50 Word Thursdays – The Catch of the Day.


From the moment we saw him most of us lived in dread of him. – Private Peaceful by Michael Morpurgo.


Last Thursday I launched this weeks 50 word Thursday challenge, that is to write something inspired by this picture and optionally including the phrase underneath it. It has to be in multiples of 50 words up to a maximum of 250 words.

It is still not too late to take part in this challenge if you’d like to, the link is below:



The designer of the statue had intended it to be an advertisement for the community. It represented our fishing industry and also our love for the sea birds that traditionally guided the fisherman to the best catch. He was proud of his masterpiece. He couldn’t possibly envision that some would see it as an obstacle of fun.

Not a day went by when some local hoodlum or scoundrel hadn’t desecrated his statue in some way.

Then came the day when he saw someone had placed a traffic cone on one of his statues arms, he completely lost his temper and went on a rampage, shouting and screaming.

I remember that day clearly. My friends and I were sitting in the main square eating fish and chips when he ran by screaming and foaming at the mouth.

From the moment we saw him most of us lived in dread of him. 

[150 words]






Tell the Story challenge – A boy on a quest.

Jeremy sat down and pulled his map out of his rucksack.

He was on a great adventure, A quest like the great knights of old. The ones he read about in school. King Arthur and the round table.

He’d packed his bag that very morning and set out into the wilderness. He’d got a strawberry jam sandwich, cut into triangles like his Mum would do. Maybe not quite as neatly, he used his penknife, which he’d blunted last year by trying to chop down a tree with it.

He also had found his dads old hipflask, it had been filled with the most disgusting looking brown liquid, ‘positively hazardous to health’, thought Jeremy as he’d tipped it down the sink, rinsed it out and replaced it with orange squash instead. It still had a funny tang to it, but then you had to put up with a lot when you went adventuring.

So armed with food and drink and dressed in his favourite pullover, bright yellow in colour, and his red hat, he’d set out. A knight had to wear bright colours to show he was on a quest, or so he’d read.

He had been gone for an hour before he decided to pull out the map and find out where he was.

Down in the old Yew tree thicket, not far from the boundary of the Kingdom.

He knew he wasn’t allowed to go any further than this point, so slowly he began to retrace his steps.

He hadn’t found any treasure on this trip, but there was always next weekend.

Just then, he heard a noise from behind a nearby bush.

Jeremy pulled out his penknife and shouted “Who goes there? Friend or Foe?”

He’d read that that was the proper thing to say when you were a Knight.

A rabbit jumped out onto the path in front of him. It looked at him with unblinking brown eyes and twitched its nose.

Jeremy thought it looked so squeezable and huggable, so he tried to catch it.

Strangely enough, the wild rabbit let him pick it up.

The quest wasn’t a failure, after all, he’d found himself a faithful pet if only his parents will let him keep it.

Holding it gently, he walked back to his castle. Or as most people saw it, the cottage in the park.

Jeremy’s father was the park’s groundskeeper and the cottage came with the job. It provided Jeremy with the best place ever to feed his imagination though.


This story was written for the Tell the Story challenge that I was tagged in by Teresa, the Haunted Wordsmith. Thank you, Teresa, for tagging me. Please click on the link and read her story here:


So now I have to nominate three people and give them a picture for them to write a story.

I have decided to nominate the person who began the Tell the Story challenge, The Eclectic Contrarian:



Laura Venturini

200 Plus




And here is your picture:












A Multiple Word Prompt Poem – A Letter from Beryl.

man posing on sea shore during daytime
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com


“Dearest Darling,

I thought I’d sit down and write you this letter,

I’m bored you see, and there’s nothing better,

I can think of to do to spend my time,

This yoga retreat is far from sublime!

I’m sick of the beach and the waves and the sea,

The nightlife is dull and there’s no variety.

I’ve lost track of the seashells I’ve managed to exhume.

from out of the confines of my swimming costume.

It’s so boring here I’m tempted to jump

into the canal. I’ve really got the hump.

There’s no television to watch, no booze to drink,

All I can do is sit here and think.

And even though I can’t overindulge,

there’s no sign whatever of losing my bulge!

So, Darling, I beg you, In my humble way,

Send me a big bar of Chocolate today.”


And that was the last letter he’d had from his Beryl,

Before she went quite mad and turned rather feral.

So before you spend a fortune on a yoga retreat,

Remember poor Beryl and just watch what you eat.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 15/February/2019


This poem was written for the Three Things Challenge, now hosted by Paula of Light Motifs II

The Three things were: Seashells, Yoga and Letter.



I have also included the following word prompts:




FOWC with Fandango — Variety















Love Bite – A poem written for Kira’s Sunday Scribbles



I was betrayed;

You never stayed

On an altar of false dreams

I sacrificed myself, it seems.

Our connection died

Our love cast aside.

