Monday, 15 August 2011

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

Image courtesy of Maureen Crosbie & her young pupil:
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:
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 18th 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...


Cin Cin...


Steve said...

Apparently rats taste a bit like chicken... only with a lot more gristle. I'm appalled your short story did not finish higher up the rankings. Clearly the judges are illiterate.

Your offspring are a credit to your, sir. As is your blog. Happy birthday one day and all!

Bish Bosh Bash said...

Steve: Chicken? What a load of old Coq. Try changing that dodgy Chinese take away you skinflints are using up there.

Actually I fibbed about where I came in the comp. Cos in truth I haven't got a clue who, where, or how many. Just made that part up, cos it made me chuckle. Someone called Tonja Drecker got the gong. gets published in next months mag.

I just gotta get me a name like that, haven't I. That's what I call a real 'king gong' winner is that.

the fly in the web said...

So this month it's happy birthday to your great kids ...and to your blog.
Send over a crate of what's in that glass and I'll celebrate.

'Rats' was fun.....I was at junior school with a boy called Dennis Mould who would have fitted your boy character wonderfully well....he would eat anything that moved more slowly than he did and his announced ambition was to have all his teeth taken out and replaced by Russian style steel dentures.
I could understand that, after encounters with the school dentistry service.

Until Thursday, then...

The bike shed said...

You don't do posts by half do you.

What I don't understand is why Timmy (or is it Fiona) only has one leg - perhaps the rats ate it.

Elizabeth Rose Stanton said...

Oh dear! Where shall I begin?? I'll start with a thank yew for the oh-so-flattering shout out to my blog when citing your journey from the Hattats to UNJT. Regarding your story--I think it's dandy, and fits the photo quite appropriately. Lots of good dialog. Not sure why they didn't bite ;) --but good for you for taking a stab at it! Keep submitting, and I think they will grow fond of you.
Finally, congrats on the birthday's of your offspring. They are mighty handsome specimens! And finally, looking forward, with bated breath, to the G&T post. I like that your example is :)

Bish Bosh Bash said...

Hi Fly: Thanks! And last night, Jo had a peek at your comment too and promptly stuck her face right up to the screen and said "Hi Flyyy...and thank you to you too, and all the nice parrots, piggies, cats and doggies in all of Costa Rica - Hugs and kisses from me, Jo!!!"

Crates on its way. Its empty though. Well what did you expect? You could sit on it I suppose. Just don't kick it till you've got your walking boots on!

"Dennis Mould... would eat anything that moved more slowly than he.." Laugh! Snails and slugs then? Yuck.

Don't mention schoolday dentistry. Memories of trying to climb right inside old copies of 'Giles' cartoon mags, while listening to the sound of dental drill torture being dispensed to some poor victim on the other side of the black oak door.

Bish Bosh Bash said...

Mark: Correcto Mondo - Once I'm sat down and start typing, I do tend to get a bit carried away with it all. Must be the tapping sounds from my keyboard, cos after a couple of hours of non stop key prodding, I normally have to resort to lowering my head down and in turn, gently removing each hand with my teeth.

Perhaps I should Google 'automatic precis software' and see what comes up?!

Re: "..why Timmy (or is it Fiona) only has one leg - perhaps the rats ate it." Well you get today's pogo-stick award for starters then.

We'll have to call the 'left one' Timona and the 'right one' Fimmy, just to be careful. Actually, in all truth, I think the competition panel would have loved your notion of Timona there having its leg gnawed off by a pack of rats. It's a way more nasty and gory concept than my bit of 'pretty lit' up there. Today's kids would lap that idea up. Next time, I'll start by chucking some buckets of blood and body parts around from the very first paragraph. Get their saliva dribbling..

Bish Bosh Bash said...

Hello Elizabeth – and a warm English welcome to my blogette here!

You don’t have to thank me for the flag to your wonderful blog by the way. You have a very special talent ‘E’, so the more readers who manage to find their way to your blog and thus appreciate your brilliantly creative illustration skills with mind and pen, the better as far as I’m concerned.

Thanks too for your comments and remarks about my short story entry there. Tis much appreciated. I never expected for a minute that the spotlights would fall on this one in all truth. The fun was simply impulsively ‘having a go’ so to speak, and then see what happens next. I judged that the overall tenor and tone of my particular tale would be far too tame and ‘nice’ for their collective palates over at UTJT, but I chose to stick to my theme, with all its sweetlyness, partly because I was on safe ground, but largely because the idea for it was inspired by my own early childhood memories of me and my younger sister, when we lived in London during the early 1960’s.

