On Wednesday Meredith walked along the High Street into the fresh breeze, an autumnal breeze. She pushed a clump of hair away from her face and tucked it back in her collar. A single hair twined itself round her finger and she looked at it briefly before it fluttered away in the wind. It had faded from rich chestnut to a lighter dull corn colour and grey. ‘I don’t mind losing a few greys’, she thought.

The hair dances along the street in the breeze and then comes to rest on a jacket.

Elsewhere, a wife, raven haired and dark-eyed, with her Hispanic antecedents responsible for the volatile passion that tortured her. She was insanely jealous. Two days ago a wrong number, a female voice. Yesterday, she was sure she could smell Ghost and envisaged an opulent blonde. Today he walks in with a hair on his coat, a light corn colour, fading to grey. Not even a young woman she thinks. She grabs at the knife. Within moments he lies on the baked earthenware kitchen floor.

His mistress is not blonde, or dark, or even a she, but lies on his desk at work with cap cast aside and the colourless liquid gone.

On Thursday Meredith walked along the High Street into a lighter warmer breeze. She smiled up at the sun and ran a hand through her hair. A single hair twined itself round her finger and she grimaced. It wasn’t so good to keep losing the ones that still had their rich abundance of colour and this one was almost black….

Algernon was not a gentleman of dainty proportions and had a tendency to perspire profusely. Dressed from head to toe in rich, red velvet he had been on stage now for half an hour. He embraced, at the appropriate moment, his diminutive co-star who appeared to visibly wilt as she became aware that not a single part of his costume was now dry.

Barbara unhooked her bra, removed it and hung it on the door handle. It was the signal she always used to let the postman know she was awaiting a delivery.

Hermione stood back from her box and adopted a thoughtful pose. She held the clippers – beautifully crafted in pastel colours – out at arm’s length and delicately snipped a stray shoot. The topiary book lay open at her feet and had box leaves scattered across the pages. She was perfectly satisfied with the general shape but the size bothered her. John’s penis was so much smaller.

Not for the first time Abigail pondered on the meaning of ‘a moment’. How long exactly was a moment? And would it be the same as an instant? If someone said they were popping out for an instant or a moment would that be the same length of time. But more importantly how long would that length of time be. She stood in the kitchen looking thoughtful. Her husband had said he was just popping out for a moment She looked at the clock…..yes, that would be four years ago.

Muriel looked once again into the Maltesers packet. For the dozenth time. And it was still empty.

It was a warm day and Alexander thought of the tin of paint waiting for him by the shed. The brush would be drying up and by the time he returned to the garden it would be beyond repair. It would mean another trip to B & Q. He didn’t much like the shade of lilac either, but she wanted it, she who must be placated. Alexander sighed a little inward sigh, turned his attention back to the present and smiled warmly at his guest. He then parted his strong white teeth and plucked the cherry from her navel.

Tabitha enjoyed the feel of the warm September sun on her face. The slight breeze carried a salt tang from the sea but was barely enough to sway the grasses on the sides of the footpath. Brisk footsteps were approaching from the opposite direction and in a matter of moments a man appeared on the path in front of her. He wore hiking boots and a rucksack. Tabitha decided he must attend the naturist beach on a very regular basis as there was no inch of skin left un-tanned. With the possible exception of his feet, which were hidden.

Eleanor admired the shiny green back of the big-eyed frog. It sat quietly in her lap blinking up at her. A zephyr of spring breeze ruffling the reeds. She sighed. It really was time she got out of the pond.

The meal was exquisite. The salmon had been a good choice; it was light and flaky and melted in the mouth. And the tender salad leaves had come fresh from the garden. The guests were impressed, she could see, and she smiled a satisfied smile. As she carried in the tray of individual chocolate mousses, garnished with glistening mint leaves, she looked up and glanced at Esmeralda. The smile froze on her face. She had just remembered that Esmeralda always, when presented with a chocolate dessert, turned the topic of conversation round to her bowel movements.

It was a glorious day for September. Light fluffy clouds drifted across the wide blue sky and the gulls swooped gracefully over the sea. Sylvia stepped out with a light step and a sunny smile. A smile of anticipated pleasure. A nice herring for tea. Sylvia liked a nice herring. She set out boldly and confidently along the sea front towards the fishmongers but the pavement was full of mischief and tumbled her, hurting her shoulder. She went back to the house and told her sister all about it. Her sister listened with concern; they were neither of them young. ‘Did you get the herring?’ she said.

