniable experiments, in highly unstable, static electric waves”

Emma: “ Sounds, positively hair-raising ! I take it, that the popular theory is one of connection. But, one thing that I don't understand is, how that I haven't heard anything about this, through the press already ?”

Steed: “ Ah ! Stroke of luck there ! It's the football World Cup right now, and the press machine is in full patriotic fervor. In this last week, there have been several military coups – various regions – a small number, of very close international disasters, a couple of near miss aircraft collisions, a few minor earthquakes and one island has been utterly destroyed by an erupting volcano. All of which, have been pushed back for reporting at a later time, space and by-lines willing, til after the game”

Emma: “ My, my ! So, was there any good news, that I may have missed, this week ?”

Steed: “ Yes, of course Mrs Peel ! Dwayne Foolney, England's most experienced player, has been cleared as “ Match fit” for the next game !”

Emma: “ Hmmm ! I thought you said there was some “Good” news, this week, Steed ?”

                                                 A Tribute to Brian Clemens

Brian Clemens  OBE (30 July 1931 – 10 January 2015)

The scriptwriter and producer Brian Clemens, responsible for TV hits such as The Avengers, New Avengers and The Professionals

Steed: “A glorious day for a drive in the country, don't you think, Mrs Peel ? ”

Emma: “ It would be, if this was just a casual jaunt for pleasure, Steed. But, since you have shanghaied me - no doubt, for some nefarious purpose or other - I find this more a pleasant diversion than an idyllic escape.

Steed: “ Ahh ! Mrs Peel how can one be so skeptical ? ”

Emma: “ Mmm ! A lot of practice ? “

Steed: “ Well, just for that I might not introduce you to Sir Digby Hampton-Smallpiece,”

Emma: “And what exactly is a Hampton-Smallpiece, when it's at home ? “

Steed: “ You'll find it under just about everyone of note, in the latest book of Who's Who. A very respected old family, an emerging force in the political world, a man of high moral regard for his charitable ways and apparently, something quite big in the city “

Emma: “ How often a girl has heard that claim ! Wait a moment, something seems to be coming to mind. Isn't that the fellow who was reported to have two young ladies...”

Steed: “ ...Ahem ! nothing was ever proven, and the evidence presented, didn't stand up in court”

Emma: “ Ohh ! That ones too easy “

Steed: “ The legal system and his peers have accepted his explanation of – admittedly – the somewhat bizarre set of circumstances leading to his unwanton social exposure. Anyway, he's put all that behind him, now, and he has thrown himself, whole heartedly, into his charity work and Benefit Balls. It's unfortunate but sometimes, Mrs Peel, it just so happens that a man in his position attracts a certain amount of notoriety ..”

Emma: “ Remind me, Steed ! Just what , was that position he was caught in, actually called, again ? “

Steed: “ I'd prefer to tell you about his Benefit Balls, and our suspicion that “Top Hush-Hush, Don't Repeat This to Anyone” information is being passed over to enemies of the state, under the pre-text of these high-society, social advancement, tax-deductible shindigs.”

Emma: “ So, where do I come into this little scheme of yours ? “

Steed: “ You, Mrs Peel ! Why you're a natural social butterfly, you can dance your way around the floor, you can weave your magic of beauty & charm with the deadliest of fandagos', whilst eliciting the kind of information that most seasoned agents would die for ! “

Emma: “ The last time you took me dancing, I ended up with that drunken, clumsy, over-weight,over-friendly, Russian operative, that you were investigating “

Steed: “ Oh yes ! But you have to admit that he was very quick in the quick step, he seemed quite foxy in the fox step and – at times - surprisingly light on his feet ! “

Emma: “ He may have been light on HIS feet....but certainly NOT MINE ! “

Steed: “ Well, anyway, he spoke very highly of you, quite flattering infact “

Emma: “ Hmmm ! You accused him of being OVERLY friendly – if I remember correctly – what was it that you called him ? Wasn't it the “ Syncopated Sycophant “

Steed – gentle laughs - “ Really ? I was on good form that day, wasn't I ?”

Emma: “ Well, if I'm to give you the benefit of my feet, then at least I get to call this case – and I name this file..” the philandering philanthropist “

TV Chefs – Behind the Scenes

Well, another New Year is well and truly on it's way, and at last we can leave behind us, all the festive food and drink indulgences, along with the traditional, self-promoting TV chefs and their ever-expanding TV specials, bestowing how we can get the most out of the “Big Bird” - no, I'm not talking about young cousin Gemma..

