Supermarket Eroticism

Only then could we see just why she needed the tin of pilchards. Notwithstanding – of course – all the usual reasons a lady of her... inclinations engages in such a blatant – and full-frontal – display of full-on shopping.

Of course, in a society that doesn't like sex, but loves porn, such a display of uninhibited purchasing of domestic staples is bound to bring on a certain sexually-charged frisson. Especially if the young lady in question is more than averagely attractive and has a massive pair of shopping lists.

Of course, there are many who will take only one list on their shop. But such - known as 'vanilla' or 'ordinary' shoppers - to full-on supermarket fetishists, know little of the illicit sexual thrill having an extra shopping list can add to the experience. After all, at the top of most people's shopping sex wish-list is a desire to experiment with threesomes. For many people, that means the standard, 'buy two get one free' offers. For others, though, it can be more inventive. Right up to and including setting off down the aisles with two shopping trolleys. Of course, the dexterity, let alone the desire, needed to control two wayward and independently-minded shopping trolleys is of course not all that usual in our repressed society. We cannot deny it exists, at least, judging by the number of specialist websites displaying shopping women – and sometimes even men – in erotic poses with two – or even sometimes more – shopping trolleys.

Of course, the usual self-appointed moral guardians and religious leaders have condemned erotic shopping and all it entails. But we have to ask ourselves how many of them have ever felt the sudden overwhelming need to go out and buy a can of pilchards?

I know I have.

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US)]

I Hold in My Hand a Piece of Paper

This is, of course, the question we all must ask of ourselves as we stand here on the cusp of the brink of the edge of a new world. Or, at least it would be, if we hadn't – temporarily – mislaid the piece of paper with that question written on it.

However, I do have a few other pieces of paper I've gathered over the last few... well, looking at some of them: many, many... er... years.

So, ladies and gentlemen of the world's press gathered here to bear witness to these momentous events on the world's stage. You will no doubt be aware of how hard all the world's leaders, politicians, statesmen and stateswomen gathered at this summit have worked to bring about this... this.... Well, whatever it is we have done at this moment of crisis in the world's history.

Ah!

So, if you are as hungry as I am, and don't quite trust the banquets put on by our generous hosts, I have here on this historic piece of paper in my hand the phone number of an excellent takeaway. They do deliver, but only in a five mile radius of central West Bromwich. So I think we can put that particular piece of paper to one side and move on to announce that....

Ah, if you are looking for a good time then Lusty Trudy of Glamorga... er, probably not. If my wife is watching this press conference, as I'm sure everyone in the world is, then can I make absolutely clear that piece of paper was not mine. It was, in fact, handed to me by a member of the Danish delegation.

Right, moving on.... Ladies and gentlemen of the press, do any of you need a taxi in Glasgow?

No?

Right.

Can I just say that the government of Great Britain will stand resolute and firm in its commitments. I pledge to you all here and now, that we will – in the fullness of time get half a pound of carrots, a small wholemeal loaf, a box of tea bags and a tin of chicken or fish flavoured cat food. At least, as soon as time and resources allow.

Ladies and gentlemen of the world's press, I thank you for your time.

There will be no questions.

Thank you and good night.

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

Writer's Block

I turned.

Then I wished I hadn't.

There was a man, standing there in the doorway behind me. He had a gun in his hand.

I raised my hands.

'What are you doing?' he said.

'You've got a gun.'

'And?' He looked down at the pistol in his hand. It was a big one. The sort that Clint Eastwood would point at a street punk.

'And you are pointing it at me.'

'Oh, sorry.' He lowered the gun, but remained standing in the doorway.

'But... well, what's going on?'

'You... you're writing that story.' He nodded towards the computer on the desk.

'Well... yes. But what's that got to do with you?' I remembered about the gun. 'If you don't mind me asking?'

'It's that Raymond Chandler thing.'

'What Raymond Chandler thing?'

'Don't you know?'

I shook my head.

