Sifting through a forgotten past

Finally, the day came, the last day, the day that wiped the final traces of my parent’s existence off the face of the planet. The day, we, their sons had to clear the house before the sale legally completed and the new owners moved in and with builders made the house their dream home.

It had been their dream home 60 years. Mum had left her parent’s house upon marrying in 1954 and moved into this newly built bungalow. She and my father were so happy together in  “Madonna” no. 34 Merville Road that they never moved again, except to the graveyard.

So today it was a case of keep or chuck and my youngest brother had made a head start on the job.

Walking up the short driveway I saw an object that once a year had pride of place in the house and now lay cast and unloved on the wet driveway. The Christmas tree and decorations, that until that morning stood for months each year in their sitting room. I knew it straight away from it’s old fashioned wirey green branches and plastic leaves. Lying next to the dissembled tree parts were the plastic multicoloured lights and kitsch decorations, bought in the ’60s that look pretty ordinary now.

I picked up the small plastic reindeer with the Disney “Bambi” appearance, her short pert tail covered in gold sparkle.

How many happy years had she hung in that front room, surrounded by sparkling lights, presents at her feet and the warmth from the real coal fire that burned furiously in the open fireplace opposite?

How many Christmas’s had she watched over as we opened our presents, watching as we grew from tiny kids to huge adults?

When we reappeared along with our children?

How did she feel the first Christmas he wasn’t there, 2004?

When she died in 2012 the tree remained packed in its box unopened. A year when Christmas bypassed the house left unoccupied and up for sale. How did it feel to be unwanted after 60 years of bringing joy and happiness?

As I crouched over the tree and Christmas past I saw the wood from the shelving and cabinet unit he lovingly built for her. When in situ it ran the length of the wall, a good 20 feet and 15 feet tall, with a dark brown mahogany finish, gold handles and glass. He was so good with his hands. As a child he used to get a copy of “Hobbies Weekly” in the 1940s, a practical journal on how to make model planes, boats and even a radio, using the basic materials available in those post-war years. He was great with the fretsaw and many were the black and white photograph that appeared in newspapers of the day of a young unnamed lad proudly holding a large model plane he’d just completed. The pictures would appear in newspapers because his dad was a professional photographer and on slow news days he filed them to fill the space.

Further along, the driveway lay bags and bags of old letters and bills but one bag contained a box of colour slides. It set me on a hunt for the rest of the slides and before long I had gathered several boxes of family pictures taken by Dad through the 1960s and 1970s and saved as slides. I found the slide projector too. I loaded all into the back of my car. Colour slides projected onto plain walls bring people in them alive so much more than photographs ever can. Don’t you agree?

Walking around the emptied house and garden for the last time ever is an unforgettable experience. By the time they died we were all over 40 and had our own partners and homes. Where could we put my parent’s furniture?

It wasn’t easy to make space for an eight-seat dining room table & chairs, a leather couch set of 3 and a sideboard but I have a loving wife who had adopted my parents as her own and so readily accommodated me.

Seven years on I still have a room of memories in my house that has yet to be emptied.

The day will come.

A Children's story for five year olds

Is that a Yeti Dad? is a new short story published just in time for Christmas 2019.

A tale of winter confusion when Grandad is mistaken for a yeti and adults are slow to react.

It's just the perfect read for the five-year-old who has an unlimited interest in all things pooh related and because it sounds rude he uses the word all the time. 

This story is humorous but also carries a few good health tips. 

For 99p this little rude book hits the spot.https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B082GK6JHF

A day at sea

Today was another sunny, cloudy, sunny day on the windy decks of our ship. 

Sitting on the sun lounger I listen to the waves breaking across the ship’s bow and felt the steady reassuring hum of the ships five engines that vibrate the metal of the promenade deck itself. In the distance the sun shimmers on the rippling deep blue waves until it slips temporarily behind a cloud. Moments later it reappears, as strong and bright as before. Cruising along at 20 knots, the raging wind rocks the blue towels back and forth on the empty loungers threatening to sweep them clean over the rails and far out to sea.

