Aunt Wendy’s New Home

Every break from class
I rush to the computer
and pray for wickets.


Hey all. It’s getting towards the end of the month and there’s only two posts up. Why? Well, excuses are lovely things, but the only one worth spouting is it’s the dreaded time of year where I have to write reports, and while they’re not too onerous a task, they’re mind-sapping.

courtesy of

The above haiku was a silly one I threw together about today. For the first time, well, ever, I’m making the effort and paying attention to the Ashes (giant up-to-25-day cricket competition between the best two teams, England and Australia). This was written during a day of Australia batting, of course.

Before we get to the story, I’m making a new Category in the side called “Haiku”. I know Haiku are poems too, but I’m going to class them differently so it’s easier to find the haiku if you’re looking for them.

So, I’ve got some Flash Fiction for you today. It is, strangely, a sequel to Tomatoes, although that’s not apparent by any character names, or by the narrative voice, or location…. or anything. It has the same source material; my grandmother, telling me stories from when her grandchildren were just little. She has a natural gift for storytelling, and perhaps this has something to do with her being born a Ridgwell (there, the “original” spelling of my pen name). It’s called:

Aunt Wendy’s New Home


You don’t remember? Well, this story is the type you always liked the best – it’s one about you.

Continue reading “Aunt Wendy’s New Home”

Storm Vilanelle

I’m ill. It’s a sick day off work, and it’s ludicrously hot. My flatmate, too, are coughing and spluttering. So, as my older brother is visiting tomorrow, I’ve got to get something up today.

I’ve always been really fond of the Vilanelle as a form, mostly because I’m rubbish at them, and I like a challenge, but also because I like trying to find the poetry in it’s repetitions. This poem is an example of a Vilanelle that I remain unhappy with, but I thought if I post it, maybe I’d get ideas to improve it. I’ve had a few, but I still need more. Also, maybe it’ll provoke me to write more vilanelles. For now, I’ll post and then go back to bed.

Storm Memories

orange storm

Storm Memories

I will remember this in years to come,
this storm that cracks a whip across the land
and each storm holds the memories of the last –

when over a wet yellow crust, we run
raining pelting the dunes and freezing our hands
I will remember this in years to come.

We sheltered in the caravan, and watch for masts
out at sea, by the lightning out beyond the sand
and each storm holds the memories of the last.

The hot French summer, the air con hum,
We leave the vines when the grey clouds expand
I will remember this in years to come

The night airs warmth and wet rush past
the wooden shutters, the hot wood fanned
and each storm holds the memories of the last.

So now, tonight, the thunder like a drum
the orange glows, our kiss goes as you planned
I will remember this in years to come
and each storm holds the memories of the last.