A Diary Entry: The Barbecue by Adam Rutter

 Sunday, August 17th, 2025

I went to a barbecue at Stuart’s house. There was a party of about twenty people from High Town Writers sat in the garden. The party was split in half. The first half were sat on a mosaic patio, next to a small pond. The other half on the lawn, nestled beneath the trees. I took a three legged walking stickwith a foldable seat attached. I opened the foldable seat and sat on the patio, facing the sun, with my back to the barbeque. I felt my back and head burning, even though I was wearing a kepi. The flames flickered in a bowl of charcoal, like an Olympic torch. The burgers sizzled and hissed ferociously as a transistor radio on the grill. I joined the other half, so that I could shade myself under the umbrella. We chatted about writing and publishing. Once the sausages and burgers had been cooked, Stuart announced that they were ready to be eaten. We all went into the annexe area of the house, which was presumably the dining room. All the food was prepared for us. The salad was in plentiful supply with an ample amount of sausages and beef burgers. On the windowsill was a Bluetooth speaker punching hard rock music across the room. I asked Stuart what were the rock band called.

‘The Cult’, he replied.

When I went back on the lawn, I had to resign to using a deck chair since I had a plate of food on my lap. Jennie Hart asked about my holiday, the places that I went to. Like me, Jennie has walked along the beach from Tywyn to Aberdovey. It is very popular among visitors in this part of Wales. I then went onto the subject about my ‘time travel novel’ with Marie Sever, which I started writing almost a decade ago. I told Marie that I was no longer pursuing my novel and decided to start afresh with my new sci-fi book, which is also going to have time travel in it, eventually. I briefly discussed Star Trek and Men In Black with Rena’s husband, Andy. He too is a sci-fi fan. For my second meal, I had a beef burger. I don’t normally eat beef burgers, though I must admit that I ate the best beef burger for a long time. I have to say that it sure beef-ed up my day. Pun intended.

Celebration from the Air by Adam Rutter

credit: Adam Rutter

Paul, David, Ryan and Philip all stood on a hill, dressed in military uniform, overlooking the fields chequered in green and yellow. Rape-seed and grasslands were gridded by trees and hedgerows, like a picture frame. All four men watched an array of hot air balloons hanging in the air.

‘Look’, began Ryan. ‘That one is covered in the Union Jack flag’, he continued, pointing at the nearest balloon floating towards them.

‘I can see people inside the basket’, said Paul.

‘They’re waving at us’, said Philip.

They pulled their berets off their heads, and waved fervently at the passengers as the balloon flew over them. The passengers whooped and cheered. The burner seethed, blowing flames through the open canopy like a flame thrower. The balloon descended the slope-side of the hill, dipping towards flat terrain. The airmen plonked their hats back on their heads. They watched the rest of the balloons rising and sinking, growing larger, filling the azure-blue sky with red, white, yellow and dark blue gargantuan above. The huge floats drifted by like Chinese lanterns. The hiss of the burners rose, and dropped, giving way to a gloomy silence.

Church bells rang the tune, ‘White Cliffs of Dover’, which swelled, and faded in the wind. The airmen stood at ease. Philip had his hands behind his back. David looked down at a village. Tears welled up in his eyes; tears of grief and sadness.

‘Gran and Grandad will be celebrating this proud day’, said Ryan.

‘I wish my Grandad were here celebrating’, said David, sobbing.

‘Your Grandad would’ve been proud if he saw you standing here today’.

In the distance, there was a low hum. Five dark figures appeared above the horizon. The hum grew heavier, and thunderous. The figures became wider and more recognisable as they drew closer. Their distinctive shapes were unmistakably aircrafts. The aircraft in the middle was the biggest: the Lancaster Bomber, escorted by four spitfires.

‘Cadets’, began Philip. ‘Attention!’

The five aircrafts whined overhead. The airmen saluted.

Diary - by Adam Rutter

World War Two Flight Formation over Bridgnorth                                      by Adam Rutter

Friday, May 9^th , 2025

I started writing a short story this afternoon. The theme is “Everybody stood”. I have based my story on four men standing on a hill, watching an array of hot air balloons hanging in the air. The four main characters are RAF pilots, although that has not been highlighted in the story yet. The story coincides with the eightieth anniversary of VE Day in which the nation is celebrating this week. Coincidentally enough, Dad saw ten WW2 aeroplanes flying over our house while he was in the garden. 