Perhaps next time I’ll start slashing around with a machete or some huge claws, in the very first paragraph. Get all their saliva glands working and dribbling from the off. I have just submitted an entry to their latest ‘Eleven Word Short Story’ competition. Now that was a really tough little critter to nail down, I can tell you. 11 words. Jeeeeze! Talk about stress! Brilliant idea behind it all though. Really makes you think hard about key word and sentence structuring for maximum impact and reader attention, in just a couple of inches of text. Love it.

I’m very much looking forward to reading the works of all the worthy winners in the weeks to come. Having read some of their regular writers and contributors efforts already, they are very clearly, a clever and talented bunch of children’s story quillers, from whom I will glean much of future value.

I really will try to get my bluddy Gin & Tonic post finished for Thursday, although having now re written from scratch, several times over the past few months, and promptly thrown every version in da bin, I’ve kinda lost the spark and spontaneity that originally inspired it all, so I’ll give it my one final last best shot, and if it bombs for me yet again, you’ll end up seeing just a couple of pics of empty G&T glasses, underlined by the word “Cheers!”

Hmm, now that’s not a bad idea. Why didn’t I think of that earlier…Hmmmmmm…

Thanks for your kind words of Andrew & Joanna. Just as per my comment to ‘Fly’ further up – Joanna also read your comment, before sticking her face right up to my PC screen and loudly saying “..and thank you very much back to you too Elizabeth in Seattle! Lots of hugs and kisses from me to you too!!!”

And so then I lent her a tenner.

the fly in the web said...

Thanks, Joanna!

John Going Gently said...

bish, bash or is it bosh?

well, did you know that I used to be a psychiatric nurse.... way way back when the asylums still existed and the staff still "shared" the social club in the hospital grounds with the "trustee" patients

Psychotic patients and the occasional one in a manic episode of manic depression used to suffer from what was termed "flight of ideas"

I wont explain it too much ( That's what google is for)
suffice to say this blog is A PERFECT example of the condition's symptom

love it!!!!!

have a nice day bish
have a fruitful one Bosh
and be careful Bash

Bish Bosh Bash said...

Hi John Boyo up there in the land of leeks, lambs and Captain Henry Morgan. I’m gonna start calling you ‘Riddles’ for shortish from now on!

And so to your ‘Flight of ideas’ suggestion …well, let’s just call it a ‘teaser?’ then, in all good, innocent fun. I dutifully (read: gullibly) picked up that cabbage you lobbed down at me there, and thus Googled it. This is some of what Wikipedia batted back to me:

‘Flight of ideas’ - “Language may be difficult to understand if it switches quickly from one unrelated idea to other (flight of ideas) or if it is long-winded and very delayed at reaching its goal (circumstantiality) or if words are inappropriately strung together resulting in gibberish or…word salad.

And as an example of ‘Flight of ideas’ in speech Wikipedia genuinely sights the following line as an example:- "I own five cigars. I've been to Havana. She rose out of the water, in a bikini."


So what you’re really saying is… I’m a paranoid schizophrenic heterosexual collector of fine Cuban cigars, who’s totally obsessed with lewd and lustful thoughts of Ursula Andress arising seductively out of the Caribbean Sea, to offer me ‘both’ of her large and juicy coconuts, in exchange for my big, tasty bowl of fresh cucumber & mango salad, while speaking in some sort of nonsensical Swiss tongue, of complete and utter gibberish?

Yupp… sounds just like me John Boyo.

Call me ‘Bond’ - ’Bish Bash Bond’.

Phew! For a moment there Riddle John, I thought you knew something about me that I don’t. I’d hate to think I was losing the plot, and didn’t even know it!! (?)

Thinks…..when you worked as a psychiatric nurse at that asylum all those years ago, did you ever bump into a patient who liked to be called ‘Dr No’ ?


Just a crazy thought there for a moment. Nothing to worry yourself about. Me and Honey Ryder up there, had a bit of a run in with him a few decades ago. He really wasn’t playing with a full bucket of squids was he. Hmmm.

Did joo know, that when you’ve finished extracting the pith out of yer coconuts, you can use the remaining hairy pair of half shells as a ‘cricket box’? Might come in handy to know that, next time you square up at silly mid off, whilst in the buff on the beach with your bat and your balls, after one too many white rum shandy’s?

No wonder those Cuban cricketers walk all funny. Now, how on earth am I going to squeeze into her bikini here? …

John Going Gently said...

I didnt know dr but I did look after a lady called Ivy who said she knew Hitler
"he had a big knob" she once whispered at me

Bish Bosh Bash said...

John Boyo: Sighhh. Oh dear oh dear oh deary me. Ivy really did need a bit of looking after then didn't she John. Poor puppet.

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