Holiday Memories AND a Writing Challenge!

[English Lady]

A Seaside Writing Challenge!

As many of you know I've been on holiday this past weekend to a lovely British Seaside resort, my home from home, Scarborough. Anyhow, instead of boring you all silly with image after image of my holidays I thought I'd do something a bit different.

Here are 6 different photos from my holidays and here is the challenge. Pick a pic, whichever takes your fancy, and write a little scene/story using it as the inspiration.

Theres no real rules to this, lets say word count above 300 words and it can be weird or wacky, it can be silly or serious, hot or not -it's up to you.

I will be adding my own little pieces, memories and the revelations of why and where and when I took these photos.

Come on and do me proud!

 

[English Lady]

And the next three

 

[English Lady]

And another for luck.

Anyone inspired yet?

 

[Aurora Black]

Great pictures, EL.

 

[CharleyH]

As many of you know I've been on holiday this past weekend to a lovely British Seaside resort, my home from home, Scarborough. Anyhow, instead of boring you all silly with image after image of my holidays I thought I'd do something a bit different.

Here are 6 different photos from my holidays and here is the challenge. Pick a pic, whichever takes your fancy, and write a little scene/story using it as the inspiration.

Theres no real rules to this, lets say word count above 300 words and it can be weird or wacky, it can be silly or serious, hot or not -it's up to you.

I will be adding my own little pieces, memories and the revelations of why and where and when I took these photos.

Come on and do me proud!

Glad you had a good time, EL

 

[English Lady]

Thanks Charley and aurora


It seems I should have just done a bog standard holiday pics thread.

Okay, well I'll pick a picture and give you some background to them.

I'll pick "Sky."

It had been a long day, we'd walked down to the front and back up through the shops in the morning, finding the main street to be filled with tombola stalls. We ended up winning lots of prizes and took them back to the hotel. After a little rest we walked down on to the sea front again and we went to Winking Willy's.

No, it's not a sex shop, it's a Fish and Chips restaurant and we had a lovely meal. So, then it was off up the big hill and more shopping. Scarborough is a lovely place filled with the typical tacky Souvenir shops, cafe's and art and antiques shops. The main road is a pretty steep hill, and you get very fit indeed if you walk everywhere.

There is a cliff lift, several of them in fact, that you can ride up and down instead of walking, but after a bad experience with one (the brakes failing) I've not been able to get in one since.

We were taking a little break after wandering around Boyes, a department store straight out of the past, filled with,well, everything, when it began to rain. Now, Brits will know that "it began to rain" is a sweeping statement. Sometimes it can start with just a few gentle drops of fine rain splashing you when you barely register it has started to rain and other times the heavens just open.


The heavens opened. We were in light, sunshiny gear and all we had between us was my umberella. We took refuge in a cafe for a while, watching the rain torrent down the street and the people getting wet outside. However, the rain was still heavy when we finished, but hving to be back to the hotel we had to set off anyway.

It took a further 20 minutes to get back to our room, the rain falling down hard in big, forceful drops soaking my husband and I right through just as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over us.

Anyway, I'm gettingto my point now, hold tight! We came out again after tea, it was around 7pm. It had ceased raining a good hour back and the sun was out, smiling as if he'd never gone away. We walk over to the cliff top, and admire the view down to the seafront and the gorgeous sky.

I as blown away by it's artistic beauty. I said that it looked to me like God used the sky as his canvas, painting it with impressionistic abandon. Streaks of dark grey and purple lashed across the vista, with scrubbed white explosions and mellow yellow hints combining to make an inspirational work of art.

So that is when i took the Sky picture, to capture that awe-inspiring moment.

 

[English Lady]

Okay next!!

Pirate

Well, this picture is actually taken the day after I first met my pirate friend.
I actually met him on the Friday afternoon as my husband headed off into the silver dollar arcade (he'll probably kill me if I tell you he was going in to play bingo!) and I decided to stroll along the seafront.

