Formed over forty years ago, our Writers Circle is based in Felixstowe, Suffolk. Meetings are held in The Room at the Top in Felixstowe Library, normally on the first and third Tuesday of each month commencing at 7.30pm and finishing by 10.00pm. Check this weblog for details of meetings.

There is an annual November to November fee of £30, April to November is £20 and June to November £15. For members preferring to pay at each meeting the charge is £5 per meeting. To contact Felixstowe Scribblers simply email scribblers.1@btinternet.com or the Secretary, catherine.stafford1@ntlworld.com

Archived Writeathon.

THE WRITEATHON

An idea conceived for amusement to allow members far and wide to participate in building the story via our email contact list. We thought it was fun, do you?

"POOR OLD JOE"

Edward

His troubles were behind him. His troubles were just beginning. Joe had been in trouble all his life. Joe had been in big trouble for the last five years. He had done every day of those five years and had done them the hard way. He had lost all his remission by his appallingly bad behaviour, his arrogance, violence and his out and out indiscipline. Now he was out of the Scrubbs and the future lay ahead. But the past lay behind Joe and it was not likely to vanish.

Dave

Another five years like that Joe did not want. He’d planned his future in the finest detail in that time. Recover the spoils that got him sent down, safely stashed in his secret lock-up under the railway arches. Except he found that his lock-up had been cleaned out. He saw red. Was there no honour among thieves these days? Joe had to get tooled up. Someone was responsible and someone was going to have to pay.

Caz

Joe decided that he would go down to the Dog and Duck, one of the drinking places where he had done business before! Immediately he recognise a couple of old tarts who would know if anyone did, who had stolen his hard earned stash! Fortunately he was right and for the price of a couple of large brandies he had the name of the person he was going to hunt down, however long that might take.

Sheila

But first of all he had to find a place to stay. He had left his wife seven years ago. He had little money but he had the address of an hostel where he was supposed to stay. The next morning he looked at the other "guests". He knew one of them, Bert, and decided to ask for his help. Not a gun, perhaps a knife and a baseball bat. Bert offered help, but then went straight to the warden.

Martin

Joe might have been many things but he wasn’t stupid! He had learned to keep his ear to the ground. Which in this case was fortunate because at least he knew that Bert was a double-crossing little slug. So, how to rectify his misfortune? Now that he had to run faster than a chicken on coca-cola. By that evening he was back in the dark side streets trying to decide which cardboard box would be comfy enough for a "wrap-round". So he could stop and decide how he was going to fix Bert, get his money back and avoid going back to that charming holiday camp!

Morag

First of all he needed a disguise. Thanks to Bert and the hostel warden he knew that the police would be looking for him, knowing that he had unfinished business on his mind. He picked up a half-brick and clenched it in his fist. They would be looking for a small dark-haired man called Joe. He smiled as he looked at the red dress on the mannequin in the clothes shop window. They would not be looking for a "Josephine"

Debbie

As "Josephine" entered the saloon bar of the Dog and Duck he recalled how easy it was to snatch the red mini-dress, long blond wig, handbag and red stiletto shoes from the mannequin. The half-brick had shattered the shop window noisily, but he had got away with everything he needed. He’d purchased some makeup and cheap stockings from a late night chemist, changed in a public lavatory, then snuck out without being seen. So far his plan was coming together, the tarts would know where his quarry would be. Tonight, he thought, Big Ron would be in for one hell of a surprise.

Doreen

Saturday night and the Dog and Duck was packed. Big Ron was easily spotted for, when sitting on the stool reserved for him at one end of the bar he all but filled his corner. From his vantagepoint he could see who was coming in and who was being thrown out. Word was that Joe Jackson was on the prowl and looking for trouble. If there was one thing Ron did not need it was the ‘rozzers’ prancing round his pub. Everyone knew this was once Joe’s favourite haunt. He noticed the girl the minute she entered the Bar, as did almost everyone else. Ron liked blondes, especially those wearing skimpy dresses and high heels. "Josephine" moved forward slowly, silently cursing his stilettos, never dreaming for a moment how useful they would become. Big Ron slid off his stool to stand behind her.

Using one of the oldest lines in the book he said "Hello love, haven’t we met somewhere before?"

Debra

"Hmmm….." he said, "I’m sure I would remember if we had." Joe was careful to remember to keep his voice at a sensible pitch; not too deep; not too high; nothing, in fact to draw attention to his deception. Big Ron seemed impressed and ordered a drink for 'Josephine' without consulting him as to what he wanted.

"A Campari and lemonade, for the classy lady, he beamed as he led ‘Josephine’ to a nearby table with a hand in the small of her back. Joe prayed the hand wouldn’t stray any lower.

Vincent

‘Josephine’ sat down next to Big Ron. ‘She' felt his big hand on ‘her’ leg, sliding slowly upwards, fingers exploring the contours on the way to her mini dress. Accidentally ‘Josephine’s’ Campari spilt all over Big Ron who cursed, then laughed before crying out in agony as one stiletto sank painfully through his shoe and into his foot.

"Nobody takes liberties with me ! Understand ?"

"Bitch !" he yelled and the Dog and Duck fell silent. "Just who are you ?"

Joe had to think quick, leaned forward and whispered in Big Ron’s ear…..

Nic

"I’m an old friend, Ron, love. Ron, laugh, or there’s a penknife waiting to lodge itself in your rib-cage." He laughed and the bar lost interest in the couple in the corner. Ron was in real pain. Joe was feeling the back of Ron’s neck with a sharp, long nail and whispered : "You were right, baby, we have met before but it has been far too long."

"It wasn’t me, Joe, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. I wouldn’t mess with you, Joe, you know that. I heard yus looking for a double-crossing bastard, but it ain't me. Honest. This if fff.. painful.

"Don’t sweat, Ron. You’re not so attractive when you sweat. You’ve done well for yourself, Ron, love."

"I didn’t take the money. I didn’t take it. I swear to God. But I’ll give you some money if you need it. Yus just had to ask. Just call me a doctor, my foot is agony. Please, God."

"You have until pub closing hours tomorrow to give me back what’s mine or. Well, I guess you get the idea."

"Please, God. It hurts."

"I’m not a merciful God, Ron," Joe said as he twisted the heel further into the foot before bringing the stiletto out and running from the pub as Ron squealed with pain.

Trevor

"You’ll have to give him his share, Ronnie, my boy." Dolly sat down beside him, her blond wig slipping just enough to cover her left eye. "He’s had it, don’t worry about him, love." I left a little calling card in the drop box. The silly sod has now got anthrax and we, my little dreamboat, have got the money. Now come here and give us a kiss. And Dolly …."

"Yes, Ron."

"Do buy yourself another wig."

Edward (again)

Twenty-four hours later Joe returned to the Dog and Duck as promised with the intention of collecting his debt from Big Ron. The bar was empty apart from a couple of fellows playing the fruit machine whom he vaguely thought he might have seen somewhere before. Big Ron was in his usual place in the corner.

Not being in a drinking frame of mind, Joe went straight up to Big Ron: "OK where is it?"

Ron hesitated and Joe immediately added: "Gimme wots mine before you get wots coming to you."

No sooner had he spoken than he found the fruit machine players grabbing him from behind. "OK Joe", said the one whom Joe recognised suddenly and all too late as DC Fotheringham, his old acquaintance from five years back.

"Uttering threats, ABH, extortion with menaces, assault. What do you reckon you will get this time ?"

"I ain’t done the ‘arf 'o’ that" said Joe.

"Try telling that to the beak" said Fotheringham."

"Oh shit." said Joe.



© 2001 The Felixstowe Scribblers.