You are viewing lilachigh

So many opinions….

A few weeks ago, I was convinced I had sciatica and posted how difficult it was to get a doctor's appointment.

Me, I think I have sciatica.

So, First Doctor - no, you do not have sciatica, you have inflammation of hip muscles.

Then, as it didn't get better -
Me, are you sure I don't just have sciatica?

Second Doctor - different age and sex, if that matters! - no, you do not have sciatica. You have some sort of problem with your hip or spine - mutters ominously about further investigation and maybe operations.

Today: Off to see Physiotherapist. Forty minutes of note taking and investigation and the words are at last uttered.

"I think you've got sciatica!"

Throws confetti and wonders who to believe.

Future Imperfect

Title: Future Imperfect

Chapter: Into the Dark

The twins are following a voice that Billy can hear inside his head. The rest of the gang are following a magical key that Joyce has sent back to Buffy.

Future Imperfect by Lilachigh


Chapter Into the dark


Darkness - all around, overhead, under their feet, cloying black fog, broken only by the gold and silver sparkles, kept alive by Joyce’s magic. The twins were walking, hand in hand, into the dark: “Are you sure someone’s calling your name?” Joyce asked out loud.

Billy tightened his hold on her hand. “Yes, and it’s getting sort of louder. I think we’re closer.”

Joyce suddenly stopped, pulling him to a standstill. “But we don’t know who it is! You said it wasn’t Mom or Granny or Grandad Spike. I don’t like this place. It isn’t home. Let’s go back.”

“Back where? I know this place feels sort of bad but we’re lost, twin, and some grown-up knows we’re here and is calling for us. We’ll find them and explain. If you sent the key home and we followed, then we must be close to Granny’s house. Perhaps we’re just down the street, in a school basement or museum or something. We’ve been gone ages; I expect Mom has organised a search party. OK, we’re in trouble, but the important thing is to let them know we’re all right.”

“Supper would be nice,” Joyce muttered. “But I bet we get sent to bed without anything.” She totally believed that their mother would be worried sick about Billy, but not so much about her. She let herself be pulled forward again, into the darkness, sending another shower of glittering stars into the air to light their way a fraction. It was so weird that she couldn’t do any big magics anymore. It gave her a cold feeling in her stomach. Magic was what she was. A witch was what she was. Being different had been fun, even though being different had meant her mom hadn’t loved her as much as Billy. So would she love her more now? The chill in her stomach began to spread through her body. What if Mom still loved Twin more? What if she just didn’t like Joyce very much and the not liking had nothing to be do with her being a witch.
Read more...Collapse )

What I should be doing...

I like this one: I could write it up every day!

What I should be doing……..income tax return

What I am doing…….eating toasted cheese sandwich and reading library book.

Reasons…..?

I've been doing a bit of a local friends' opinions about why they voted Tory and not Labour, LibDem or UKIP. These are the comments - mostly from people 40 up to 90. In a way they are quite terrifying.

1) I don't like his face. He (EM) has a funny mouth.
2) He stabbed his nice brother in the back. (This was said more than five times to me this morning.) Family loyalty plays large with certain people.
3) Labour will let all the African boat people into Britain.
4) He's too posh to be Labour. He's never worked at a proper job in his life. (When asked if that didn't apply to Cameron as well, was told that you don't expect a Tory leader to have worked but you do Labour.) I didn't bother mentioning Tony Blair.
5) Clegg went back on his word about tuition fees. Can't trust a man who does that.
6) Want to get out of Europe and would vote UKIP but better luck with Tories.

So a very small poll, but interesting, never-the-less.

Bad back and why didn't they call her Leia?

Tired of having sciatica that doesn't improve. Tired of not being able to get a doctor's appointment - earliest (and with the locum, not my doctor) is May 18th. My own doctor can see me on June 8th. And they wonder why people use the A and E at local hospital!

So baby Princess finally has a name - the delay always irritates me - I mean, you know they have it planned well in advance; they aren't sitting there with book of names saying, "What about Tracey? Or Sigourney. Or Chantelle." I thought Princess Leia had a good sound to it and, if not, I thought Mildred went with George very well! (That would only make sense to British friends over a certain age). For other friends, George and Mildred was a mildly amusing comedy series on TV, many moons ago. Anyway, they decided on Charlotte Elizabeth Diana, thus pleasing everyone in some small way.