The aeroplanes were flying in formation. I watched the fleet heading in a south-easterly direction through the window at the bottom of the stairs. The humming noises faded as the fleet slid behind the trees in the distance. When I went inside the kitchen, I heard the humming noises again. This time, I looked through the landing window, and saw the fleet coming back. Their formation had split into twos, threes and fours. Each squadron circled the skies, flying in various directions. I captured every passing fleet with my phone camera, to document the VE Day celebrations. The planes headed north once the wartime display was over.

 

Editor’s Note

If you want to see more planes this year’s Cosford Air Show is on Sunday 8^th June

RAF Cosford Air Show – The Royal Air Force's Air Show

A Toast to Yorkshire by Adam Rutter

credit: Adam Rutter/Gencraft

I walked along a quiet road, treading on the same path that I followed in my youth. The road cut through the Yorkshire Dales National Park, across The Pennines, and through three villages: Hetton, Rylstone and Cracoe. The road started in Gargrave, which is where I used to go on holiday in the 1990s. I returned to 2000, a year before the outbreak of Foot and Mouth Disease. Rolling fields were gridded with drystone walls, lining the roadside. The constant sound of sheep bleating travelled through the air, mixed with the lapwing calling a tearful cry.

The skies were overcast, though the views of the surrounding countryside were still clear enough to see. Cracoe was visible from a distance. I stepped over wooden boards, spanning the level crossing. A film of lime traced alongside the single track after being deposited by a passing freight train. Hetton, the first village I arrived at had a pub standing above the roadside: The Angel Inn. Sat in the beer garden was a young man with light brown cropped hair, wearing a black tee-shirt showing the cast from Star Trek: Voyager. He was definitely in his early twenties. The last time that I was here, I was 22. That earlier part of my memory sent a shiver down my spine, making the skin tingle on my hands and face. The man looked distinctly like me. What gave the game away was his tee-shirt.

I wondered into the beer garden. Slowly, I moved closer to him. There was absolutely no doubt. He was a younger version of myself. He was sitting at a square wooden table. There were many like it outside the pub that were occupied by quite a few patrons. He did not have a pint on the table. Had he already bought a drink at the bar? Was he waiting to be served? I mean, he couldn’t take a drink outside himself, not without spilling it everywhere.

I walked gingerly towards his table. He had his back to me. I stopped a few paces from my younger self. I cleared my throat, and then I began.

‘Good afternoon,’ I said.

He looked round, wondering whether if I was addressing him. Concern and confusion were written on his face.

‘Pardon me for asking,’ he began, ‘but do I know you from somewhere?’

‘Here, there, everywhere,’ I said.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Oh. Er, yes, you do know me.’

‘How do I know you?’

‘We were both born in the same place Adam.’

‘Wait a minute. How d’you know my name?’

‘Because that’s who I am.

‘What!’

‘That’s my name.’

‘But that still doesn’t explain how you know my name.’

‘Look! Can’t you see what I’m trying to tell you?’

‘No.’

‘Do I have to spell it out for you?’

Adam’s eyes blinked; the flush in his cheeks drained, turning pale.

‘My god. It can’t be,’ said Adam.

‘It is, Adam.’

‘How’s that possible?’

‘Time travel is possible. I mean, you said so yourself.’

‘Are you saying you’ve time travelled all the way here? In the dales?’

‘Of course.’

‘But, why here?’

‘I love the dales.’

‘When did you come?’

‘Today. May I join you?’

‘Eh. Oh, yes. Of course.’

‘Thank you.’

I sat opposite Adam, overlooking the views of green fields and pasture. A waiter came out with a notebook and pen.

‘Would you like me to get something for you gentlemen,’ the waiter asked.

‘Would you like a coffee Adam?’

‘Nah. Coke will do me.’

‘And what would you like, sir?’

‘Green tea, please.’

‘Green tea,’ asked Adam.

‘Yeah.’

‘What the hells that?’

‘It’s tea that’s not being properly fermented.’

‘Ah, would that be the same as Yorkshire Tea?’

‘Er, not quite.’

‘Would you like t’bite?’

‘You what now!’

‘Would you like a meal?’

‘Oh, that’s very kind of you.’

‘How about a ploughman’s?’

‘Well, we might as well plough our way through our time in the dales, now that we’re here.’

‘I see that my sense of humour doesn’t get any better.’

‘Does it ever?’

‘My humour...or, should it be our humour has always been uphill, down dale.’

