"Nasty Mr Hitler" - By Bish Bosh Bashy - Esq.

Image courtesy of Maureen Crosbie & her young pupil: http://flic.kr/p/6uPwpy

Well Hi, and I sincerely hope you’re all having a thoroughly good summers Sunday afternoon in Europe, no matter how grey or fluffy the clouds may be, and to the rest of you out there in the wider bloggasphere across this colourful, spinning globe of ours, whether you’re still sweet dreaming in the kingdom of nod, constructing your first coffee of the day with barely one sleepy eye open, or even tucking yourself into beddy-byes at the birth of yet another Monday morning…well I hope it either turns out to be – or already has been – a peaceful and civilised Sunday, for all of you blogger lot too.

Twelve days since I last posted, and of Christmas? (NOoooo!)…well my true loves just text’d to me – “Hi Dad!! Don’t forget it’s both our birthdays this week!!! His first, mine four days after…Kay!!! Loves ya. Jo. Xxx!!    And how could I possibly forget? Though I have to own up to getting their respective birth dates the wrong way round just about every August time. Just a mere man see.

Grabs nearest calculator. That means then that – tap tap tap tap tap…  he’s gonna be 28, and she…..tap tap tap tap tap & tap – is gonna be 24. Ooooh. No more ‘Action Man Dolls’ and ‘Cuddly Fluffy Teddy Bears’ for them then. These days it’s more like, a bottle of Jim Beam and a decent bottle of chilled Spanish Albariño please Farver if you don't mind, and thank you please very much.

Grow’d up kids now. Independent pioneers and navigators across the oceans, mountains and sometimes fly infested jungles of life. My job, my missions, my responsibilities for their happy and balanced upbringings, now all but accomplished, and I don’t mind saying that I have much to be proud and thankful for, for them both. Unlike many of the all too invisible parent hosts, out there somewhere in the last weeks riot regions right now, some of who’s more verminous offspring managed to crawl out of their sewers on mass during the past seven days, and wreak so much total devastation and horrifying misery on the lives and businesses of so many good and decent, hardworking citizens and tax payers, across some of our major cities. Shame on you.

Speaking still of ‘Rats’ – now then, for something completely different. Something a little lighter, and a bit of a hop, skip and a jump, back to the bleak and dusty days of the early 1940’s in a war torn London, scarred by the bombings of the Blitz. A period in our island kingdoms history, when communities united together for a common cause and purpose. A time when the good and decent citizens and children of London, and the countless numbers of men and women in uniform, fought and all too often died in a desperate five year fight for survival against the threat of the spread of evil Nazi Fascism to our very own shores.

A time when respect was shown to your elders and wider authority at large, without question or dispute. A time when the real values, priorities and aspirations shared by all parents, regardless of class or privilege, were simply to survive this living nightmare, together god willing, one exhaustive day at a time, day after day after each bloody day, until the threat of total Nazi occupation was finally obliterated, and this bashed and bruised Great British nation of ours, could collectively start reforming and rebuilding as a free and still democratic society, for the safe and long term benefit of its children, once again.

And so to part two of this post here:

About a month ago, by way of a blog hopping journey that started out at ‘Fly in the Webs – Costa Rica Calling’ blog, thence bounced its way over to ‘Jane & Lance Hattatts – HATTATT’ blog in Budapest, Hungary, whereupon I then boinged off through one of their blogger sidebar links to ‘Elizabeth Rose Stantons – Penspaper Studio’ blog in Seattle, Washington State, which is host to some of her amazing illustrations and artwork, and from where thence I promptly tripped bum over wine glass and fell right through one of her own gateway links…all the way down into the dark and dubious sub kingdom of ‘Under the Juniper Tree’s’ blog, who are in god only knows where in the US of A, hosting a busy and creative new blog, dedicated to promoting and showcasing the scribbling’s of children’s spooky literature, horridly horrid themed limericks and an impressive selection of scarily creative artwork. The best ones of which are then collated together and published every month, into a beautifully presented 'E- Story Book' magazine issue.  Phew! 

