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Keith Kreates – original fiction, rhyme and photography ↓ JAVASCRIPT IS DISABLED. Please enable JavaScript on your browser to best view this site. Keith Kreates original fiction, rhyme and photography Home Fiction Albert & Jarvis MS Waist of Space Martinus mendax The Orphans Short Stories Kreative Kues (my stories) Rhyme Limericks Rhymes Photography Publications In progress About me Contact me Home 1 2 3 … 342 343 >> Search for: Log in Post navigation ← Older posts Kreative Kue 89 Posted on 8 August, 2016 by Keith ChanningAugust 7, 2016 Each Monday brings a new picture prompt. Last week, Kreative Kue 88 asked for submissions based on this photograph: John W Howell, author of MyGRL and His Revenge, who blogs at Fiction Favorites, sent: The catch by John W. Howell ? 2016 “So when you set the trap didn’t you wonder that it was a little big?” “I didn’t think about it at the time. I was worried that I would get caught in it myself.” “How on earth did you get those trap jaws separated and set?” “That was tricky. I had to get a tree limb and leverage the jaws open. I then jumped for my life hoping the trigger would hold.” “Who put you up to this anyway?” “Old Trapper John. He sold me the trap and told me I would be in National Geographic and get a reward if I caught the thing.” “How did you get the trap into the woods. It weighs a ton.” “Old John has a tractor, and he hauled it in for me.” “Why didn’t you call anyone for help?” “What? If I did that, I would have to split the reward.” “How about now? You’ve got us all hauling this thing out of the woods. You didn’t think twice about asking for help after the trap was sprung.” “Well I figured since there would be no reward Y’all would take pity on me and help.” “You know we are all right here. Why tell us to our face that we are fools?” “I didn’t mean that. I’m very grateful for the help.” “Why no reward?” “I didn’t trap the right thing.” “Well, this is big and heavy enough to be the right thing. What’s the problem.” “Take a look. What you are hauling isn’t an animal it’s a hot air balloon. The damn balloon came down right on my trap.” “What happened to the occupants?” “They all scattered, and that’s why I called you guys.” “If this isn’t an animal why do you have to haul it out of the woods?” “Cause the pilot said he would beat my butt if I didn’t.” “Hmmm. The pilot definitely has an idea.” My effort was I think I’ve pulled! A group of a dozen strong men Went on a balloon ride, and then The moment we landed We had, single-handed, To fold the balloon up again. We’d floated serenely up there Aided just by a load of hot air It was so very light For the length of the flight; Could have taken us just anywhere. But once it was back on the ground It weighed almost eight hundred pound To pull on that lot Took more than we’d got As, to our great chagrin, we found. The reason for our little fix Was that twelve had become only six. The others had gone With their leader, wee Ron, That’s one of their favourite tricks. The crew said champagne they would rustle, As reward for the difficult tussle. We suggested a horse Could pull harder, of course, And wouldn’t risk tearing a muscle. But we swallowed our so-bitter pill, Pulled so hard we made ourselves ill. Not one was a quitter And it made us fitter For this year’s tug-of-war on the hill. Disclosure – I think I should tell That the flight carried women as well. You’re sufficiently wise To see right through my lies, And that said, I shall bid you farewell. On to this week’s challenge:Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; and either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at keithkreates@channing.fr before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here – pingbacks don’t work. Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries, with links to your own blog or web site, next Monday. Share this: Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Google+ (Opens in new window) Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window) Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Click to share on Stumble Me (Opens in new window) Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Click to print (Opens in new window) Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window) Like this: Like Loading... Posted in Kreative Kues, Writing | Tagged challenge, limericks, people, response, stories | Leave a reply My week — mostly relaxing Posted on 7 August, 2016 by Keith ChanningAugust 7, 2016 This, in case you didn’t know, is Eos. Eos likes running through undergrowth and collecting sticky-buds. We adopted her six months ago from the Refuge Canin Lotois, in Cahors. She wound up there after, as far as we can ascertain, having had a