25 Monday Nov 2019
Posted in Funny, Promotions
Tags
One of my books, ‘The Pilates Class’, is featured in BookFunnel’s ‘Satire, Sarcasm and Funny Fiction‘ promotion organised by Holly Tierney-Bedord, which runs through to December 15th. You can find a whole wealth of funny books there as well as mine by clicking the link below. Check it out!
https://books.bookfunnel.com/sarcasmbooks/e5mi8hrb6j
14 Tuesday May 2019
Posted in Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction
Tags
Carrying on from my last blog, here’s a little ditty about ageing that I’ve written today for the 99 word Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge: https://carrotranch.com/2019/05/10/may-9-flash-fiction-challenge/
We may all moan
About our painful achy bones,
And our backs go out more than we do,
But our minds feel as new
As when we were twenty two.
The eyes squint at glare,
And more grey speckles our hair.
We can’t do much,
And it just ain’t fair.
We try hard not to fall,
First you see us with one stick,
Then you see us with two sticks,
Then you don’t see us at all.
But we’re free from looking after sons and daughters,
We will spend our money like water.
We’re fearless and bold…
We’re OLD!
22 Wednesday Mar 2017
Posted in Blogs, Funny, Haddon Musings' Senior Salon
My US friends might ask “What’s doing a car boot?”
Well, it’s where you pack the boot of your car on a Saturday night with as much tat as you can find, and then set your alarm to go off at 05:10 hrs on the following Sunday morning in order to stand in a cold, muddy field from 07:30 hrs with about fifty other like minded souls in order to sell said tat. The bit about setting your alarm for 05:10 hrs isn’t funny, as I came to realise last Sunday.
My daughters-in-law are prolific car booters. I’ve never discovered just why my eldest daughter-in-law always has so much tat to sell. Where is it all coming from? She usually makes quite a bit of money every time too. After finally clearing out my mother’s flat and being left with a mountain of tat, she suggested adding Dot’s tat to my own tat and joining her for a car booting session, and she knew just the one to go to – the Sunday market at Woolpit.
Woolpit Sunday market has been going for years, certainly for as long as we’ve lived in Suffolk. The tat stretches far and wide across the aforesaid muddy field every Sunday morning, and if it’s a nice day then vultures start arriving from 07:00 hrs in order to buy up the best tat before somebody else takes it. Sam and I had so much tat that we had to pay £14 for two cars to enter the field. I fervently hoped that we’d soon sell all of it and make a grand profit.
The weather was a bit cold and overcast, but otherwise dry. I trundled my car across the field and parked next to Sam and Kelly’s cars. Before we had turned off our engines the vultures were flapping around all three of our cars, shouting through the windows and asking what we’d got. I had some of the grandchildren’s outgrown toys in a Fortnum and Mason’s wicker basket that we’d been given several years back. One chap asked how much for the basket. I shouted back that it wasn’t for sale, just the toys inside.
We set up tables with our tat, and the vultures starting picking it over. Quite a few of them wanted our Fortnum and Mason wicker basket, and Sam suggested selling it for £100. The sight of a group of vultures around our tables sent other vultures racing over to see what they were missing. We were surrounded; this was a good start!
The morning ticked by. I felt as though I’d been up for hours, and it was only 08:15. Kelly as usual was raking it in with her kids’ toys, books and games, but our tat wasn’t being shifted as fast. Sam wandered off to buy a bacon roll and to look at other people’s tat, with strict instructions not to bring any of it back as we had enough of our own. I yawned, sat in my beach chair still covered in Isle of Wight sand, and looked ever hopeful whenever a potential customer mooched along.
By 11:00 hrs everybody was packing up and I was windswept and starving hungry, as I’d eaten my breakfast at 05:45. Kelly had made nearly £90, but Stevie with twice the amount of tat had only made £22.50 and had to bring the majority of it back home again. Hey ho, such is life. I worked on the assumption that it was a cold day and not many people had ventured out. Kelly said to try again, but I think I’ll leave it until the summer!
Have you ever ‘done a car boot’? Would you do another one? What’s a car boot sale called in the US?
19 Tuesday Jan 2016
Posted in Stevie's Free Books on Amazon
Tags
Just to let you know that my humorous novella ‘The Pilates Class’ will be free on Amazon from February 8th – 12th 2016 to help take away those winter blues…..
It focuses on the lives and loves of several different characters attending a Pilates exercise class for the first time. Roger is a down-to-earth builder type, Judy is the harassed single mother of four teenage boys, and Thelma is a librarian who usually looks as though she’s been sitting on a wasps’ nest for most of her life. Neville is on the lookout for a woman (any woman will do), and Julian just wants to be young again. Edie is the wrong side of 70, and Roz is a size zero fitness queen.
These characters, together with one very overweight Alice, all meet up for the first time at their local Pilates class. Petra, the class instructor, has no idea what she has let herself in for!
Go on…have a laugh. You know you want to!
12 Saturday Jul 2014
Posted in Stevie's New Books
Tags
After much formatting, editing and cursing, the final version of ‘No Sex Please, I’m Menopausal!’ is now available on Smashwords and Amazon:
:
I thought I’d add Chapter 1 for you below. Any comments welcome!