Children’s literature as a media genre in general, is completely uncharted territory for me. Other than many warmly happy and story book foundational childhood memories of my wonderful late father reading me tales from Winnie the Pooh or Enid Blyton’s Faraway Tree series, while tucked up under my blankets at bed times, in what now seems like a world and a galaxy, far, far, away... I have never found cause to delve into the shadows of the particular brand of darkly neurotic literature and similar art style, that are the cult panderings of ‘Under the Juniper Tree’s’ web presence now.

So after I’d pulled myself to my feet, dusted off all the cobwebs and brushed a few thistles and grubs from my hair…I plucked a flaming torch off the wall and started to sniff around in all their old cupboards and chests.

Bowled over by the visual finesse of the site and all its wonderfully original and creative content, I espied the promo and outline for a short story competition, centred around a wartime image of two young kids, gazing at a blackboard sign with the word ‘Rats’ chalked onto it, stating – “In under 500 words, write us a piece inspired by this photo, etc etc..”    (N/B - Meaning...the black & white photo image, with the two kiddies in, further on down below)

Image courtesy of Maureen Crosbie & her young pupil: http://flic.kr/p/6uKkAP

Well as I’ve never entered a writing competition before, I thought “What the hell. Why not bloke. In for a shilling, in for a pound, let’s give it a jolly old go then, why don’t you.” – and so I bookmarked all the details and tip toed off to beddy-byes.


At around a quarter to stupid o’clock in the morning, when I could still hear the distant sounds of larks snoring from the black ink of night through yonder window…I suddenly sat up in bed, wide awake with the notion of an idea for my first ever assault on the Booker Prize 'dream on baby' awards, flapping around my woolly nightcap like a demented bat.

Five minutes, a rattle and a rumble on the old porcelain throne, and a near miss with a black cat on the stairs later, I was sat back at my PC desk over here, earnestly tapping away as fast as my little fingies would prod, with this simple little, slightly dark tale of a dialogue between the two young children you see in the competition’s teaser image as shown below. Or at least in the way that the right side of my mind had interpreted it anyway. Hmmm.

And so here it is, for good or for bad, including all the curiously miss spelt words here and there, which by the way, are there by my chosen design, cos I wanted it as much as anything else, to ‘look’ like the way a young child might spell it (perhaps), as opposed to how Mummy might have corrected it to be later, had she been around. Not saying that it works for everyone else though mind. Tis just me tis all.

Please feel free to critique it if you wish. And I do mean ‘critique’, not compliment. I’m a huge admirer of objective frankness, subjective observation and constructive criticism in general. My ego and vanity was well and truly buried a long time ago, while simply trying to survive every day in a small but hectically busy business for many years, and as with nearly all forms of written narrative as well as visual art and photo imagery…other people’s perspective and perceptions are... ‘everything’.  

And anyway, this is, a very short and simple, micro-tome after all! Coming in at an official 498 words to boot. Room for improvement ‘there’ straight away then!

Re: "Blast from the Past - Rats Edition" – Submission  to ‘Under the Juniper Tree’ - 

Title: Nasty Mr Hitler: By ‘Mr Bish Bosh Bashy’. 

“What’s those…Ruh, Aaa Tuh, Suh…. Ruhaaatuhsuh… Rattsuh…Ratss, taste like then Fiona?”

“I don’t know Timmy‘, but ‘Mummee’ always says our cook lady swears by them. Say’s they’re really, really yummee and crunchy, like proper chewy food, not like licky icey lolly’s.”

“Swearrrs? Veeeeeeee! What…do you mean like strawberry flavour yummee, or chocolate flavour yummee Fiona?”

“Noooo, silly Timmy. I mean like…like… cats flavour yummee!”

“Cattts flavour yummee!!? – I didn’t know people ate cats. Are you being serious Fiona?”

“Yessss, you silly billy Timmy. Course I’m being serious with you. You know what cat tastes like!?”