To my right sit row upon row of pale white-skinned fellow passengers, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses that look unseeingly into the middle distance. White thin wires run to their ears from the phones lying on their laps, relaying presumably music or audiobooks or both. Heads are generally protected by tipped caps.

Snatches of conversation drift my way on the breeze.

“Thou better put thine lotion on Harold” spoke one caring Northern lass “less ye be a beetroot by teatime.”

Listening to the conversations of others is something I shamelessly do and on this cruise, the accents are predominantly from the North of England, Liverpool, Manchester, Crewe and Hull. I just love the range of accents and colloquialisms. “All right me chuck?”, “Can I help you mi-duck”, “You aren’t half daft” to quote just a few.  

I feel the heat on my naked bare arms and legs so I whip out the sun lotion factor 50 and generously spread it on my limbs. The lotion glistens on my skin before sinking into the freckled cells. The wind catches the upper left corner of this page flapping it back and forth as I write.

New crime fiction for the bookworm you know will devour them

I dropped into one of my favourite book shops in Wexford Town and signed some copies of my two crime novels. So if anyone wants an entertaining page-turning read then you need look no further. The Book Centre is just doors away from Boots and Pennys/ Primark.

If you want a Kindle copy of either book click o the links below and if you live further afield then click on the links below for a paperback copy.


Click here for the US Kindle version

Click here for the UK Kindle version

Click here for the US Paperback version

Click here for the UK Paperback version

So there I was sitting in the pub….

When a woman came from behind and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to find this person smiling and talking to me. I knew the face but couldn’t quite place her at the time.

“You are Mark Rice, the author?”  Yes, I confessed I was.

“Well, I bought your book from Castle Delights cafe in the Summer …..

I held my breath

“…..and I couldn’t put it down.”

I heaved a sigh of relief and returned her smile with interest. As a writer, you are never quite sure which way the feedback goes. Particularly this book. It tells the story from the perspective of a murderer who keeps a diary to record an unforgettable cruise. I knew I was making it hard for myself to expect readers to warm to a character who goes about killing pensioners and behaving badly. Hopefully, my writing illustrates that no one is all bad and anti-social behaviour is not the sole prerogative of the young.

“Yes,” she went on “I was thinking of booking a cruise but having read your book, well, frankly, I’m having second thoughts! I loved it and kept turning the page to see what happened next, will he get away with it and walk off the shop or end up in handcuffs and prison.”

“Are you writing a sequel?” She looked at me with more than a little anticipation.

“I have another book that’s presently a work in progress so all going well you will be able to pick it up in the cafe next summer” I replied. She seemed pleased with the reply and moved away through the packed lounge. My wife squeezed my arm encouragingly. Positive feedback is the nicest thing a writer can get and I’m so grateful to that lady.

“I do hope more people get to read this book,” my wife said before sipping on her piping hot coffee.

So if you have ever wondered what passengers do on long cruises with many days at sea do read this book.

If you enjoy reading about visits to the Carribean islands, Chichen Itza, the USA, the Azores, and parts of South America, read this book.

If you want to be amused, informed and scared (a little) then read this book!

Click here for the US Kindle version

Click here for the UK Kindle version

Click here for the US Paperback version

Click here for the UK Paperback version

Free Book launch in Gorey Co. Wexford this Thursday

Mark Rice Author Visit this Thursday 27th June 2019 at 7.00 pm

Wexford author Mark Rice and other members of the Gorey Writers group will give reading from the novel “Murder On Board” which has just been released by Junction Publishing. Music will be provided by the Kilmuckridge Cool Hand Ukes and Mark will host a Q&A session.

Holidays bring out the best and worst in people. Taking an adult only cruise holiday to the sunny Caribbean in mid-winter seemed a great idea. What could go wrong?

Join Luke and his wife on the cruise of a lifetime which is memorable for all the wrong reasons as passengers die and tensions rise.

The evening event is open to everyone and refreshments will be provided. Contact Mark on 089 2416102 or markrice10@gmail.com

Available Formats - eBook & Paperback and FREE on Kindle Unlimited.