Scarborough is England's oldest Seaside resort and also it's best (in my mind.) The south bay is a buzzing strip of arcades, restaurants, souvenir shops and cafe's. Across from all this madness is the soft splashing of the sea with it's occasional crashing wave and constant seagull calls echoing above. Anyhow, I'm wandering along when I pass the harbour, and my friend, the Captain. A gentleman anounced that the pirate ship Hispanola would be departing in around12 minutes, at reasonable cost and I decided I would go for a ride.


I was terribly excited about it and it wasn't until we were out of the harbour and on the sea that I began to have second thoughts. Now, in the picture it's quite a clear and warm day, but when I was sailing it was under a dark sky of clouds, and a brisk breeze. The first rocking motion of the boat side to side made me graps on for dear life. I started to panic, but as always happens in such situations I prayed.

I think had a quick recollection of Jesus calming the sea and walking on water that made me feel 100% better, and as we headed straight into the waves, I happily dealt with the up and down that the waves then brought. The little 7 year old boy say next to me lapped it up, enjoying every minute, as did the 3 year old running from this side to that to get the best views. It was the adults who turned a strange colour of green and sighed happily when we pulled back into the habour.

 

[MaeveoSliabh]

*insert churning of evil little brain cells here*

 

[impressive]

And another for luck.

Anyone inspired yet?

That is just SO damned ornery! Love it!

 

[MaeveoSliabh]

Challenge met. Straight from brain to keyboard - rough draft.

using this one

The young woman peered through the fog. Behind her she could hear the rhythmic plunge of oars hitting the water beneath her. The squeak of the wet ropes binding them to the small boat were a backdrop to the rough sound of men's voices and the occasional bout of their rough laughter.

She knew they were talking about her.

Everybody was talking about her, and the murder. It was nothing, really, just an old beggar that everybody had passed by and ignored for years. He had gotten in her way. What else could she do? She had to escape those that had been pursuing her. It wasn't her fault that he had stepped in her way, or that he had managed to impale himself on her knife, or that she hadn't had the time to draw it back out. She had to get away first.

Her fingers clutched the edge of the boat desperately. There was only one way to get out of this. She had to swim. She had to get back to that little island where they had found her, the one with the sharp rocks that would break up nearly any vessel that came near. She would have to be branded a witch.

The fog was starting to lift, developing into a fine mist. Slowly, as they came closer to the mainland, it developed into a low lying cloud cover. Just beneath it she could make out the buildings of the township. One by one they came into view, until just those on the hills were shrouded by the mists.

The men were getting louder, more boisterous. They counted their task as done. They were confident that they had completed what they had been sent out to do. No woman could swim, after all, and they were well within sight of their destination. It was now or never.

She took a deep breath and shot to her feet, then leapt overboard. The shouts of the men were drowned out by the salt water rushing into her ears. Down, down, deep into the gentle current of the bay she pushed herself, until she knew they would think her drowned and lost. Only then did she kick out toward the little island. Her sanctuary. Her home.

 

[English Lady]

That is just SO damned ornery! Love it!

Ornery or horny, love? Maybe both?



Maeve -wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! I loved it, what a great little tease, a peek at a story. I'm fascinated (and relieved someones joined in *L*)

 

[English Lady]

Any more takers? I know my photos aren't the best but I really thought the chocolate fountain migyt have gotten some inspiration sparking!

 

[ChilledVodkaIV]

Anyone inspired yet?

flash

I was starting to think that the whole day had been banjaxed. It started out as a pretty good idea but seemed to get crippled just as soon as I reached the first spot. Admittedly my planning had been vague and sketchy but I can't be held responsible for town councils can I?

The Plan. Take car, cameras, snap (food if you're not from round here) a bit of cash and find that nudist beach just down from Brid. Plan 1: bollixed. They'd taken down the warnings, painted over the road marks (tiny little pictures in the bottom right corner of the signposts) and completely abandoned the idea of naturism for tourists. Eleven years ago! You'd have thought I could have at least googled for it first. But no, I just went blithely on my way daydreaming about naked women on the beach to be added to my website.

Ok. Plan 1 knackered, what about plan B? I had no plan B. There was absolutely nobody on the beach except for a woman chasing her rather large dog around picking up its shit in the surf. The nearest people I could see through my longest lens were about two miles north. Southshore.

