Guest Writer Spot

It’s time for this week’s Guest Writer, and I’m pleased to let you know that it’s Murray Clarke with another one of his entertaining stories:



Murray Clarke


The final part of our journey from the coast of France had been hell – fraught with unforeseen danger and uncertainty. We’d travelled from the far side of the world, packed tightly together like sardines, with only basic rations to help us survive. Everyone had perished – save me. I was the sole survivor.

Exhausted and hungry, I desperately needed something to eat, and somewhere safe to rest. Our craft had been destroyed shortly before we landed – blown off course by strong side winds. I was plunged into the icy sea and had struggled to swim safely to the shore.

Dripping wet and shivering with cold, I staggered up the sandy beach – still wearing the brown hooded garment I’d worn since the start of our perilous journey. A damp early morning mist hung in the air. Not a soul in sight to witness my lonely arrival. A nearby billboard announced: “Welcome to Dover”. It started to rain – pouring down in torrents like a tropical monsoon.

In preparation for the long trip, I’d learnt “Conversational English” and read up about “Surviving in the United Kingdom”. Communication was the name of the game, and the ability to exchange thoughts with those I met would help me get by.

I felt a rumbling in my stomach. On looking up I saw an illuminated neon sign: KAREN’S KAFF. A welcoming aroma of cooking wafted towards me. Head down, I crossed the road, opened the door and stepped into the warm interior, glad to get out of the rain.

 ‘Forgotten your brolly, love?’ called out a portly woman, looking at the water dripping off my clothes onto the floor. ‘Nasty weather we’re ‘aving! Take a seat. I’ll be with you in a moment.’ She waved me to a vacant table in the corner.

I sat down and cast my eyes over the comprehensive list of food on offer.

‘So, what’ll it be?’ asked the woman, returning to the table. ‘Tea or coffee?’

I looked at the man sitting at the table opposite, clutching a large chipped mug of something hot and steaming.

‘I’ll have what he’s drinking,’ I replied.

‘So, that’ll be a tea. Anything to eat, love?’

Keeping my head bowed, I sneaked a glance at a line of photographs on the wall above the counter. I pointed to a picture that appeared to show the most substantial meal they served.

The waitress nodded and scribbled in her notebook. ‘And a full English . . . Won’t keep you a moment, love.’ And off she went to fetch my order.

So, this was an English café, eh? The people seemed friendly enough. I’d have my food, then try and find somewhere to stay and grab a few hours sleep before deciding on my next move. There was, however, just one problem. I had no money. Foolishly, it wasn’t something we’d planned for. And I desperately needed a change of dry clothes.

The waitress returned to the table with my tea and a large oval plate piled high with slightly burnt hot food. ‘Here you are, my love,’ she smiled, placing the feast before me. ‘Get that down you!’

Using my hands, I started cramming the food into my mouth like I hadn’t eaten for days. Which, of course, I hadn’t! When I’d finished, I licked the plate clean and sat back with a satisfied sigh. Now I was ready to face my brave new world. I waited until the waitress had disappeared out of sight into the kitchen, and then I gently pushed back my chair and made a bolt for the door.

‘Hey, mister – you ain’t paid!’ The woman’s shout rang in my ears as I opened the door and slipped outside. The rain had ceased.

 ‘Hey! Not so fast, son. What’s the rush?’

I looked up to see a tall figure dressed in a dark blue uniform, a helmet with a silver badge on the front. An English policeman, I assumed. The café door opened, and the waitress appeared.

‘He ain’t paid!’ she cried, wagging a finger at me, accusingly.

The policeman looked closely at my face – almost totally hidden under the brown hood. He recoiled in horror.

‘He’s got a spotty green face and sticky-out pointed ears!’ he exclaimed.

The woman leaned forward and scrutinised me.

‘Hey, you’re not one of those alien thingies from Mars, are you, love?’ she laughed.

I shook my head. No … not from Mars.

But a different planet from another galaxy far, far away!


This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to Guest Writer Spot

  1. Darlene says:

    A great story. Well done.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Kim Smyth says:

    Very entertaining! Good story!

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Haha, a jolly good twist at the end. Well done.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I know how thy feel. I felt exactly the same when I landed on this strange planet.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s