Your intimate touch

That I loved so much,

Was a passing passion

A fleeting fashion,


Now bitten,



In a heap.

Love may be free,

but it’s never cheap.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 14/February/2019







A Valentines Day Poem – Passion Fashion.

sunset hands love woman
Photo by Stokpic on Pexels.com

I have often said that I don’t DO Valentine’s day, It is just a commercial load of tripe, but I have succumbed to the pressure and have written a love poem. I suppose there must be something in the air (not just the air freshener).


Passion Fashion

It seems passion is in fashion

For today at least,

But I prefer something

Longer lasting than

This particular Saints day feast.

Something durable,

Intimate, Uncurable,

And totally insurable.

A love that means I’m bitten,

By a life-long love bug,

A totally smitten kitten,

Just waiting for its hug.

So, for me, today is just the same

As all the ones that come and go,

They may not have the fancy name,

Of Valentines, but I hope you know,

That, to me love is not just a game,

A flighty ebb and flow,

But seriously, deliriously

I will always love you so.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 14/February/2019




FOWC with Fandango — Durable



Light of Hope – Part 2.

Yesterday as part of a Tell the Story Challenge, I wrote this story below:


I received some lovely feedback about it and a request that I write some more, so here goes:


Not long after starting my new school something happened to me, that is quite common apparently, but completely took me by surprise.

Growing up in my tight-knit little community on my island with the lighthouse, I couldn’t recall having even one day’s illness. A slight cold was all I’d had. The first term of school is often called the ‘sick term’ because putting all those children together usually leads to an outbreak of some disease or other.

I remember feeling a bit tired in class that day. I was slowly adjusting to the fact that I wasn’t at home, but staying in ‘digs’ in a strange town. Mrs McAllister was my landlady and had let out her attic room for me. She used to cook light meals like scotch broth and every morning would make me a bowl of steaming porridge. I’d grown up with my morning oats but Mrs McAllister made hers a bit differently. On the island, we had a lot of sheep, and we used their milk to make the porridge. Mrs McAllister made hers with water. It was the colour of wallpaper paste and I’m sure just as tasty, but it was hot and it filled my belly. I remember sitting in the classroom, wishing someone would open the window and watching the teacher parade up and down the room, slapping his hand with his ruler. Then, all of a sudden, the room went black.

When I came too, I was lying in my bed in the little attic room. I was sweaty and I ached all over, but particularly around my face and neck.

“Now, Dear, Don’t fret, The doctor brought you back from school and we managed to get you into bed.” Mrs McAllister said from the doorway.

“I’ve brought you a bit of broth. The doctor said you had mumps. I can’t come too near, as I’ve not had it myself and I have two wee bairns to look after. I’ll just leave the broth here.”

She placed the bowl down on the small table by my bed and then ran out of the door as if the germs were chasing her.

I remember laying there, feeling all swollen and puffy and staring out the window to catch a glimpse of the light from home.

I was supposed to be a big boy, going to big school, but right then, I wanted more than anything to be home. To have my Mother to look after me. To cuddle me in her strong Baker’s arms, the smell of the bakery on her clothes. To this day, the smells of a bakery is my favourite perfume.

I admit it, I cried. I lay in that lonely attic and sobbed my heart out. I must have managed to doze off because when I heard the door creaking open I awoke with a start.

The room was completely dark, except the light that came flooding in from the door, the silhouette of a figure standing there.

Then the light from the Lighthouse briefly provided a glimpse. It was my Mother, standing there, wrapped up in a shawl and carrying a basket on her arm.

“There, there, my wee Dougie. Rest now” as she said it, she gently pushed me back into bed and pulled the covers up around me. Her cool hand rested on my forehead and seemed to miraculously take some the pain away.

I don’t know how she knew I needed her, but I was so relieved to see her.

I remember thinking, she must love me so very much to come all that way from the island in the middle of the night.

It took a few days before my puffy neck returned to normal but she nursed me through and stayed with me until I was well enough to go back to school.

It’s strange looking back, what the brain chooses to remember and what it forgets. I can’t remember much from those early days but I’ll never forget the feeling of my Mother’s healing touch.

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 13/February/2019











An Elfchen Challenge – A new creation.

My pal, Mel of the blog Crushed Caramel, has tagged me in a new challenge. See her post below:


Like Mel, I had not heard of an Elfchen. I flippantly thought it was what you got when you crossed an Elf with a Munchkin, possibly with a bit of Oompaloompah thrown in for good measure.

person holiday people cute
Photo by Public Domain Pictures on Pexels.com

Well, if you’d like an excellent explanation of what an elfchen actually is, click on Mel’s post, she explains it beautifully and wrote a lovely one to demonstrate.

Here is my attempt:



Create something

Worthy of adulation.

