Last night was a bit raucous

That was a lively session last night with everyone making valuable, poignant and amazing contributions.

Our warm up, our mental jogging, our "get focused" prompt was to write as many words as possible in a given time beginning with the letter "B". Here goes:

Bravo, bugle, bugger, blasted, big, barn, bales, blather, bond, bridge, bum, bump, bumps, bumpy, base, basic, bastard, buggeration, Berwick, Beswick, Brunswick, bumper, battalion, Bridget, Brian, Barney, Bob, biathlon, bionic, Barnstaple, Berks, Bucks and Bedford

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Last week's prompt was "Lucky Escape"

On the board outside the stable office were listed the names of the horses and which of us from the group would be riding them.

   Alex had Shiny Copper, Anna had Silver Destiny, Peter had Miller’s Tale and I had Risky Venture. We went to the stables to find our respective mounts, tacked up them up and pull them out to the courtyard walking them in hand. All before seven on a January morning.  If it wasn’t for the overhead lights we would have been stumbling around in the dark like blind dogs in a butcher’s shop.

   “Alan” the instructor bellowed “Swap Risky for Miller’s Tale with Peter.”

   Most riding instructors, especially racing one only have to volumes, bellowing and shouting.

   Peter and I swapped and returned to the walking circle. We were all legged up. Girths and stirrups checked and we left the yard. Once away from the yard there was only partial daylight. A couple of late stars hung in the darkness. What light there was illuminated dustings of frost on the ground and in the horses’ manes.

   Peter and Risky were behind me. We left the driveway and went on to the turf.

   “Jump Peter! Jump!” the instructor shouted.

   There was a bit of a commotion going on behind me. I turned around and there was Peter sprawled on the ground. Next to him Risky was lying on his back with his legs galloping in the air. He had decided now was as good a time as any to shake off his rider. Have a stretch, crumple on to the ground and get rid of his tack

   The rest of us waited while they put Risky back together again so Peter could get back on board. He rode up beside me.

   “You alright?” I asked.

   “Sort of mate…you were lucky.”

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A book of idioms was passed around and each of us had to choose an idiom from its pages at random. My eyes landed on "To make hay from". Then we had to choose a piece of paper at random which gave us he style we had to write in. I got "Western".

"Howdy there pardner. How y'all going?"

"Real good, real good."

"Say, weren't you arrested the other day by the Sherriff?"

"Yep, I sure was. Some jumped up charge. said i'd been stealing batteries. Danged if I knows what a durn battery is. Goddammit! If I don't know what one looks like how could I steal one?"

"Sure thing pardner."

"Sure thing. Still have to stay positive."

"Ye free now?"

"Sort of, They aint got no evidence but thems a lookin. You know me though. Soons they find any I'm ever ready to defend misself."

"You out on bale then?"

"Yep. Sure thing."

"No restrictions?"

"Nope."

"let's all go down Calhoon's farm then. He's got his first cut. We could earn some serious dollars makin hay."

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The prompt was "The Moment of Truth". This was set as a free writing exercise and as we wrote our mentor read out random words at random intervals that we somehow had to incorporate in the story. These random words are emboldened.

THE MOMENT OF TRUTH

The envelopes fell through the letter box.

Gosh, there had been so many. Some I opened then recycled. Some I just recycled. They just kept coming like they were rolling off of some great bureaucratic production line, which of course they were but no one else in the house knew what they were about. I would have to say something one day. Maybe tomorrow?

Those I did open were bland impersonal corporate or government department speak and always ended with the same conclusion. The days they didn't drop through the letterbox meant one less thing to worry about for another day.

The silence was disturbing like the way Japanese Knotweed encroaches on the life of the water strangling all in its path. still, I could turn my hand to clearing this pesky weed, positively salivating over the cash I could earn as a Japanese knotweed specialist. Clearing the brooks and and ponds would give the freshwater crustaceans a chance to live. Just like me who was almost delirious at the prospect of no more envelopes. Then one day as part of a life changing plan I flogged off the contents of the house including the weed clearing equipment. It was then that I found a long ago discarded bag of skunk. All those days long ago are behind me. To get rid of it I tiptoed down the drive and threw them into my neighbour's hedge. They were both police officers. The last thing to go from the garage was the chainsaw. Oh my days, I remember using it on the neighbour's trees. He was a right Cockney who when he put on his Pearly King suit would pull a good gurning face. Bloody ugly he was but his Big Ben was a sight to behold and that is not a euphimism.

Then they arrived the sort of 30ishs omethings in a red van and wearing red suits. They gave me an envelope from the Postcode Lottery....

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This was one of the most enjoyable sessions we have eve had.

And sadly that was whe I had to put the pen down on this exercise. Our evening was over and it was time to go home.

Tune in for next week's essay based on the prompt "Things Fall Apart".