So here I am, already on plan Q about 20 miles north. Scabby. At least it's warm. Warm enough for the ladies to forego their bras. So I sat for while, got some sarnies and my flask from the car and followed Deano's advice "Standing on the corner, watching all the girls go by." Except I was sitting.

I spent a very pleasant half hour watching all manner of breasts swinging past, of all shapes and varieties: hangers, peekers, pointers and pokers, those that swung, those that bobbled and those that bounced And then she was there. Walking up the incline, at a pretty brisk pace and even from this distance I could tell they were going to be clackers. There aren't a great many girls that dare display clackers but those that dare have my undying gratitude.

Clackers don't appear naturally. They have to be coaxed, practiced and deliberate.
There are three elements to clackers: size, clothing and pace. Lots of women have large boobies. Quite a few women go braless on warm days (and otherwise) and some women walk quickly. There are very few where these three fortuitously concatenate. But here she was. Walking quickly (almost eagerly), and her large hanging tits swung beneath a loose tee-shirt without benefit (or detriment) of encasing underwear. With each step her tits would swing backwards across her chest and on the next step would move forward to meet and slap together. Clackers.

My face fell as she turned with her husband/boyfriend into the gardens which wound a slow path down towards the sea front below and away from my eager gaze. 'Bitch' I sighed.

I moved and put away my snap-box and flask then walked towards the railing which overlooks the gardens and its winding path sidled by deep foliage. About thirty yards away, just on the first turn of the path, I spotted my erstwhile clackers with her partner. They stopped and looked about them and then the bloke walked forward by himself whilst clackers stood where she was, head turning from side to side. The guy stopped and turned around then raised a piss poor digital one click to his grinning face. They both looked around one more time and clackers’ elbows rose from her sides as the bloke snapped his shot. Clackers looked around again and her arms went down as she walked across to see the photo in the image finder. They both laughed and turned then resumed their stroll. I ran back to the car, switched the long lens for medium and then set off in pursuit.

As I approached the first bend I slowed and peered through the hedges and, not seeing any obvious signs of them, moved on past the turn. The foliage after the first bend was low enough to see the heads of anyone on the path below and almost as soon as I spotted them they stopped. For all their head turning and squinting they were oblivious to me on the upper slope.

Clackers walked across the path and sat on an unoccupied bench there, the guy stayed where he was and apparently squatted down because he didn’t move but sank slowly from view.

I had my reflex camera to my face before she’d settled. I waited as patiently as I could for her to raise the shirt again, taking a couple of shots of the hard nipples beneath. Clackers’ smile got broader and then she was on her feet. Was someone else coming along the path? No. What happened? No tits. Then the guy’s head came into view as they shared the view on his image finder. The penny dropped. Pussy shot. Fuck.

They only had one more opportunity for ‘natural’ shots before they came to the end of the gardens and clackers was facing the wrong way for me.

“Sorry mate.” I said as I ducked below his pointing lens and smiled brightly at clackers stood by his side. “Nice view.” I offered.

“Nice camera.” The boyfriend said looking at my reflex.

“Not bad is it?” I said.

“Very nice. Can I have a look?”

I handed boyfriend the camera and said; “Do you er.. like photography then? He asked knowingly."

Clackers and partner exchanged quick glances. She smiled and said “wink, wink, nudge nudge.”

We all laughed and began strolling towards the bus stop, swapping Python lines and discussing ‘candid photography’. On the open top bus with open top clackers we set off for the sealife centre.

With faces suitably blurred I have the afternoon reproduced on my website entitled: ‘Fucking with Sharks’

 

[English Lady]

flash

I was starting to think that the whole day had been banjaxed. It started out as a pretty good idea but seemed to get crippled just as soon as I reached the first spot. Admittedly my planning had been vague and sketchy but I can't be held responsible for town councils can I?

