Well isn't that just the Pig's Eye!

That restaurant of your choosing wouldn't be the Pig's Eye by any chance would it?

won't this 'competition' cause multiple postings?

You horrors - my computer's been on the blink all afternoon and I come back to dozens of posts and THIS! Leave you alone for a minute and you get into mischief!...

Brita put down the bloody knife and wiped her hands on her apron. That damned woman. If ever a body of workers needed a union to fight for their rights it was the mothers’ helps of this world. She snorted in derision. She hadn’t been in England long and already disillusion had set in, and to think of the high hopes she’d had! Seeing the sights, visiting the pubs and clubs, making new friends, and instead here she was stuck out in the middle of nowhere being treated like a skivvy.

Not that Brita was afraid of hard work, it wasn’t that. But looking after the children and attending to their needs was one thing, being stuck with all the dirty jobs was quite another.

It had been put upon her subtly, little by little. ‘Brita, cook the family meal tonight, will you – I have to go out straight after dinner, and if you wouldn’t mind clearing away before you go to bed – I do so hate to come back to a mess.’

‘Brita, take the boys into the garden today. And while you’re there the shed needs a bit of a clear out – it shouldn’t take you long, and they’d love to help you – just be careful they don’t hurt themselves, that’s all.’

‘Perhaps you’d give me a hand with mucking out tomorrow – yes, I know it’s your day off, but…’

And the last straw. ‘We’re having people to dinner on Thursday, Brita, and I’d like it to be special. Vincent is taking one of our own pigs to be slaughtered; we’ll get the meat cut up and packed in the freezer and make some delicious brawn to serve as a starter. It’s important we make a good impression – Tom and Sara Matthews have a chain of delicatessens and I’m hoping they’ll ask us to supply them with country-produced products – pates and the like.’ Hmmm, thought Brita. I know who’ll be doing all the work, and it won’t be you.

Later, sitting at the kitchen table with the pig’s head in front of her Brita teased the soft meat from the bone, cut it into cubes and placed it in a rectangular Pyrex dish. When the dish was full she’d reduce the stock and pour it over the meat, to set when cold into a rich flavoursome jelly. What a job for a vegetarian, she thought bitterly.


Brita had set the table to perfection; the cloth shone dazzling white with reflections of the yellow roses at its centre, the Waterford crystal threw flashes of orange fire from the candles around the room and the cutlery shone like some rare and precious metal. From her chair by the kitchen table she listened to the clinking of glasses and the muted conversation as she waited to serve the haunch of venison that was to be the second course. She had been up since six that morning when the boys woke, and the day had been spent in juggling her duties and their demands, as well as preparing for the dinner party. It was warm in the kitchen and she struggled to prevent her eyelids from drooping.

There was a sudden deadly silence from the dining room, followed by a piercing scream. Then a woman’s voice; faint, shocked, slightly nauseous.

‘The pig’s eye! I nearly ate the pig’s eye!’

Brita laughed and went upstairs to pack her bag.




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Correction: disillusionment in para 1, not disillusion. I knew I shouldn't have posted this immediately I'd finished.

Come on everyone - you've only got until Sunday, and I couldn't bear to win simply because no one else has entered!

Should we post the work here or in the main Archive Area? If its in the Main Archive then the most popular will go to the top wont it? Or is it better just to cast votes in the forum?


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Don't worry Nell.. I have written something too.

Piggin' out..( many thanks to Edward Lear)

While I lay on the hill one day
staring at white chalk clouds
the grasses whipping round my face
the buzzards cawing loud

I heard a noise that made me start
I turned my face to see
a large pink fleshy snout was there
and a pigs eye stared at me

pale eyelashes and whirligig tail
I wanted to scream but froze
he snuffled around in a searching way
with a ring at the end of his nose

as I got the strength to get to a tree
he let out an awful cry
he'd snuffled into my picnic bag
and the ring had got caught inside

well I couldnt just leave so i started to sing
a song by Edward Lear
oh lovely piggy oh piggy my love
as I grabbed hold of his ear

when he was free an apple i gave
which he ate in less than a blink
I swear as he trotted back to his stye
the pigs eye gave me a wink

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oh god i forgot all my apostrophes lol

i hoped i could add them but ..No... so please read pig's eye

Ellie:)

Hey Ellie, that's great, I'm lol here! I'm glad I'm not the only one, come on Andrew and everyone...

Hi Nell, I think we are best to keep it to the forum don't you? don't know if anyone is posting on the main but it may not be the best thing to do ... only problem on here is you can't EDIT!

Yes Ellie, I think it's best kept here all together - it could get lost amongst all the archive stuff and disappear if there are lots of other postings. Re. editing I'd love to re-edit my bit, I always seem to think of better ways to express things after posting!

yes best kept on here folks

of course the advantage of starting it off is I can post my offering if I choose to make one as part of the title page and then go back and edit it but that would be like cheating wouldnt it (

you can of course always use the preview facility before posting it

Making a Pig’s Eye out of it

‘I’m Smiff, the painter.’

‘You’re a day late!’

‘It was rainin’ yesterday, no point.’

She walked over to the hatch in the floor and shouted. ‘Ith Mr Thmith the thign writer!’

‘About bloody time!’ The gruff voice echoed from below them in the beer cellar. ‘OK, let ‘im get on with it.’

The man in the paint spattered overalls winked at the barmaid in the drawstring blouse.

‘So, you must be Betty, the one who phoned us through the name?’

‘Yeth.’

‘So was it you that chose it then?’

‘Yeth I did, I was thinking of the one my boyfriend has.’

‘Really? It’s certainly quite an unusual choice.’

