Tag Archives: humour

Loud, proud and drawing a crowd!

So this all began when I got a call from ma wee mam. Settle in because this is a long one …

“Are you around?” She says on the voice mail. “Can you phone me back?”

So I do … and this is what had transpired:

My mam had been visiting a friend and my young nephew was enjoying the responsibility of being home alone and (dare I say it) peace and quiet.

Anyway, like most young teens he blocked the world out with headphones, YouTube and the silly bam fell fast asleep.

Mum returns home a short time later and can’t get in the door. Yes the dizzy little B locked the door and left the key in.

Now, anyone who knows my mam knows she ain’t quiet. Her fog horn scream through the letter box can’t stir him, neighbours banging on ceilings and floors can’t stir him.

“I have a ladder!” A helpful neighbour suggests. Perhaps going in through the balcony? They return with a two tier step ladder. What in the Hell are they supposed to do with that? Pile on shoulders like circus performers?

So the police are informed. There comes Glasgow’s finest tearing round the corner but of course there’s nothing they can do. Now a fire engine dingalinging, making even more of a scene than my mother already was because did I mention she had hair dye in that needed rinsing?

The fire men manage to get in through the balcony and open up. The police follow in to make sure everything is in fact okay.

“Thank you officers. Thank you ever so much,” mum says in her most queenly voice.

The door of the nephew’s bedroom is kicked open like the terminator. Aaron sits up in bed, sleep dazed and wondering what the Hell is going on.

Queenly voice lost immediately. East end Glasgow takes over.

“You ya stupid looking (enter string of expletives)! Did ye no hear me shouting!”

All I can think to myself is the little man needs to tell me what kind of headphones he’s using. I could use that kind of noise cancelling power. 🤷🏻‍♀️

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Random Internet Weirdos

We are all familiar with the concept of strangers on the net, right?

If you have been on any social media site or even just read an online article and slipped onto the comments, chances are you have come across a complainer, a trouble maker or a down right nut bag straight out of their mother’s basement.

I spend a majority of my time online because that has become a big part of an author’s life nowadays and it helps spread awareness of the RAGDOLLS UK FOUNDATION. In doing this I have been in contact with some of the strangest of people. I’m not here to name and shame but – and that’s a big but – I will tell you some of the nonsense that has come my way.

The first one that comes to mind is a random stranger who contacted me via FACEBOOK MESSENGER asking me to be their mistress. Now I have never spoken to this person before in my life but I’m going to guess that they assume because of my generally gothy nature that I am into that sort of thing. Whether I am or not is irrelevant. When this amorous gentlemen was blocked he started following all twitter, facebook and whatever else feeds. My block button was almost broken that day let me tell you.

Another absolute cracker (to use a Scots turn of phrase) was an individual who decided that I was evil because I write thriller and must have evil thoughts. No honey, I just happen to write about the darker side of the human experience because believe it or not some of the most horrifying themes I have used (rape, murder, human trafficking etc.) do occur in the real world. I just exaggerate most of it for dramatic affect. I like to shock my readers, I like to unsettle them. Now that I think about it maybe I am a little evil after all …


Anyway, the net is full of the craziest people. You just have to look at the comments section on any online forum and in between someone clearly missing the point and someone else trying to sell viagra you have the cry someone who has completely lost the plot.

The internet can be an amazing place of connection, learning and expression but on the flip side it is also a place where people think a screen keeps them protected and gives licence to say some of the things that really should stay buried deep and never uttered out loud. But hey, can’t complain, it does give us writers plenty of material to work with.

Vivika Widow is author of best selling author of the KNOCK KNOCK graphic novel series and other Shady City Thrillers.

Her latest novel, MUSE, is available now for just 99p to download or free on KINDLE UNLIMITED.

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Transport from Hell!