✦Amazon US Amazon.com: Murder On Board: Diary of a Murderer eBook: Mark Rice: Kindle Store

✦Amazon UK Diary of a Murderer eBook: Mark Rice: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store

An unexpected wedding speech problem

I was floundering and I knew it. I began to repeat myself but quite honestly it was totally understandable. I felt the room filled with family and friends beginning to close in upon me. For some reason, I focused on the single bead of sweat that started on my forehead and had trickled down and had now reached the tip of my nose. It hung there, gathering critical mass before launching itself into free fall, down onto my shaking hands that clung to my scrumpled notes.

Margaret sat to my right on the top table urgently tugged on my trouser leg and leaning towards me tried to whisper to me a way out of my verbal cul-de-sac. “Mention Nora (my mother) and Dave (my father).”

“Happy,” she said miming her words. I nodded – message received.

I kick-started the speech again “And of course Luke would like me to mention, on this momentous day, our wonderful parents, Dave and Dora…… excuse me, Nora, who would be so happy today” I went on ” as they never thought he’d ever find a woman.”

I smiled broadly. Nailed it.

Ouch! I’d just been kicked in the shin by Margaret.

Her face indicated more was needed so I swiftly continued ” …..as wonderful and good-natured as Sandra.” I think I got away with it. Luke looked encouragingly in my direction. He was, like I, totally unfamiliar with the stilted and rather humourless speech I was delivering but I had no choice.

I’d spent the previous week writing the speech, searching the internet and gathering lovely wholesome family childhood stories. What I reckoned I had enough gathered together was enough to make a humorous, intimate and informative ten-minute speech.

I had that self-same speech in my hands right now but it was useless to me. You see, in the last five minutes, I’d managed to misplace my reading glasses and the speech might as well be back at home for all the good it was to me now.

I glanced down and saw that a water stain had smudged the black ink of my useless speech, a mere blur of black to my poor eyes. The free-falling freedom seeking drop of water had come to a sorry end, much like my speech.

Post Script – I lost the glasses when handing over the bouquet of flowers to Sandra’s mother when she received more than she had bargained for. The glasses that had hung out of my shirt breast pocket attached themselves to the flowers in the handover exercise. C’mon it could happen to anyone, couldn’t it?

My new book Murder On Board is now available – see below:

✦Amazon US  https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Board-Murderer-Mark-Rice-ebook/dp/B07ND52R6V

✦Amazon UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/Murder-Board-Mark-Rice-ebook/dp/B07ND52R6V

Book Launch on 27th June 2019 at 7:00 pm in Gorey Library, The Avenue Gorey

Walk along a Wexford, Irish Beach

This morning, on a cloudy blustery day, I drove to Morrisscastle Beach, Co. Wexford. Through Kilmuckridge village we went and on past Ann Marie’s Castle Delights bakery and cafe where I’d enjoyed a coffee and cake the previous day. The cafe is halfway along the road to the beach and her cakes and buns are delicious. All along the sides of the road are entrances to holiday home parks, not yet busy as the Irish schools have yet to break for summer. We parked up, Buttons, my dog and I and then hopped out of the car, straight into the company of two smaller dogs, returning from their walk.
“Wrap up warm,” said their owners so I fished my rain mac out of the car boot and slipped it on. The wind was negligible in the car park and on the wooden boardwalk to the beach but the moment we stepped out from the shelter of the sand dunes the wind slapped us firmly in the face. I was blown a step backwards and almost lost my footing for a moment. Peering ahead I could see a mile or more of rolling sandy beach which presently was acting as a wind tunnel as it blew a veritable storm of tiny sand granules along its length.

The beach was itself was bordered by grey foaming wild seas on my left and tall vegetated sand dunes to my right. The lifeguard’s metal hut sat perched on top of a dune, locked and deserted.
I braced myself, zipped up the rain mac to its fullest and let Buttons loose on an almost deserted beach.  You know, with a bit of sunshine and another 10 degrees you could be in Tenerife. But I knew that was just a bit of wishful thinking.

We stepped out onto the firm white sand and walked into the teeth of the gale, knowing full well it would be at our backs on the return trip. Buttons, now released, scampered along the sand and stopped only to sniff anything he could find, the detached leg of a large crab, a pink lump of seaweed, a broken branch and stones, so many stones.

