h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

(Not sure if this is the essay thread, but I have wrote a lot of prose!)

Ethel and I.


When I got home from alloutment, I saw Ethel by yon window.

You know, some folk move about a lot, and their memories get diluted in new realities. Ethel & I, we've lived in same house nigh on 55 years, that is a lot of memories, a ruddy lot of memories.

On the mantlepiece, at last over a gas fire to make it easier for us in mornin', is a photograph of whom were the pup of our three sons; David on his motorbike. Why is it there? For it were same ruddy bike that had ended his young life, that it were, weren't his fault they say, charlies found the stolen van what did it some mile ahead.

Twenty-two were lad, David's bike had hardly a mark on it, and I expect as poor pup lay dying he noticed that his pride & joy were still A-One.

Ethel, house-proud in most ways, didn't like dusting, said dust were bits of those who once walked the Earth. Said we make the dust & we will become the dust, dust were sacred like.

Royt sentimental Ethel be, suppose I were too. Anyroad, I came back from digging, with two cabbages and a few parsnips, I put veg in kitchen and walked to window. "Alroyt me duck?" I asked.

"Just thinking Fred," she sighed, "thinking of the past."

Later on as she were cooking the parsnips and the smell flooded house, belonged to railway, house did, I bought it, rest in row is private too.

Now railways gone, pit gone, steel-works all but gone. We get fair bit of trouble from youngsters, but they only be bored with Renishaw.

Anyroad, Ethel were cooking parsnips in kitchen when I heard her go upstairs.

"Royt strange" I thought, and I followed her up. She were bleating on bed.

In the distance were sound of motorbike reving up, only other sound were Fluffy, our cat, snoring on bedroom mat.

"Come on luv, make you a nice cuppa!"

Lass looked at me and lit a fag, "Hab thou forgotten what today be Fred?"

"Nay lass" I said, "Would have been pup's birthday, I ain't forgotten."

The motorbike roared past our house and melted into the distance, when it were gone, birds were singing on our garden tree.

"Better see to dinner" Ethel said, smoke drifting up towards the ceiling.

Lord Pineapple.