Normally I am one for travelling via train but some malevolent spirit must have looked down on me this morning and thought ‘I really need to shake things up’ because that can be the only explanation for my decision to travel by bus.
Of course, I have to get two buses to visit family in Uddingston because having one that ran straight through would be far too easy. However, I know what I am getting myself into… An all day ticket it is… I will be travelling back again after all.
So bus no.1 takes me to Glasgow City Centre … so far so good. With business concluded there I prepare myself for bus no.2 which will take me on to Uddingston. I wasn’t waiting for long when a red monstrosity shudders along. The driver zooms past just staring at me with that vacant expression that tells me I would get a better response from an amoeba. ‘Argggh!’ I yell. The old lady behind me agrees. ‘Ba***rd’ she mutters. I wait another 20 minutes and another comes along. Does he stop? no, of course he doesn’t. It is only then that I realize what the problem is. A Tree Removal Service truck complete with his trailer is parked in the stop and obviously parking in behind him would be too difficult for our conscientious bus drivers. Seriously? Of all the spots in the Glasgow City Centre to need tree removal! So I plod along to another stop and a bus no.2 finally stops and I’m on my way.
Is that the end of my nightmare? Of course it isn’t… I still have to get back home again.
After my visit I bid farewell to the family and hop onto bus no.3. The driver of which decides to tell me that my ticket is invalid because I crossed the boundary. None of the previous drivers thought to mention this little fact? It lucky that I am able to pay another fare because I hadn’t been to the ATM and had just left the shop where my niece was eyeing up a huge dinosaur toy. Luckily she had settled for sweets.
Back in the City Centre I need to change to bus no.4. I see the bus hurtling round the corner. I’m never one for speed but I could have given Usain Bolt a run for his money. I caught that bad boy. I relaxed in my chair. On my way home now? Nope! I’m heading along Pollockshaws road and it occurs to me… ‘I don’t live here’ . I finally reach Queen’s Park and I think again ‘I had better ask the driver’ ….”Are you going into the West End?” of course he wasn’t … he had already been to the west end before I got on and was now on his way to East Kilbride! I had been so busy running to catch it I hadn’t seen where he was going.
So off again and on bus no.5. I was reaching the end of my tether when two lovely young men sit beside me to keep me company. Then they asked me that question that even the most spiritual of us dreads to hear when we are trying to get home. “Have you found Jesus?”
I tried to explain that I was Catholic and happy with my path but they were having none of it. Got to admire their enthusiasm. Short of removing the biggest set of Rosary Beads from my bag they would not give up. Even the man in front swigging his cider was putting his opinion in. I’m not one to debate Theology. Maybe they knew better, maybe they didn’t…. All I knew was… next time… I was getting the bloody train!

Vivika Widow is the author of various thriller and horror books.

The Knock, Knock series is free to read HERE at Vivika Widow Online. Click HERE to check out other titles.


Hatred is a Cancer

We all have our hang ups. We all have our days when we don’t feel much like interacting with other human beings. I get it, I really do. I have those days myself. I might argue more than most. However, this morning I opened up my emails to a note from a group calling themselves THE TRUTH BRINGERS asking if I would read their literature and spread the word. I’m an open minded person so I thought, I’ll read what it is they have to say.

What was sent to me was the biggest lot of hatred spouting, uneducated, misogynistic nonsense I have ever had the misfortune to read. And someone thought that I would pass this message on!?

Let’s just get one thing straight. I treat everyone in this world with an equal acceptance. When I meet people for the first time I will always approach them with politeness and kindness. I base my judgements of people on how they respond to me and to others around them. How they treat other’s as an individual is a far more accurate measure of a person than gender, ethnicity, religious beliefs or sexual orientation ever will be.

In an age where there is so much information available to people we have a responsibility to ourselves and our fellow human beings to embrace that information and appreciate the differences around us whilst still recognising that we are all human after all.

I will not link the pieces I was sent in this article because I will not participate in sharing such filth and nonsense. It is suffice to say I was not impressed with the world views that unless you were a white Christian you were less than human. This was a ridiculously narrow view on what a Christian should be, I might add.

Everyone is entitled to their own opinions and views. That is the beauty of the world in which we live. There are so many exciting cultures and worldly teachings out there. It is a great age to be alive. Treat others with respect. What more can one ask?

When you embrace a hateful ideology (no matter how well intentioned), the only thing it will achieve is making the world a little darker and more isolated because then another responds with hatred because they disagree. Then another and another and so on until before we know it we have a cancerous spread of bile across the world and people fighting over something that makes absolutely no difference in the first place.

I will no doubt have more hateful responses to this by people trying to convince me that I’m wrong but do you know what? I have acceptance in my life and I am happier for it.

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Growing Old Gracefully

My name is Grace Walden and when I turned forty – like most women – I gave into vanity. Those little wrinkles started to appear at the corner of my eyes, my hair lost its shine and my body was drooping in ways it never did before. Something had to be done. 