‘You know, we should drink a pint of ale in the dale.’

‘I thought you were no good at poetry.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Then how come you rhyme words?’

‘I’m not sure if I follow you.’

‘You were doing it.’

‘When?’

‘Just now.’

‘Was I?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What did I say?’

A tractor was chugging along, drowning out Adam’s voice. My nostrils drew in the exhaust fumes, making me cough and splutter.

‘Could you repeat that,’ I asked.

‘Repeat what?’

‘That rhyme.’

‘The rhyme?’

‘Yes.’

Adam’s face was blank, as though files had been deleted from his memory bank. There was silence between us, dragging on from seconds, into minutes. Not another word was spoken. The silence seemed to go on forever. I saw Adam smile in his eyes, like he had a eureka moment.

‘I remember what it was,’ said Adam.

‘So, it’s finally come back to you, has it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What was it?’

The rustic noises of the countryside swallowed up when a supersonic jet screeched overhead, cutting Adam off in mid-sentence. All I could see was his lips moving. It was like a loudspeaker being muted. The jet thundered in the distance, disappearing behind a peak.

‘Could you say that again,’ I asked.

‘Oh, I think it’s gone again.’

‘You’re telling me you’ve forgotten?’

‘Yeah. That’s exactly it.’

‘Your glass of coke would’ve lost it’s fizz by the time you remember.’

‘I think my rhyming has lost it’s fizz ’an all.’

‘Surely, it hasn’t.’

‘It has.’

‘The one way for rhyming to keep its fizz is to write more.’

‘I drink to that,’ said Adam, raising his glass before gulping his drink down him.

‘Hey,’ continued Adam. ‘Why don’t we propose a toast?’

‘To what?’

‘To Yorkshire.’

I lift my cup off the saucer. ‘Here’s to Yorkshire.’

‘To Yorkshire,’ said Adam, holding his glass like an Olympic torch.

The cup and glass clunk together.

Spacebound Hearts: Chapter One: Into The Wormhole by Adam Rutter

credit Gencraft AI

‘Open the wormhole,’ radioed Alex.

The view of the stars through the window inside the cockpit began to stretch and squeeze, forming a ring around a black hole. The Falcon’s engines roared, pushing the spacecraft toward the invisible anomaly. Red and green lights flicked on the consoles.

‘All systems are looking good Falcon,’ a man’s voice said on the headset.

‘Copy that.’

The Falcon started shaking. The black hole’s gravity was pulling the single seated spacecraft into its mouth. Alex’s pressurized suit was equipped with sensors, monitoring his heartbeat. The bleeps grew faster as his heart was beating more rapidly. As the anomaly grew larger, the Falcon fell into the long, winding tunnel. Alex had left planet Novaterra and the Milky Way galaxy behind, travelling on a quick journey to another galaxy that would take a spaceship 163,000 years to get there at the speed of light.

‘Falcon has entered the singularity. I repeat, the Falcon entered the singularity,’ confirmed Alex.

‘We copy that Falcon.’

Blue lights flickered on the console, indicating a build up of radiation inside the anomaly.

‘Falcon, can you give us a progress report,’ a woman requested, voice distorted.

‘Radiation levels are stable. All systems normal.’

Alex was the first human in history to travel beyond the Milky Way 600 years after humankind left its first boot print on the surface of the moon. This was no ordinary journey. It was a scientific experiment. The vast distance between the two galaxies had been cut down, making it look as easy as travelling from Earth to the Moon. Humanity had colonised a quarter of the galaxy. Now, it was looking for a new frontier. To expand human colonies beyond the galactic boundaries.

‘Radiation levels critical,’ said Alex.

The radio buzzed and crackled.

‘I repeat...radiation levels critical.’

The buzzing was loud and persistent.

‘Do you copy?’

The cockpit was filled with flashing red lights. An alarm blared.

‘Do you copy? DO YOU COPY?’

The wormhole swung and slithered like a winding snake, the Falcon hit against the wall at every corner, bouncing along a narrow corridor.

The walls were closing in.

‘Warning,’ announced a computer generated voice. ‘Cabin pressure is decreasing rapidly.’

Alex pressed four green buttons, attempting to keep oxygen at a maximum  level, but it was futile. The air pressure was falling at an incredible rate. Alex’s only best chance was to reach his target destination before the wormhole collapses. The valves inside his suit were released via an AI feedback loop. It was enough to give him plenty of breathable oxygen, though for only a short period of time. The Falcon tossed and twirled, ricocheting like a bullet.