'But you are the writer?' He spoke as though it was something every writer should know. But, if he was so bloody smart then he'd know that writers don't know much at all, about anything. That's why there is Google.

'What do you mean?'

'Well, that story....' He pointed with the gun towards the computer. 'You are having trouble with it, aren't you?'

'Yes,' I said.

'Well, Raymond Chandler said once: When in doubt, have a man come through the door with a gun in his hand.' He shrugged. 'So here I am.'

'Ah, right.'

'What?'

'I'm not entirely sure that is what he meant.'

'Oh.' The man slumped. 'Should I go then?'

'Yes. I think that would probably be for the best.'

'Oh, right.' He turned. 'Bye.'

'Bye.' I said. 'Oh... one thing...?'

He turned back eagerly. 'Yes?'

'How did you know I was having problems?'

'Oh, your muse told me.' He trudged off down the hallway. 'Bye, again.'

'Bye,' I called, but he'd already gone.

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

A Perturbed Donkey

The donkey was perturbed.

Which was to be expected.

After all, when a professional donkey perturbist enters the perturbing arena and comes face to face with her opponent, then that donkey best be at least slightly concerned. Furthermore, it ought to be at least slightly perturbed by the end of the twelfth round or the crowd will want their money back.

This we all know and understand.

Or, at least, as close to understanding as some of us get. Which is often as close as a town and the railway station of the same name.

However, sometimes the donkey is not all it should be. Sometimes it is a ringer. There are rumours that Far-Eastern gambling syndicates are moving into the sport of donkey perturbing at an increasing rate. Particularly now that other sports have started to take an interest in the syndicates. Consequently, several of their shenanigans and ruses in those other sports have been exposed and terminated.

However, donkey perturbing, especially at the professional and international level, has long had a reputation of being a clean sport. Only the case of Derby Ornamentals Centre leg-on Perturber, Underhand Googly, ever, has resulted in a conviction with Googly banned from the sport for the illegal use of the marshmallow.

Still we can only hope that the sport will do the utmost to keep its good name and that it doesn't fall prey to the gambling syndicates. After all, these syndicates made football lose fans because of the match fixing and their use of spread betting almost made tennis bearable to watch. 

Otherwise, if no action its taken, this world will lose another of its great sports. This forcing us sports fans to take even more of an interest in naked female mud wrestling than we do already.

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

The Lady and the Lemon Meringue

It is hard to say when it began. Mainly as it is impolite to speak with your mouth full. But it was the best of lemon meringues and it was – well, still pretty good. Even though it was one of her off days. Or if the lemons were past their best and the meringue refused to stiffen. Although, it was said at the time - by those who knew – that nothing would refuse to stiffen under her ministrations.

However, such musings were best left to those in the know. The rest of us could only stand and admire her wrist action.... and dream.

There were those who said too, that such fantastic lemon meringues were beyond mere human capabilities. That she was some supernatural being far beyond the mere mortal. Some thought her one of the woodland spirits that know the secrets of the fruit and the wondrous bounties of nature, and how to combine them to enslave and enthral us mere humans.

Others, though, spoke of the food of the gods. If anything on this Earth could lay claim to being such, then it was one of her lemon meringues. Those, of course, believed that she was some goddess, walking among us to bring us a taste of what humanity could aspire to. So when – at long last – we threw off these earthly shackles and the mortal concerns we bind ourselves with - we could take our rightful place in the heavens of the gods.

Those of a more prosaic nature claimed it was what the spoon was invented for.

The rest of us queued formally and in reverence for our portions. We offered our thanks and sat down with our own slice of heaven here on earth, hoping it would never end and our bowls would never empty.

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

Roadside Experiments

Well, there she was. Which was not ideal, for if she was over here then I wouldn't have had to shout against a background of heavy traffic noise. So, I believe she can hardly be blamed for any of the subsequent misunderstandings, except of course the incident with the weasel.