Arthur placed the bone china cup of afternoon tea on the rosewood table. A fine patina of dust lit by the setting sun as it fell through the window made him tut quietly to himself. Another job for tomorrow. He reached gently across to pat his wife’s hand. He had learnt to be more careful when doing this since her finger had fallen off.

Alicia carried the bottle of lemonade through to the kitchen. She placed it next to the bottle of lemonade that had been delivered the week before. As she straightened up she realised that very soon it would be necessary to have another shelf for them. There were two dozen bottles now on this shelf alone. She didn’t like lemonade but didn’t like to tell the milkman to stop delivering.

Five easels stood around roughly in a circle. The thin watery sunlight angled through the windows of the studio and played merrily with the shadows on the floor. Irina stood back from her easel and looked at the paper with a critical eye. She frowned perplexedly and put a charcoal-black fingerprint on her face. That second nipple just was not right.

Fortescue closed the pantry again. He had forgotten that he had placed the heads in there. It was a mistake to open it in the first place and now that they were giving off an unpleasant odour he decided to apply the key to the lock.

A flimsy bit of plastic ribbon fluttered in the breeze, unrestrained. The barriers erected around the hole overnight had been moved in preparation for work. The workmen were preparing for work by having a brew and brief discussion on the Turner exhibit. Peregrine, hurrying along as usual, suddenly found himself descending, like Alice in Wonderland, into a rather deep dark pit. It was not very deep but above his head height by a couple of feet. It was not very wide either, about person-sized, as though it had been dug specifically for perpendicular burial. Perhaps it had he thought. Could it be that people were being buried under the roads and pavements to save space? He felt a warm oozy feeling on his head and a tingling, stinging sensation above his eye. He put up his hand to his touch the place and felt the sticky trickle of blood. He hated blood. He had been in the hole several minutes, stunned by this sudden departure from the norm, before he thought about the getting-out-again procedure. He looked up expecting to see concerned faces preparing to rescue him but all he saw was a patch of blue sky.

The guests were beginning to arrive and were still at that awkward small talk stage. Bernard stood behind the buffet table and carefully placed his penis amongst the sausage rolls. Garnished with a little parsley it looked rather good, he thought. And satisfied with the arrangement he looked up and smiled with expectation.

The reflection in the mirror looked back at Minerva with the same half-admiring half-critical gaze she wore herself. The make-up was suitably invisible and worth the expense. She turned and whipped the curling tongs out of her handbag irritated by a slight imbalance in the bob. Dead straight hair was a curse. It was a handful of minutes before she was completely satisfied. ‘Yes’ she thought and a slight almost imperceptible nod. An almost-smile. One more thing before perfection. She slightly raised one buttock and let out a tiny and very ladylike ‘peep’. Now she was ready.

The small boy happily spun the new toy in his hands. He was absorbed by the little glassy ball that winked up at him. Gregor looked up with one eye and was just in time to see his other eye go spinning into the air, turn a few times and then plummet back to the floor. He was beginning to doubt the wisdom of allowing his son to play with his eye, as it rolled inevitably under the piano – again.

Fluffy catkins covered the small tree and they trembled in the slightest of breezes. Margery sat on the fence. It was deliciously uncomfortable as it was one of those spiky wooden ones.

Electra sat at the bottom of the stairs gazing up at Mary with the ‘pleading-for-breakfast’ eyes. It was odd that Electra was down stairs at all in fact and didn’t bode well. Mary came haltingly down the stairs fully expecting to find a chewed and bloody present somewhere on the route to the kitchen. And there it was…a grungy squished mouse, which Electra walked past without a second sniff. Mary sighed and reached for the kitchen roll and tearing off two sheets of it carefully scooped up the cold little corpse and pushed it into the rubbish bin. Electra was not impressed with having to wait a moment longer than necessary for her breakfast which this morning was a delicious gourmet meal of minced goose in a tin tray.

Florence sat on the edge of the bed, she was bare. She was smiling as she coated her lips with chocolate flavour. Then rolling over to her roly-poly friend she planted a big chocolate kiss and said 'what do I taste like'.
'That's an easy one' he said 'chocolate!'
Florence reached down and took in hand the smallest bag of nuts she had ever fondled and the real smile slipped from behind the smile that still sprawled itself across her face.
'Oh dear' she thought..........