‘Warning! Structural integrity failure is imminent,’ said the computer.

The cockpit rattled and shuddered. Alex was bouncing from side-to-side, shaking violently. Even though he was wearing a helmet, the violent shaking was still enough to deliver a severe blow to the head if it struck against a hard surface.

‘Warning! Structural integrity failure is imminent.’

Steam jets pierced through walls inside the cockpit, hissing. Alex saw stars at the other end; the wormhole’s exit grew bigger. Big enough for the Falcon to escape, but with potentially disastrous consequences. Alex jolted, hitting his head against the wall. The violent blow rendered him unconscious. His spacecraft – out of control. Alex was left at the mercy of the volatile wormhole, determined to projectile his spacecraft out into a dangerous universe, possibly flying into a deadly target. An asteroid? A planet? The wormhole’s exit was drawing closer. Its gaping hole, closing. The Falcon was thrown out into space, and the wormhole imploded, sending out a shockwave. The spacecraft was being pushed out further, hurling toward a region of space unknown to humanity.

On-board the Falcon, an automatic distress signal began transmitting ... 

Lucia - by Adam Rutter - inspired by a '555' prompt -

Lucia was no longer with us.
from the 5th chapter, 5th page, 5th line of 'Black Coffee' by Agatha Christie

 

Lucia was no longer with us. When I went back to the manor house, I checked the four rooms upstairs. I asked the housemaid if she had seen Lucia sometime after eight o’clock this morning. The housemaid had not seen her since yesterday. Lucia was not in her room when the housemaid took up her morning cup of tea. The last time any of us saw her was at the house party last night. The party started at 7PM. It went on after midnight. Lucia was talking to her friends. This was probably just after nine. Mrs Ludlow. That was her name. She had not seen Mrs Ludlow for over fifteen years. They both went to the same university. Edinburgh I think it was. Probably studying Cosmology. It was something along those lines. After Lucia and Mrs Ludlow had graduated, they kept in touch by letter, and sometimes they used to talk on the telephone. She’ll be talking for two hours; sometimes more. The conversations were friendly to begin with, but soon turned nasty. They did fall out, although they have made up. Come to mention it, I didn’t see Mrs Ludlow leave the party. She left without as much as a bye or leave, which was odd. It wasn’t like Mrs Ludlow to go without saying “goodbye.” I had never known her to do that before. Come to think of it, neither had her friends. I went to a groceries shop in a village nearby. I inquired about Lucia’s whereabouts. The lady in the shop saw her on Thursday. That is the day she does her shopping.

Nobody else had seen Lucia. The last time that the villagers had contact with her was a week ago. I can’t see how or why Lucia would just disappear. I cannot imagine her wandering off without the guests noticing. In any case, I think it was a simple fact that they were too drunk to notice. I realised Lucia’s absence after Mr Broadway had gone. He was the last to leave once the party was over. The thought of her disappearance didn’t occur to me. At least, not at first anyway.

Charged Emotions by Adam Rutter

Cara wondered aimlessly through fields of heather on The Long Mynd. Cara’s auburn hair blew across her face. Her white skirt flapped around her feet and she held onto a thin arm loosely with her slender hand while her dark eyes gazed mournfully down at Church Stretton. Cara’s walk slowed to a saunter until she could not walk no more. Her tears reddened the edge of her eyes with every tear being blown round the side of her face. Cara could not face Jack again, no matter how much she wanted to see him, she could not stand the thought of being hurt a second time, in spite of his undying love for her, she knew he will betray her. The grey skies grew darker and blacker as clouds cast heavy shadows over the hills and valleys. Thunder rumbled overhead. A raindrop landed on her cheek, she watched Church Stretton fade in the shadows until it became obscured, like her feelings for Jack. She searched relentlessly for her feelings, and then she stopped searching. A flash of lightning glimmered on her face, accentuating her fair skin against the dimmest light. The rain pattered on the heather, Cara sobbed as her hurt and anguish rumbled inside like the thunder, and tears flowed with the rain as they ran off her face. Jack was cantering on his horse when he arrived in the town after he came back from Shrewsbury. His eyes caught sight of Cara’s figure silhouetted against sheet lightning flickering in the clouds.

‘Cara!’ he cried.