‘Yeth, I used to stare at it when I was in bed with him. It was just hanging there on display.’

‘I see, and it didn’t put you off?’

‘Put me off wot?’

‘You know… off lovemakin’?’

‘He’th not my boyfriend anymore.’

‘I can understand that. So would it be any particular colour, your governor would be wanting?’

‘Brown I thpose, I don’t rightly know. I’ll ask.’ She shouted down to the cellar. ‘What colour, he wants to know?’

‘I don’t bloody care, just make it look natural.’

‘Natural, he wants. He’s having big nobs round for the unveiling this evening at thix. It’s the grand opening of the pub this evenin.’

‘A naming ceremony huh? Well, it’s traditional, I’m used to that. I’ll put a sheet over it so no one sees it beforehand. And don’t worry it’ll be finished. I’ll make up for lost time. What’s he like, then, your boss?’

She smiled back and whispered over the bar. ‘Mr Fawltless is a bit of a thtickler. He’s a bit busy ‘coth of the fact it’s gonna be our first night of opening an’ all. He’s fine, as long as you do exactly what he says, and don’t question nuffin.’

‘Right, well I won’t question nothing then, as you say. Anyway, I better get a move on. I’ll see you later. I should be finished by six.’


At six o’clock, the painter made his way back through the crowded pub over towards the barmaid.

‘Is it finished?’

‘Yup.’

‘Fawltless wants the unveiling ceremony to begin as soon as possible. He’s invited all these big nobs ere special.’

‘So I see.’ Mr Smith the painter gawped around at the local dignitaries in their suits and the Mayor in her full regalia and robes of office. ‘Right, well it’s ready, when you are.’

Five minutes later, a crowd of about fifty people gathered at the front of the Inn. With a good deal of enthusiasm but not without some difficulty, several hefty farmhands hoisted up the amply proportioned Mayor to stand upon the top of an oak barrel. Once installed, she smiled hesitantly, and unfolded a piece of paper to begin her address to the gathered throng.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, magistrates and Aldermen of the Borough,’ she continued in her pretentiously posh voice, ‘As you know, the new landlord here, Mr Fawltless, has invited us all to this establishment today, to witness the opening of the newly refurbished Inn, and to witness to the symbolical unveiling of the Inn’s new name. The reputation of Mr Fawltless has preceded him here, for he ensures the highest standards in every detail of service and delivers outstanding hospitality, and I may say, if my own experience here today is anything to go by, it is indeed, undoubtedly well-deserved countywide status that is second to none.’ She smiled at Mr Fawltless who grinned ingratiatingly back. ‘It is well known that he is most particular about his standards, and he requires everything to be just so.’

There was a ripple of appreciative applause and shouts of hear-hear, and the Landlord smiled and waved in acknowledgement.

‘I am sure it goes without saying, that our esteemed host, Mr Fawltless has spent a great deal of time and effort…

‘And money!’ interjected Fawltless.

‘…Yes indeed, and money, in making sure that the newly refurbished hostelry has been fitted out with every modern comfort and to the highest possible standard, worthy of our beloved market town. Therefore, it is now, without further ado, and with the greatest of pleasure, that I, the Mayor of Witchbury, as your humble elected representative here today, have the greatest pleasure of handing over to our bountiful barmaid, Miss Betty Bilbo who along with Mr Fawltless has chosen the name for this wonderful establishment. It is a name that pays tribute to the long and honourable farming tradition from which our town has made its living these past five hundred years. May I now ask that your show your appreciation to your barmaid, Miss Betty Bilbo, who will now please come forward to perform the ceremonial pulling of the rope.’

Betty came nervously forward, smiled and curtsied. Then, she gave a tug on the rope to unfurl the newly painted sign to the world.

‘I, Betty Bilbo, do ‘ereby name this ‘ere public ‘ouse … the Big Scythe! ’

Mr Smith the painter looked on in bemused anticipation from the back of the throng.

The cover sheet floated to the ground, and the barmaid’s words tailed off to be replaced by a high-pitched exclamation of surprise. ‘Ewwwwwwwwwwww!’

The crowd stared up at the sign, and gave out one astonished groan. The vibrantly painted sign was still wet and glossy. Then, one by one, there were muffled chuckles. The muffled chuckles turned into muffled guffaws. The muffled guffaws turned into convulsive fits. And soon all were laughing and pointing up at the signboard, with the exception that was, of Mr Fawltless and the good Lady Mayor. The landlord stood in dumbfounded disbelief and the Mayor began to wobble on her barrel top in shock.

The Mayor screeched as stared in wide-eyed incredulity at it. There it sat, upon a pewter platter in a pool of blood. Her screech started to topple the barrel over, and she wobbled precariously this way and that until finally her knees gave way and she went flying. Gathered below her the burly farmhands were eagerly anticipated her toppling from off her pedestal. They managed to soften her landing as she plunged backwards in amongst their impromptu scrummage.

Fawltless looked angrily around. ‘I’ll have im! Where is he, the bugger!’ Smith the painter of course, had decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and was nowhere to be seen.

And a bewildered Betty Bilbo stood looking up at the sign. ‘Thstreewth! Ow’s that ever a big scythe then?’

Nevertheless, there it was, for all to see. In all its gory glory, from up on high a huge dismembered bloodshot orb now glared down at them, and below it, the letters as if scrawled in spattered blood, proclaimed the new name of the pub… the Pig’s Eye .






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There are a few of typo's in the above piece which I will correct in due course if I upload it again at some stage.
A :o)

Andrew! You've excelled yourself - so clever, so funny - I was loling all the way through!