A tribute to God’s



I think that meets the requirements, and I am also quite chuffed that I have managed to include three of today’s daily prompts. I couldn’t hope for better. (Oh there goes a fourth 😉 )

I have just realised that this is also the challenge for the Go Dog Go Cafe Tuesday’s Writing Challenge! Click the link below if you’d like to take part:

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge February 12, 2019




FOWC with Fandango — Tribute


Tell the Story Challenge – Light of Hope

Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith has tagged me in this tell the story challenge with this great picture. See her post below and check out the great story she wrote called The Shadow Man:



Here is my fictional story:

I grew up on a rocky island on the west coast of Scotland. There were a few people eking out a living from that poor soil. A few crofters farming and keeping those scrawny tough sheep that were the only kind that could survive the winter storms. We had a little community that grew up around the lighthouse. My grandfather was the lighthouse keeper and my Mother was the baker. Twelve families survived on the island, we even had a small school that I went to with seven other children. The school teacher was a crotchety old lady by the name of Mrs MacReady her husband was the minister of the small church or Kirk.

Growing up there had been tough but I remember we were a close-knit community and there was plenty of love.

Time swept by and before I knew it, I was too old to attend the small community school. Three of us were now old enough to go to big school. Myself, Rory Campbell and Alexander MacLeod. I remember the day when we had to board the ferry that took us across the water to the town. It was too long a journey to make daily. We would be living in ‘digs’ until the end of the term. It would be three whole months before we would see our families again. I stood there on the dockside shivering, not from the cold but petrified with fear. I had never been ‘off island’ before. People did make the crossing to buy things but I had never had any interest in leaving my home.

“Cheer up Lad” Grandfather called out to me. “If ever you get homesick, just look out to sea and you’ll see the light from my lighthouse and you’ll know all is well.”

I used to stare out of the window in that attic bedroom and see the light sweep past. It became the light of hope to me. I knew everything was safe at home and one day I’ll see it again.


Thanks, Teresa, for tagging me:


I am going to tag the following people:

Fiddler Pie


🤗February 12, 2019: Quote of The day & My Thoughts

No don’t feel under any pressure if you don’t want to take part, but if you fancy it, the challenge is to write a story or poem based on the picture I give you. Then you need to nominate three people and give them a picture to inspire, thus the Tell the story challenge keeps going.

Here is the picture:


Have Fun

FOWC with Fandango — Petrified


80 Years Since Gone with the Wind.

In December of this year, it will be 80 years since the release of Gone with the Wind.

Gone with the Wind is my favourite film. It is a masterpiece, the story is multifaceted, the acting was brilliant and it brought to life a period of history that has indeed, gone. Some may say, good riddance.

The film itself defies being pigeonholed. Is it a love story? Not really, for anyone who has bothered to sit through the whole film will know, it doesn’t work out that way at all. Is it a war film? Not really, although the American Civil War is a part of it. Is it about Slavery? Again, not really, although this is a thread that weaves through the plot. Really, this film is about survival in the face of adversity. It is also about selfishness versus selflessness.

I have always loved this film and yet I have learned something new about the film that I think highlights inequalities in America at that time and also highlights how far we’ve come and yet how far we still have yet to go.

One of the most endearing characters in the film is Mammy, played by the brilliant Hattie McDaniel. Her performance was so good, she became the first African American to win an Oscar. However, she was not invited to attend the premiere of the film in Atlanta Georgia. Nor was she actually allowed to attend the Oscar event because it took place in a segregated ballroom. She had to wait at the back and when her name was announced she was allowed to collect her prize and make a speech. It was one of the most moving speeches ever given at the Oscars.

Another interesting this I have learned about this film is how much the main actors received in salary. It is quite enlightening.

The main character in the film is Scarlett O’Hara and indeed she appears in almost every scene, over an above every other performer. She was played by the English actress Vivien Leigh, who also won an Oscar for her performance.

She was paid in the region of $30,000 for her work. That may sound like a lot of money, and indeed it would have been back then when compared to the salary of a factory worker, but her co-star, Clark Gable received $117,000 as his salary, and it is that comparison that is so shocking.

Admittedly, Vivien Leigh was an unknown in Hollywood at that time compared to Clark Gable who was ‘the King’, but Olivia De Havilland wasn’t an unknown and her performance of Melanie Hamilton provided the heart against Scarlett’s animal survival instinct. It was a crucial role and she received just $25,000 for it.

In contrast, the actor who portrayed her husband, Ashley Wilkes, The English Actor Leslie Howard received $76,000.

You can see the pattern developing here. It certainly appears that Hollywood rated having a certain appendage above actual ability when it came to salaries.

To really drum home the inequality represented here. Ms McDaniel whose Oscar-winning performance remains my favourite in the film received just $6,780 as her salary.

We have come so far since then but still have so very far to go.

I hope one day we achieve true equality of gender and race and the only thing that is judged is our abilities and our achievements and never our sex, sexuality or the colour of our skin.

Thank you for reading.