pretty rough time of it. Being a rescued dog, her history is largely unknown, and it is to be expected that she will have some issues to deal with. We talked about it here. Since being with us, her confidence has improved massively, and some of the skin problems she had have improved similarly. A few weeks ago, we took her camping with friends Rob and Julie. We were on a site that was far from busy, though it was apparent from the start that Eos still had problems with strangers, and showed real fear in the presence of children. Bear with me; you’ll see where I’m going with this shortly. Fortunately, her fear reaction is not to stand her ground and fight (which could be a serious problem for us), but to run away and hide. That we can deal with, and we have an ongoing programme of gently exposing her to her bêtes noires in an attempt to desensitise her. We know that this won’t be a quick process. On Tuesday, we drove to Le Paradis du Campeur, a camping site in Rocamadour. When we arrived, the site was quiet, more than the picture below shows, since most of the units contained older couples, and many were only one-night visitors. This was a more typical view; Trevor outside keeping watch, Eos in her new safe place, the site all but empty. We recently bought ourselves a drive-away awning. This was mostly to give extra space, but also helps to keep our claim on the pitch on those days we decide to go out. It had the unplanned added advantage of enlarging Eos’ safe place by a dozen square metres.On Wednesday, we drove the hour or so to Cahors, and visited the refuge that was home for Eos for a while. They were delighted to see her, and remarked on how well she is looking, and on her increased levels of confidence and generally more happy state than they recalled. On our return to the site, we noticed on the entrance board a sign bearing the word ‘complet‘ – full. This wasn’t good news for us. It was early in the main holiday period, every pitch on the site was occupied, and the play area was full of – you guessed it – children. Our periodic walk around the site with the dogs was suddenly something to be dreaded – particularly by a certain young lady who has a deep fear of diminutive humans. For the rest of the week, we walked her around the site at least twice daily, using all manner of reassuring devices to keep her calm, but she hasn’t got there yet. Trevor, on the other hand… Trevor has his places. Places from which he can observe anything going on, and from where he can launch himself outside, to express his views on whatever he has seen. We have become rather adept at developing what you might call thwarting techniques.You can no doubt understand, as Eos found it so difficult in the camp site (it’s the first time I’ve ever had a dog pull me back home in the middle of a walk), why we didn’t try to take her down into the old city. We tried a number of alternative walks where she could feel at ease, and eventually found one that we had used on an earlier visit; a near-deserted lane running to the railway station, some three kilometres cross-country. That gave us a total walk of 6km, which was good for us, and for the dogs. We pushed her a little, and with positive results. On two occasions, we used a local restaurant for dinner. We knew that Trevor would behave; he’s done it all before; and we were delighted that, after initial nervous, restless fidgeting, Eos settled under the table while we ate. Her attitude told us that she was still nervous, but we hope that she knew that we wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. And the food was good. The first restaurant we used was French, the second featured the cuisine of the Island of Mauritius. And very nice it was, too. In all, we spent a relaxing and enjoyable week. The only downside for us was the weakness of the available WiFi signal. The only way we could go online involved sitting directly outside the office. You can imagine how busy that bench turned out to be. I’m afraid I used up my entire month’s data on the phone (500MB) in three days, and still didn’t get anything like as much done as I wanted. But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Thursday evening featured heavy rain and (mercifully) distant thunder. As if to apologise, Friday’s sunset was spectacular: And a large, low crescent-moon was crying out to be photographed. Well; did you seriously expect me not to? We were surprised at how light the traffic was. Initially, we had some reservations about a camping trip at this time, because August traffic in many parts of France is, bluntly, ‘orrible. Driving home on Saturday, we found that the midsummer madness started a week later that we expected. We needed to stop off to let the dogs do what dogs need to do, but