However, the weasel is now receiving intensive trauma counselling, so it is possible that later a line may be drawn under that particular aspect of the experience.

Although, current psychological evidence does suggest that the weasel may never be fully at ease... ever again. Especially in the near vicinity of a cheese and sweet pickle baguette.

However, such setbacks should not divert us from the bigger picture and the great advances made in our understanding of human sexuality. In particular how it relates – or not – to the lay-by. Especially during the early evening rush hour.

As well, of course, as the significant increase in our understanding of cheese and sweet pickle-related trauma in impressionable young weasels. A subject which, I'm sure you will agree, modern science has woefully left unresearched. Even despite the more than generous research funds available from the EU for such vital research.

Anyway, so there she was dressed in the full leather outfit and ready for our research project to begin. At least, until the police patrol arrived and insisted we erect the barriers to avoid distracting the passing drivers. In particular the drivers heavy goods vehicles. The police claimed there was a possibility of us causing a severe road accident when the aforesaid driver became aware of a rather under-dressed young lady striking nubile posses in a lay-by near Redditch. Which, if you have ever driven around Redditch will make you understand why those drivers were in dire need of any distraction available.

Still. The erection of several large cricket sight-screens in a lay-by did cause more inconvenience, we are sure – than any provocatively-dressed young lady would have done. Consequently, the entire lay-by was soon full of haphazardly-parked vehicles as their drivers stopped to see what was going on.

This, unfortunately, meant that any results we gathered from our research immediately became invalidated by the crowds of observers. For as we all know the nubility index of any young lady is often erratically perturbed by the number of observers present.

Therefore we had no alternative but to abandon the experiment for that day.

However, we plan to try again, but this time somewhere in the vicinity of Luton where – it is said – drivers are immured to all roadside distractions, no matter how provocative.

However, we shall have to wait for our experimental confirmation of this sometime in the near future before it can be stated without equivocation or the possibility of statistical error.

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

Watching Paint Dry

After an initially uncertain start in the ratings, it looks as though the UK's latest celebrity-based reality show is now going from strength to strength.

Celebrity Watching Paint Dry (CWPD) has already come to dominate the early Saturday evening viewing schedules with an almost five-to-one lead over its nearest celebrity reality show rival, AntnDec's Celebrity Lawn Watching. A programmedeliberately placed against CWPD in the vital early evening weekend viewing schedules.

The host of CWPD, the irrepressibly smug centenarian all-round entertainer Undercoat Slapdash is credited with making the show such a success. Of course, allied with the almost unbearable tension of watching celebrities, usually with the attention span of a bewildered gnat (unless looking in a mirror), stare at a wall of drying paint for as long as they are able.

Most of the show's viewers put its overwhelming success down to the fact that watching paint dry is far more riveting than watching anything else currently on our TV screens. So they find the entire spectacle of glamorous people watching paint drying in exotic foreign locations really exciting. This is despite the viewers seeing very title of those locations behind the freshly-emulsioned walls. All while Slapdash's voice-over allows the celebrities to tell – in their own monosyllables – of the amazing emotional roller-coaster journey standing in front of that still-tacky paint job takes them on.

Although, now there are rumours that the show's great rival, AntnDec's Celebrity Lawn Watching, is – in its new series – about to unveil a re-jigged format. One where its celebrity's watching the growing laws of some of their closet celebrity friends and greatest rivals. All of which, the channel promises, will make their show the must-see programme every weekend. Particularly as viewers are bound to be fascinated by the lawns of the rich and famous.

However, only time will tell which of these great examples of the TV programme-makers art will survive and prosper in the cut-throat world of TV entertainment.

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

Britain's Leading Illusionist

Spellcheck Ratlicker is – without a doubt – Modern Britain's leading illusionist. For years he has left audiences spellbound at the incredible illusions he performs in his live stage shows. Where, each night, capacity audiences are made to believe in the illusion of his talents.