The rain began to pour down. Jack galloped out of town, through the narrow valley of Cardingmill. Cara heard Jack’s voice rising from the valley. His voice was unrecognisable among the thunderclap and the rain lashing down, but she knew it had to be him. She held onto her drenched skirt while she struggled to run among the heather.

January's Workshop 20 Minute Warm-up Writing - 1st March 2035 by Adam Rutter

credit: gencraft

I went out today, riding on my tricycle*, which was given to me as a birthday present. The paths were covered in snow. The wheels swished through the slush along the road. There was very little traffic. The snowfall was lighter than yesterday. Chestnut horses huddled together by the fence, standing under a large fir tree. All the fields were heaped in snow. A few houses began to build up into a suburban area, interspersed with tall grey building blocks. Parked on the other side of the street was an old green car surrounded by building rubble. An elderly gentleman looked at me with a blank expression, knowing that I was a stranger in this unfamiliar town. 

I saw a bright flash of light from the corner of my eye, followed by a loud explosion. I flew off my tricycle. Stone and concrete shot out everywhere, people running and screaming. This can’t be happening, I thought. There hasn’t been a war in Gaza for ten years. What was it with the green car? I had no idea. I had never seen a vehicle like it in my life. And why were there bombs going off? I do not understand. I know there is a possibility of time travel, but I mean, c'mon!

* word maze random words

Snowstorm by Adam Rutter

The bulbous silvery ball

Shiny coating

Mirror like reflection

Curves the window

Snowflakes contour the curves

Sliding down like bubbles in wine glass

Flakes spin and twirl in wind

Water filled snowstorm

Snow shaken in glass ball

Falls to the bottom

Snowflake after snowflake

Piles on top of one and other

Building a white wall

Reaching up to window sill

Conifer trees bulging out from the sides

Branches whitened with powder

The Norway Spruce (better known as the Christmas Tree) by Adam Rutter

Norway Spruce Forest in Norway

I am a tall trunk

With roots spread out on a peak

Standing in this Arctic wilderness

Filled with strange noises

Rising from the valleys

Climbs to my height

My pine needles shoot out

Firm, stiff, spiky

On my oblique branches

Points skyward

All the way to my crown

The wind blows me from side-to-side

My branches sway

The trees lean windward

Slanting towards my height

Clouds well up below

Swallows the valleys

Overwhelms the peaks

The trees cloaked

Snowflakes come floating down

Clings to my pine needles

Enshrouded in white

The snow grows heavier

My branches are hanging down

A powder of snow blows off me

Swirls and coils above my branches

Sweeping over the cliff edge

Drifting into the forest

My trunk, buried in snow

A deep layer touches my branches

Deer legs sink into the snow

Deep print trails to my height

Its brown coat brushes against my thick branches

Snow falls onto its wide bulk

My branches swing back and forth

Snow throws up

Hits my short branches

And lands on my long limbs

Snowflakes swirl and spiral between tree gaps

Dances in the air

Spins and whirls

Spins and whirls

Spins and whirls

Spins and whirls

Spins and whirls

Wanders between branches

Sticks to my pine needles

Blows off by sharp, savage blasts

Sending a raw biting chill

Into the forest

Trees arch toward each other

Our crowns meet

Winds force pushes me

Lifting my lower branches

I lean towards the high peak

Snow drifts tear through the air

Blowing down the valley

Funnels along a river

Breathes out through the fjord

Icicles hang below

Stretches down a frozen waterfall

Ice floes carried by rapids

The snow weighs down on me

My branches, drooping

The snow slides off

 

The Christmas Tree at St Nicholas, Oldbury

Dearest Emma by Adam Rutter

credit:gencraft

Through the tall, narrow window, I stoically watched a young couple walking up the street in knee-deep snow. Parked on the other side, leaving the headlamps exposed. The highest buildings in the distance were a haze in the snow drift. Standing in a small room, I looked down at the typewriter with melancholy, wishing I was with my dear wife, Emma. The typewriter was the closest thing I could be with her. It was given to us as a wedding present. During our fifteen years of marriage, we have shared the same typewriter, bringing it with me to my London apartment, typing correspondences for my clients. I, Lawrence Rendleford, a solicitor provided legal advice while endeavouring to settle legal disputes for the people in the capital and the Home Counties. On this particular occasion, I typed a correspondence on a personal matter. A letter to Emma. So I pulled the chair out from under my desk, sat, and began typing. The clacking of the keys. The lingering smell of her perfume. A constant reminder of her presence.

