This is a trilogy of small tales based on a few of my forays into Italy, and the resulting confusion that resulted when I tried to communicate in pidgen Italian.
Thanks again to Kareth Paterson for her editorial improvements.
At least I know one person has read these tales!
At Writers’ Circus we were set the challenge, “Be careful when you tell a lie.”
This tale wrote itself and after comments from the group, here it is.
This is a trio of tales from our family archive.
I am sure that my version of the ‘truth’ of what happened will be disputed.
That, however, is the power of my pen.
Ah, yes. I know. I know. Men cannot ‘do’ suffering.
Here it is, my tale of woe about a heavy cold, now passing into history, I hope.
This tale is 98% true.
We boarded a bus heading for Glasgow. . .
This piece contains ‘vernacular’ language, as was used by some of our fellow travelers.
This is a little tale generated to answer the question set at our Writers’ Circus group, “Why does this/it always happen to me?”
I hope it will feel almost real to denizens of Glasgow.
For others from further afield you may have to interpolate/guess to understand the dialogue.
“Clatty Pats” (Cleopatra’s) is a nightclub which features in Glasgow’s very busy night-life. A few years ago I read that on an average weekend there can be over 300,000 revelers in Glasgow city centre.
We have just enjoyed another caravan holiday at Rosemarkie, our fourteenth consequtive year.
One of the delights of caravanning is meeting interesting people, chatting to them and sharing tips on what to see and do.
This is a nonsense tale you might enjoy, suitable for children of all ages.
You may also wish to read a related story called “Rosemarkie Remembrances”.
This is an Ode to the mosquito who terrorised us in Munich!
This is a tale which is almost 100% true.
It describes an incident which unfolded as we traipsed around Milan before heading off to Padua to visit my Italian pen-friend Anna Maria. (Anna Maria does not ‘do’ computers, (yet!).)
This time I was not alone, I had Margaret to look after me!
It is more readable, (I sincerely hope), than its sister tale “Travels of a Donkey” which chronicled my solo visit to Bologna.
This is a tale about elderly men trout fishing on the Island of North Uist.
I have hoped to catch the Hebridean ‘lilt’ in my words.
It is suitable for older children of all ages.
It complements another tale called “Murphy’s Midnight Manuevers” about two dogs.
If you find yourself on North Uist do try “Langass Lodge” for excellent food and comfortable friendly accommodation.