It is usual for writers to say, “The characters and events portrayed in this story are fictitious and any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended.” All I will say is, Walter and Nimrod are characters from my imagination, two Yorkshiremen in their later years, but as for the rest…..!
It was a balmy summer’s evening in North Yorkshire and the horizontal rain had slackened to a dreary downward drizzle leaving the countryside cloaked in a damp and misty murk. The puddles on the footpath were tinged with an orange glow as two figures clad in damp tweed jackets with cloth caps pulled firmly in place met by the village’s solitary lamp-post.
“Nah then, Walter. Thought you were away on yer holidays with the Missus.”
“I am, Nimrod. Went on Friday for an all inclusive long weekend break to that new holiday park down the road. Problem is all the caravans were booked so we’re stopping in a yurt. And they don’t allow pets in yurts so I’ve come home on me bicycle to see to Sabre.”
“Good job you chose a short haul holiday then. So what’s with the piece of string?”
“I haven’t got a lead for t’dog.”
“You mean there’s somat tied to the other end? What sort of dog you got?”
“A Mexican sheep dog, Sabre’s a Sheepwowah.”
“Well I’ve heard it all now. Walter, tha’s been ‘ad. T’only way he’ll be wowing owt is if he starts crooning Mexican love songs to lull sheep at shearing time. Aye up, Walter, mind that puddle!”
Walter bent down and picked up the dog as the pair walked on in silence for a while.
“Anyway, Nimrod, what you doing out tonight? It’s not your usual night for going out.”
“I’ve been down the Village Hall.”
“Village Hall? But it’s W.I. night. Nimrod, what you been up to?”
“Tonight’s the night they were picking the months for the new Calendar Girls and doing a photo shoot. Mrs Newman was misty March, Mrs Lane hot July, Mrs Fallows and young Julie autumnal harvest….”
“And you were helping out?”
“Well not exactly, Walter. I went with me camera and was peeking through the windows hoping to get some shots in full digital colour.”
“Joined the hoards of the papparazzi now have you? Fancy a quick pint down The Feathers and you can tell me more.”
Nimrod sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t actually manage to get any photographs. I was thwarted, Walter. Thwarted by that Amanda. Too clever by half she is. She’d covered all the windows in bubble-wrap.”
“Well I hope you didn’t see my Enid in there. I don’t fancy giving her a croggie back. Anyways, Nimrod, time I was getting Sabre home and back to me holiday. Right fancy them yurts, you know. Ours even has a chandelier.”
This was written for my writers’ group, ThirskWriteNow and the idea was to write a piece using the following 8 words…Lamppost, Bubble, Chihuahua, Bicycle, Chandelier, Feather, Caravan, Camera.
You are the judge of whether I achieved that aim!