——————————————————————————————————–
CHAPTER 1 OF ‘NO SEX PLEASE, I’M MENOPAUSAL!’ BY STEVIE TURNER
COPYRIGHT STEVIE TURNER 2014
“Sorry, but it’s still the same as when I told you the last time and the time before that. It’s too painful, and I haven’t got a vagina anymore!” Lyn Fuller sighed as she removed her husband’s wandering hand. “Can’t you just accept it?”
From a clear vantage point between his wife’s legs, Neil Fuller let out an expletive as he risked a quick second glance:
“Yes you have, I can see one!” His finger pointed directly towards the object of the dispute.
“It’s for exit purposes only.”
“Shit.
“No, that’s the other end.”
“Well, can’t you stick something up there to help?” He took another glimpse; his erection deflating rapidly as he spoke.
“Wild yam is supposed to do the trick if you can’t take HRT.”
“Eh? You’ve got to stick a yam up there?” Neil looked quizzically at the size of the introitus on display, mentally comparing it to the dimensions of the root vegetable.
“Wild yam cream, dickhead.” She rolled her eyes.
“What good would that do?” He exhaled forcefully.
“I’ve no idea, but what else would you suggest?”
“How the fuck do I know? Ask the Quack for some bombers or something?”
“You mean pessaries?”
“Yeah.”
Lyn felt the mattress give a little creak of protestation as her husband flopped down onto the pillow:
“What am I supposed to do then? Tie a knot in it?”
“You know I don’t want to take HRT. Pessaries are also full of oestrogen, and you chucked away the KY, so if the wild yam cream’s no good then we’re stuffed.”
“Or not, as the case may be.” Neil had a sudden enlightening thought. “Marlon Brando used butter in ‘Last Tango in Paris.”
“Well I wouldn’t fancy spreading it on my bread after you’ve dipped your willy in it, and Maria Schneider shot him at the end anyway, so it didn’t do him any good in the long run.” Lyn closed her eyes and wished his obsession with sex would go away. “And no, you’re not sticking it in there either. Yeah, I saw that film too.”
She opened up one eye to watch as her husband turned over on his side, lifted himself up on one elbow, and reached over to turn off the lamp:
“We’re only in our fifties. Does that mean twenty or thirty years plus with no sex then?”
“There are other ways; you know that. It’s all about getting used to the new normal and accepting it.” Lyn shuffled over towards him and cuddled up to his warm back.
“I don’t want to get used to it.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to. My body is fifty five years old. I’m not the nineteen year old I was when we first met.”
“You can say that again. You were as randy as a sack full of rabbits back then.” A small smile played on Neil’s lips in the darkness, as he enjoyed a brief wave of nostalgia.
“But now thanks to Mother Nature I have no oestrogen. No oestrogen equals no hormone fluctuations, no randy feelings, and unfortunately no vagina. I can’t even have an orgasm anymore; not that I’d want one now anyway. But there’s one good thing about it.”
“You don’t say.” Neil sniffed dismissively and pulled the duvet up around his ears.
Lyn snaked an arm around his waist and whispered into his ear: “I don’t get any periods.”
“Woop-de-doo-dah.”
“I thought you’d be pleased all the PMT has gone now.”
“I’m so pleased that I’m going to jump out of bed in a minute and do a little dance around the room.”
“Don’t think you’ve been spared either. You’re in the dangerous age for a man-o-pause. Everyone knows that. Men your age start to think they’re twenty again. They buy big motorbikes, get tattoos and earrings, and start chasing younger women.”
“Yeah? I can’t wait. When can I start? At least it sounds better than your hot flushes.”
“Hot flushes are not just a woman’s prerogative. I read about it; if a man has a low testosterone level he’ll get hot flushes as well. It’s just nature’s way of trying to bring the levels back up.”
“Low testosterone levels? I’ve got the stuff coming out of my fuckin’ ears!”
Turning away from him with another sigh, Lyn closed her eyes again and looked forward to the blessed relief of sleep:
“We’ll be ok. Millions of other middle aged couples have to go through this. Why should we be any different?”
“Millions of women take HRT.”
“It only delays menopausal symptoms; it doesn’t stop them, and with Mum and Carrie both dead at 52, please don’t expect me to take it.”
“If you were going to get breast cancer, you’d have got it by now.”
“Not necessarily, and I don’t want to help it along either by taking hormones.”
She felt disappointed at her husband’s lack of understanding:
“I love you. Don’t let this problem come between us.”
“It doesn’t sound as though I’m going to come at all.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! It’s all right for you; your body still works as it should! Not only do I now have no vagina, I’m also suffering with those hot flushes you so kindly mentioned, and achy joints.”
“Your choice.”
“I don’t have any say in it. Welcome to my world.” Lyn buried herself under the duvet, incensed that the irritation she felt for her husband at that moment would probably keep her awake for the next few hours.
As the sound of snoring permeated the room a light bulb came on in her brain, causing her to sit up in bed with the consequence of her new-found realisation:
Of course! Now she knew the reason why some men seemed to have mid-life crises in their fifties and dump their ageing wives for younger women! These terrible temptresses obviously all possessed one thing…………a wonderfully oiled and functioning vagina that was not all dried up!
————————————————————————————————————————-