On we walked for about a kilometre, my face growing cold with the chilling breeze and sore from the sand stinging my eyes. Slowly the figures in the distance drew nearer and nearer until I had to summon Buttons and put back on his leash.

There before us was a young Irish mammy and her two toddlers digging holes in the sand and building sandcastles, all in splendid isolation. Armed only with rain macs, wellingtons, one bucket and two spades the threesome squirrelled out a good time from the damp sand in trying conditions. The mother smiled back at me and there they stood, alone, determined to have a day out regardless of the weather.

It made me smile and recall my own dear Mum who likewise burdened with young children, for three months every summer, braved miserable weather to get us all out onto the beach for a good time, whether we wanted to or not! The alternative, she knew, was sitting in the caravan and refereeing four boys knocking lumps out of each other. I know which option I would have chosen if I were her.

The family were gone by the time we turned back. The sand storm was now replaced by driving rain and with dark clouds gathering even the dog needed no second prompting to make a run back to the car. But that’s all part of the charm of Ireland. This time last year we had a heat wave. Life is never dull or predictable on this tiny island.

What can go wrong on a cruise holiday?

Listen, mate,” he said: “The only problem I have with cruises are the other passengers.” He went on, waving his finger at me.

“Oh yes, son,  unlike other holiday types, you can’t choose your company. Like it or not mate, you will be spending the whole holiday with the same group of people around you, day and night. It's a right royal pain in the arse.”

Then he thought of something and smiled at me. My spirits lifted, for a moment.

He burst into song. and it was Hotel Californi

a and he sang it through to the line “You can check out but you can never leave." 

"Yes, mate, that’s you stuck for the next fortnight in a floating tin can bouncing about the ocean seas. I mean, think about - you are rightly screwed."

"Don't forget the tablets and make sure your cabins got a comfy toilet. You'll be going from both ends at times, oh yes.” he chuckled to himself with the thought.

He seemed to be getting great satisfaction from anticipating my demise.
“Oh yes, mate rather you than me” were his last words as he walked away.

Now, what am I going to do? I thought to myself. He's right but she is going to go ballistic if I back out now.

Holidays bring out the best and worst in people. Taking an adult only cruise holiday to the sunny Caribbean in mid-winter seemed a great idea.  What could go wrong?

Join Luke and his wife on the cruise of a lifetime which is memorable for all the wrong reasons as passengers die and tensions rise.

Available Formats - eBook & Paperback and FREE on Kindle Unlimited.

✦Amazon US  https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Board-Murderer-Mark-Rice-ebook/dp/B07ND52R6V

✦Amazon UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/Murder-Board-Mark-Rice-ebook/dp/B07ND52R6V

"Murder On Board" new fiction for June 19 - a 5 star read

So I opened up Goodreads.com this morning never suspecting that I'd actually received my first reader's review and low and behold there it was. 

"Murder On Board" has been given a 5-star review and comments to boot! 

Truthfully, nothing matters more to me than the reading experience for my readers so I've had a wonderful start to the day. Thank you.

Want to buy in US Dollars Kindle $2.53 or Paperback $9.99

Want to buy in UK / EU  Kindle £1.99 or Paperback £8.99

Easter Eggs

The Easter break is a dangerous time for people trying to lose weight as loved ones bombard folks who need to lose weight with chocolate. I was fortunate this year. My wife totally forgot about the gifting side of Easter and I didn’t get an egg. However, I didn’t forget and bought a large chocolate egg filled with rich chocolate sweets for her. Better safe than sorry was my thinking. I also bought our visiting son a small egg and by doing so I thought I’d covered all the angles ensuring happiness all around.

On Easter Sunday my wife became guilt-ridden at the sight of my gift and insisted I share her egg. I duly did and probably would have escaped the piling on of pounds if I had stopped there.  However, our son, on sight of my egg gift to him, glared at the egg, strode across the kitchen and deposited it in the rubbish bin. All he had to say was “no thanks”  but I got the message. 

Well,l I come from a long line of people who do not allow chocolate to be wasted and I retrieved the wrapped egg from the bin and made it my own. And so I sit here in my office having just finished a fresh salad meal that I could have happily shared with a rabbit and my mind replaying a weekend of chocolate overindulgence. 