“No Fiona, honest, I don’t know what cats taste like. Do you really, actually mean like…pussy cats, Fiona?”

“Ha ha ha Timmy!! You’re so funny. No, silly, they’re not like real pussycats, cos these cats are dead cats. Don’t you know what dead cats taste like then Timmy?”

“No Fiona, I really don’t know what…dead cats taste like. They sound like they must taste…like, really horrible!”

“No, not really Timmy, they’re not that horrid honest. They’re sort of more like rabbits flavour Timmy. Though we haven’t had rabbit in a stew for dinner since I was very, very small.”

“Rabbit flavour!!! You’ve eaten rabbits too then Fiona? Gosh!”

“Well yes Timmy. But, it was a very long time ago when I was very tiny. What sort of food do you eat then Timmy?”

“Well, in our house, we have… mash, spam & peas on Saturday – roast spuds with beef and gravy and cabbage on Sundays – Meat stew and bread crusts on Monday - Jam sandwiches and chocolate milk on Tuesday – Vegetables soup on Wednesday – Beef dripping on bread on Thursday! That’s one of my favourites!! – And fish and chips on Friday! Yay! That’s my most favourite of all!!” 

“Golly Moses Timmy…that all sounds so incredibly yummee. I wish we could eat food like you do!”

“Crikey Fiona. I always thought you were from one of those really posh type families too. What sort of house do you live in then? It sounds really horrid and scary?”

“Oh, we don’t live in a real house anymore Timmy, it got bombed to bits by one of those nasty German bomber planes one night. So after Daddee didn’t wake up anymore, Mummee took us off down to live in the underground tube station at Knightsbridge, near where we used to live, but then Mummee moved us all out again later, to Parsons Green Underground Station, cos it’s right by the river Thames, and that means there’s always lots and lots of …Rrrrraatttssa Timmy!!! - HA HA HA HA Ha !”

“Ohh. Okay. I think I know what you mean Fiona. Shall I get us both a rat to chew, with my pocket money then, cos I don’t think they’ve got any more licky icy lolly’s left today?”

“Ooooh yes please Timmy, thank you. That would be really lovely cos I’m feeling really hungry now. Thank you Timmy, you’re really nice. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!”

  

Der End.


"Yo, Rud baby! pass me one of yer Aunty Kippling's cakes, cos there's a new quiller kid in town, and he's splashing around in your ink well!"

And here are a couple of pics of my own two wonderful 'raison d'etres', both a couple of Leos, the young Lions themselves ... Andrew & Joanna.

(The piccy on the right is of Andrew & Joanna at Christmas, in some 'grown up'

 kiddy suits we gave them for a bit of fun.)

P.S.  My little micro tome came in at, three thousand four hundred and fifty seventh – out of three thousand four hundred and fifty eight entries, in the end. The one that came last was Albanian spam.

P.P.S  Smile! It could have been worse then eh. My thanks & commiserations to Mr Spammer from Albania by the way, and don't give up yet sir, cos I at least, need you - to keep me off the bottom line! (?)

P.P.P.S.  Started typing out this post just after noon yesterday (ie - Sunday), believing I’d have it  all wrapped up and tickety boo by just after lunch at the latest. Wrong. Interruptionitis hijacked and burgled the day, yet again. Sighhh.

P.P.P.P.S.  As for the promise of the ‘G&T’ post, as made to many of you sometime earlier…well I guess this clearly convicts me as a serial future blogger post liar. Sorry. Suffice to bullshit again for a moment then – I really do know where I’m going to go with it now. That’s honest bullshit too. The best kind. My blog becomes a ‘one year old’n’ on the 18^th August (that’s this coming Thursday by the way), so I’ll try to get it out of the fridge in time for then. Kay?!!

P.P.P.P.P.S   You can go now.     Cos I already have….

Well nearly ...P.P.P.P.P.P.S. - Don't forget to amble back here this Thursday coming, for my blogs first birthday and a glass of G&T. Ssshhh...

KAY!!


Cin Cin...