The Quirky Life of P

Humor and satire revolving around Mr P- a fictional mix of an avatar of Mr Bean and the veritable Bertram Wooster of Wodehouse fame.

Archive for the category “Neighbour”

P gets stuck with a P…… word

P had nothing to write on the daily prompt;

This one word had him stomped;

For words with the meaning of plunder,

He was determined to keep asunder

From his life, simple and quirky

And even from his vocabulary!

 

P’s neighbour: “Hey P, it’s good to see you tending to your garden. What’s up?”

P: “Well, the Daily prompt today was a word that I don’t gel with and I decided to give it a miss. So I had some time on my hands…”

P’s neighbour: “Good! At least now you will be able to get rid of all those overgrown weeds. They are not only sore on the eyes but the pests and vermin they harbour come over the fence and pillage my herbs and sprouts…”

P rushes back inside his home even without a goodbye, to turn on his laptop and go to his blog….

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P Keeps a Secret

Can you keep a secret? Have you ever — intentionally or not — spilled the beans (when you should’ve stayed quiet)? -DAILY PROMPT

 TANKA

P could never keep

Secrets all to himself with

Inadvertent slips

Dogging his quirky life and

Letting cats out of the bags.

 

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P saw his neighbour going out to get the newspaper in the morning and hollered out “Happy Birthday for Yesterday, Chris!”

Neighbour, eyebrows curled in puzzle: “???????”

P wondered why his neighbour’s lips seemed to be so locked and sealed. He guessed it could be because he had not turned up for the party the previous evening. P sprinted close to the fence to offer his apologies.

P: “Please say sorry to your daughter for me. When she phoned last week, I had promised to be at the surprise birthday party but I could not make it last evening.”

Neighbour with a quirk to his lips:  “?????  Ah!”

P: “You know I saw you several times during the day yesterday. It was hard keeping my trap shut, not wishing you all the best then, but your daughter wanted the party to be a big surprise for you and I wanted to prove everybody wrong and show how well I could keep a secret!”

P noted that his neighbour was still not talking much, but laughter glinted his eyes and his lips were quivering with suppressed mirth.

P: “Well, How did the party go?”

Neighbour: “Oh! I won’t know till it’s over. My birthday is today!”

 

Locked and Sealed

Full Tanka

Origin of the Suspicious

The phone was still crackling a bit and P made a mental note to call in the technician once again. P’s neighbour had phoned him in the morning and the reception was so poor, he could barely understand what was said.  Piecing together the bits and pieces he managed to hear over the static noise and crackle, it appeared to him that P’s urgent help was needed. The neighbour was invited to the local high school to give a talk that evening, and he had sought P’s help in preparing the lecture. P had always portrayed himself to have a questing and scientific bent of mind.

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As soon as P finished his lunch, he sat down to scribble his ideas down. The topic was “The Origin of the Suspicious” and P considered himself to be well equipped to take the task head on.

After all he had listened to Elvis Presley’s “Suspicious minds” so many times….

However, when P really set himself to write the matter down, he discovered that he did not have a clue on the science of the “Origin of the Suspicious.”

Then it struck him! “Eureka! May be, they need something fictional as in those Daily Post WordPress weekly writing challenges!”

Without much ado, he gave a free rein to his imagination and started writing….

“Long, long ago, there was no suspicion. People had total faith in anything and everything… For example, if P would stand by his windows upstairs, playing with the curtains, his neighbour would never suspect him of prying… If P would wave and smile at his neighbour across the fence, his neighbour would never suspect P of having devious plans to sweet talk him into lending his Porsche Panamera to P later in the day. And the list went on…

Honest people were happy because they never suspected they were being swindled and swindlers were happy because they never suspected that they were suspected…. In other words, it was Utopia. People trusted each other and animals trusted each other. The deer would trustingly offer its nape to the lion and the lion would trust the deer not to make a life-saving dash any time…

deerlion

Perhaps you would have by now noticed what was wrong with this Utopia… Of course it was just that the honest and the good were at the losing end. This was totally unacceptable to the Universal Spirit. Something had to be done urgently to help the survival mechanism of all beings. So the Universal spirit blended all the relevant potions and magic and ABRA-CA-DABRA…the seeds of suspicion were created.

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Even though the seeds of suspicion were created, it was still a Herculean task for the Universal spirit to get them into living beings. All methods were tried and the universal labs were employed round the clock to come up with answers. Finally there was success as the seeds of suspicion were transformed into pieces of DNA called genes of suspicion.

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These genes were embedded as mutations in the genetic make-up of organisms, changing their perspective on survival and they became suspicious, but some more so… (“such as my neighbour”, thought P, but he did not write this down). This is the tale of the Origin of the Suspicious.”

With these facts written down, P took his afternoon nap and at 4 pm in the evening, he walked across to his neighbour and gave him the write-up.

Expectantly he waited for appreciation but he was flabbergasted and his jaw fell open when his neighbour said “Well, you have managed to get the word survival here, and genetic make-up and DNA here. Other than that, how does this discuss Darwin’s ‘The Origin of Species?’”

P reminded himself once again to call the technician to sort out the problem of his telephone as soon as possible.

In the Beginning

In The Beginning There Was No Football….