I’ll try again next year. With my son safely abroad and my wife reliably forgetful, I should have a chocolate free Easter.

Running a half Marathon

It’s only Sunday but I couldn’t contain myself. The Half Marathon is now consigned to history, a bucket list entry with a tick beside it.

I was up by 7am, a full three and half hours before the start of the race. I turned on the immersion and ate my normal breakfast of muesli, mixed seeds and a banana, all floating in a generous quantity of semi skimmed milk. I recommend you stick to your normal breakfast on race days. No point in risking illness or an upset stomach while running.

The weather was just perfect for running this morning. It was a sunny day with no rain forecast and the temperature predicted to be between 7 -10 degrees so little risk of sunburn. No wind either. Wind can be a significant factor and running into a head wind is to be avoided.

I enjoyed a nice shower and then made the final choices about the clothes to wear. I ditched the strapped pouch across the chest idea as it moved about too much when running. I ditched the idea of carrying water as there would be five water stations on the 21.1 kilometre route. I went for a phone arm strap and took some chocolate and two moist dried prunes for that refuelling over the closing kilometres.

We got to the town by 9.30am and found parking easy enough as we had an hour to go before the start of the race. We nipped up to the Tesco’s restaurant for coffee (caffeine boost) and the use of their toilets which were clean and unoccupied. Hydrating before a race generally leads to a thousand people searching out for toilets and long queues for the events temporary toilets so getting in and out of toilets an hour before the off was a great idea.

Standing around before the race is generally a cold and uncomfortable experience. We cut the time to a minimum by staying away until only 20 minutes before the start and my wife took all the spare jumpers and tops from the runners with minutes to go, so it worked well.

The first half marathon runners left at 10.30am and we saw them sprinting up the road like gazelles racing away from a pride of tigers. John had run this race last year so I stuck close to him and his mantra of taking it slowly for the first few kilometres. In amongst the runners were three pace runners. They ran with the time they were paced for, say 2 hours, 2 hours 10 minutes and 1 hour 50 minutes, written on their backs. They also flew yellow balloons above their heads with the same information so if your target was to come home in two hours you just made sure you kept your eyes on that balloon. It was a great idea and gave me comfort during the run.

This race started close to the harbour and steadily rose up as the road headed out of town. At about 2k we forked right off the dual carriageway and began a 5k gradual climb which sorted the runners out, the fun run guys & gals from the more serious ones. Gaps appeared. John and I climb at different speeds so I lost touch with him for a lot of the climb but we reunited and alongside the 2 hour balloon pace runner we entered the Johnstown Park at about 8k. Unfortunately for the pacer, the 2 hour balloon had deflated and so he dragged the soggy little wrinkly yellow balloon in his wake. But he often shouted out his times and alerted those around him so he did a great job. I did suggest he could try to blow it up but he didn’t warm to the idea.

At this stage I was still capable of conversation and chatted away to other runners as we passed the lake and then the castle both inside the park. It was exhilarating jogging along and feeling in control, comfortable within a sea of runners. I met up a mother of three who was flying (without the three) to Boston, USA tomorrow thanks to a short notice €200 seat from a girlfriend who was in an airline cabin crew.  She had a knee problem and wasn’t sure she could complete the run so we discussed her options before parting.

Further on, after we had exited the park, I met a group of runners that I stuck with when I crossed into new territory. I’d never run 16k before and having blurted it out got a round of applause for doing so. People are so positive and supportive on these runs. I applauded the people who bothered to turn out and stand at the side of the road to applaud us. So many families stood applauding with young children who were waving posters and drawings, it was all quite humbling.

By 18k I was beginning to lose that sparkly chatty frame of mind. It was getting harder to keep going. But my mood was lifted by a friendly Sicilian archaeologist called Stefano whose pace matched mine perfectly and we fell into a rhythm that suited us both. His brother and wife, he explained were back in the race behind us and he was visiting Ireland and staying with them. He seemed overdressed for the run wearing jogging bottoms and a rain mack but he explained, in Sicily he regularly runs in temperatures of 32 degrees or more so here, it’s cold for him. We ran on, ticking off the remaining kilometres in a steady if laboured motion. Another water station loomed up and another one or two mouthfuls of water made it down my throat, before discarding the bottle. At 19k I pulled out my dried prunes and tried to eat one. It stuck to the roof of my mouth and I struggled to swallow it. Maybe 5 minutes passed before it was gone.