As I wandered through the aisles of Keep Dreaming cosmetic store – conscious of the fact that the perky, twenty something, store girls were watching me – I picked up various bottles of potions with girls on the label promising me I could look just like them. It was all air brushed nonsense of course but as I said I gave in to the vanity. Life so far, with all it’s ups and downs, had left me looking tired and pale. I snatched a bottle up greedily and brought it to the counter.   

“Did you find what you were looking for?” asked the teller who looked as though she had a professional make up artist on hand to prepare her every morning. 

“This will do, thanks,” I replied. I was eager to get home and lather myself in the stuff. 

“Try not to use too much of this,” warned the store girl. “It can be quite potent.” She must have noticed that hungry look in my eyes. 

I took it home, pasted my face as instructed and that night I had the best sleep of my life. 

In the morning I dashed to the mirror. I was delighted to find a fresh faced beauty of a woman staring back.  I smiled, making me look even more luminous. My skin was soft. My teeth gleamed. When I stepped outside I even drew an admiring look or two (something that hadn’t happened since I had had my third child). It felt great. I was fabulous at forty. By the time I got home I had started to droop again. My eyes clouded over with tiredness. The potion wasn’t long lasting. I ran immediately back to the store. 

“It works wonders,” I told the clerk, “but I need some more.”

“I did warn you not to use too much,” she said again.

I bought two bottles. 

I used more that night, the whole two bottles if you must know. In the morning I looked better than I ever did. I could have graced the cover of a magazine, let me tell you, but it faded faster. By the time I paid a visit to a friend who was only just around the corner I had gone from super model to super scary. The only magazine I would be gracing would be a horror one. The wrinkles were deeper, the face paler. I looked like the only sleep I had was in a crypt. 

I dashed back to the shop – covering my face with a scarf like the invisible man. I cleared my bank account and bought the stores entire stock of the miracle lotion. 

“Please be careful,” the clerk said. 

What did she know? She had to be all of twenty five. 

I bathed in it and by the time I was done Cleopatra would have been envious. That’s when it happened. Now I can’t bear to look in the mirror. Now I long for my own drooping body, my wrinkles that laughter over the years gave me. When I look at the creature I’ve become I really wish I hadn’t gone chasing that impossible standard. 

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The Most Ghost (Part of the Myths and Tales Collection)

I bought a lovely new house. It had everything – high celings, lovely gardens and splendid views. My nearest neighbour was not so far away that I felt isolated and yet not so near that I had to see them all the time. You could go so far as to say it was perfect!

Moving day came. I must have been so exhausted unpacking I didn’t even notice at the problem at first. I slept well the first few nights. It was on the fourth that things started to change.

Bump, bump, bump through the night. It was a little irritating at first but I ignored it and I assumed I could sleep through it but continued on and on.

The next morning – after having spent the worst nights sleep of my life – I decided to call in an exterminator.

He came around noon, carrying potions and poisons that would kill on known creatures on God’s earth.

“I think it’s rats,” I complained. I was a little disgruntled that I hadn’t been warned of it before I moved in.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time and I’ve seen all sorts of things. I’ll take a look,” the exterminator said with his moustache twitching.

He did his checks. There was a lot of banging and clattering. Finally he emerged wearing thick goggles.

“So what is it? Rats? Roaches? I want all the details so I can sue the estate agent.”

The exterminator took his goggles off.

“It’s none of those things,” he said.

“Then what is it?” I asked.

“We’re going to have to bring in specialists.”

“What is it?” I asked again.


“Ghosts! I knew the house was old. I just didn’t realise how old.

“Not just one ghost. There is a whole family of them,” the exterminator said with a knowledgable air. “You are infested with them. I’ve never seen a ghost infestation like that in all my years.”

“How did that happen?”

He seemed to know what he was talking about so I had to ask him.

“It all starts with one lonely ghost. Then they invite their friends before you know it you can’t get rid of them. The government is the cause of this really for not keeping stricter checks on them.”

I don’t know how much the government could do. If the ghosts were lonely maybe they just needed somewhere to go.

“It’s best you just ignore them,” the exterminator went on. “Pretend they don’t exist. More often than not the problem just goes away. Or you can call a specialist to get rid of them. They just want to come here and make us like them anyway.”

I started to feel sorry for my ghosts. What if they needed help?

“If they are lonely why can’t I just give them a place to stay?” I wondered more to myself.

“But what if one goes bad and starts throwing things around and hurts someone?” the exterminator was appalled that I would accommodate the ghosts.

