Older Brigade Club

Mission: Toothbrush Impossible Let’s talk about my grandson George — a nearly seven-year-old with an imagination so wild it could power a spaceship! George doesn’t just play pretend; he lives it. Zombies lurking in shadows? He spots them before anyone else. Ghostbusters? He’s got the gear. Army adventures? Full camo, helmet secured, and toy rifle locked and loaded. One morning, George’s dad asked the usual: “Time to brush your teeth!” But George was already mid-operation — suited up in full battle gear, eyes sharp, ready for combat. His response? “I can’t brush my teeth right now, Dad. I’m going into a  dangerous place.” Classic George. But don’t worry, he did promise to brush when he returned from duty. I still remember his dad giving the world’s most epic eye roll and muttering, “Okay, George… in your own time. But I want to see those teeth when you’re back!” Let’s just say, Dad has a high tolerance for chaos — and a low threshold for “toothbrush negotiations.” Sometimes ...

Here’s a collection of my short story scribbles—each one a little challenge I set for myself: to craft a tale with a clear beginning, middle, and end that actually makes sense (most of the time!). Some are light-hearted, others take a spooky turn, and a few are inspired by real-life moments. I’ll keep adding new stories whenever inspiration strikes—so stay tuned! Stinky Boots! Tom came into the kitchen and started to remove his wellington boots. "For goodness' sake, leave those smelly articles outside!" Marion said. "So much for a man doing a hard day's graft. These wellington boots help put all your veg on the table," Tom replied indignantly. "They'll stink the entire house out by morning. Buy some new ones," Marion retorted. A week later, Tom dropped a pair of brand-new gardening boots on the kitchen floor. "Here they are—new boots, old ones in the bin," he said, grinning. Marion ignored the statement. His old boots were really in h...

The Goo! Comics aren’t what they used to be… These days, picking one up for the kids feels like opening a mystery box—you never know what weird and wonderful freebie is hiding inside! One Saturday (our traditional comic run day), I took two of the grandsons to the supermarket. Alfie, true to form, grabbed a comic that came with either a miniature car or a prehistoric dinosaur—both top contenders for his undying obsessions at that time, he is now 18 and still mad about cars, not the dinosaurs any longer.  Jack, however, was never really into cars or dinosaurs. His tastes were more… unpredictable. We got home, and the unwrapping ceremony began. Out came the comics. Then came the bonus items. And then… Jack, with a mischievous sparkle in his eye, held up a small tub filled with lime green goo. Oh no. I could feel it in my bones—he had planned something already! Sure enough, about twenty minutes later, Alfie strolled into the kitchen, cool as a cucumber, and casually said, “Nanny, can ...

I penned this many moons ago.  I love a thunder storm (provided I'm indoors).  And, it was a thunder storm that give me the idea for the short story. The riverbed raised its sleepy head — another day had dawned — and she wondered what it might bring. The sky was the first to know, as candy floss-coloured clouds began to darken and the rumble of thunder announced its presence. The trees whispered excitedly to the grass: a storm was about to break. In turn, the grass passed the message to the river. The river eagerly waited for the thrill of the race to come. Then she would be off, and the chase would begin. She remembered the last storm: first, the lightning, crackling zig-zag patterns across dark skies. Thunder followed — angry and forceful — trying to catch her as she danced gracefully ahead, with intense winds attempting to slow her down. Nothing could beat her. She would never yield. Victory would always be hers to take. It happened in that split second. The branches of t...

My Mum - Just Love Her! My mum had a real talent for pronouncing words in her own delightfully unique way. Take the word "torrential" —most people say it in one quick swoop, but not Mum. Nope! She gave it the full dramatic treatment: “torr-i-en-tial” —as if it were three separate words going on a journey of their own. Honestly, in her version, it sounded like a weather report and a Shakespearean tragedy! And conversations? Oh, she didn’t just have them—she took them on a scenic route. There was the unforgettable time she went to the doctor and, mid-appointment, kindly informed him, “Well, considering you’re a doctor, you don’t look very well!” To be fair, he did thank her for the diagnosis—probably out of pure admiration for her confidence. Mum had this way of starting a story in one place and finishing it in another timezone. By the time she’d finally reached her point, my poor dad had usually lost the will to stay awake and nodded off somewhere around Chapter 3. If s...

Nightmare Bus Dramas This is a short one—but too good not to share! So, picture this: a dreary, rainy day perfect for not walking anywhere. I wisely decided to catch the bus into town instead of getting drenched. After a ten-minute wait  the bus finally arrived. I hopped on—okay, I stepped on—and put my bus pass onto the ticket machine (is that what you call it?).   The driver gave me a puzzled look and said, “I appreciate the generous offer, but I’m going to have to decline.” I glanced down—and there it was.  I had proudly presented him with my debit card instead of my bus pass!  Well we all make mistakes...don't we?  Following that little episode, this memory hit me like a whiff of nostalgia—and a good dose of secondhand embarrassment! We're talking late '70s or early '80s, back when perms were big, disco was booming, and yes... I was a smoker (don’t judge—I ditched the habit over 20 years ago!). So, there I was, commuting to work on a packed early-mo...