Football was in the air and P was limping with a bandaged right foot.  He had been watching the game between USA and Germany and he had been cheering and supporting USA. At the eighty-sixth minute the Americans had had a chance to snatch an equaliser but the opportunity evaporated as Dempsey, who was fed in a promising position by Yedlin, couldn’t put the final ball in the right path. However, P who was sitting on the sofa, totally and vicariously involved with the game, had involuntarily hit out with his leg to kick the ball and his foot had struck the coffee table.

 

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P was now reading about how the Uruguayan player, Luis Suarez, was expelled for biting an Italian player during the game on Tuesday. “Sad,” P muttered. “Was he fighting tooth and nail for victory?” P shook his head and shrugged. P would rather bite into many things… sausages, sandwiches, steaks, potatoes and even vegetables… But biting Italians… It was way off his league….
His mind on football, the day’s newspaper now resting on his chest, he leant back on the sofa and pondered on the origin of the game. He had heard stories about world’s early footballs being made from pig’s bladder, but how exactly did it start as a game was P’s question. He let his imagination take reigns…

Long, long ago, when the ice age had started to melt and the world was coming to life again, there was this early human called P who lived in a cave. He was still looking for a partner, but it was hard in those times as nobody ventured out for long because it was still cold.  Almost everything was coated in ice those days and even if a would-be partner had come knocking on his cave door, he would not have been able to distinguish her from any wild beast. So, P lived all alone in his cave and he had a neighbour who lived all alone in a cave just opposite.

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One day a wild pig wandered into P’s cave parlour and he slaughtered it for food. As he cut open the pig with his sharp stones, he found a sac like organ with a tube like structure, under the belly skin of the pig. He carefully cut it out and inspected it. He tried to look through the opening of the tube.. He tried pulling at the tube.. He tried sucking the tube.. And then he blew through the hole on one end of the tube. To his amazement the sac grew bigger and bigger. When he was finally out of breath, he tied up the ends to keep the air in the sac which was now filled out in the shape of a ball.

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P watched the ball proudly and played with it with his hands. After a while he got bored and left the  ball well alone for a few days. Those days, everything was coated in ice and things did not spoil easily. Then on a day of blistering ice fall, P was cave bound. He had nothing to do other than scratch figures on his cave wall. He was wondering if his neighbour whom he had seen going out earlier had returned back to his cave, but P did not want to venture out in the wet ice to check. P suddenly had a brilliant idea. He brought out his  ball and kicked it across to the other cave. No sooner had it rolled in through the entrance of the cave, than his neighbour appeared at the opening with the ball and kicked it back to P. P grinned and kicked the ball back to the neighbour who returned it promptly again. This continued for some time and both found that using their feet to kick the ball to the opposite side was really fun… and the world’s first football game was born!

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Now that P had solved the origin of the football game, his thoughts wandered to the ball he himself had made from a pig’s bladder. Just when the world cup football games had started, he had read about how they made footballs in Victorian times. He then had gone to the nearby slaughter-house and procured a pig’s bladder after paying a hefty sum. The butcher had thought that there was some ulterior motive behind P’s demand for a pig’s bladder and had decided to charge him accordingly. Back home, P had washed the bladder in water and he blew air into the bladder using a straw as he had seen it being described in the book “Little House in the Big Woods”, by Laura Ingalls Wilder. To make a football as they did in Victorian times, he had to put it in the oven and bake it for 45 minutes on low heat. However, all the efforts of procuring and washing the bladder, and the innumerable attempts at filling it with air before he finally succeeded, had drained him of his energy and he had postponed the baking till after his afternoon nap.
Suddenly, P realised the reason for the all-pervading foul odour that was shrouding his house for the past few days. He had forgotten all about baking the bladder ball and it was the era of global warming and not just after the ice age! He rushed to the kitchen cabinet where he had last left the ball. When he located the ball he decided that not only could he not play football with his his sore foot, he also somehow had to get rid of the stinky ball ASAP. So he sent it flying over the fence to his neighbour’s backyard. It promptly came flying back from the other side with a lot of expletives and P now also understood how the game of handball could have originated!

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In the beginning

Neighbourly expectations….. continued

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This Saturday, P decided to do some gardening. P wanted to clear his neighbour’s misconstrued ideas of his horticultural capabilities, especially after the tirade he received the other day.

Always eager to help, P had volunteered to look after his neighbour’s garden while he went away for a month. P had assured him that the plants would be watered twice daily. The summer was very dry. However, other whims and other fancies beset him and P managed to head to the garden, only the day just prior to his neighbour’s return. The plants had betrayed him and lay straggled and desiccated. They remained dead and wilted even though he drenched them thoroughly.

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Albeit a bit shaken, P had expected his neighbour to merely shrug and view the situation jovially…. That was not how things turned out though!

Adding to the insult was his neighbour’s reaction a week later when P had nourished his own little garden. To P’s chagrin he received a call from the city council and he had to spend one entire afternoon getting the fish meal buried in the soil, rather than liberally spread all around the plants. P considered his neighbour’s complaint to be very unreasonable. A fish can swim, or bounce up and down in water. A fish can pout at you as his gold-fish does sometimes. But to expect dead fish not to smell ………..wasn’t that irrational?

However, despite his neighbour’s irksome behaviour, it was a glorious Saturday and P wanted to mend fences with him. He started singing the “garden rhyme”, hoping it would touch his neighbour’s heart, occasionally eyeing the graveyard of a garden on the other side of the fence.

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Mary, Mary, quite contrary

How does your garden grow?………….

P wasn’t sure if his neighbour’s windows slammed shut just then……………

 

Flash Fiction  

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