“Coconut Together” and “Tease”

Good afternoon, ladies and gents.

I’m afraid I’ve broken Rule Number One of Writing, which is perhaps not coincidentally Rule Number One of this Blog. DO you know what that rule is? It’s WRITE. Doesn’t matter what, doesn’t matter when, or why, or especially how well (although I suppose it sometimes matters where) Write Write Write Write Write. It’s practice. It’s learning.

Something I realised recently is that there’s nothing you start good at, and to get good at anything, you need to be able to make a fool of yourself before you can learn how to improve. Old dogs can learn new tricks, if they’re not afraid of embarrassing themselves and setbacks. Kids are good at learning because they overcome these. They pick themselves up and try again. And this goes for learning to cook, learning to do stand up. It goes for my adult friend who can’t swim, and my other adult friend who can’t draw. It definitely goes for learning a foreign language, which I can tell you from both sides of the fence about, and it goes for writing.

Self-Lecture over, on to writing. As I missed the Mid-Week post (I have literally 6 excuses, but I won’t bother writing them), I’ve got two things for you here today. One of them is co-written. And is definitely full of grammatical mistakes, inconsistencies, and an underdeveloped plot, with a conclusion that makes no sense with the rest of the story. It was difficult to keep up with the creative genius that is my co-writer. Let’s post that one first. I will call it, for now, “Coconut Together”, by Matt and Lily. See if you can spot which bits are mine, and which bits are Lily.

Coconut Together

Once upon a time, there was a girl called


and she had a friend called


and they had lots of adventures together.

One day, HANNAH and LILY were at Buckley House. It was summer, and it was hot.
Let’s play Hide and Seek, said Hannah.
Okay, said Lily. You hide first. I’ll come and find you.

So Hannah went off to hide, and she found a big bush to hide in.
She climbed into the bush, and suddenly she heard a voice, “OW!” said the voice.
“Who’s there?” said Hannah.
“My name is Philip”, said the voice, “and I am a rabbit.
“Hello Philip the Rabbit, said Hannah. I’m Hannah, and I’m a little girl. But we need to be
quiet now, Philip. Lily and I are playing Hide and Seek, and she’ll find us.

“Ok”, said Philip, but there was dust in his little nose, and he felt like he was going
to sneeze.
sneezed Philip.
“I’ve found you!” said Lily, who heard the sneeze. “Is that you Hannah, sneezing?”
“No, Lily,” said Hannah, “It’s my new friend. His name is Phillip, and he’s a rabbit.

“He’s a very loud rabbit,” said Lily.
“Yes”, said Hannah, that’s how you found me.

Let’s play again, said Lily, only this time, I’ll hide.
Can I play too? said Philip the Rabbit.
No! says Lily,. You can’t play.
Why not? says Philip
Coz your naughty, and you pees in your house, on the floor, and the police get you, out of the garden.
I’m not naughty, said Philip. I used to pee in my house, but now, I pee on a potty.
You’re still naughty, said LIly and Hannah together
Why? said Philip.
Cause your naughty and the police will get you.
Suddenly, Lily and Hannah heard a police car coming. NEE NAW NEE NAW went the police car.
“They’re coming now!” sadi Lily
“Run, Philip!” said Hannah.
and Philip the Rabbit ran away. hoppity hop.
He ran into Buckley House, past Papa Ray, and up the stairs.
Then, the police were in the garden.
“have you seen a naughty rabbit?” said the police to Lily and Hannah.

Me and my co-author
Me and my co-author

“Yeah,” said Lily. “He’s in the house!”
And then Lots of police went into Buckley House.
They saw Papa Ray. “Where’s the Rabbit?” said all the police to Papa Ray. Lily and Hannah followed the police.
“He’s in the house! said Papa Ray. “Come and catch him. He went to…. his dance class with the other bunnies and the other pigs. In dresses.”