Enjoy the trip back to the 70'S I was having a perfectly joyful little moment recently, listening to ABBA — as one does — when Dancing Queen started playing and suddenly, I was hit with a memory from about eight years ago. It was a weekend at my son’s house (I go there one day over the weekend helping out with the grandkids while my daughter-in-law works - still do), and I was preparing lunch for the little ones. As Alexa belted out my disco anthem, Dancing Queen , I couldn’t help myself. There I was — channeling my inner 70s diva, grooving around the kitchen, saucepan in one hand, serving spoon in the other. Enter Charlie, my then three-year-old grandson, armed with his toddler-sized Kindle and a very serious face. He toddled up to the child gate, stared me with a frown expression, tapped away on his screen like he was filing an official complaint, and declared: “There’s no singing. No singing.” Then, just like that, he spun around and toddled off back to the living room, leavin...

This is my Mobile Nightmare! Is it just me, or do mobile phone settings exist solely to make us question our intelligence? I swear, I must be the only person on the planet who can set up a website and tweak domain name servers, just… yet still be utterly defeated by a smartphone. So here’s the scene: I got myself a new contact phone, apparently smarter than me. It had two SIM card slots. Intrigued, I thought, “Hmm, I could pop in a pay-as-you-go SIM, just in case I ever need it. Maybe even use it for a small business idea I’ve been pondering. Brilliant, right?” Off I trotted to my local supermarket (name withheld to protect the innocent), and a kind gentleman inserted the SIM for me. I went home, feeling all responsible and prepared. Then came the moment: “Let’s find this new number and write it down.” Easy, you’d think. Ha not on your life! I dove into settings like some one on steroids, flipping between screens, inspecting both SIMs like I was defusing a bomb. My regular number w...

The Lady Showed the Way! It was an ordinary Saturday when I set off to visit my youngest son, just expecting a normal bus ride. I climbed aboard and was greeted by a fresh-faced bus driver who asked, "Do you go this way often? Do you know the route? Because… I’ve never done it before. Can you help direct me?" Me? Direct a bus driver? Surely, he was joking! I can get lost inside a supermarket — and that’s with signs. I replied truthfully, "Well, I take this bus every day to work… but I’ve never actually paid attention to where I’m going." His face dropped into a look of, "Really?" and I started to feel mildly guilty for my complete incompetence. That’s when our heroine emerged. A sweet elderly lady standing behind me chimed in confidently, "Don’t worry, love. I’ve lived here all my life. I’ll show you the way." And show us she did. Not only did she navigate the bus with the precision of a GPS satellite, but she also treated us to a delightful mono...

Heavenly Conversation! Thinking like a six-year-old can be a rollercoaster—equal parts hilarious, heartwarming, and slightly terrifying if you're over 70. Take, for instance, a visit my husband and I paid to our grandsons, some ten years ago.   We'd only been at their house for about an hour when little Jack, age six plopped himself beside his grandad. He gave him that look—you know the kind kids give when they're about to drop some life-altering truth. Jack stared up and asked, “Grandad, how old are you?” Grandad, unaware he was about to be spiritually recruited, casually replied, “I’m 71 this year.” Jack’s eyes widened like saucers, his brain clearly doing the mental arithmetic that only children can perform—equal parts math, mortality, and Saturday morning cartoons. Jack pondered quietly for a moment, fiddling with a tiny wrestling action figure in his hand. Then, with all the sincerity in the world, he looked up and said: “You’re quite old, Grandad… and when you go to ...

A Little Birthday Magic ✨💐 It was the first week of September 1990—Mum’s birthday—and the first one without Dad, who had passed earlier that January. Emotions were delicate, and anyone who knew my mum knew she was a  tear-jerker when reading the verse in a personal card. This year, though, the tears were different. They came from somewhere much deeper. It was a sunny, beautiful morning, and I arrived at Mum’s with my 4-year-old granddaughter in tow. My two sisters were already there—one had brought a stunning bouquet of vibrant flowers, sitting proudly in a floor vase beside Mum’s chair. I handed Mum my card, and as expected... waterworks! 💧 My sweet granddaughter, confused by the sudden tears, leaned in and innocently asked, “What’s the matter, don’t you like it?” 😲😂 That one line lifted the sadness and the sun came shinning through!  Mum burst out laughing, and things certainly became more cheerful. And then—this is the part I still can’t quite explain—one of the flowers...