To make up for my grumpiness, my tulips that got broken off by pigeons having a bit of a 'rumpy-pumpy', are doing their little best to cheer me up.

Tags:

"Lewis"

A little snippet I wrote for Yuletide that I want on my site.


For dkwilliams who wanted James Hathaway, from “Lewis” as a priest.
This isn’t quite what was asked for, but do hope it is of some interest.

Title: Second Best Bed

It was the smell that offended him the most. He could - surprising himself - deal with the sick and the dying, even the children with their shaved heads and bright, burning eyes. He didn’t know if his words of comfort brought any, but he said them as he’d been taught, as he believed he should. No, it was the smell - unquantifiable but a mixture of cooked meat, urine, recycled air and fear. It clung to his skin and even the hottest of showers the seminary could offer did nothing to drive it away.

But there was no choice - studying for the priesthood meant a year doing community service and he’d been given this large Oxford hospital to serve in. James Hathaway settled the heavy leather belt around his waist and walked steadily along the corridor towards his next patient. Service - that was what he’d been called to do - serve God in this fashion, apparently, serve the community, serve mankind. It was supposed to give him a wider knowledge and understanding of suffering, of the world, of where his duty really belonged. He had a nasty feeling that all it was doing was hardening him, building a shell of indifference behind which he could shelter. His words of comfort sounded as if they were being read off flash cards.

As he rounded a corner, a man came out of a room, a face lined with character but haggard now, lips tightened in the way so many men did when they were determined not to cry. James hesitated and consulted his notebook. Yes, this was the room and from the look on the man’s face, he was probably just in time.

“Sorry, Father!” The man blew his nose vigorously, drowning James’ reply that he wasn’t quite one yet. “He won’t want to see you. He doesn’t believe in God. Silly old bugger!”

James shrugged. Hardly anyone did these days but it didn’t make any difference. He still had to try and, he thought dryly, it was amazing the number of people who decided they did believe at this late stage. “I’ll just go in, sit a while. He may want to talk.”

“The doctor tells me he’s only got a few hours now. He’s sent me off to get a cup of tea. I don’t think he wants me here when he - goes. Anyone would think I’d never seen a dead body before.” And with this odd remark, the man turned and walked away.

The room was cool and dark. Machines beeped quietly and somewhere, a radio was tuned very quietly into Classical FM - Mozart. At first James thought the figure in the bed was asleep. He could see grey hair, the humped shoulder of blue pyjamas, a muddle of newspaper lying on the floor. Suddenly he realised a very bright blue eye was gazing at him, speculatively and a hoarse voice said,

“If you’re the angel of death come to escort me, you shouldn’t be wearing squeaky shoes. Don’t you chaps hover about the place usually.”

“Good afternoon, Mr....” he inspected the notes again, “Oh, Mr Morse. My name’s Hathaway.”

“Like the cottage? Like his wife? Any relation?”

“None that I know of. No second best beds in my family.”

“Ha!” Morse struggled to sit up and James crossed to the bed and pushed the pillows higher behind his back. “Like this bloody thing I’m stuck in now. My sofa at home’s far more comfortable. Don’t know why they couldn’t have left me there to pop my clogs. Funny things wills. Bring out the best and the worst in people, even Shakespeare. Hope Robbie won’t be bothered too much by mine. Want to make things easier for him.”

“Robbie - would that be your son, Inspector Morse?”

“What? Son?” There was a long pause and James wondered if the man had dozed off again, or even died. Then, “As good as. No, not as good as - better than.”

“Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like me to pray?”

The eyes shot open again. “Good God, no. You don’t really believe all that mumbo-jumbo, do you?”

James fingered his collar. “Well, if I don’t, then I shouldn’t be wearing this.”

“True. Still, you haven’t finished at the Seminary yet, I suppose. Plenty of time to change your mind. Do something worthwhile with your life.”

“Isn’t this worthwhile?” The words were out before James could stop them and he felt a flash of annoyance with himself. He was supposed to be giving comfort and compassion to a man in his last few hours on this earth, not questioning his own vocation.

Again there was a long pause: James had the feeling that the man was desperately garnering his strength to speak. “You’re young - educated. Oxford man?”

“Cambridge.”

A wince and a shudder. “Pity but too late to change that now. Full of zeal, full of a desire to help people - even old sinners like me. Well, whatever lies ahead for me in the next few hours, nothing you can say will change it.”

