The gallimaufry approach to life

Cologne, Germany. Modern day reflecting on past events  Hans gripped his 27 year old granddaughter's  arm, her warmth and youth comforting him. She was so lucky she had not had to endure war, that she could enjoy being young. How it should be, he thought. They had reached their destination and stood at the foot of the steps leading up to an imposing building darkened by pollution and age. Most of Cologne had been destroyed during the war but not this monstrosity.  'Are you sure you want to go in, Opa? We could just go and eat cake.' He grunted and leaning on her arm, climbed up the steps.  As they passed the threshold, Lina watched her grandfather's expression. He was scowling his mouth set in a resolute grimace. She bought the tickets and was informed of the different exhibitions. 'I don't want to see the exhibitions. Just room 202 and the cells.'  The young man behind the desk explained 'The rooms were transformed in the 1980s when the old Gesta...

Steven was running late. He hadn't expected the traffic to be this bad at this time of day. Why was he even doing this? He didn't even like Xavier. Oh yeah, it was to advance his career. Anything to please the head instructor. 'My girlfriend, Lola, is arriving from London at 8pm but I'm training that pilot from Basel from 6 onwards. Do you think you could pick her up for me?' The life of a pilot was unpredictable. There he was, stuck in tail to tail traffic, on the Periph as the Parisians called it.  He ran into arrivals, skidding to a halt at the correct gate. And there she was with her bags. The neon light bouncing off her peroxide hair forming a halo, as her red talons tapped agressively on her smartphone screen.  'Hi. Sorry I'm late. I'm Steven' 'Yeah. About time. I almost thought you wasn't coming.' He detected East London. Nostalgia rose in his throat. 'You're not French.' 'Nope. Kent, born and bred....

Margaret shuffled towards the heavy black doors. Squeak of hinges. Bang shut. 'Madam?' Said a thin raspy voice from behind the counter. 'I've lost this.' She tapped a gnarled finger on the black and white photo of a young woman carrying an umbrella. He pulled out an engraved pocket watch and watched her response. She shook her head. He turned back to the shelves and produced a red silk scarf. She rubbed the material gently between thumb and index, the roughness of her skin catching on the delicate threads. Shaking her head, mumbling to herself, she stuffed photo into her bag. Squeak of hinges. Bang shut. 'This is the lost property bureau, not some bloody psycho ward.' came a voice from the corner 'Every week, she shows you those old photos. You show her rubbish, she shakes her head, then leaves. Weird.' 'You have no idea who she is, do you?' The old man folded the scarf obsessively 'or was?' He turned to look at the ...

Tom stood at the top of the steps covered by centuries of moss, staring out across his newly acquired lands. 'Look at that. Mole hills everywhere. It's your job to get rid of them.' He said accusingly to the old man next to him. 'Take me forever to get rid of 'em all. That's a specialist's job, tha' is. Ask Bob and Bill down the Old Clocks 'n Apples.' Half an hour later, Tom had walked up to the bar of the local pub, asked the surly publican where he could find the mole catching duo and was looking into the corner at a grimy potato sack, a muddy bucket and a long plastic pipe propped up beside two men in flat caps. Clink clink went the draughts on the board. Without looking up from the game, one of them said 'how may we be of 'sistance, Sor?' Tom raised his eyebrows for the merest second at the sales patter. 'I heard you can get rid of moles.' 'Tha's right. We catch 'em, then let 'em go.' 'You do...

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK "Housekeeping" The hinges squeaked as I opened the door to find a chubby, dark haired woman in her thirties wearing a don't-mess-with-me black skirt and white shirt. "Hello. I am Milana Alexandrov-Thomson. I am Head of Housekeeping. Welcome." "Thanks." I extended a hand which she duly took and shook in a manner matching the outfit and tone of voice. "I just vant to say, I saw light bulbs in common kitchen are changed. You cannot do this." "Oh, I had some spare and thought it was better. You know, so the Girls don't fall over or burn themselves when they're cooking." "No, you need to open ticket with Maintenance. You need to send email to maintenance@thistleschool.co.uk" "Oh, OK." I must have looked puzzled. She added, as if to explain "You do not have Hardware Clearance."  "No, you're right, I don't. Can I get Hardware Clearance?" "No! Why you...

At first light, darkness fell. As usual. Today would be no different and the feeling it would instill in Sophie would also be no different. Sophie was ready, sitting at the window of her pod on the 45th floor, her eyes fixed on the horizon, waiting. And there it was, a slight hint of paleness from afar. A glowing haze was beginning to take form on the surface of the water and then the menisc of the huge disc appeared, spreading a delicious light which tickled the waves. Sophie tried not to blink, staring intensely at the scene unfolding before her. 'Blink and you'll miss it!" her mother had said to her growing up. That was before the Complexes. 'For safety' the government had said. Sophie was drinking in the light. The windows of the Complex were automatically timed to display an alternative scene whereby the sunrise would continue like a film. Sophie had learnt robotics from her father, enabling her to short circuit her one window without setting off the alarm....

Friday 15th March 2012, morning Ah, I'm awake. There's Mimi. Where's Nono? PANIC. WHERE IS NONO? Oh, here he is, under my arm. Why is my nappy wet? I want this nappy off. I want to get out of bed. What's this? If I pull on it, what happens next? Ouch. I'm going to cry. MAMA MAMA MAMA. No response. I have to throw toys at the door. Ah, Mama. I can stop crying now. Take my nappy off. No, I want to play, don't take my nappy off. Where's my book? No, not that one, the one with the dogs. I want to kiss you. No, don't hug me. I want to play. Toddler runs off arms flailing, nappyless with baby body flapping behind, into the living room. AH TOYS! JOY! BLISS! I want to empty the basket. BANG, CRASH.  What's that you've got, Mama? Oh, it's your mobile phone. I want to press buttons. I want to talk to Papa. Hello Papa. I'm having a wonderful morning except Mama keeps doing things I don't like. I don't need my face washed, I'm not...