“Even if one of them were bad that doesn’t mean they are all bad. In fact some of them may actually be really good and want to help around the house … you know … contribute.”

The exterminated started gathering his equipment.

“It’s your choice,” he said. “I wouldn’t have them in my house, around my children. In my experience they just want to come to nice places like this and drive out good people like yourself.”

I ignored the ignorance. I wanted to learn more about my ghosts. I wanted to learn their individual stories that brought them to my home.

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Cat Splat! (A Myths and Tales … Tale)

They say cats have nine lives. Mine has an infinite number and let me explain to you why.

He first came into my life as a kitten. I was ten years old and I came home from school one day to find my dad was up to something.

“Come meet your new friend!” he cheered.

I didn’t have many friends as a child so my dad thought a pet would make an ideal companion. My heart leapt with joy when I heard a meow. He ran at me, his eyes gleaming with instant friendship but rather than leaping into my arms he misjudged and jumped right through the open window. We were three stories up!

Luckily he was okay. He was a little dazed but okay.

“That’s one life lost already,” dad joked.

That day the grey kitten earned his name. Splat!

What featured after that was a long line of mishaps. Starting with Splat! having climbed into a tree. ‘Most cats do that’ I hear you say. Whilst I had the fire brigade on the phone I looked out of the window and Splat! toppled from one of the top branches.

“Never mind,” I told the fireman. “He’s down now.”

Splat! Shook his body and ran off onto his days adventures.

Keeping Spat! out of trouble and away from danger was no easy task. He was run over by Mrs Ninn, who came charging down the street in her little green car looking over the steering wheel through her thick prescription lenses. Splat! didn’t stand a chance. I was distraught. I should have known better by then though. I ran to him. Mrs Winn sped away not realising what had happened. Splat! was still breathing. By the time I reached him he was back on all four feet.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Meeeouch!” he gasped but disappeared off. He even came back with a disgruntled mouse that night.

The more of those things happened to him the more I began to realise how amazing a cat he actually was. There was feline agility and then there was surviving an attack from the Keddle kids’s nasty Pitbull.

Splat! was no ordinary pet. That much I was sure of. When I asked dad where he had gotten him he replied, “some old lady.”

I paid a visit to that old lady. She had at least fifty cats.

“I never intended on becoming an old cat lady,” she explained to me. “Splat! and all of his brothers and sisters come from a special breed that dates back to Ancient Egypt. They were worshipped because the never died.”

She pointed to a fat one sleeping in the corner. It had the same grey fur as Splat!.

“That’s Heckles,” she said. “He’s the father of most of them. He’s been with me my entire life and I’m eighty eight! My mother had him at least thirty years before that.”

Heckles opened his large yellow eyes and looked up as thought to say, ‘so what?’

I looked around at the other cats. One brown one with a white dab on it’s nose was using a litter box. A far cry from the creature worshipped by ancient people.

I returned to Splat!. He was stretched out on across my bed bathing in a small slither of sunlight that broke through the window. What was I going to do with an immortal cat?

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Tell me it’s not true!

She sat down on the uncomfortable, plastic chair. The room was cold. Paula Campbell wished she had worn a heavier top. She wrapped her arms around her frame and rubbed heat into them.

The guards watched her. She wasn’t an inmate at the Montefort Prison for women but she couldn’t help but feel the guards were suspicious of her.

When her sister was led in Paula’s breath caught in her throat. Tracey was the younger of the two. Her usual sci fi T shirt and stone washed jeans had been replaced by an orange jump suit. Tracey’s short, stocky frame didn’t wear the outfit well.

Tracey was seated across from her sister. She rested her cuffed hands on the table. Her brown hair was pulled back in a tight pony tail.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tracey said.

Paula shook her head. “Neither of us should be here.”

Tracey’s lips stretched into a smile. She had a pretty face with warm blue eyes but Paula couldn’t help but think she didn’t recognise the person sat across from her.

“Tell me it isn’t true,” she urged. “The things they said you did.”

Tracey raised her hands demonstrating the cuffs.

“They don’t put you in this flattering attire and give you free digs at this five star hotel for nothing,” she said sarcastically.

Paula was glad Tracey hadn’t lost her spirit. It was something of a comfort.

Tracey had been studying to become a doctor. She had always been studious and aimed for the stars. She had a more promising future than her elder sister. Paula couldn’t help but wonder where it all went wrong.