James bent his head. There was no sensible answer he could give to that statement.

“So why spend your time tending to the dying. Get out there and help those who are still have their lives ahead of them. Those who are damaged, attacked, the helpless and the feeble. Anyone who needs protecting.”

James nodded. This wasn’t the time and place to argue about the path his future should take. Mr Morse had sunk back down into the bed, his face greyer than before: it was obviously only a matter of time now and James wished the other man, his son Robbie, would come back before it was too late. He’d been heading for the canteen; it would only take a few minutes to find and alert him.

He was at the door, aware that his shoes did, indeed squeak, when a sound made him turn. Mr Morse had pushed himself up onto one elbow, the effort making him sway. “If you’ve got any sense, which being a Cambridge man, I seriously doubt, you’ll give up this priest malarkey and join the police force.”

And he sunk back into a haze of death and Mozart as James Hathaway hurried away to find a man called Robbie.

ends.

Tags:

Reading Wednesday

Laid a little low with sciatica at present so lots of reading being done standing up!

Still progressing with the marvellous Mr Samuel Pepys and his diary. Sam has just turned 30 and is consumed with jealousy because he agreed that his wife (and sometimes himself, too) should have dancing lessons from a Mr Pemberton. He now believes said wife is having a fling with Mr Pemberton and keeps rushing home from the office to catch them together, checking the beds to see if they have been disturbed (although he is ashamed to do this) and wondering if he can ask her if she is wearing "drawers" or not! I wonder why Pepys is so often portrayed as a middle-aged man, when, in fact, he was very young when he started writing his diary.

Also half way through the new Belinda Bauer, The Shut Eye, which is dark and odd and I think I know what's going on but not completely sure.

Off up north!

Just off to drive to Yorkshire - Bronte country - to spend few days with old friends. Just hope back holds up for the drive, otherwise they'll need to prize me out of car with tin-opener! And of course, while it is forecast for very hot weather in south, it will be colder up north!

Details when I can. Even pix of moors and lambs and Haworth!

Storm Warning

I'm determined to finish some of my wips so here is next chapter of Storm Warning.

Title: Storm Warning
Author: lilachigh
Summary: Buffy and Spike are too preoccupied with their affair to realise that Dawn has met up with and befriended Eriddny, the Lynfra demon girl who is now the same age as Dawn. Both rebelling against their families, they have run away to Los Angeles. This will not end well!

Storm Warning by Lilachigh


Chapter 12 Twelve Hours


“Drive faster!”

“Slayer, apart from magicing up a pair of sodding wings, there is no way this heap of rust is going any faster.”

“Why couldn’t you have borrowed a better car?”

Spike swore violently under his breath. Buffy had arrived at his crypt, waving a note from Dawn, almost incoherent with rage and worry, insisting that they had wheels to help find her sister. His friend Clem’s little red box on four wheels had been the only choice. OK, Clem didn’t actually know Spike had borrowed it, but he wouldn’t mind. Much.

“Listen, pet, calm down. We’re nearly there. Don’t worry. She’ll be fine. Janice is a sensible kid. I bet they got to the bus station, turned round and came home again. I guess we’ll find them at Janice’s house, watching TV and scarfing down chips and chocolate.”

“How can I calm down. Jeez, listen to her note again - “Dear Buffy, don’t worry, I am going to Los Angeles with a friend for a short trip. We’ll be OK as we’re both responsible (spelt wrongly!) teenagers and Xander told me you used to do all sorts of cool things when you were my age! See you in a couple of days, Love, Dawn.” And what the heck is Xander doing, telling her lies?”

“Do you know how long she’s been gone?”
Read more...Collapse )

Query about story

I"m having a mental blank - hive mind, did Dawn ever meet Angel? Not in the comics. I don't let them interfere with my stories!

Profile

lilac2
lilachigh
lilachigh

Latest Month

May 2015
S M T W T F S
     12
3456789
10111213141516
17181920212223
24252627282930
31      

LILACHIGH’S FICTION - if you’ve enjoyed my stories you will find more, including Cousin Arabella and Never Alone on my fiction only site - lilachigh2

Works in Progress:

Future Imperfect

Santa Claws

Business as Usual

Storm Warning

Tags

Syndicate

RSS Atom
Powered by LiveJournal.com