Henry was too quick. Always in a rush. See the world, why not? But we saw nothing. A blur. I sneezed and missed Luxembourg, ha, ha. But then, he always was. Forty years of marriage, no time to myself, no room. Till now, that is. A space of my own – well, almost. Not as comfy as that suite in… Bruges, was it? Somewhere pretty, anyway. Henry on the balcony, beaming. ‘Oh, do cheer up, Rosemary, come on! England next!’ Did he have time to understand my reply? Probably not. Too quick, wasn’t I? ‘Not England, Henry. The sidewalk.’ Ha, ha.
In response to thebookblogger2014’s Flash Fiction Foray, with the prompt, Come on, England, by the Barmy Army in celebration of England winning the ashes (Late again – sorry, Matt!)
Journey of a Blogvelist 
Eh!!!! I notice you enjoy writing about any idea!!!! good!!!!
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Thanks! I always enjoy it, and then just hope that it’s good…
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Ah, ingenius use of the title here; I love the sharp and cynical outlook of Rosemary!
No issue with when you do it (or indeed which edition you do), so long as you ping me or tell me I’ll include it in the next related post.
Best, Matt
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Thanks, Matt – it’s very nice to have flexible rules!
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People like Henry are so obsessed with seeing/doing everything that they wind up seeing/doing nothing. Maybe he enjoyed the rapid zoom to closeup view of the sidewalk.
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True, indeed. And yes, let’s hope he appreciated his brisk departure…
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