parking on any of the aires – even the little picnic spots – was impossible. We ended up stopping at the side of the road leading back to the autoroute. All the cars you see in this picture are parked! We experienced some delay on the A20, but I think that was the aftermath of a breakdown or something. We were travelling north and east. The traffic going south and west, on the other carriageway, was horrendous. It’s a good job we went when we did. I’ll leave you with a few images captured last night, of a clutch of swallow chicks in a tree close to our terrace. Not as sharp as I would like, but enough to give an impression of the scene that so captivated us. Share this: Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Google+ (Opens in new window) Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window) Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Click to share on Stumble Me (Opens in new window) Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Click to print (Opens in new window) Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window) Like this: Like Loading... Posted in Life in France | Tagged camper, camping, dogs, Eos, pets, Rocamadour, Trevor | 4 Replies Silent Sunday — sustaining swallows Share this: Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Google+ (Opens in new window) Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window) Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Click to share on Stumble Me (Opens in new window) Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Click to print (Opens in new window) Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window) Like this: Like Loading... 7 August, 2016 by Keith Channing Posted in Photography 1 Reply Sunday serialisation – The Orphans, 11.1 Posted on 7 August, 2016 by Keith ChanningAugust 7, 2016 The Orphans is mostly set in the rural Tanzania I remember from the early 1980s, but some of the technologies used are much more recent. To that extent, it is anachronistic. Don’t forget, though; it is fictional, made up, lies. All of it. Max Matham is a self-employed freelance forensic accountant living in a quiet village in Buckinghamshire. Della Jont is a hard-nosed businesswoman who presses Max into working for her, investigating alleged financial irregularities at an orphanage in East Africa. Max soon finds that some disturbing things are going on at the orphanage, and becomes involved in a set of intriguing events involving orphans, government agencies, witch-doctors, an old university chum and a multinational pharmaceutical company. Beginning on 10 January 2016, I shall publish The Orphans here as a serial; one scene each Sunday. The full list of scenes so far published is here The Orphans. Chapter Eleven, scene one: The first day of my new life. And so another phase of my life came to an end. Goodbye Max Matham, Berkshire-based independent forensic accountant; hello Max Matham, Tanzania-based (for the time being at least) company director. I promised myself though, that whatever the demands of my new jobs, my quest for decent, humane treatment of HIV-positive orphans in Tanzania would stay uppermost in my mind. Dar-es-Salaam was almost unbearably hot and humid after spring in Buckinghamshire; the sights, sounds and smells of the city in stark contrast with the silence and tranquility of my cottage. As soon as I arrived at Nocturne, which I accepted as my home for the foreseeable future, I called Marcia, only to find that Paul was out of the country and not planning to return for a week or two. No matter; that gave me time to work on getting KIT up and running. My first call was a visit to Dick Branson. I gave him all the paperwork Hannice’s London team had prepared, together with the relevant Power of Attorney and Notice of Appointment of Director, which he would have to have notarised. We were both confident that he would have no difficulties having the new company properly registered and licensed, but he was at pains to point out that the procedure could take up to five weeks to complete. At that stage, I was Financial Director and acting CEO of Knight Trading (Africa), and CEO designate of the prospective Knight Investments (Tanzania) Ltd. Quite a change from the free-spirited (well, almost) bean-counter who had arrived in Tanzania, only a matter of months earlier, to look into the finances of a remote orphanage. When I met with It didn’t look as though word of my situation had reached. This was not the meeting they were expecting. “As you probably know,” I told the TanzCap directors when I met with them, “Ms Jont has released me from my employment with her, and I shall no longer act as chairman of this board.” I swear I could hear jawbones hitting the table. Wangwe objected, “We should have proper