Thje police went into the dance class, and there were lots of bunnies and pigs in dresses.
Which bunny is the naughty bunny? they said.
And they heard a noise.

It was Philip the sneezy bunny, all covered in bogies.
We’ve found you! Said the police.
And then they threw the bunny in the air!
They threw him out of the window! And then he stayed in the air, and started to fly. with wings!
WOW!!!! said Lily and Hannah, “he’s got wings! and
And then lots of bunnies started flying all around Buckley House. Mummy and Daddy were very surprised.

The pigs in dresses were flying too!
And Hannah and Lily got some wings from the pigs, and they started to fly with the pigs

said Lily
And the Yaya and Papa and Mummy and Daddy and all the family were flying in the air.,
And the police couldn’t fly. so the police got in helicopters and planes, and they flew too, but Lily and Hannah and Philip had wings, and all the different animals had wings.

And Philip dies. but he’s still flying, even though he’s dead.

And Lily flies to Plaza Trippy with Hannah and they had lots of warm milks and juice. And Lily had yoghurts.
Hannah had a yoghurt too. Coconut together.



And now, to extend this special edition post even longer, here’s a poem I’m trying to improve. It’s a riddle, so the first thing you have to do is solve “What am I?” If your name is John, Raoul, or Carmen, or if for some other reason I’ve already told you the solution, don’t post it at the bottom. If you have suggestions to improve it, however silly, then tell me, because like writing, swimming, drawing and cooking, giving criticism to writing is something that you don’t improve at ’til you try and ’til you’re ready to make a fool of yourself.


This is how I am.
I tempt and tease
at the surface, wavering,
a persistent challenge,
your growing unrest interfering
but presenting an innocent front.

Your approach is expected,
I see a reflection with your eyes.
You think you can take me,
while I, half eager for
your teeth to sink
through my skin, bite,
your tongue against my side

I bounce away, unready, unsure.

Do I want you? Deep down?
Or just the thrill of the chase?
I bob in the shallows,
my purpose undecided.
My core as elusive
To me as to you.

– – –

Violence or gentility;
neither succeed.
Hot from the shame of defeat,
most do not care to try twice.
I wait for one who does.

Extract from “The Gardener”

I’m back with more blogging, and this time, spending more time trying to come to terms with image and writing copyright law than with editing.  Luckily, I’ve made friends with the whole Creative Commons movement, so hopefully it won’t take too long to find and choose my photos in future. (To find my sources for my pictures, click on the attached links. If there aren’t any links, then they are either my photos or photos given to me by friends)

“The Gardener” (for want of a better provisional title) is a short story that I wrote last term. This scene was one part of it that I just wrote in about 10 minutes. Every line just seemed to follow every other line, one of those moments when writing is everything you wish it always was – exciting, fun and easy. When you don’t know what your brain is going to offer next, but it delivers.

Looking at it now, it works as a kind of  Flash Fiction on its own (it’s about 1,000 words). It’s possible I’ll end up tidying this up and ditching the rest of the story.

The Gardener

“Did Gary come today?”


“In the downpour we had this morning? I drove through it on the motorway.”

“He got here before it, and started working on the hedge, but then it started chucking it down.”

Max chuckled. “Got caught in it, did he? And then went home?”


“He should’ve known it’d rain this morning, just by looking at the sky. That boy is just an opportunist, Charlotte. Dedication. See, if it hadn’t rained, if we’d been wrong, if it had passed and rained somewhere else, think how much he’d’ve got done.” He raised his eyebrows rhetorically, and Charlotte could tell he was about to start a speech, like those he made to junior partners. “He’d be good in the City – he takes his chances when they come, like this, and when he fails it doesn’t even make a dent in his resolution,wet-rose1 he’ll just keep going, keep trying. And then one day, the luck will all go his way, luck’ll be on his side and he’ll really get somewhere in the world. If he keeps pushing, sticks to his guns, doesn’t lose his resolve. That’s how it happened with me, in business, that’s how I got my first real chance. Pushing and graft. And that’s how I got you too, remember? Perseverance, taking my chances, waiting” he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, “for the right – you all right dear? I’m not too cold, am I?” Max rubbed his hands together. “This damn summer.It’s cold out today, this weather has sucked all the heat out of summer. Did you go back to sleep after we left? You looked tired. Or did you go shopping in the end?”