“How could it have come to this?” Paula asked.

Tracey raised her eyebrows.

“Clearly I’m not as good as I thought I was.”

When her sister shook her head she added, “They wouldn’t let me finish my final exam. The bastards arrested me right in the middle of it. I would have gotten an A for sure.”

Paula interrupted. “After what you did it wouldn’t make a blinding bit of difference! They would never let you become a doctor.”

A large woman in a guard uniform unfolded her arms and looked over at them. Paula calmed herself and lowered her voice.

“You still haven’t denied it,” she said in a stern big sisterly tone as though Tracey had borrowed an item of clothing without asking rather than finding herself behind bars for the next few decades.

“Why should I deny it?” Tracey replied. “I did it. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Paula looked distraught. Her eyes clouded with tears. “I can’t believe it,” she gasped.

Tracey laughed. “The only thing I can’t believe is that I actually got caught. It took them long enough.”

Paula sobbed. “Think of those families,” she urged. “All those people.”

“Twenty all in,” Tracey finished for her. “Roughly half of my anatomy class.”

Paula used her index finger to wipe underneath her eye. “Do you feel no remorse?”

Tracey’s gaze moved to the guard at the back watching them.

“You don’t understand, Paula,” she said finally sounding serious. “I am destined for greatness. I was failing the class. They were breezing through and they weren’t caring. I worked so hard. I really did. I spent days and nights at the library. The little coffee lady even refused to serve me more expresso. My eyes were popping out of my head. Did it make a difference? Not in the slightest. I had to correct it somehow.”

Paula wasn’t convinced. “All those people are dead.”

“Trust me, they were a sorry bunch. I did the world a favour.”

Paula had heard enough. She stood but before she left the table Tracey said, “ You don’t know the full story. Hear that and then you will understand.”

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Talking about my generation

‘We weren’t like that’ is something I’m sure every generation grumbles about the one coming after them. I hear my fellow generation Xers despair about the millennials and how disconnected they are from the world. If it is true what we read we can assume them to be whiny, incapable of looking after themselves and completely unprepared for the harsh realities of life. If could be just that I’m on the wrong side of thirty and my fellows like to have something to moan about. The fashions, the television shows and the obsession with Ed Sheeran (as good a musician as I’m sure he is) are all strange to the genX. Then again, the Spice Girls, gladiators and skousers (skirt trousers) certainly raised a few eyebrows in the 90s and early noughties so who are we to judge?

Is it just a generational thing or is there a lack of understanding in the millennials? I don’t think so.

The millennials get a lot of stick in the media but I for one can see the amazing changes they are bringing to the world. My eldest niece (a millennial) defies what the media has to say about her generation. She is a confident, well educated and independent young woman who has just started her own business and is thriving. Like many of her peers she is ready to take the world on.

Despite the man buns and snap chat second life our millennials are up and coming and sure to do great things for our world. They will always fight for social justice. They work hard despite educations costs rising and getting on the property ladder is more difficult. So to you millennials, your ways seem strange to us but you will change the world for the better. Your contributions are invaluable.

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Graveyard Granny (A Myths and Tales … tale)

Granny was one hundred and four years old. She wasn’t actually my gran. She was my mother’s, mother’s mother and Granny agreed that that made her pretty great.

“I’ll live forever!” she quipped on her ninety eight birthday. When she reached one hundred and two people started to agree with her.

When she turned one hundred and four she thought enough was enough. It was high time she had a funeral.

“Give me my favourite blanket though. It will get cold in the winter.”

We all thought Granny was crazy but she insisted. When this particular matriarch had made up her mind there was simply no changing it.

It wasn’t the most orthodox of ceremonies. Granny waved from her casket with a great big smile on her face.

“Granny, you aren’t going to have them screw that casket down are you?” I had pleaded before hand.

“Now that wouldn’t make much sense now would it?” she returned with a wry smile. “How am I supposed to get up and walk about? An eternity locked down would get a little tedious.”

And so the funeral service went ahead. No one shed tears. It wasn’t what Granny wanted. Truthfully, I don’t think people quite knew how to feel, especially when Granny climbed from her casket to give a few words on her own behalf.

At ninety eight she had claimed she would live forever. She is now one hundred and twenty four and still going strong. She will fight for her rights as an otherwise deceased. She had a nice funeral and she chose a beautiful spot for her final resting place where I can visit her anytime I please. She still gives me tea and biscuits.

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