  All the usual culprits were on our screens, ready with their own individual presentations – to show us how we can crank up the pressure and raise our expectations even higher than last year – for a day already festooned with presents and crammed with every known member of the family, within a reasonable driving distance .

Of course, I appreciate that they do serve a purpose – along with promoting their personal book sales..available soon in most low end, discount book stores, nationwide for around a fiver – with a few interesting tips and a thought of ratings in their eyes, they cheerfully extol helpful advice about their seasonal servings, and satiate our food pains for at least half an hour in the prime-time TV schedules. It's just one small, constantly, overlooked detail, which causes my blood to rise to the boil ( regular heat ), and that is....who exactly does all that washing up ?

  There must be a mountainous pile of crockery, utensils, assorted straining devices, measuring implements, not too mention those damnable, neverending pots and pans, lurking, somewhere in the background – because my friends, the one thing a chef NEVER TELLS you about is, that EVERYTHING you use, will need to be boiled, scrubbed, cleaned, dryed, polished and then stored away, after you have enjoyed your FIVE whole minutes of culinary pleasure !

  Yes ! behind every TV/Celebrity chef, there is their little “Dirty” secret – the unspoken legion, behind all these new stars blazing – or rather flambaying – their way into your kitchen and onto your bookshelves, mascarading as “light entertainment.” It is, to these individuals with their cockney charm, or their bullish air interspersed with coarse language and even those who stare coyly and seductively at you, down the lens of the camera, all slyly veiled around a cooking based format – that I charge with gross neglection and denial of duty, in such a fundamental role in the cooking process.

I speak out for the masses of forgotten people, who end up in the kitchen, alone, after the dinner party, bending over a hot sink, wearing a pair of Marigolds one size too small, trying to stare out of a steamed up window ! I know, for I am one of those people ! But, I have taken my years of personal experience and finally, have written my own book, a tome which has unified all the myths of responsible recycling, turns the tide against water displacement, it exposes the ratio of detergents and their performances against varying temperatures, explores the known practices of removing grease without the aid of sulphuric acid, as well as listing the natural order of breakables and finally, reveals the equations of just how many kitchen paper towels – will one sheet really be enough – will be required for the task and which ones will provide maximum absorption to soak up the small puddle of sweat you're now standing in ?

I have called this all encompassing volume, this long awaited, thinking man's O.C.D of cleaning and the virtues of using a leading brand of washing up liquid ....”The FAIRY of Everything ! *”

* I appreciate the relevance of this blog will date rather quick, so I use Stephen Hawking as a point of reference. You should read his book too,although he doesn't cover all that much about charred roast trays. 

My Life......Back to the Future

 Once more, Spring has sprung, blessing us with her seasonal warmth for another year – just in time for summer – and with it, a young man's thoughts turn to romance, and all the thrills and promises that accompany a new love. Unfortunately, if your NOT a young man – by general consensus that is – then you're probably turning your thoughts towards another lady – Mother Nature ! She is a far more demanding and unrelenting a mistress. With trembling knees and cold sweats – like a first date, really - I'll start to think about having to jet wash the patio, or suffer mild panic attacks with the expectation of having to mount an expedition into the darkest regions, of the lost world of flora & fauna, more commonly known as 'me back garden'.

It was with this oncoming event, that may - I confess – have influenced my decision to “accept” an invitation to a garden féte at the local vicarage. A community tradition, as British as cream teas, Morris dancers and Midsomer Murders. During my walk-a-round, I passed the familiar institutions, the “A Kiss for a Pound” stall – nice to see Jordan in steady employment for a change – and the competition for ' Best Buns.' usually judged by some pillar of the community or local celebrity – before the “rise” of Big Brother/Goggle Box “winners”

Then, suddenly, I came across the “Fortune Teller” tent, and it triggered a flashback to my youth, and my first exposure to occult practices and the powers of prediction.

It was the summer of 1980, and I was a shy, insecure, self-conscious and flat broke young man, just another of those  “statistical reminders of a world that didn't care.” So, with desperation as my moral compass, I sought answers with the aid of Lady Constance Ophelia Norman, and her crystal ball.

Usually, searchers of the unknown and keepers of truth, go under the title of Madame or Mistress something or other, but my psychic adviser had much more nobler credentials. Which I thought must be a good omen, for surely a member of the aristocracy, would have much” better connections” when downloading the spirit world. Constance Ophelia Norman – an abundance of names for one supposedly medium person - was as the classic soul song said 'once, twice, three times a lady'. She entered the tent in a heady haze of mysticism and Estee Lauder, her large frame dis-placing the air as her generous form approached me. She extended a heavily beringed hand towards me and gave me a fixed expression accompanied with a choice of astrological readings and a non-refundable price list..

