The idea is, every week Raven (Views From Raven's Nest) gives you between 8 and 10 words/phrases and you have to create a small but coherent paragraph using every one of them and the same with the mini challenge. You can do either, both or a megawordzzle using all the words, or even all three, it's up to you, you can post them on your blog or email them to Raven. If you join in go to Raven's and put your name on the Mr. Linky so other participants can come visit you.
Here's my efforts, complete with my doodles.
Brigadier General Mustard had suffered apoplexy and was having hydrotherapy in the shallow end of the pool. His private nurse, Patsy Bird, was good to him; she was casual in her approach but caring. She organised other activities like drawing geometric shapes; parallelograms, triangles etc to help him get his hand working properly, she nagged him about his greed for whisky but let him have his little slumber party every afternoon. Yes, little “Hummingbird”, as he called her, was a godsend.
Stan pulled up his hood and made his way through the birch trees to the ‘Mount Olympus’ restaurant. He kept to the shadows; he didn’t want anyone painting a portrait of him identifying him as the arsonist. He was just about to throw the petrol bomb through the window of the restaurant when a passing car made him jump and he dropped the bomb, splashing petrol on his clothes. His last thought, before he went up in flames, was “that car needs a new muffler!”
Chantelle eyed up the Brigadier General who, apparently, owned the house . She was thinking about how she’d come to get an invitation. ‘Hummingbird’, her friend, said she’d been invited to an all night party and would she like to go with her? It was at a really posh house and it would be great fun, bring a swimsuit too as there’s a pool, she told Chantelle.
It was a posh house alright; it had taken thirty minutes to get to the house along the drive flanked by birch trees. The General had sent his Rolls to transport Chantelle and Hummingbird. Chantelle wasn’t impressed, as the car was old and the exhaust was making a bit of a racket, “that car needs a new muffler” thought Chantelle.
The butler greeted them at the front door and showed them to their rooms. Chantelle gawped at a huge painting of Mount Olympus at the top of the staircase and the many portraits and tapestries lining the walls. “Impressive” she said aloud.
The two girls changed into swimwear and made their way to the indoor pool. So, here she was casually standing at the shallow end of the pool, which was shaped like a parallelogram, in her bikini, taking in the scene. There were other girls there and about twenty men, all in uniform, one of them was staring at her, she dubbed him Colonel Mustard, he must have been eighty if he was a day and looked as though he was suffering from apoplexy.
“What’s going on?” she asked her friend “I was expecting a rave not a slumber party.”
“Ssshhh, they’ll hear you” urged Hummingbird. “They just want some company that’s all, pretty company, and they’re loaded and willing to pay!”
“You have got to be joking, there’s no way….”
“Don’t be daft, it’s nothing sordid, they just want us girls to stand around, look nice and talk to them, honestly and it’s easy money” said Hummingbird.
“Hang on, you mean you’ve been paid? Where’s my share?” asked Chantelle.
“I’ll see you right later” said Hummingbird “Greed doesn’t become you Chantelle!”
The Colonel was heading straight towards Chantelle, desperate to avoid him she tried to engage another, younger looking, man in conversation but he quickly disappeared as the Colonel commandeered her attention.
Excusing herself Chantelle headed upstairs towards the ladies room to look for Hummingbird who had disappeared thirty minutes earlier. Passing one of the bedrooms Chantelle heard muffled voices then suddenly the door opened and Hummingbird shot past her. Chantelle jumped back only to bang into a table, on which there was a lighted candle which toppled to the floor. Before she knew it a wall hanging was ablaze and the Brigadier General was accusing her of being an arsonist. There wasn’t time to explain, she ran down the stairs screaming “Fire, fire!” at the top of her lungs. Panic ensued, bedroom doors were flying open, uniformed men and half naked girls were fleeing from the flames.
Chantelle sat shamefaced in the police cell with Hummingbird.
“Would you care to explain to me why you are being charged with running a call girl ring and I am about to get a police record Hummingbird?” asked Chantelle.