Gemstone
Here for the Journey
“You’re all mouth and no drawers,” shouted my gran from the bedroom window, “Get back up on the corner and crawl back into whatever hole you came out of”. Hazel and I hid under the privet hedge and tried to conceal our laughter as Mrs Jones stood defeated at the gate.
“You-er granddaughter and her friend have a lot to answer for Mrs Roberts and no mistake,” shouted Mrs Jones wagging her gnarled bony finger at my Gran. Hazel and I took a sharp intake of breath and desperately tried not to giggle as my Gran closed the bedroom window and Mrs Jones retreated from the gate, presumably to go back on the corner and crawl back into her hole.
The front door opened and Gran stood there looking mad with her finger outstretched towards us, “You home! YOU indoors!” she spat, pointing first at Hazel and then at me. Neither of us dared disobey Gran when she was in full swing so Hazel ran off home while I went sheepishly through the open door which Gran closed noisily behind me.
Once inside the finger began wagging again and Gran’s voice rose, promising dire consequences should I dare to cross Mrs Jones again. I of course promised faithfully that I never would, knowing full well that the next time Winifred Jones called me a filthy fat pig I would call her skinny Winny rat face and she would run home crying to her Mum.
© July 2008
“You-er granddaughter and her friend have a lot to answer for Mrs Roberts and no mistake,” shouted Mrs Jones wagging her gnarled bony finger at my Gran. Hazel and I took a sharp intake of breath and desperately tried not to giggle as my Gran closed the bedroom window and Mrs Jones retreated from the gate, presumably to go back on the corner and crawl back into her hole.
The front door opened and Gran stood there looking mad with her finger outstretched towards us, “You home! YOU indoors!” she spat, pointing first at Hazel and then at me. Neither of us dared disobey Gran when she was in full swing so Hazel ran off home while I went sheepishly through the open door which Gran closed noisily behind me.
Once inside the finger began wagging again and Gran’s voice rose, promising dire consequences should I dare to cross Mrs Jones again. I of course promised faithfully that I never would, knowing full well that the next time Winifred Jones called me a filthy fat pig I would call her skinny Winny rat face and she would run home crying to her Mum.
© July 2008
