Rudderless

I’ve an unerring urge to use the word expedient within today’s narrative. My motive not to rage bait the Never Use Expedient In Prose Association (NUEPA), although to be honest, if that had been the reason, those stuffy bastards have had it coming for a while!

My decision to utilise the noun (or adjective depending on use) merely aimed at  enhancing the journal’s vocabularic quality, along with setting myself a challenging  topic prompt. Hopefully, enhancing the text with a little ‘joie de vivre’, ‘je ne said quoi’, or indeed any upbeat French terms beginning with ‘j’.

Sure, there can be a danger of alienating the reader if the narrator sounds like he’s swallowed a thesaurus. However, on occasion it’s nice to indulge oneself by utilising locutions not ordinarily offered up in daily discourse. In my case, words such as expedient, juxtaposition, and actor Pam Ferris from 1990’s comedy ‘Darling Buds of May’. The latter, I can confidently reveal, has never received mention once in my 2,700+ blogs.

Talking of juxtaposition, perhaps the NUEPA should take a leaf out the less dour Never Use Juxtaposition in Prose Society’s (NUJPS) book. The latter a far more relaxed group when confronted by words they frown upon. My use of juxtaposition last year incorporated into a joke about being unable to find it in the karma sutra. To my surprise, NUJPS members email diatribes were few and far between afterwards; their hate mail completely stopping after only two weeks! 

Anyway, moving on swiftly…

As an aside, during my recent seven month literary sabbatical, I procured a membership/season ticket for my local semi-professional football team Ossett United. Their Ingfield Stadium a short stones throw away from the abode I moved into last July. 

I don’t live in a glass house which (according to the proverb) affords me permission to throw stones. However, I’d never be wantonly reckless enough to launch a rock in the stadium’s direction. With that in mind, I cannot say with certainty the pebble would reach the football ground if I hurled a large toward the venue. I’m sure being responsible enough to avoid proving the claim brings me more plaudits than brickbats. 

Good god, irresponsible actions of that nature could cause an untold series of calamities in and around my metropolis’ centre. For instance, testing the claim could result in me hitting old Ted with a rock as he came out of butchers adjacent to the stadium. With his pot of mucky fat and lamb shank being run over by a passing kid on a bike, Ted going without his tea. The only thing he claims to have left to live for after he was told to avoid peanut butter for diabetes management purposes. 

Or, in a different incident, the stone I chuck may clear the stadium, landing by the petrol station, on its journey knocking a lit cigarette from the passing Mrs Beavis’ hand. A situation causing a potentially catastrophic series of events involving fire, escaped wildebeest, West Yorkshire marmite shortages and the evacuation of Townsgate residents. 

So in a nutshell, you’ll have to take my word for it that Ossett United’s Ingfield Stadium is only a stones throw from my front door. Saying that, I guess you’d have to take into account the size of the stone. If it’s the weight of the concrete slabs on my drive it definitely isn’t a stones throw away. 

If I launched a pebble from my front garden, artillery style, I reckon I’d reach the Ingfield. Although, as my dog Bella does her business on those stones, I’d be loathe to pick the small stones up without gloves. Hand wear which may hinder the missiles projection, rendering the test useless anyway… Actually, what I am nattering about. I’ve already resolved not to start throwing rocks aimlessly from my front door, irrespective of size!… As you were!

Footnote – When I say my dog Bella does her business on the front garden pebbles, I’m referring to her defecating there. She’s not a drug dealer or fencer of stolen property. I’ve informed her if she wants to indulge in that tomfoolery it better be away from my home. I’ve a zero tolerance policy when it comes to beagles peddling mind altering substances in and around my property… Unless, of course, I can train her to get me a beer out of the fridge which I’ll allow.

The Ossett United game at the weekend saw them triumph 2-0 over Mossley AFC in their final pre-season friendly. As a none sports reporter, who doesn’t know many of the players names, here is my half ass attempt at describing the goals.

“As the first half approached its denouement a pitch, already scorched by weeks of arid weather, became singed further by Ossett number 10’s mazy run inside the box. Footballing artistry creating a tap-in at the far post for his striking teammate. Bereft of a programme, I’m unaware of the duos names; I will say, though, such creativity bodes well for season 2026/27.

Another goal was added by a second half substitute midway through the period. A player who remains to me as a man with no name; like Clint Eastwood in the movie The Good, The Bad & The Ugly. They obviously do have names,  I’m just not party to either’s moniker. However, I do know his run to beat the offside trap, shot like an Eastwood Magnum 45, and calm aplomb he finished is another good sign for The Sheepicorns this coming season.”

Approaching the end of this rudderless monologue you probably wondering:-

1. Is there a message, hidden or overt, laying deep within my prose?
2. Do these chronicles subliminally incorporate Twainesque pearls of wisdom? 
3. Is it possible my philosophical titbits bestow glorious insight, enhancing the lives of you the discerning audience? 
4. Will those seeking enlightment, or an underlying message, unearth a perceptive nugget which may bring meaning into challenging lives and paint a canvas of hope to their stark existential canvas? 

The answers being:- 1) No; 2) Are you kidding me!; 3) Hell, no!: 4) I’m surprised you had to ask!

Anyhow, with my writers block banished like a crestfallen Napoleon to the island of Elba, it appears challenging myself with a topic prompt of expedient proved expedient!