Barnaby's Shorts (Volume One)

By Barnaby Wilde

Ten short stories, including The Monkey Faced Boy, The Holey Oak, The Accidental Bank Job,The Horse that ran with the Wind and others. A mixed bag of tales ideal for reading on a plane or in a train. Gentle humour, a touch or sci fi, and a twist at the end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barnaby Wilde
• Release date: Jul 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476274652

Barnaby Wilde

Barnaby Wilde is the pen name of Tim Fisher. Tim was born in 1947 in Hertfordshire, United Kingdom, but grew up and was educated in the West Country. He graduated with a Physics degree in 1969 and worked in manufacturing and quality control for a multinational photographic company for 30 years before taking an early retirement to pursue other interests. He has two grown up children and currently lives happily in Devon.

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Barnaby's Shorts

(volume 1)

A collection of short stories

By

Barnaby Wilde

Copyright 2012 by Barnaby Wilde

Barnaby Wilde asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Published by Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover picture: Barnaby's Shorts, original self portrait by Barnaby Wilde

Other published works by the author.

A Question of Alignment – a Tom Fletcher novel

I Keep Thinking It's Tuesday – a Tom Fletcher novel

Animalia – a collection of quirky verse with an animal theme

Life… -- a collection of verse on a vaguely 'life' related theme

The Blind Philospher and the God of Small Things -- more verse, with a philosophical theme and bad puns.

Not at all Rhinocerus – a collection of verse with almost no mention of rhinoceros

A Little Bit Elephant – a collection of very quirky verse which is only slightly elephant.

Tunnel Vision – a collection of longer verses featuring flying saucers, dining tables, whales and shoes, with puns and jokes as usual.

The Well Boiled Icycle -- 35 New 'quirky' poems featuring Clockwork Wellingtons, Goldfish, Jugglers and Gingerbread Men, but not necessarily in that order.

Barnaby Wilde is the pen name of Tim Fisher.

Tim was born in 1947 in Hertfordshire, United Kingdom, but grew up and was educated in the West Country. He graduated with a Physics degree in 1969 and worked in manufacturing and quality control for a multinational photographic company for 30 years before taking an early retirement to pursue other interests. He has two grown up children and currently lives happily in Devon.

Visit www.barnaby-wilde.co.uk for the author's blog and more information about the world of Barnaby Wilde.

Table of Contents Barnaby's Shorts (Volume One)

The Monkey Faced Boy

The Holey Oak

Tiny Aliens

Case Closed

Benny

The Accidental Bank Job

Onwards and Upwards

Sway Crazy

The Horse That Ran With the Wind

The Princess and the Frog

Other works by Barnaby Wilde

The Monkey Faced Boy

I never had a problem getting up in the mornings. In fact, I used to think it was the best part of the day. Still do, I reckon Most days I'm still out of bed by four thirty. That's a.m. by the way just in case you're wondering. Yep, I know that's real early for most folks, but then, maybe that's part of the reason I like it so. There's no one else much around at that time of the day. Usually it's just me and a few birds.

There was always the odd car on the highway, of course. Busy folk's whizzing off to somewhere, or back from someplace else. Tired folks wanting to get home to bed, or else, rested one's off to do a day's work somewhere, but they didn't bother me. Once I'd breakfasted -- that was usually just a strong black coffee -- I'd make my way down to the depot to pick up my wagon. It's just a ten minute walk from where I used to live and I enjoyed that walk in summer, when the pavements were dry and the sun was just thinking about rising, just as much as in the fall, when everywhere was dark, damp and steaming, or the winter, whether it was cold and dry or streaming rain. There's something about walking the streets on your own, when all the other folks are still in bed asleep, or pretending to be asleep so that they can get another five minutes in the warm, that is truly liberating. I didn't care if it was light or dark, wet or dry, I used to love that walk to work.

I saw things too. Things that reg'lar folk don't get to see. There was often owls about, or foxes that didn't even bother to give me a glance. The birds are waking up too about then too, and in the spring it was almost deafening the sounds they made. One time I even saw a heron. A fat bastard, too, just standing in the middle of the street. I'm talking middle-of-the-town street, here, by the way. We're not talking about some little hick village in the country. I shouldn't think there's been a heron in these parts since they drained the swamp about a century ago to build this town in the first place. But there it was. A big, fat, grey streak, just standing, with it's great pointed beak turned to the side and one big eye watching me, as though it thought it could make itself invisible if it just stood still long enough. And when I got too close, it unfolded two huge wings and flapped off, lazy as you like. You wouldn't think they'd even get off the ground flapping as slow as that. Never seen one since. Not in the town, anyhow.

Anyway, I didn't tell you who I am. Name's Dixon. Don't know why. It's just what my momma and poppa decided to call me and I've never seen the need to change it. I used to work down at the town depot. Had done for near on twenty five years. Never saw the need to change that either. I guess you might say I didn't have no real ambition. Maybe that's true, but I got by. Never needed much, I guess. What did I do at the depot? Pretty much whatever they asked me to do. Sometimes, in the summer, it was mowing. Sometimes it was cleaning or clearing. In the fall it was leaves and bonfires. Occasionally we got to put out flags for some bigwig, or temp'ry fencing. Whatever was needed, I guess, to keep the town running right.

I did have one reg'lar duty, though, and it fit right in with my early mornings. In fact I can't remember now if I got the duty 'cos I was always up early, or if I was always up early 'cos I got the duty. No matter. It suited me and I suited it and that's about all that needs to be said.

Now, we don't have a problem in this town with graffiti like most other towns. Sure, we have plenty of kids with spray cans, but we don't have a problem with it, 'cos a long time ago we figured out how to deal with it. Now I can't say that this was my idea, but who ever had the idea had a good one. They reasoned that the kids sprayed paint over pretty much everything they could reach because they didn't have any proper place to 'express their creativity'. I'm sure that was the phrase they used, 'express their creativity'. So the town built them a place to do it that wouldn't bother no one. They built them a wall that wasn't nothing more than a giant canvas for them to 'express their creativity' on. They did stop short, though, of giving them the spray cans to do it with. Kids round here want to express their creativity, they gotta supply their own paint.

And it works, pretty much. Of course you get the odd kid who still wants to spray the side of the depot or the town hall, but we jump on them pretty hard. They usually get the message. You wanna spray? Then use the wall provided.

Where was I? Oh, yeh. Anyway, my job was to renew the wall. Every day, first thing, I picked up the truck from the depot and headed down to the wall to paint over the graffiti from the day before. That's the deal, you see. The kids get a nice fresh wall every day to paint on. It's a good size, too, and you can use both sides. Room for everyone to 'express their creativity'.

When I got down there each day, around five thirty, I sprayed over everything with white paint. It's quick drying. Within an hour you can paint on it again. I reckon I sprayed that wall so many times the paint must be about an inch thick by now.

Before I sprayed it, I usually liked to have a walk around the wall and take a look at what'd been put up the day before. Mostly it was just tags. Most of the kids don't have any imagination beyond spraying up their tag over and over. Mind you, some of them can be quite intricate. I'm not trying to knock 'em. If they just wanna spray their tag, well, hell, that's what the wall's there for. Of course you get some obscenities too, but not as much as you might imagine, and it's better here than on somewhere more important. And you get the destructive ones, too. No imagination of their own, so they just wanna spoil something that some other kid has done.

Every once in a while we get an actual piece of art A picture, a cartoon, a portrait