The letter began with the usual salutation, which any devoted husband would start with:

 Dearest Emma,

              It has been a long time, perhaps too long since you have heard from me. A week of your absence seems like an eternity. Each key that I press on our faithful friend is like being in the same room with you, although it cannot replace the feeling of emptiness. I was going to speak to you on the telephone this evening, but the weight of the snow has brought telegraph cables down, cutting off communication in London and the surrounding area, which is a nuisance. To type this letter is the nearest I can get to talking with you. I was so looking forward to coming home at the weekend. But alas, the dreadful snowstorm has put the kybosh on it. Has Rex been a good dog while I have been away? I bet he is enjoying the weather. I can imagine Rex rolling about in the snow. If only I were there to see that now. The wintery weather is expected to last well into next week, which means that I will have to work from my apartment for the time being. One of my employees is staying in the same temporary accommodation as me, currently using their room as a makeshift office.

Even after being two days in London, I was missing you already. Let us hope that I will be hope that I will be home in time for Christmas. More to the point, I hope my letter gets to you before the festive season. The snow is causing terrible delays with the postal system. It is not good for business. Anyway, I mustn’t grumble. Besides, you hear me grumble all the time. Still when you do get this letter, it will keep you smiling during the hard winter.

I hope to be back soon.

Yours truly,

Lawrence

William by Adam Rutter

William                                                credit Adam Rutter

William is 75 years of age, and he is still quick-off-the-mark with his humour, as though he were a 20 year old. William bounces from one joke to another like a ping pong ball. When he tells the first joke, that’s what gets the ball rolling. His jokes snowball into a series of gags. Pub intended. William loves gardening. It is his usual plot. He spends most of his time by the box hedge, making sure I get box-ed in with the job. He grows potatoes, and everybody calls him Spud. William has grown a variety of flowers, including tulips, hydrangea, lupin, daffodils, not to mention a cordyline. He really has branched out with gardening. He spends a lot of time with the cats. Or the cats spend a lot of time with William. Lots of furry visitors go to his garden from around the neighbourhood. One has a thick coat and bushy tail. Its name is Millie. She loves having a lot of fuss, so much so that she follows William everywhere in the garden, putting him through the Mill-ie. William lived in a four-bedroom house, in the hamlet of Tythe Barn. Behind his house lay an empty barn. The barn had been empty for eight years. He decided to convert the barn into an annexe for his home, to accommodate his extensive collection of books on horticulture and horticultural related subjects. The barn conversion was also used as a makeshift shed, to store his pots, and plant flower bulbs. His furry friends wandered in and out. One of them knocked a pot off the table, smashing on the floor.

‘Oh Millie,’ cried William. ‘Oh well,’ he continued. ‘I won’t make a fuss-pot over it.

Tempestuous Emotions Come Flooding Back - Troubled Waters by Adam Rutter

Bassa Villa - once known as 'The Magpie'                                                credit Adam Rutter

It was on a November morning. The river Severn had burst its banks. Fog made it impossible for sailors to see the buttresses that supported the bridge arches. The light given off by the candlelit lamps was fuzzy, which the sailors saw just under a feet away as they neared the bridge.  Not enough to avoid a collision. A sailed barge narrowly missed the wall of the arch. The lower half of Cartway was flooded. an oarsman rowed past two pubs, mooring outside the Magpie inn. Two rowing boats were moored outside The Severn Trow; one tied to a doorknob outside The Ship and Anchor. The oarsman dismounted, waded through the open door, wandering past the swamped out cellar. The recovered cask of ales were stacked on top of the bar. He took off his hat, slapping it down on the bar, while drawing out a tankard from his coat pocket.

‘Fill this up will ya landlord,’ he asked.

‘I can only give you half today Sid,’ said the landlord.

‘Oh! No pint today?’

‘No pint today Sid.’

‘Why not?’

‘A lot of ale got washed away in the flood,’ said the landlord, pointing at the casks.

Sid held out the tankard, his fingers gripping tightly on the handle. The landlord poured a small ration. Sid turned his back to the landlord, cutting through the water like a frigate, wet shoes squelching. He sat at the far end of the bar area, arms folded, elbows resting on the table. He took a small sip, trying to make his drink last.

