I was unsure if that title was a bit grim. I pondered on it for all of 3 seconds, then decided I could be as grim as I like. My space. My time. My 4th Dimension. (If you come at me with science regarding that last bit, I will show you my 5th Dimension and you do not want to see that).
Maybe you’re new here. In which case you will already be wondering what you’ve walked into. Fret not. Normal service (abnormal) will be resumed shortly. Pull up a pew and I’ll get one of my interns (me) to bring you a cuppa. Milk and sugar?
I’ve had little to say or entertain you with of late, so I’m doing what all shoddy amateur newspapers do and dig back into the archives. Filling pages with stuff that has already been published, to relieve me of any obligation to provide fresh and interesting content.
This time last year, Madame Charlatan wrote a feature about her Granny. As I’m currently unable to locate the aforementioned Misfortune-Teller, I’m having to fill her column with old copy. Still, it saves me emptying her ashtray and gives me the afternoon off.
Here then, for your bemusement and befuddlement, is Granny Charlatan, in all her unwashed glory…….
Madame Charlatan. Telling Misfortunes under a fog of musk and a cloud of fag-ash…….
My Granny Charlatan was as mad as a box of frogs. She was also fiercely independent and a deadeye with a 12 bore. Grandad Charlatan’s smallholding was her fortress and since his death she defended it like a demon, whether that be from man or beast. Her intent would never be to kill or even permanently injure, but if she could deter visitors by peppering an arse with buckshot, that was a good day in her books.
My Mother never married and Granny Charlatan let us live in a caravan in the corner of an unused field. When I was 21 my Mother kicked me out and took off with our home. As I watched the caravan bounce down the lane on its semi-inflated wheels, my Granny kissed me on the cheek with her food-encrusted face…
View original post 569 more words