The Plan. Take car, cameras, snap (food if you're not from round here) a bit of cash and find that nudist beach just down from Brid. Plan 1: bollixed. They'd taken down the warnings, painted over the road marks (tiny little pictures in the bottom right corner of the signposts) and completely abandoned the idea of naturism for tourists. Eleven years ago! You'd have thought I could have at least googled for it first. But no, I just went blithely on my way daydreaming about naked women on the beach to be added to my website.

Ok. Plan 1 knackered, what about plan B? I had no plan B. There was absolutely nobody on the beach except for a woman chasing her rather large dog around picking up its shit in the surf. The nearest people I could see through my longest lens were about two miles north. Southshore.

So here I am, already on plan Q about 20 miles north. Scabby. At least it's warm. Warm enough for the ladies to forego their bras. So I sat for while, got some sarnies and my flask from the car and followed Deano's advice "Standing on the corner, watching all the girls go by." Except I was sitting.

I spent a very pleasant half hour watching all manner of breasts swinging past, of all shapes and varieties: hangers, peekers, pointers and pokers, those that swung, those that bobbled and those that bounced And then she was there. Walking up the incline, at a pretty brisk pace and even from this distance I could tell they were going to be clackers. There aren't a great many girls that dare display clackers but those that dare have my undying gratitude.

Clackers don't appear naturally. They have to be coaxed, practiced and deliberate.
There are three elements to clackers: size, clothing and pace. Lots of women have large boobies. Quite a few women go braless on warm days (and otherwise) and some women walk quickly. There are very few where these three fortuitously concatenate. But here she was. Walking quickly (almost eagerly), and her large hanging tits swung beneath a loose tee-shirt without benefit (or detriment) of encasing underwear. With each step her tits would swing backwards across her chest and on the next step would move forward to meet and slap together. Clackers.

My face fell as she turned with her husband/boyfriend into the gardens which wound a slow path down towards the sea front below and away from my eager gaze. 'Bitch' I sighed.

I moved and put away my snap-box and flask then walked towards the railing which overlooks the gardens and its winding path sidled by deep foliage. About thirty yards away, just on the first turn of the path, I spotted my erstwhile clackers with her partner. They stopped and looked about them and then the bloke walked forward by himself whilst clackers stood where she was, head turning from side to side. The guy stopped and turned around then raised a piss poor digital one click to his grinning face. They both looked around one more time and clackers’ elbows rose from her sides as the bloke snapped his shot. Clackers looked around again and her arms went down as she walked across to see the photo in the image finder. They both laughed and turned then resumed their stroll. I ran back to the car, switched the long lens for medium and then set off in pursuit.

As I approached the first bend I slowed and peered through the hedges and, not seeing any obvious signs of them, moved on past the turn. The foliage after the first bend was low enough to see the heads of anyone on the path below and almost as soon as I spotted them they stopped. For all their head turning and squinting they were oblivious to me on the upper slope.

Clackers walked across the path and sat on an unoccupied bench there, the guy stayed where he was and apparently squatted down because he didn’t move but sank slowly from view.

I had my reflex camera to my face before she’d settled. I waited as patiently as I could for her to raise the shirt again, taking a couple of shots of the hard nipples beneath. Clackers’ smile got broader and then she was on her feet. Was someone else coming along the path? No. What happened? No tits. Then the guy’s head came into view as they shared the view on his image finder. The penny dropped. Pussy shot. Fuck.

They only had one more opportunity for ‘natural’ shots before they came to the end of the gardens and clackers was facing the wrong way for me.

“Sorry mate.” I said as I ducked below his pointing lens and smiled brightly at clackers stood by his side. “Nice view.” I offered.

“Nice camera.” The boyfriend said looking at my reflex.

“Not bad is it?” I said.

“Very nice. Can I have a look?”

I handed boyfriend the camera and said; “Do you er.. like photography then? He asked knowingly."

Clackers and partner exchanged quick glances. She smiled and said “wink, wink, nudge nudge.”

We all laughed and began strolling towards the bus stop, swapping Python lines and discussing ‘candid photography’. On the open top bus with open top clackers we set off for the sealife centre.

With faces suitably blurred I have the afternoon reproduced on my website entitled: ‘Fucking with Sharks’

*standing ovation without bra*


Bravo!!!!