At 20k we were both working hard to keep the rhythm going, to keep the legs turning to bring us home. We passed a couple who’d stopped, the girl clearly in some distress, only 6 minutes from the end. Finally I could hear the megaphone of the commentator who was at the finishing line and naming the runners as they poured in. It lifted my spirits and suddenly we were back in the town, running past the terraced homes on the narrow streets, past the applauding spectators. “Go on Stefano” I said, “Don’t wait for me – go for it”.  He made a burst for the line at about 100 metres out but eased off. I felt a surge of energy and saw a chance to beat him to it so off I went. I shot past him and for a second I thought I’d hold onto it but he had more in the tank (and probably the advantage of 25 years or more on me) and responded to my challenge. He finished a few strides ahead of me. On the other side of the line we embraced each other like brothers. We grinned warmly at each other before taking a swig of the water bottles and parting to go our separate ways.

Standing behind the metal barrier my wife caught my eye and she took a snap of this sap with his purple medal, his water and his banana. It kind of summed me up. I never truly believed I could do this and yet here I am, with it done.

If you ask me how I’d done it I’d say hard work and mind over matter. I refused to give in to myself and my negative thoughts. I proved them wrong. I did it, but not in a foolhardy way.  I wore a heart rate monitor on the run and I respected its warnings, easing off at times when it blipped a warning. But I kept going, kept believing deep down in my core self, that I would do it and I did.

Bucket list – Run half marathon 21.1k – result completed in 1 hour 56 minutes 38 seconds.

Dancing on St. Patricks Day - I didn't know he had it in him!

The multi-talented writer Mark Rice shows a clean pair of heels on St Patricks Day in the video released today. Ahead of the release of "Murder On Board" his crime thriller he was spotted in Crosses public house, Kilmuckridge, Co. Wexford last night tripping the light fantastic.

Substitute failure

It finally happened. Our Sam missed a class. We’d left home and driven 120 kilometres to catch her class every Tuesday for the past 8 weeks. We could have attended a class 20 kilometres away but, without beating about the bush, the consultant in that town was n’t a patch on Sam so on we drove, week after week.

The class felt so strange without her. Our brilliant “ever up” motivator was absent and in her place was a mere mortal. We were all a bit thrown. No one had known prior to the class and I suppose if Sam had let it slip sooner many, including us, would have skipped turning up at all.

You really don’t appreciate someone and their skill until you experience someone else giving it a go and suddenly the difference is immediate and hugely apparent. It’s not what the substitute consultant didn’t do as much as what Sam did.

We’d arrived about 10 am and to my right a queue of, in the main, women were waiting to pay their €9 fee & move on to be weighed & then be seated while to my left at the new joiners table an animated auburn haired women, early 40’s was holding court walking newcomers through the concept, the books and how the plan worked.

Shortly the beginner's table would empty, all the slimmers would take their seats and the class proper would commence. I say all but everyday about 40% of those weighed leave immediately and miss the class which as Sam put it, is like going to the cinema, buying your ticket for the movie and leaving before it starts. The key to weight loss is turning on a switch in the brain, to change your approach to food and to plan your meals for the week ahead. It’s all in the head and that’s where the class comes in.

I grabbed a chair and shortly after my wife sat beside me. We exchanged looks, I fashioned a raised eyebrow “How much down?” and she replied by giving me the two fingers. She’d hoped for two and a half but two was still good. I nodded and took out my notebook.

I always took notes of what is said at these meeting for a couple of reasons. Firstly my wife is a bit deaf and misses a lot of the verbal exchanges so I capture the essence of what’s said for her. Secondly, useful information is exchanged, ideas, new products, recipes, ideas for exercise and I don’t want to miss any of them. Thirdly I do feel I remember things better if I write them down.