Five years ago, Ratlicker amazed sell-out audiences up and down the land when he made thousands of paying audience members believe they were getting value for their money at his shows. Up to and including the 'special' souvenir show programmes. These cost £15 each for three pages of adverts, a two-paragraph biography cut-and-pasted from his website and an out of focus photograph of Ratlicker himself deluding a pair of homing pigeons into thinking he was a top-flight entertainer.

Ratlicker began on the club circuit where he would perform the traditional sawing a woman in half illusion. Often leaving a hastily restitched together lady, feeling somewhat bewildered and light-headed from blood-loss, a trail of blood and several other clues as he fled the scene only moments before the police arrived. Soon, however, he was running low on women that desperate to appear in show business. He then had to resort to sawing politicians in half, which while not quite so spectacular did mean the police no longer wished him to help with their enquiries. Especially as none of the halves of the women ever made claims of inappropriate sexual impropriety against him, even after Ratlicker sawed them in half.

After that, with the limited number of replacement glamorous assistants, or even politicians, available to him in such a situation, Ratlicker had to change his act. Particularly when he was booked to perform on cruise ships. There, he performed a daredevil stunt by diving naked into a tank of ravenous sharks and surviving there unmolested.

However, it was discovered that he was cheating by smearing his body with the cruise ship chef's special sauce. A substance that even ravenous sharks would not contemplate, no matter how desperately hungry they became.

These days, his act is mainly him sitting in a clear perspex box for as long as the audiences can tolerate, or until he gets a TV contract. Which, considering the state of current TV cannot be that long.

So we can look forward to seeing much more of Spellcheck Ratlicker on our TVs, unless we are lucky enough to have made other arrangements for those particular evenings.

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

Ah, Those Sexy Castanets

It happens, albeit not as often as back in the days of yore, or even mine. But, occasionally, there is still a sign of life in the old thing. Especially when she does that thing with the castanets and the current Argos catalogue.

Still, having said – or, at least, typed - that, I must admit that age does come to us all. With it, the ageing process brings many deprecations of the physical and the mental. Often, it gets to be the case that what is desired – even yearned for (as in the case of the Argos catalogue and the castanets) cannot be physically achieved. There is also the case that the physical is possible but you can't remember why you came in here, and why you are holding the spoon.

However, as I was saying, there are not all that many of then in Spain, especially in the more coastal regio....

Hang on, that wasn't it....

Anyway, there she was posed intimately with the Rear Admiral (as it were) and the commander of the Fleet Air Arm, both immersed in the bath full of lukewarm custa....

No, it wasn't that, either.

Hang on, I'll remember what it was I was going to say - and/or type - in a minute... as soon as I remember what I was going to do with this spoon....

Hang on, is that the sound of castanets I hear? Is that also the tell-tale rustling of the pages of a current Argos catalogue too?

Now I remember why she wanted the spoon.... and the handcuffs....

Duty calls....

Goodbye

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

The Time of the Lesser Gods

Now as at all timesI can see in the minds eye, in their stiff, painted clothes,the pale unsatisfied onesoutside the fish and chip shop. But those days are over now and those in need of the holy benediction of hot chips go elsewhere and follow other – lesser - gods.

There was a time, when this was fish and chip shops as far as the eye could see. Well, as far as the eye could see at closing time when we fell out of the pub. But for some reason, back then there was something in the atmosphere – possibly some kind of industrial pollution – which affected the sight after only a few hours in the pub. Making even the avoidance of a collision with a street light sometimes very problematical indeed.

Of course, some blamed the beer, but that was mere foolishness. Except, possibly, in the case of the Bull's Head. A pub where there was a strong suspicion the landlord served industrial effluent instead of beer. But, usually by the time we got to the Bull's Head such acts of connoisseurship were often – at best – mere philosophical speculation.

Still, the day came when the first kebabappeared upon the face of the land. Of course, there were some who regarded it with suspicion, with Sceptical Stan wanting to kill it with a stick. But for others of a more questioning nature it was the kind of challenge they liked to rise to – or at least stumble towards – once the pubs were closed.

