It was that time of year again, time for the clocks to go forward, Plot’s least favourite time of the year. Not only did she have to remember what clocks were telling the current time; (the cooker was set to British Summertime, and the hard to reach clock in the Living Room was set to British Wintertime), but she had to do it with less sleep.
The potential for a right royal cluterfuck was ripe, but the one silver lining was the new car, like her phone was more technologically capable than she was, and both managed to reset their own times, without Plot’s intervention.
To be fair to the old car, the clock was one of the few remaining things that still worked when it eventually gave up the ghost, but had proved impossible to change, so for precisely half of the time Plot owned the car, it showed the wrong time. She wondered about the ghost in the machine, and whether in this case it had a sense of humour; she figured that it must do since of all the times the car could break down, it picked the occasion when she was dressed as Christmas Elf. Something she still hadn’t quite got over.
She went for a bit of a wander to take her mind off previous embarrassment and found April Mundy, who was looking for an opponent in a game of Merrill’s. Plot wondered if April was a bit of a hustler under a very respectable façade, but when it turned out that Merrill’s was just another name for Nine-Men’s-Morris she agreed to a best of three.
Plot had spent six months as a tour guide in a Norman Castle, and had to know some bits and pieces so that she could entertain the tourists. Nine-Men’s-Morris was one of the games that she played with visitors, it had been a while, but she was quietly confident.
After a bold start Plot realised that she should have trusted her gut instinct, April “The Hustler” Mundy could have coached Paul Newman in the movie of the same name, as she trounced Plot two nil. Plot shuffled off to the sound of April laughing uproariously, “you’ll burst your stays if you laugh any harder” Plot called back.
“It would be worth it” April replied between chuckles, “the look on your face!” and she started laughing again.
“Bloody stupid game, with a bloody stupid name” Plot grumbled to herself.
“What was that?”
Plot looked back; it was Jill from Midlife Smarts, who for some reason was dressed a bit like a Tudor Queen. Still smarting from her defeat to April, Plot was on her guard immediately. “Would it be rude to ask wtf you are up to?” she asked Jill who was brandishing a rather large broadsword.
“Oh I’m just researching a piece on the 6 wives of Henry VIII” Jill replied with a dramatic swing of the sword.
“Uh-huh? And which one are you?” Plot asked, wondering if she had missed the memo about one of the wives having a side-line in Assassin’s Creed.
“Catherine of Aragon went to war with the Scots at Flodden Field” Jill said, bringing the sword round in another wide arc.
“Careful with that thing!” yelled Plot, jumping out of the way, “I’m pretty sure she didn’t kill herself there”
Jill didn’t hear her, she was working on a complicated figure of eight movement, that didn’t really work with a broadsword. Having said that, Plot was impressed that Jill was able to swing the sword at all, given how heavy it was, and said so.
“This wee thing?” Jill replied, “No this is nothing! You should see me swing a Claymore”
That was the scariest thing Plot had heard all week, so she gave Jill a careful hug and a friendly cheerio, remembering what Phil had said about ‘goodbyes and headed on.
Walking on down the road, Plot saw something that made her look twice. She was sure she was seeing things; she thought she saw a girl with… No, she must have been imagining things, it was lack of sleep following the clocks going forward, it had to be.
Plot carried on towards Cherie’s tattoo shop, where another girl was struggling to get out the door. It was the same again; she had actual antlers attached to her butt, it was quite an impressive set. WTAF? Plot thought to herself.
Orla was looking equally bemused.
“I see Cherie’s in the studio today?” Orla giggled. “That’s the second one today”.
“I saw that” Plot replied, “The other one didn’t look too happy either! How do you know it’s Cherie though?
“Well, Dirk would probably just tattoo it on, I have a feeling that something’s got lost in translation?
Cherie came out of the shop, looking like she’d done a day in the gym, “Whoa! Those Arschgeweih are hard work” Hope there aren’t too many of those today!
“Should we tell her?” asked Orla
“Tell me what?” asked Cherie
Plot and Orla looked at each other, “Um, about the arschgeweih, that’s quite a literal translation you’ve taken there…”Orla continued, “You don’t think that maybe they…”
“They meant something else? Oh my God! I have to catch up with them! I’ll see you later” and Cherie went racing off down the road.
Orla and Plot creased themselves laughing, “Oh my! I don’t think I’ve ever seen Cherie move so fast!” Orla chuckled, “Her face was a picture, the things we say!”