I glanced over at the consultant. I could see she was nervous but she was an experienced woman and this class was going to happen one way or the other. I watched as she pumped herself up behind the registration table before bounding out into the middle of the room and delivered a loud “Good morning” accompanied by a broad flash of pearly white teeth.

The loud buzz of conversation amongst the thirty or so slimmers faded to silence and the consultant started her work. She turned to her left and began by asking each person there to state their name and whether they were up, down or unchanged with their weight this week.  It sounds a reasonable approach but wasn’t.

Why you ask?

Well if the slimmer, was down the consultant was on sure ground and led the applause. The beaming slimmer was then pressed to reveal what had led to the loss in weight and most said “I just stuck to the plan” but some revealed they’d increased their salad intake, drank more water, cut out the chocolates or simply been ill and unable to eat.

But if the slimmer was unchanged or worse still up in weight the class didn’t know what to do. Applaud someone for putting on weight? Failing to lose weight? It presented us with a moral dilemma and a few pregnant seconds of silence followed the slimmers negative news.

I thought back to earlier classes. What did Sam do? And then it struck me. She didn’t ask the question.

That’s what she did. She had her tablet open in front of her and she knew that this slimmer had had a bad week and was up a few pounds so rather than asking the question and publicly embarrassing the person she ‘d say “ Well Doreen, you’ve lost 2 stone 4 pounds to date.”  And she’d lead the applause. She’d ignore the bad news this week, for now, and the applause would ring out for Doreen.

Only then would she gently say “Well Doreen, you were up two pounds this week, do you know why? Is there anything I can help you with?

Today’s substitute consultant continued to work her way around the room, without the tablet, never quite finding the correct response to the slimmers with bad news who got a belated splattering of nervous applause. There was a feeling of gloom gathering as the consultant closed in on each attendee.

Men are rarities at weight loss meetings. I’d say 5% of the slimmers are men. Astonishing isn’t it? Shame it’s not a reflection of the real world.  In my opinion there are just as many obese and overweight men as there are obese and overweight women but the men generally lack the balls to acknowledge that they have a weight problem.

However, the light relief our sub badly needed was just a seat away and came in the form of two middle-aged men who sat next to each other. Ken was up 4 pounds and Brian was up 3 pounds. Between them they’d added half a stone in one week!

“Do you know how?” the sub asked Ken. He adjusted his black spectacles perched on his nose and replied at length and in detail. “Six pints on Sunday night was followed by a bag of chips and chicken balls at midnight, not to mention the tub of curry sauce”. Saturday wasn’t much better when his brother in law twisted his arm to slip out to the pub for a few bevies before dinner and they spent the evening there before staggering home after 11.00pm. There was an audible collective gasp from the throng of women who probably chastised themselves for having that second slice of bread with a knob of butter at breakfast. The off diet being recounted here and now was of epic proportions!

Brian’s story of woe was equally off the diet and acknowledged as such by him but he then made a rousing declaration that he was up to a “weigh-off” challenge with anyone for this coming week. “Are there any takers for losing 4 pounds by next Tuesday?”His challenge was taken on by Pete and they rose from their stools, like gladiators and cheerily shook fists at each other. The challenge was accepted.

Finally, the sub completed the personal enquiry exercise and without any fanfare announced the class over and people got up and left. I had my pen in my hand hovering over an empty page. No tips for losing weight, no recipes for free food, no news on the latest finding in the food world or special offers for low-fat food in the local supermarkets.  The Sam bonus, the added value she brought to meetings was missing. I slipped the notepad back into my man bag while remembering Sam’s last nugget of wisdom

Her 5Ps ……………“Perfect Planning Prevents Piling Pounds”

See you next week!

Fairy Stories should carry an age certificate

We arrived at the house about noon and I was captured by the grandchildren, aged four and five. “Will you play with us?” The big eyes look so appealing. How could I say no?

It gave my wife and her daughter some time to catch up with each other, adult to adult (without constant interruptions from the kids and me!).

So there I was sat on the settee in the playroom, a room filled with toys, figurines, Lego, cars, plastic kitchenware and a wall of books, activity material, DVDs and a TV/DVD player.

