Hello all, I din’t have any time last week to read many of the FF posts by other folks and I apologise for that, it’s been mad, busy here, even with the Boss away on some awful cruise around the Canaries or an all inclusive to Corfu.
Thanks as ever to the Queen of improvisation of flash fiction, Rochelle Wisoff, I have so much to learn. Thanks also to Nick Allen for the thought provoking photo prompt, I’ll try my best to get it off quickly.
Old King Cole was a broken man after contracting tinnitus; experts believed possibly bought on by the folk music played by his Fiddlers 3.
He had instructed them to oil their bows which only resulted in deeply unsatisfying non-musical, swiffing sounds from the instruments. He’d lost count of the number of smashed bowls and fractured pipes the equerry had dropped as he skidded across the lubricated throne-room floor.
The, Not So Merry, Old King took to his shed, exacerbating the tinnitus by running lathe workshops fashioning wooden bowls.
The trio moved to Jaywick where they now busk in the shopping precinct.
There we have it, 100 words again, I can’t remember if we’ve met Old King Cole yet in my first “FF” season. I’ll leave that for someone else to point out!