Soon the kebab shops were everywhere. They became just as much of a tradition as the tradition they replaced. Then those wise – or brave - enough to pontificate to the general bewilderment of those alongside them in the queue about such things are told, in the wise words of the prophet Nhigelto 'shut the fuck up'.

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

The Issue of the Gazelle

And this?

Well, obviously, that is involved with other matters entirely. So if we could just put it to one side... carefully. Ideally, not next to either the gazelle or the tennis racquet, then we can move on to more tasteful and refined matters.

Of course, if we are serious about becoming more tasteful and refined here at this... er... whatever this is, then I'm afraid that you - especially you over there - will have to forgo, or at least limit, anointing yourself all over will baby oil. Especially before you leap in and peruse whatever that day's particular missive sets forth.

Oh, and make sure that device of yours is switched off too, you know how much the buzzing perturbs the gazelle. Which, then, makes the tennis racquet somewhat superfluous. Especially when it then has baby oil all over the grip.

As you are no doubt aware, being a person of refined discernment, several animal welfare organisations, at a worldwide level, are growing increasingly concerned about possible animal abuses. Especially about the number of gazelles becoming unnecessarily perturbed by various untoward goings-on in the domestic environment. It is at such a stage that some of these charities are calling for a ban on tennis racquets and the strict licensing and control of baby oil. As well as making those devices illegal to posses within a two-hundred metre radius of any gazelle of a nervous disposition – which, let's face it – is most of them.

Now, while most right-thinking people think that a ban on the possession or use of a tennis racquet for use in the sordid world of international tennis is at least a step in the right direction. Going, as it does, towards removing the abomination that is tennis from this world it has blighted for so long. However, some believe the erotic use of the tennis racquet is too important, despite its sometimes detrimental effect on any nearby gazelles, for an outright ban to be considered... yet.

So, please bear this in mind and - to be on the safe side - be careful with that baby oil too.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

Taming the Wild Frontier

Across the wild frontier that separates these civilised lands from the wild countries out to the west, there is fear and tension. Over the border, the savages run wild, sometimes staying up beyond the late night weather forecast. Eating chips as they roam the streets looking for trouble, or failing that an interesting lamppost to fight.

Once, before the arrival of the lawmen, these lands too were wild and savage. They knew nothing of early closing days or days off in lieu. Sometimes, even the women would put down their knitting during an unusually tense episode of Call the Midwife. While the men would know little of anything beyond the final score and the imminent prospect of the transfer window closing.

Yes, back in those days the men were men and the women were women. On occasion, some of the men were women too which made for a sometimes interesting evening under the broken and beaten-up lampposts.

However, eventually civilisation arrived in these lands. Although, some mourn the loss of the freedom to live wild and free and to watch adult cable channels late into the night, the majority feel it is far better now. Even if it is just to step out knowing the lampposts will be in full working order. Also, that – consequently – any lady met under such a lamppost late into the night will have had the foresight to at least shave off his beard beforehand.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

From East of Walsall

She came out of the wild unknown lands east of Walsall. It was sad that she knew too many secrets from the wild lands. That she knew how to conjure and make the politicians do her bidding with only a handful of video files and a single USB memory stick.

It was said too that she knew the secrets arts of the accordion and just what to do with a high court judge and a bath filled with lukewarm custard. Some even suggested she understood every taxation exception rule ever made into law.

Such is the stuff of legend.

Those of us who met her, knew she had a way with words. She also understood several other far more interesting ways with several lengths of rope, a cast iron bed frame and an ostrich feather. But those of us who knew that, also knew not to mention it to anyone. Especially not to the journalists that hung around her, sniffing for exclusives and tales of bedroom romps with the great and the good, and some politicians as well.