documents for this. Such a major change must be supported by documents.” “Quite right, Mr Wangwe,” I said, “here is a copy of my termination notice and of the cancelled Power of Attorney. I trust that will satisfy your needs.” That placated Wangwe for a while, although I sensed there was more he wanted to say. Thakur sat there muttering something and shaking his head. The only words I could make out were “highly irregular”. Fonseca alone appeared totally unfazed by the news. “Does that mean we no longer have to sell our share in JPT?” he asked. “My understanding, Mr Fonseca, is that it does not mean that,” I said. “Ms Jont’s reasons for wanting to dispose of that asset haven’t changed. Whether she will send someone else to do my job, I don’t know, but I believe that this divestment should go ahead as planned.” After a brief pause, I added, “However, I am no longer authorised to speak for JCap or Ms Jont, so you will need to contact her if you need confirmation.” “But we do not have a relationship with Ms Jont,” Thakur objected, “our relationship is with Jont Capital (India), who report to Ms Jont through JC Europe.” “No longer my problem, Mr Thakur,” I said, “although if you want to follow protocol, you could mak your request through JCI and copy it to Ms Jont.” “Ah! That is indeed a good suggestion. Thank you, Madam Chairman.” By this time, I was keen to get away from this group. “No longer chairman, Mr Thakur, but thank you for your courtesy,” I said, standing and symbolically moving away from the board table. “Now, will one of you directors please take the chair of this meeting and declare it closed?” I requested, “I have other business to attend to.” The other business I mentioned was, of course, nothing to do with TanzCap or its directors, and I had no intention of discussing it with them. For the time being, there was no need for them to know of my involvement with Knight Trading, although I was sure it would not take long for it to reach Fonseca’s ears. As far as I was concerned at that moment, the only business I would have with them would be to conclude the transfer of shares in JPT from TanzCap to KIT. Returning to my new home, I called the orphanage and arranged with Makena for me to visit them the following week. I felt that I needed to keep them in the loop, so they wouldn’t think I was still working for Della. That was my excuse; in fact, I fancied a trip into the country and there was little for me to do here until KIT was up and running. While in England, I had bought some security equipment that would allow me to sweep the orphanage for listening devices, to put Kitwana Nchimbi’s mind at rest. I sensed that he thought it a real possibility that the place was bugged. I did a test sweep of Nocturne, partly to prove the equipment and partly to make sure that I wasn’t being eavesdropped. The scanner found only the listening device in the gatehouse, which I already knew about. “I’d like to take another trip out on Friday or Saturday,” I said to Kanene as she was serving dinner. “Ooh,” Kanene replied, excitedly, “can we go see Sekelaga and the children again?” “Good idea, Kanene. We’ll do that on Friday,” I said, “then on Monday, I’m taking a trip to Ruvuma, to visit some friends who run an orphanage on the shore of Lake Malawi. I plan to leave early on Monday morning and be back by Friday evening. Would you like to come with me?” The expression on her face changed rapidly. Gone was the excitement about seeing her friend again, only to be replaced by what looked almost like fear. The prospect of a five-day trip into a part of this vast country that she hadn’t previously visited was not one that she faced happily. “I don’t know,” she said, “Perhaps my father will think the trip is to a dangerous place, or he may need me in the week.” “Ask him,” I suggested. Believing her father to be Afolabi Fonseca, the TanzCap director, I added, “Tell him that we are going to visit the Jont Orphanage in Ruvuma. That way he will be able to look it up and see that it is not in a dangerous area.” If my hunch was right, and Afolabi was Kanene’s father, then his reaction to that information would tell me a lot more than just his attitude towards his daughter’s safety. Share this: Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Google+ (Opens in new window) Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window) Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Click to share on Stumble Me (Opens in new window) Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Click to print (Opens in new window) Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window) Like this: Like Loading... Posted in The Orphans, Writing | 3 Replies Throwback Thursday (2) — 4 August 2009 Who’s a mucky pup, then? Shitsu has just come in from playing in the garden. Share this: Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Google+ (Opens in new window) Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window) Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Click to share on Stumble Me (Opens in new window) Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Click to print (Opens in new window) Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window) Like this: Like Loading... 