“No, I thought I’d leave it ‘til tomorrow.”

“Forecast’s no better, I heard it on the radio on the drive home.”

I’ll tell him, she thought. I’ll tell him when he stops talking, I’ll tell him when he asks me about my day. But Max was so full of his day, so certain that, on a rainy day when she didn’t go shopping, that nothing of interest had happened to his wife. So he didn’t ask, but talked on about the merger or verger. But I’ll tell him anyway, she thought. Wouldn’t it just show him for thinking her day boring and uneventful? Before Lucy gets home, not over dinner, after Lucy had gone off to her room, as they were getting ready for bed, she’d tell him, she’d sit him down and get his attention.

Then a thought came from the back of her head that surprised her. Why tell him? It niggled. Why tell him? It won’t happen again, you made sure of that, you told him off, he apologised, he won’t do anything so silly again. Kids make mistakes, as a mother she understood that better than anyone, they make mistakes and learn from them.

Why tell him? He’s a good gardener, punctual, it’d be a hassle, a scene, the neighbours would hear, gossip, her standing. And Gary won’t say anything if she doesn’t tell Max, he’ll be embarrassed. Ashamed, most likely, of making a fool of himself. He might resign anyway, she should give him a chance to, instead of ruining his reputation, she shouldn’t just think of herself, that poor boy has made a fool of himself, but he’ll learn from his mistake.

Why tell him? He didn’t tell her when he flirted with that secretary, which she knew he did, because women know, because she’d seen her look at him, that winning cheek-boned smile, so transparent it was sickly, he wouldn’t really fall for that, but still he hadn’t told her he’d flirted.

She knew he’d flirted with that American correspondent that one time two years ago – these shameless Americans who’ll use their looks and charms to get whatever they want – he’d never told her that. She’d heard a snatch of a business call, and then he’d bought her flowers out of nowhere, and she knew nothing had happened, he’d felt guilty, but nothing had happened, she knew that, but he’d not told her. Been honest. The flowers had been poppies – his favourite, not hers. But the thought was there.

And nothing had happened here. Gary had kissed her, she’d instantly pushed him away, she’d made it thoroughly clear he was mistaken, and it wouldn’t happen again.

So why tell him? And for once, it was strangely nice to feel appreciated. She couldn’t tell Max that, either, he’d be offended: “But I do appreciate you”. He wouldn’t understand, it would cause a row, they’d fight and shout, he’d think her unfaithful, not literally, but he’d think she’d been encouraging the boy, flirting with him. Which she clearly hadn’t. She couldn’t tell him that. So why tell him any of the rest of it?

A smile grew on her face. Years from now, she’d tell him, when she thought he needed a shock. When Gary had gone back to university or wherever, cup_of_earl_grayand they’d gotten a new gardener, and when he was being pompous or talking like he owned her, not respecting her or doing his share. That’d shock him, when he needed it most, when she needed him to pay her a bit more attention. It would be funny, that look of surprise on his face, her teasing, him not knowing if she was lying or not.

“….so hopefully, it’ll all be resolved by the end of the week.” Max stopped, and looked at her. “Am I boring you?”

She smiled, as if at some private joke. “No, sorry dear, I drifted off for a bit in the middle. I was thinking of something else.”

“I suppose I should save that kind of talk for Bill. I told you Bill might come this weekend, come out here for a game of golf and then dinner on Saturday, didn’t I?”

“You did, but is that definite now? Is Julie coming too?”

That night, Max commented that her chicken stew was lacking something.