“ Which would you prefer ...the Tarot cards or the Crystal Ball ?” she enquried.

“ Oh, well, I'll take the.....ball, please. I've always been curious to see one of those in action”

“ Ah ! That's a pity. Unfortunately there was a slight accident, earlier, and I sort of... cracked it.” Constance confessed.

“ So, you mean it's broken. Too bad you didn't see that coming” I laughed nervously.

“ Hmmm, or you, for that matter” her ladyship muttered under her breath, “ but I can see just

as well with the cards, or perhaps I could interest you in a bit of palmistry, if you're feeling lucky ?” she smirked.

“ Lucky ? “my faith wavered slightly, “ I'll go with the cards thanks, lets just hope my fate doesn't come with a marked deck !” I tried to be funny – a feat that I still have as yet, to master.

“ One man's luck is another man's destiny” her ladyship countered.

“ That may as well be. But, tell me how about superstition, where does that stand in the cosmic scheme of things ?” I queried.

“ What, you mean like walking under ladders or a crossing black cat ?”

“ Ah, now black cats, I get confused about that one. If a black cat crosses your path, is that a good or bad thing ?”

“ I suppose, that all depends on just what one is doing at the time “

“ Yes, true, very true. I never thought of it that way. “ I conceded.

Her ladyship, displayed an impressive degree of manual dexterity and kept her cards very close to her chest – which was even more impressive given her stature- before splaying them out in a semi-circle on the small table, between us. Channeling the appropriate energy, she began the reading.

“ Now, ask the cards, whatever your heart most wishes them to show” she advised.

“ Gosh ! Where to start ? The future, all my hopes, dreams, desires, there are just so many questions, where shall I begin ? I mean, can they actually tell me everything, like where I'm going to ?”

“ Well, I can tell where you've been !” my guide retorted, with a look of disdain.

I decided to ignore this remark, “ O'k. How about romance. Lets asks the cards...will I ever find love ?”

“ Not in that shirt !” advantage spiritualist – I felt at this point..

“ Look here, I don't care too much for your attitude towards me. Kindly, keep your views to yourself and focus your energies on me future, if you would please !” I exploded.

Her Ladyship, looked down at the table, in silence, and then slowly turned over one of the cards.

“ Oh Lord !” the sayer gasped.

“ What is it ? Have you seen something disturbing ? ” I fearfully enquired.

“ Other than you ? " she answered holding up the card. "It's Mr Moody ! “

“ Mr Moody ? which type of card is that ? “

“ You know...' The Mister Men'... Mr Moody.... the blue one ! “

“ Is that why he's moody, because he's blue ? “

“ NO ! Of course not ! What's his colour got to do with anything ? “ she snapped.

“ You're absolutely right, we shouldn't let our colour dictate who we are -- “ at this point, I began to fear that we were about to lose ourselves in a pack of misunderstandings. So, I tried to re-animate my reading,“ Mr Moody, does this mean that I'm about to be emotionally challenged or something ? “

“You mean you're not already ? No. It means my precious grandson has been playing with MY CARDS again ! Let me see,” the mistress of fate, desperately shuffled through the rest of her mystic deck. “ Yes, it's as I feared, some of my signs are missing. I can't seem to find “ Death” anywhere ! “

“ Don't trouble yourself on my account ! “ I exclaimed.

“ Death doesn't necessary mean the end of existence on this earthly plane. It can merely be heralding in the end of one cycle and the dawning of a new era in your life. Like a change of job or a change of lover. Change...it CAN be a good thing”

“ Surely, that all depends on just WHO's doing the changing !”

“ What are you talking about ?”

“ Well, it's o.k. If I'm the ONE doing all the changing, But, what if it means that my boss is about to give me the sack or that my girlfriend's getting ready to dump me. Then, change ...really sucks !”

“ Oh, I see your point.”

“ Still, It could have been worse, I suppose” I posed philosophically.

“ How so ?”

“ It could have been Mr Blobby ! “ I pointed back towards to the cards.

“ Hmmm, quite.....especially in that shirt “

With this last remark, I sensed it was time to call it a day, and cease my quest for otherworldly guidance, and – after crossing her palm with several hours of minimum pay - headed out into the daylight once more, but no less in the dark about my destiny as before.

My future still questionable, and as much a mystery, as it is today.


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