Of course, it could not last. These things never do, despite what the pharmaceutical companies promise. Soon, her looks began to fade and her dexterity with the accordion was not what it was during her heyday. Other, younger, women came along. Some arrived even from the legendary lands of Tewkesbury. A place where the women are women and the men are left in whimpering heaps by the side of the road.

Soon she was gone and never heard of ever again.

Although, there are some who say there is a retirement bungalow down on the south coast somewhere, where late at night if you listen carefully you can hear the strains of an accordion on the sea breeze. If the wind is right, they say, you can just make out the tell-tale scent of a bath slowly filling with lukewarm custard.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

Medieval TV Schedules

Of course, back in the early medieval period there were far fewer TV programmes available, and only a couple of channels. Most of those programmes involved, in one way or another, either ploughing or the plague. Albeit with an occasional foray into travelogues for those thinking of joining their feudal lord's soldiers in an invasion of the continent and/or Wales and Scotland.

The long running TV soap opera Piers Ploughman of course had a massive (for the time) audience. Three times a week mediaeval peasants tuned in to see whether or not Piers managed to plough a furrow. All without falling foul of his manorial lord's foul moods. Or his wife's unreasonable demands for more children to help her get the harvest in. Or the local priest thinking up more ways to accuse Piers of committing some sin or another. Often, Piers endured endless trouble from his mother-in-law's disastrous attempts at witchcraft. Often resulting in that episode ending with a cliff-hanger. This usually saw Piers transformed into a frog by his mother-in-law.

Of course, the nightly news programmes on medieval TV mainly concerned themselves with the doings of kings and who they were doing it to. Foreign news mainly - as we have already seen above – concerned who was invading who, and which noble families were vying for which crown. This latter interest in the doings of the various noble houses brought about an early forerunner of the Football Pools. The peasants would tune in every Saturday, around tea time, to see which noble houses had fought each other for which crown and which one had won. A draw was worth three points and 21 points was enough for one lucky peasant to win the star prize of a goat. Thus making the lucky winner equivalent to a millionaire at today's prices.

Of course, all this changed in the late medieval period with the invention of the video game and the runaway success of the game Grand Pilgrimage 5. A game where the player had to get his group of pilgrims to Canterbury, despite all the odds against it.

From then on, TV in history tended towards a slow decline until the invention of the Reality TV genre in the Victorian period with Celebrity Ripper in Fog.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

The Cheese of the Baskervilles

It began – as these things so often do – with the cheese. However, at the time the West Midlands Serious Cheese Crime Squad was busy with an undercover investigation into an illegal chive smuggling ring down in Gloucester. They believed this criminal gang were responsible for a Double Gloucester protection racket that controlled all the chives and onions in the region.

However, there were rumours that the revolutionary Red Leicester workers collective had been infiltrated by Wensleydale anarchists from over the border intent on creating anarchy.

However, there was a large amount of corruption in the Serious Cheese squad. There were rumours of some offices amassing double their own weight in illicit Brie. So no-one ever thought the case of the missing crackers would ever be solved, at least not in our lifetime.

Eventually, just to see if we could get justice, if not for us, then for all the other victims of the great cracker heist, we would have to hire a private investigator. Never once did we think that the legendary Stilton Holmes himself, along with his faithful companion Doctor Water-Biscuit would involve themselves in this investigation. It turned into a complex case, resulting in that fateful – and fatal - encounter between Stilton Holmes and Doctor Mycella on the sheer edge of the Reichenbach Tesco delicatessen counter. This resulted in them both falling to their deaths - locked in each other’s arms - into a huge vat of cottage cheese. Neither ever emerged again.

Thus, the case was never solved. As Doctor Water-Biscuit mourned the loss of his great companion, it was he who remarked upon the curious incident of the Gouda in the night time.

But that is a case for another time.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

An Intimate Device

Obviously, you would have thought so....

At least judging by the number of YouTube videos dealing without how to go about it all without suffering any injury to the lower back. Or, for that matter, causing an outbreak of faux outrage on the social media outlet of choice for those who believe they owe the world their opinions on all and sundry.

