Christmas Eve

Lucy was involved in an accident, so close to Christmas too. She had the children in the car and was stationary when another car driving at speed shunted a third car into her. The car in the middle was smashed in, but the driver of the car that hit them grabbed something from the locker and ran off. Fortunately Lucy's car was not too bad. The police clearly thought it was drug-related, but they still insisted on breathalysing Lucy and making her wait with the shaken children while they took statements. The car in the middle was undrivable, and full of Christmas shopping and presents that the owners couldn't easily get back.

Walking the dogs in the park, a young Asian woman was coming towards me in the distance. Dressed in light blue jeans with a dark anorak and hood, and mustard gloves, she appeared to be alternating between jogging and a walk. As she drew nearer, she seemed to see the dogs and turned suddenly to half jog-half walk back, though at such a pace I was keeping up with her even at my old-man's gait. In the open parkland, she turned round to come towards me again. Suddenly, she lurched to one side through the gate into the children's play area, though no child was with her, as though desperate to avoid me. I must check in the mirror when I get home.

Pilot the guinea pig lies in Edwin's arms

I met Ann after her hair, who had mentioned to her hairdresser how Edwin loves the best in life. She quickly replied, "he has champagne ambitions on a lemonade income!"

At the bar, a man was relating how he'd been donated a huge 60-inch television by his mother-in-law. He carefully fitted it to the wall, but then discovered it used more electricity than his hot tub, so he's going to have to get rid of it.

Now, our poor guinea pig, Pilot, appears to be at the door of death. He was lying moribund in Ann's arms while I shredded paper to try and make a softer nest than sawdust and straw. Edwin then took him and cleaned him, but he is barely moving. The dogs sit by his feet watching anxiously, but make no effort to attack him.

out of time

Suddenly
and without warning
you find
you are out of your time
your thoughts and ideas
trip and stumble
while your wayward mind
harks back to a simpler day
when all was knowing
and knowing was all
before technology
twined with adventurous youth
held sway
colouring each day
now the life you once knew
sinks to mean nothing at all
just a sorry shadow
cast in a blurred rainbow

Annie Elliott 

Ann continues to write fantastic poetry, and draws large numbers of readers from round the world. out of time is a moving reminder of how the world we once knew and thought we understood moves on, inevitably leaving us behind, as though we never really knew it at all.