Sid looked out through the door when he heard a pair of oars splashing gently. He lifted his elbows off the table, eyes fixed on the moored boats rising and falling with the ripples generated by the repeated strokes. The ripples lengthened and widened, knocking the boats against the wall. Sid knew who was rowing. He knew nearly every sailor and boatman up and down the Severn. And he knew when they dropped their anchor. Sid watched the rowing boat slide past the door, pulling over outside The Magpie. Was it the boatman Sid knew? It was him alright. The boatman was wearing a bicorn hat. Sid would know it anywhere. But how?

Evita’s Cadiz Mystery by Adam Rutter

Edward looked at the view of whitewashed buildings from his hotel room, watching terraced houses turn crimson-red at sunset. Looking down, he saw a woman looking through a pair of binoculars, by the roadside. The binoculars were attached to a tripod. The woman had been looking in the same direction probably within the last ten minutes. Maybe more. She was still looking through the binoculars, at the same spot, shortly after sundown. Even when turquoise blue skies faded into twilight, it was still bright enough to see right across the village. She was at a viewpoint, which offered a panorama of Vejer De La Frontera for tourists. Situated in Cadiz province, in southern Spain, Vejer De La Frontera nestled in the valleys of Andalucia, a remote location that was isolated from a city. Edward had visited Spain many times. He used to go to the Pyrenees, trekking the entire breadth of the mountain range, from Cataluna, to Andorra. This was the first time he stayed in Andalusia. It was popular with hikers like Edward, including the occasional globetrotter passing through.

 

The woman opened her rucksack, and took out a camera. She attached the telephoto lens, and then began taking snaps.

Our Day out at Wigmore Abbey - a memory explored at the 'Do The Write Thing' Workshop - by Adam Rutter

credit Adam Rutter

Mum, Dad and me visited Wigmore Abbey

Home of the actor John Challis

We knew him as Boycie

In the TV sitcom

Only Fools and Horses His house

In rural Herefordshire September 2003

Last day for summer sun

Large wrap around green

Encircled the house

People wandered leisurely

Admired flowers

Chatted with John

Market traders sold plants

Collecting proceeds for Red Cross

‘Della would’ve like it here,’ said Mum

I was happy to be there Sad that Della wasn’t alive to enjoy it

Crowds gathered round

For photos and autographs

Dressed in my captain Jean Luc Picard T-shirt

‘You can’t come here with another actor,’ said John

Pretending to draw hair and moustache

With his felt-tip

He stood behind us being Boycie

Camera button clicked

Summer by Adam Rutter

The Italian Garden, Arley Arboretum.           credit Adam Rutter

People throng Stonehenge

Watching the sun cut between solid blocks

Rising above circle

Rectangular shadows stretched out on grassy plains

Days grow longer

Corn fields glow gold as sun

Sun baked land warms air

Lifting Buzzards

Open wings float on heat

Wheeling on warm columns

Patchwork of crops ploughing

Embroider the countryside

Trees, an umbrella of shade

Cooling people, pets swim in pools, rivers feel refreshingly cool

Water fountain fans out

Like a lily

Droplets fall onto the pool

Unfolding petal-like shapes

In Italian garden

Splashes of colour fill flower beds

Climbing tiered fountain

Cascading onto flower shaped bowls 

Worcestershire Village by Adam Rutter

credit Adam Rutter

Narrow road winds through Wyre Forest

Hugs trees

Twists past fields, crops

Slopes down to

Worcestershire village

From humpback bridge

Railway station

Yellow brick building

Chimney pots above waiting room and house

Bay window juts out to station platform

Canopy holds hanging baskets

Steam train shoots out of GWR poster

By the open gate, telephone Kiosk

Semaphore signal, horizontal

Road slides past Harbour Inn

Descends towards River Severn

Across the footbridge

Oarsman, oarswoman, canoeist ride water currents

Young men swim shallow waters

Ducks flank the riverside

Shop cum post office huddles with cottage and café

On the other side

Courtyard arranged with chairs and tables

Sit, watch Severn drifting by 

Comets by Adam Rutter

 

Icy rocky bodies Floats through space

Orbits around the sun For many centuries

Smashes onto a Planet

Comets, celestial pellets hit the planet Saturating rocky world with water

Mountains, valleys, gorges, ravines submerge

Oceans encroaches the land

Cutting off islands volcanoes from continents

Volcanoes throw up

sulphur, carbon dioxide

Spills out lava down ocean bed

Builds land above water

Microbial life multiplies below

Evolving into oxygen producing plankton, fish,

cetaceous animals

Developing terrestrial into inhabitants