Tillys 100 word challenge

100 word challenge 

I was on holiday in Australia and we went to the town. I saw a boomerang in a shop window. It was made from wood and it had a red kangaroo on it and on the other side it had a green chameleon. I begged my parents to buy it but they said, “No, you just had an ice-cream” so I pleaded some more and they finally said ”yes.” Then we went on to the cliff tops I got my boomerang and threw it with all my strength. The boomerang seemed to have a mind of its own, it flew into some dead bushes and I never saw it again!

Irrationality

It's been very quiet of late as far as fliers' problems have been concerned. And I've been busy anyway: Dawn Vanden Plas and I have been on a base jumping masterclass in Norway. Dawn now has a flat nose and an irrational fear of road signs but I seem to have arrived home completely unscathed. Talking of irrational fears, how about this little number?

Dear Doreen
I have recently tried to make a donation on the Just Giving web site for the Air Ambulance people that scrape us off the hillside when we have an unintended meeting with the ground. I sent six whole pounds but I received a message back from them rejecting my money! This is what they said. "Dear Grant thank you for your recent donation but we are afraid that we have to reject any money that comes in amounts of six, seven, eight or nine British pounds. The reason for this is deep and personal for our CEO but just to say the date of 6/7/89 was a very bad day for him and involved a ladyboy and a bottle of bollinger 69. We can accept amounts in hon, hoo, hree, hor and hive pounds and ten pounds also. Thank you for your understanding."
Well Doreen I have a problem and no understanding to give them! You may have noticed that I wrote down the numbers between hon and hive so they sound like someone saying them in a strange way. This is because I have a phobia with those numbers (I was frightened as a child by an angry old lady shouting a nursery rhyme at me) and can't even bring myself to write them down, never mind send those amounts to a charity web site. I have no problem with the number ten but I'll be buggered if I'm giving the sods that much money. Any suggestions?
Yours, Grant Footcushion

Dear Grant
I rue the day that most of Europe went and got themselves embroiled in this silly Euro business. I don't say I didn't tell them but look at them now. A dozen years ago you could have sent them 2000 Spanish Pesetas or Greek Drachmas and everyone would be happy. As it is I can't see a way out. If you send them a tenner and ask for three - sorry, I mean hree or hor - pounds back you'll still have the problem of dealing with the change. Unless you send them 50p twelve times perhaps. 
I hope this helps, Doreen

Are we alone?

It's a hard and thankless task being an agony aunt.  I often get letters and emails accusing me of fabricating the whole thing. The cheek of it! Well, anyone that says that hasn't met your average free-flier. Never in my life have I come across such a bunch of eccentric and whimsical beings. Talking of which I received this letter in the post yesterday. I tell you - you just couldn't make it up!

Dear Doreen
I had another strange experience last weekend. It was a beautiful day and thermals were popping over the Malvern Hills. I got a corker and took it over the back as I was screaming up to cloudbase. Eventually I went into cloud. I was pulling big ears, big feet, big everything but still I was rocketing upwards. Just as I was thinking of pulling big elbows I became aware of a bright light surrounding me and some strange music that was going doo dee dee dah dah like on that film in the 80s. Then my glider started to spin around and around and I seemed to be trapped in some kind of pink bubble and I could see all these strange faces - a bit like Amy Winehouse - staring through the bubble at me and then it all went blank. The next thing I knew I was dangling from a tree in a field near Tregaron with a sore bottom - although that may have been from the bit of tree that I hit- and the words Alpha Centauri  going round my head. Why does it always happen to me?
Do you think I should claim it as an XC? I make it about 106km so it would be worth claiming for the XC league don't you think?