For the boy, his hero has been Fireman Sam for the first two years of his short life followed by WWE Wrestler action figures and now this past year Spiderman. A Batman figurine also gets playtime but for too many reasons to go into right now, he’s a secondary figure to Spiderman.

The five year old is a girl and is so different even now to the boy in many ways. Her hero figures are female and fly round with magical wings. Early year figurines were lots upon lots of My Little Ponies, each unique, some with light up pink hearts, some with pink tails.

But you know, both still enjoy the things that I enjoyed when I was their ages, stories. “Will you tell us a story?” I was asked and as I always felt I had a voice for radio and was flattered to be asked, I said: “of course but can you find me a book of stories?”

The girl returned a short time later with a massive tomb which I recognized as a Christmas present we had bought FOR them one year. As I opened the book of fairy stories I noticed it had been first published back in 1812 by brothers Wilhelm Grimm and Jacob Grimm. Though it was a book we’d bought I had never read it myself so I began to look forward to the stories we’d be reading.  I let the pair of them flick through the pages until they found a story they wanted to hear and off we went.

First up was the story of The Three Little Pigs who run away from home. No reason was given but you could assume a degree of social deprivation existed in pigsties back in the 19th century. Well each pig sought to build a stronger house than the previous pigs to live in and seek protection from the hungry wolf who, in this book, ate the two pigs that had built houses that failed to comply with NHBW (National House Building Wolf resistant) standards and those pigs paid the ultimate price, death by wolf attack. I managed to gloss over the more lucid details in the book but it was total carnage. The surviving pig was in therapy for years.

Next up was the story of the Gingerbread Boy who escaped from the oven having been baked by an elderly woman and her husband. Apparently not sufficiently pleased with his timely escape he proceeded to bait and abuse the slow running pair and anyone else that crossed his path which, by the time he reached a river bank was quite a horde of angry people, all now in hot pursuit of Mr “Big Mouth” Gingerbread.

Caught between a wet river and certain death at the hands of the mob he takes the offer of assistance from a passing fox who places him on his tail and keeps him dry while they cross the river together. At least the fox did that initially but as the tail sinks lower in the water the Gingerbread Boy has to move onto the fox’s back to remain dry. Then soon he’s forced to move again, this time onto the tip of the fox’s nose. The moment they reached the land on the other side of the river the fox tossed his head back and the gingerbread boy flew briefly into the air before falling in the open mouth of the fox! Granted, it was death again but I felt the biscuit did  n’t suffer long and I’m partial to the odd one myself.

I felt increasingly uneasy about the ending of these stories and hoped I was on firmer ground with the last story chosen Little Red Riding Hood which I recalled had a happy ending. While we three ploughed our way through the story I really got into it and threw in a few silly voices while asking the kids questions so I got them thinking.

Why did the little girl go into the woods on her own?

Where were her Mum and Dad?

How easy is it to get lost in the wood?

Why did Granny need her lunch brought over to her?

I suppose I really got into it and failed to spot my wife and stepdaughter slip into the room to listen to the story. They arrived just as it took some gruesome turns with the wolf deceiving and eating the grandmother and then taking her place in the bed, then subsequently eating the little girl too!

Holy Shit! I wasn’t expecting that! I couldn’t think of an alternative story line and so stuck with the book to see how it manufactured the happy ever after ending I was now so desperate to find. I felt a small blob of sweat develop under my shirt collar and a stream of water ran from behind my ear. I turned the page to find the end was in sight! However, my joy was short lived as the happy ending was achieved by a passing huntsman who entered Granny’s house, spotted the sleeping wolf in Granny’s clothing and produced his very long sharp sword. He then killed the wolf and slit open its stomach to reveal a still alive Granny and Little Red Riding Hood who hopped out and lived, well,……. happily ever after.

Now I am the first to acknowledge that the bedroom must have been a blood splattered mess but you know the kids seemed to enjoy the story and I think most of the gore and violence just passed over their heads. At least I hope it did.

The look on my stepdaughters face as I finished a story was priceless and never to be repeated. It’ll teach me to pick up and read a load of stories I haven’t read before. Kids back in the 19th century were obviously made of sterner stuff.

We all met up again a few days later and strangely no one mentioned my story telling so maybe it’s been parked, forever, period.