Posts Tagged ‘alice’

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The hen and the hat.

July 3, 2012

Bernice was a pretty thrifty hen and tended to buy her clothes from charity shops. Arguably as a hen she was throwing her money away on clothes as she didn’t need any (being a hen), which surely would mean that she was a foolish spender rather than “thrifty”, but people that would argue this should probably find something better to do, such as write ridiculous animal stories in their lunch breaks.

So:

Bernice had decided one day that she was going to buy a hat. She was pretty fond of hats, they tended to get her the most compliments from gentlemen hens, and she did like a nice compliment from a gentleman hen.

The charity shop greeted her with its usual smell of old books and Frank Sinatra as she moseyed in through the doorway. She said “hello” to the voluntary worker behind the counter and shuffled onward to the clothing section at the back.

There were many hats. Many hats. A lesser hen would have panicked and turned to leave at the sight of so many hats. There were splendid top hats and bowler hats, old flat caps, and even a paper crown from a Christmas cracker. Bernice began to rummage through the heaps of headgear, and after a short time she discovered a lovely looking grey/brown fur hat. Synthetic of course, as she was against fur and didn’t buy into that whole “oh it’s vintage, dear” bollocks that people say.

Paying a hefty fifty pence, she left the charity shop happily displaying her new hat on her bobbing head all the way home. And then the hat spoke.

“I’m not a hat, you know.”

Bernice very nearly needed to change her hen pants at this, but tried to control herself.

“You’re not a hat?!” she coughed.

“No,” the not-a-hat said.

“Well what are you then?!” Bernice was very confused.

“I’m Sebastian, I fell into the pile of hats while trying on a flat cap. Thank you for rescuing me,” Sebastian smiled.

“Oh, that’s okay. But why didn’t you tell me earlier? You cost me fifty pence!”

“Sorry about that. I’m only small, you see, and I was quite enjoying seeing the world from a little higher up. I’ll pay you the fifty pence back,” Sebastian pulled a 50p from his hedgehog pocket and handed it to Bernice before hopping off her head onto the floor. “It was very nice to meet you.”

With that, Sebastian left.

It was that moment that Bernice decided to stop buying hats.

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I have received strict instructions on how to credit this from Graham (who submitted it on behalf of a friend, thank you):

“Alice Ryley (photographer) with Sebastian (hedgehog). Loved Owner with her True hero.”

“P.S. Sebastian please call Alice… She’s worried about you.”

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Journey Across the Manly Sea.

June 7, 2012

The journey was long, but they knew that had to take it. Their wives had caught them watching Bridget Jones and eating ice cream. It was time for them to leave, to voyage out across the Manly Sea, and to find the gruff hairy man inside them.

Dilbert was a bird, or at least, he assumed he was a bird. What would the bill and wings be for otherwise? He wasn’t entirely sure what kind of bird he was, he just knew he wasn’t a sparrow, or an ostrich.

George was a turtle. He wanted to be a Ninja Turtle when he was small, but he discovered quite quickly that he wasn’t good enough at kicking people in the face in a stealthy fashion so had to settle for just being a normal turtle. It still kept him up some nights.

The pair said goodbye to their respective wives, to ice cream, and to their Bridget Jones VHS tape, and set out on their perilous journey of manliness.

The day started well. The Manly Sea was calm, and so were they, until they saw The Island (not the film). Excited, they swam over to The Island, hoping to find manly stuff, like beer, and hairy legs. There was nothing on the shore, not even a moustache, but Dilbert and George walked up the beach regardless, assuming that manliness would be found further in.

Pushing through the overgrown trees they found themselves stood in front of a small pink house.

“Doesn’t look very manly,” George grunted.

“Maybe it’s a trick. Like a test to see if we’re comfortable enough with ourselves to go into a pink house,” Dilbert offered.

“Okay, let’s try it.”

They cautiously edged through the door and turned on the lights to discover a hugely feminine living room, with an excessive amount of cushions (so many as to make it actually less comfortable because there was no space for sitting down). The fridge was full of ice cream, and the VHS collection included such classics as BOTH Bridget Jones films, and Notting Hill. Dilbert and George looked at each other, baffled. It was their dream house. So they watched the films, they ate the ice cream, and they sailed back home during the night, thoroughly happy yet confused as to how this constituted manliness.

Their wives were waiting for them on their home shore, looking quite angry, and getting angrier still as their husbands explained how it had gone.

“You went the wrong bloody way!” Alice (Dilbert’s wife) interrupted, and pointed in the opposite direction to which they had sailed, “It’s that way!”

“Shit,” Dilbert said, and headed back to the sea, “I guess we best try again, then.”

And so they set sail, in the same direction they had gone earlier, and high fived as their wives shouted for them to turn the other way.

Thanks to Dannie for the image, which is from here.