This thread started on a forum Mike and I shared, when we started playing off each other about this alternative/fantasy persona we each gave ourselves. Since then, we’ve started writing a novel together and Mike has had a number of books published as Michael D. Griffiths (The Chronicles of Jack Primus, Part I, The Chronicles of Jack Primus, Part II, Eternal Aftermath) while I’ve been busy rewriting several books and establishing my Creative Writing classes at Northbrook College. But though he writes horror and I write sci fi, when we get together, we write… differently! So I thought I’d put a slice of our combined madness on my blog…
SJ sure has a lot of cool things in here guest room. I guess since her family has lived her for so long these old artifacts just sort of pile up. Still, why does she let her place go when she has all these old jewels lying around? She could probably just sell a few of these off and be fine.
This Orb is the best though. I can’t stop staring at it. SJ is off making tea again. Does she have to do that like eight times a day? I must have dozed off. Where was I? Wow this Orb thing almost seems to be glowing. Hmm that is strange. Wasn’t I sitting on the other side of the bed?
Huh, what is SJ all worried about now? She is all in a tizzy about the long drive I asked her to go on. Shoot – after that stupid tank museum, I feel like taking a break.
Chepstow Castle in Wales? I don’t remember asking her to take me there at all. She must be drinking too much tea. But it does sound cool. Oh it’s in Wales, even better!
Sheesh she acts like it is so far. Driving from here to Wales is like going on a wood run back home. Big deal. She says she can take me in the morning. Sweet. It is about time we saw some real castles. Now… where did I leave those Samual Smiths?
Thank goodness our day out at Bovington went off smoothly – no ‘wax’ incidents, I’m pleased to say. Altho’ Mike wasn’t in the best of moods.
I thought he’d enjoy seeing all those cool tanks, with their riveting history. But he grumbled constantly about the car journey. Kept telling me to ‘open her up’ and ‘put the pedal to the metal’. Whatever that means. I’ve got perfectly respectable mats in my little Ford Fiesta, I’ll have you know. And as for ‘opening her up’ – as I kept telling him HOW??? There were always cars ahead of us. So then he’d jab me in the ribs and yell, ‘There’s a space, go on, just zip by…’ When we’d have been smeared across the radiator grill of some 42 tonner coming towards us.
And halfway around Bovington museum, when I’d just got onto explaining to him the crucial role of the Sherman T in WW2, he got all fidgety and wanted to know whether there were any swords or suits of armour. So we had a nice cup of tea and went home again. With him still moaning about the traffic, all the cars, the speed I was driving at… Meaning, I was obeying all the speed restrictions (there’s lots and lots, by the way.) I was taking extra care to make sure I wasn’t breaking any rules, because there was this black SUV four or five cars back. It tailed us all the way to Bovington and all the way back…
So when we got home to a tasty, nourishing meal of spaghetti hoops on toast (Mike grumbled about that too. Bit of a cheek from someone who served up rat burgers night after night, when I was his guest…) my jaw grazed the floor, when he announced that he wanted to drive to Wales the following day. Wales! He’d been nearly cross-eyed with frustration on the drive to Bovington. Wales was a whole lot further… But – nope, I couldn’t talk him out of it. Mike wanted to go to Chepstow Castle. When I mentioned the price of fuel, he just sniggered and said I should think about selling some of the cool stuff in my spare room.
I smiled and said it was too precious. I mean, I know my signed copy of Terry Pratchett’s Hogfather would be worth a bit – even with the crayon drawing little Johnny did of the pig arriving at Crumley’s all over the first 30 pages… But I couldn’t part with it. I don’t ever part with a book…
So, this morning we set off. And now… here we are. Finally arrived in Chepstow. Thank goodness. If I’d had to spend another hour in the car with Mr Why-aren’t-we-there-yet, one of us would have ended up on the grass verge. And it wouldn’t necessarily have been Mike…
And after raising a second mortgage on the house to pay for the fuel to get here – Mike threw a tantrum cos I wouldn’t take us to St Justinans Country Hotel for our stay. Accused me of being mean! Well, then I lost it. Parked on a double yellow – hauled him out’ve the car and took him to the nearest hole in the wall, punched in my PIN number and showed him the extent of my wealth. He had the grace to look a bit ashamed, but still went on muttering about the ‘stuff in my spare room’.
So, we’ve ended up here, at the Rat and Dog Inn on a ‘bargain’ package. Meaning our rooms would make the average wardrobe look spacious. Never mind. I’m too tired to care. And tomorrow, we’re off on a proper tour of the Castle. I think *yawn* Mike’s headed down to the bar. Maybe his waxed hairdo will keep them all amused with his beer-sucking trick…
Hope… it’ll… be… ok…zzzzzzzzzz