Speaking of all and sundry, which I was, even if you were waiting for the more... intimate details, there is the matter of the so-called optional attachments. Most of which, cost extra. Thus the initial lack of them makes the device itself little more than an ornament, or even a conversation piece... if you like having conversations about that sort of thing. Despite this so-called frank and open age, many people in our experience would not always wish to venture down such conversational routes. Especially those routes opened up by seeing such a device proudly displayed in a position of promise on a friend or neighbour's mantelpiece.

Of course, many for the older generations will often ask – sometimes even to your face – why such devices are even necessary. After all, in the immediate post-war period with rationing and many of the men still away in the forces, most women had to make do and mend. Mostly with whatever they could find around the household. Which mainly entailed some very imaginative knitting and the creative use of tinned spam.

So, maybe, it is better not to decry the more than obvious limitations of such devices. Nor should we regard as more than a little irksome some of her particularly wistful looks at some of the more generously endowed vegetables on display in the fresh produce aisle of the supermarket. Instead, we should be grateful that technology has developed towards creating such essential devices in the first place. Moreover, we should look towards the future with anticipation for what greater possibilities it will bring – providing we can get the batteries for it.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

Torn and Frayed

How it began?

No-one remembers now. Now, it is as though it has always been this way. Now it seems there could be no other way.

Back then, though, it was different.

It was, at first, dismissed as an anomaly, a fluke, a mere oddity in the results. The scientists dismissed it as a mere statistical quirk, probably an error in one of the machines.

At least, until it happened again.

And again.

Then it kept on happening, and it got worse.

What had begun as a mere wobble in the data grew and grew until the whole edifice of sub-atomic physics teetered on the edge and then collapsed. Especially when the unicorn appeared at CERN.

Apparently the scientists were there in the meeting room discussing the latest aberrations in the data and how it contradicted everything.

Then one of them glanced up at the screen showing the live feed from the collider and pointed, mouth open, speechless.

One by one the rest of the gathering noticed what was amiss and all turned to see the unicorn wandering around inside the torus.

Most thought it was a practical joke, some white horse with a glued-on horn... at least until they found it wasn't.

After someone revised the equations, they discovered if they didn't shut down the collider after repairing the rip in the fabric of space time they had less than a week before the dragons came... more likely than not, breathing fire.

Their spokesman explained the urgency to the politicians.

Twice.

Then a committee of the leading scientists tried explaining it to the politicians, this time with diagrams.

Eventually, with only a day to go the scientist got the permission to stitch up the rip in the continuum. However, by then it was too late as the elves and the faeries poured through the tear into our universe, and the orcs and dwarves following behind.

All fleeing from the dragons and all terrified of whatever it was the dragons themselves were fleeing from.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

Headline Acts

Potemkin Fuzzpedal was once the UK's most famous nightclub and workingmen's club act during the heyday of those institutions. At least, before TV and social changes brought about the decline of those establishments. Until then, Potemkin Fuzzpedal and his Performing Accountants; a song, a dance and an internal audit were the biggest draw on that particular circuit.

For the audiences, it was the sheer thrill of live accountancy performed on stage – usually without the aid of a safety net - that was so exciting. Especially so in the workingmen's clubs. Places where accountancy was regarded as something beyond the pale and even a mere invoice was regarded with suspicion and dread.

Back in those days most people, the working class especially, lived in an almost total cash economy. Therefore, the use of accountants was virtually unknown. So to see a real one, especially performing on stage, possibly – and daringly – with one of the new electronic calculators, was a dazzling and riveting spectacle. It conveyed the full glamour of accountancy to a mass audience for the first time.

In fact, most of today's top-flight glamorous celebrity accountants say they were inspired to tread the accounting boards through an early teenage exposure to Fuzzpedal and his dancing auditors. Some even talking of their own first fumbling attempts at cash-book reconciliation under the bedcovers late at night. Often before falling into a restless sleep filled with dreams of VAT returns and tax schedules.