4 August, 2016 by Keith Channing Posted in Photography Tagged personal history Reply Post navigation ← Older posts Keith Channing Officially retired since 2014 (less officially since 2006), I live in the middle of France with my wife Clare and our two dogs, Jack Russell 'Trevor' and new girl, Labrit cross 'Eos' (rhymes with chaos). I call myself a writer, rarely a poet and occasionally a photographer - I make up and write lies for the sheer pleasure of doing it; some of them rhyme, but most don't. These lies, both of the rhyming and non-rhyming types, usually end up on my blog, as do some of the photographs I have taken from time to time. Oh yes, INFJ-T. View Full Profile → Social media View keith.channing’s profile on Facebook View @keithchanning’s profile on Twitter View KeithChanning’s profile on Google+ Copyright Except where expressly stated, all content on this site, including the Keith Kreates? name and logo, is created and owned by me. Keith Kreates? by Keith Channing is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. Subscribe via Email Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email. Join 383 other subscribers Email Address Follow options Follow this blog Follow RSS Link RSS - Posts Visitors Since 20/05/2016 Last five posts Kreative Kue 89 My week — mostly relaxing Silent Sunday — sustaining swallows Sunday serialisation – The Orphans, 11.1 Throwback Thursday (2) — 4 August 2009 Top five recent posts Sunday serialisation - The Orphans, 11.1 Silent Sunday — sustaining swallows Wordless Wednesday, 3 August 2016 Throwback Thursday (2) — 4 August 2009 My week — mostly relaxing Archives Archives Select Month August 2016 (10) July 2016 (50) June 2016 (49) May 2016 (57) April 2016 (85) March 2016 (57) February 2016 (48) January 2016 (36) December 2015 (57) November 2015 (48) October 2015 (56) September 2015 (42) August 2015 (55) July 2015 (57) June 2015 (66) May 2015 (71) April 2015 (67) March 2015 (37) February 2015 (34) January 2015 (39) December 2014 (39) November 2014 (43) October 2014 (36) September 2014 (34) August 2014 (26) July 2014 (21) June 2014 (11) May 2014 (16) April 2014 (32) March 2014 (16) February 2014 (16) January 2014 (4) December 2013 (4) November 2013 (4) October 2013 (3) September 2013 (4) August 2013 (4) July 2013 (4) June 2013 (6) May 2013 (4) April 2013 (4) March 2013 (5) February 2013 (4) January 2013 (4) December 2012 (4) November 2012 (3) October 2012 (3) September 2012 (4) August 2012 (2) July 2012 (5) June 2012 (4) May 2012 (2) April 2012 (5) March 2012 (4) February 2012 (4) January 2012 (4) December 2011 (2) November 2011 (4) October 2011 (4) September 2011 (4) August 2011 (4) July 2011 (5) June 2011 (5) May 2011 (5) April 2011 (5) March 2011 (4) February 2011 (4) January 2011 (5) December 2010 (4) November 2010 (3) October 2010 (5) September 2010 (4) August 2010 (5) July 2010 (4) June 2010 (4) May 2010 (5) April 2010 (5) March 2010 (4) February 2010 (4) January 2010 (5) December 2009 (4) November 2009 (5) October 2009 (4) September 2009 (7) August 2009 (7) July 2009 (5) June 2009 (5) May 2009 (6) April 2009 (4) March 2009 (5) February 2009 (4) January 2009 (3) December 2008 (5) November 2008 (5) October 2008 (3) September 2008 (5) August 2008 (5) July 2008 (6) June 2008 (7) May 2008 (5) April 2008 (4) March 2008 (5) February 2008 (4) January 2008 (4) December 2007 (5) November 2007 (4) October 2007 (5) September 2007 (5) August 2007 (4) July 2007 (5) June 2007 (4) May 2007 (3) April 2007 (11) March 2007 (6) February 2007 (6) January 2007 (6) December 2006 (11) November 2006 (8) Badges etc. Tags Astra autumn Auvergne birds blogging camper challenge characters children christmas Clare cloudscapes dogs Eos France humour insects Kreative Kue landscape limericks moon NATO phonetic alphabet nature novel people personal history pets photography response scenery seasons SoCS South Africa spring stories structures sunset Tanzania time travel transport Trevor Ulysse weather wildlife Writers Bureau My travel map Get your own travel map from Matador Network. ?2016 - Keith Kreates Proudly powered by WordPress - Weaver Xtreme by WeaverTheme ↑ Send to Email Address Your Name Your Email Address Cancel Post was not sent - check your email addresses! 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