Visit Siani's Other Blogs

Visit Gower Strange Days

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Heads or Tails Tuesday - Flower


It's time for Heads or Tails, hosted by Barb. Click the logo above if you fancy giving this meme a try. It's a lot of fun, as Barb lets us interpret the weekly theme very liberally. This week's theme is: Flower. I could have posted a selection of my many flower pics, but decided to go off on a bit of a tangent, instead.

Many moons ago - about 22 years' worth of moons, in fact, I shared a rented student house with a bunch of girls. One of them, slightly older than the rest of us, was a crazy Scottish woman. Sometimes, she was crazy in a zany, wacky way. Other times, she was just downright embarrassing. I'll call her Scottish Sara. Sara isn't her name, but whenever anyone talked about her - and believe me, lots of people did - her real name was always preceded by 'Scottish'. This was to distinguish her from a couple of other people called Sara, neither of whom, oddly enough, was Scottish.

What does any of this have to do with this week's Heads or Tails theme, I hear you ask? Well, I'll get to that soon enough. But before I tell you how Scottish Sara murdered Flower of Scotland, I need to tell you a little more about her, just to set the scene.

Sara was a strange one. She had a penchant for fussy, frilly blouses made of broderie anglaise, paisley or lurid, floral fabrics - or better still, all three at once. She also had an embarrassing tendency to squeeze herself into short, leather skirts that were at least two sizes too small for her. As for her efforts with a make-up brush - they were terrifying. Her foundation always left an orange tide-mark where her face and neck met. Her blusher was always at least three shades too dark for her fair skin. She would smear her lipstick on in one gooey, fluorescent slick, never blotting it, so it bled all around her mouth. Then there was the cobalt blue, creamy eye-shadow, dabbed on and never blended. She looked a mess, unless I did her make-up for her. But Sara believed she was God's gift to men.

Just before she left the house, she would always don a pair of impossibly high stiletto heels, before thrusting out her substantial bosoms ahead of her. I swear her breasts turned corners a good twenty seconds before the rest of her. To make matters worse, she had an enormous nose, the high heels made her walk with her feet somewhat splayed, and she had a peculiar habit of bobbing her head backwards and forwards as she walked. Poor Scottish Sara bore a frightening resemblance to a psychotic mother hen as she strode along the street.

No man was safe with Sara. She had a voracious appetite for man-flesh. One night, at the end of the college term, she had set her sights on a poor, handsome devil called Luke. He was terrified. Sara would stop at nothing to get her man. It was this night she murdered Flower of Scotland. You see, it was open mike night at the college bar. Full of Scottish spirit - well, Johnnie Walker to be precise - Sara clambered on the rough, wooden podium that served as a stage, bosoms and beak thrust outwards, her feet splayed as she tottered on her stilettoes. She grabbed the mike and burst into song - or at least, that's how she saw it.

Although I'm no fan of folk music, Flower of Scotland is a pleasant enough traditional wee song. Normally, that is. But Sara had the most godawful voice you've ever heard, high-pitched, shrill and utterly lacking in control. Worse yet - she started the song off about five octaves higher than anyone in their right mind would ever dare. About two bars into the song, people began to clap their hands over their ears. Even the PA system protested, by letting out a squeal of feedback. Or maybe that was just Sara, and everyone mistook it for feedback. She fixed her adoring eyes on poor Luke. The unfortunate hunk was mesmerized - with horror, not the mutual adoration Sara presumed. His friends fell about laughing and I thought about dying.

'Oy!' said Luke, jabbing me in the arm. 'Is that with you?'
'F**k off', I growled. He may have been gorgeous, but like Sara's singing, he'd hit a raw nerve.

On-stage, Sara continued to slaughter poor Flower of Scotland. Her caterwauling grew louder and more shrill, as she battled on, determined to impress young Luke with her musical talents - the ones that existed only in her head. Suddenly, I became aware of a kerfuffle just behind me. It seems the college principal was there, and had been helping himself to some food from the end-of-term buffet. As Sara hit an especially high, shrill note, her eyes bulged, the loudspeakers shrieked and two of the buttons on her too-tight blouse popped. Unfortunately, the poor principal had just bitten into a sausage roll. He gave an involuntary guffaw, and a chunk of sausage roll became wedged in his windpipe.

Luckily, the principal was saved by much hearty back-slapping. But I'd had enough of the nasty looks and admonitions for having brought Sara to the bar. As soon as I knew the principal was going to live, I fled. I raced through the campus, desperate to escape Sara's shrill, keening wail, as it molested the chill, night air. For a second, my brain mistook her racket for the mewling of some unearthly newborn, as it lay in wait for me in the shadows, perhaps the result of a freak mis-mating between a banshee and a set of bagpipes. I ran solidly for a good three minutes, out of the campus, before I finally escaped the din. So there you have it: the tale of how Scottish Sara murdered Flower of Scotland - and almost killed the college principal along the way.

If anyone's interested - here's a video clip featuring the song, Flower of Scotland, as it should sound. Happy Tuesday!

9 comments:

Skittles said...

I LOVED this!!! I could picture it all so clearly. Good job!!!!

milet said...

your writing is good. your story made me picture the scene, i enjoyed reading it.


you can view my flowers here!

Baldwins Girl said...

Oh my GOD I laughed so freakin hard I almost fell off my chair.

Dragonstar said...

Good job I'd finished my coffee when I read this! A night to remember - not that you could ever forget!!!

maggies mind said...

What a fun take on the theme, and quite the story, too! You tell it well!

Sue said...

Hehehe!!! Poor Scottish Sara. I think we all know someone who is at least a wee bit like that. Thanks for the video clip too, it was the first time I heard it :) Happy HOT day!

storyteller said...

You certainly have a way with words and know how to spin a yarn! Clever ‘take’ on this week’s HoTs theme ;--)

I participated at Small Reflections this morning and just returned home from my Photoshop class (and running errands) … so I’m visiting at last.
Hugs and blessings,

peppylady said...

I got a good laugh out of this posting.
I bet you'll never will forget Scottish Sara as long as you will live.

Thanks for stopping in.

Inspiration Alley said...

Had a good laugh at this and could picture it all happening.

 
ss_blog_claim=80361ebb90d0aa68f7212d099b7ed341