All in all then, today's glamorous world of performance accountancy, where some of the big name partnerships regularly sell out the world's biggest arenas has a great deal to thank Potemkin Fuzzpedal for. Otherwise – who knows – accountancy could still be – unbelievable as it sounds now – a mere profession practised in cramped offices by unglamorous people who know little of the fame, fortune and celebrity status now enjoyed by today's headlining accountancy stage acts.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

Britain's Leading TV Actress

Podcast Bellydance is probably the UK's current most in-demand TV actress. From last year's surprise hit, the 1960s-set, police procedural Get us a Cup of Tea, Luv, to the turn of the Twentieth Century great house drama, set in Poshgits Hall, Time for Afternoon Tea. She has served tea to some of Britain's best-loved character actors and actresses.

Of course, serving tea, either on stage or the TV set or location, is one of the most demanding roles an actor can undertake. Especially if they have to take a cup of tea across the set or stage and hand it to another actor or actress, sometimes when saying some lines at the same time.

As Bellydance herself says: 'acting is of course just dressing up and playing pretend like we all used to do as children. However, it is of course much harder than that. We do have to remember the lines given to us by the writer and try to same them at the right time and in the right order. Sometimes we have to do this whilst doing something else as well, like walking – or even carrying a cup of tea.'

Several critics have claimed it is especially brave of Bellydance to perform her own tea-carrying stunts. Mostly without calling for a stuntman and or a body double to take over these arduous and exacting tasks, while she does the hard work of both remembering her lines and remembering to say them at the appropriate points.

'I also have to remember to blink occasionally,' Bellydance said in a recent interview where she spent most of her time learning her lines for her next scene. All while reminding herself where to breathe and – most importantly - blink. 'Luckily, I've always been cast in these demanding roles,' Bellydance added. 'Sometimes my characters have to blink several times a scene. Having to remember to breathe, blink and say the right words is demanding enough, of course. But I also think it adds depth to my portrayals of these characters if I actually carry a cup of tea in the way these characters would in real life.

Bellydance is very excited about her forthcoming role in a new film. The title of which is yet to be released. However, rumour has it she will be seen on the screen performing a full-frontal biscuit-dunking scene. We can only admire the courage she has, when saying she'll perform such a demanding scene herself without the aid of a stunt stand-in.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

The Days of the Deluge

It was, as they later said, something approaching a bit of a bugger. However, at the time everyone was too busy erecting their defences against the feared encroachment. Each town, village and hamlet in the area had lookouts posted at strategic points around the area to ward of the approaching flood. Local shops reported a run on sandbags and other defences as well as wood and nails to board up doors, windows and any other weak points where the deluge could worm its way inside.

Still, as the time approached ever nearer, people grew more and more nervous. Some began stockpiling food, fearing they could be cut off from civilisation once it began. All had little or no idea when they would walk the streets in safety again.

It began slowly, the lookouts reported the first signs of the beginning early one morning with reports of TV news vehicles sighted on the horizon and a local radio reporter found wandering the streets.

These were early days, though.

Then it began.

First it was somewhat desultory, a few election leaflets posted through the door with the party activists fleeing before the disturbed householders could complain. Some hoped that if they kicked up enough fuss in these early days then they would be safe.

But it was not to be.

Soon the flood began as doorbell after doorbell was rung, as loudspeaker van after loudspeaker van began to plague the streets. Soon the dribble of leaflets turned into a flood.

People were too scared to stay at home in case they were trapped there by the politicians seeking their vote, and too scared to venture out in case some roving rabid media report captured them for an impromptu vox pop.

Most just cowered inside, curtains drawn, lights and TV off. All living off cold canned goods until the word filtered through that the by-election was – at long last – over. Only then could they, if they'd survived, pick up the pieces of their shattered lives and try to live as normal a life as possible once again....

Until the next time.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]