Eternally yours,  Achilles Pushenvolope

Dear Achilles
I think you should but don't  be tempted to enter an out and return - I don't think the people at XC league use light years as a measurement.
I hope this helps, Doreen 

Don't dis that glider

Just when you think life is on an even keel along comes a metaphorical whale to rock your boat and scrape your bottom. That lumbering leviathan Colin,  my ex, has been in touch. He wants 'his' old electric kettle of all things. He says it has great sentimental value. It belonged to Garry Kasparov. Colin nicked it when Mr Kasparov (who always insisted on fresh tea) came to do a sponsored chess tournament at the local village summer fete and was otherwise engaged in trying to beat Colin's computerised chess machine, Deep magnolia, which he'd made the night before from an old Atari 2600, some chicken wire and bits of Scalextric. Luckily Garry won in two moves (g4 e6 f4 h4 if you want to know). The trouble is I threw the kettle out ages ago but I still have the chess machine. 
I wonder why I ever married him (Colin not Garry). I sort of knew it wouldn't work from the off - we had arguments about taking surnames. Colin wanted me to take his but I refused. I mean, what respectable woman of letters would want to be known as Doreen Dormobile? Ridiculous. Colin was also reticent to be known as Colin Campervan so in the end we retained our own names. That was the thin end of the incompatibility wedge I think. 
Talking of which, I found this email in my in-box this morning: 

Dear Doreen
I hope you can offer me some timely advice. 18 months ago I met this wonderful girl at the local toad breeding club. Her name is Gabrielle. For the first 3 months things went wonderfully and we decided to get married. I had been keeping a secret from her though and the longer I left it the more difficult it became to tell her the truth. My secret was that I fly hang gliders. I was so ashamed and I thought she might leave me if I told her the truth. Anyway, we did get married and at first, with all that sex, I found it quite easy to avoid going hang gliding but as the drudgery of married life set in I had the constantly increasing urge to get my feet off the ground. I started sneaking out, pretending that I was just nipping out to breed a few toads. This worked for around six months but then she began to get suspicious at the long bag on top of my car. It looks very much like a toad sluice (apart from the colour of course - and the dimensions - and the wrong material) and I seemed to be getting away with it but the trouble is I never smelt of toads when I came home - just beer and cow shit. Things came to a head three weeks ago when we had a big argument about the true meaning of toads and I told her the truth because I couldn't bear the stress of the double life I was leading and I actually have come to hate toads. She went absolutely bloody screaming mad. She has thrown me out and I'm now living under my hang glider on the local common. With the improving weather this is not so bad but I am desperately worried that the constant weather on the sail will degrade the material to the point of me having to bin the glider. Would it be safe to apply some kind of sunscreen to the sail in order to preserve its integrity or would I be better off getting myself a small tent?

Yours, Seth Digicam-Culprit

Dear Seth
Oh dear me. I do hate to hear such sad tales as yours. Your hang glider is a precious and meticulously manufacture flying machine. It is sacrilegious to treat it this way and on no account should you continue to live under it. Go buy yourself a nice little tent or failing that an old paraglider and some bean poles. 
I hope this helps, Doreen. 

ASBOsyouthinkthatsfunny

Dawn popped round this afternoon. The flowering cherry is dead. She wanted to show me her nearly new Nissan Note with air conditioning and power steering. I've already seen it because she's had it six months - so I was a bit puzzled. What she actually wanted me to see (she insisted in what I'd call a frazzled and slightly hectic manner) was the whitewall tyres. So she prodded me into the street to have a gander. It looked a bit odd I must say. In fact that is just what I did say. She told me that it wasn't any old white and that it was a colour exclusive to Farrow and Ball and it was called Ringwold Ground - an off-white oil full gloss - quite expensive apparently. She also told me that she's been to see the manager at B&Q to ask if it would be possible to ban Roger from, if not the whole store, then at least the paint section. And that he'd said that he'd look into it but it didn't look very promising unless he already had an ASBO (Roger, not the manager). Speaking of which, I received this letter via good old Jeremy Van Der Post yesterday:

Dear Doreen
As you know, one of the most hardest things to do on a hang glider (apart from rigg the bloody thing - why do they have to make them so compilcated?) is landing without breaking something. Well, I have designed this really quite very brilliant system and I want to share it within your readers. Look, I'll make it simple, it goes like this. You take off those teeny black wheels from off of the base bar because they are totally crap. And then you get some inflatable rubber (but really plastic) rings from the pound shop. Any colour will do. Then because they are a bit loose on the base bar (Oh don't forget to blow them up first) that what you actually do is pack out the space with old rolled up newspapers so they are a taught fit. Now I'll tell you now Doreen that if you aren't careful you'll bounce right back up into the sky with these babies fitted and you'll never come down. They do go pop quite often though so you have to be careful with your landings but the brilliant thing is they can be mended with a puncture outfit from the pound shop and they are only a pound from the pound shop. And if you are one of those racer types who likes less drag you can just blow them up just before you land. Result Doreen!

Happy landings!  Chris Swishswishsmoothly

Dear Chris

If I may make so bold - why not always land in a lake? That way they will never go pop and you'll always stay afloat - thus saving on the puncture repair outfits.

I hope this helps, Doreen 

Dead Man's Curve

Today Dolly, Dawn and I were supposed to go to visit a medium - Madame Annagogic. It was Dawn's idea but at the last minute she couldn't make it - she was still up to her elbows in rubber gloves and Nitromors trying to get the flowering cherry back to the way nature intended. So in the end it was just Dolly and I. 
I had a bit of a revelation. It seems I have the gift. I can speak in voices. I can contact fliers just by the power of my mind. Luckily I taped the session so here's a bit of what happened:

Madame  Annagogic: Is there anyone there? Is there anyone there?

Dolly: There! There's a light!

Me: Shhhh!

Dolly: Oh sorry, It's your phone Doreen.

Me: Shhhhhhh!

Madame Annagogic: Is there anyone there?

Me: (in a deep voice) Hello? Hello?

Madame Anagogic: We have a contact! What is your naaaame?

Me: It is Gary. Gary Groundingrod.

Madam Annagogic: Gary...hello Gary. Are you on the other side Gareeey?

Me: I suppose so - I fly paragliders if that's what you mean.

Madam Annagogic: But Gary... Where are you Gareeeey?

Me: I'm in Croydon. Asleep in bed... I'm going to Devils Dyke tomorrow!

Dolly: The Devil? Oh dear.

Madame Annagogic: In Bed Gary? Do you have a question Gareeey?

Me: Yes I do... What is... what is... the... Dead Man's Curve?

Dolly: (Falls off chair in shock) Aaaargh! Ow!

Me: (normal voice) What happened?

Madame Annagogic: Dolly! You broke the ambiance!

Dolly: Oh dear.

Madame Annagogic: Sorry, no refunds.

Film buff

I was up bright and early this morning in order to get on top of my ironing. I was just finishing off the pile of tights when I got a phone call from my photographer friend, Richard. He wanted to know if I'd had any experience with the local cinema as there's a new film coming out called Rio that apparently involves some hang gliding. I told him that I'd had plenty of memorable experiences in many cinemas both local and distant but couldn't see the relevance to any hang gliding apart from going prone a few times. He mumbled something about bad publicity and hung up - I never quite know what he's on about. I'll have to chase him for more details.
Just as I put the phone down I thought I detected our postman Jeremy with some letters. Then I distinctly heard him drop one in the porch - he's no manners that boy - so I sauntered downstairs to see what he'd delivered. Amongst the usual Boden catalogues and car maintenance class fliers was, funnily enough, a letter from a worried hang glider pilot tentatively involved in filming:

Dear Doreen
I have recently been approached by a small film company. They told me they are looking for a young man who is willing to risk all for fame and fortune. They want me to fly into a lake at 50 mph - or more if I can manage it - but with no clothes on. Should I wear a life jacket do you think?
Yours, Kenton Dyeworker


Dear Kenton,
I think you should risk less than all. Posthumous fame is so overrated. Tell them to go jump in a lake and you'll throw in a hang glider.
I hope this helps, Doreen.