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Another scrap from the fictional pending wedding

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Simi: a Londoner, who happens to be staying at the resort while the wedding is on

Rudd: the young manager of the resort

Katania: the mother of the bride

Jen and Hansie: the soon-to-be-married couple

Setting: Zimbabwe

Rudd escorted Katania back to the reception area. He knew Mick’s absence was a problem, but he had a feeling Katania was about to make it much worse. He walked beside her, nodding sympathetically, trying to calm her irritation. But still it came.

“What am I supposed to do? I’m going to have to tell Jen. Not that she’ll mind. Never sees how important these things are. So wrapped up in love she’s not thinking straight. Perhaps I should tell Tim?”

He led her across to a sofa, and took the chair opposite her.

“Good idea to speak to Tim,” he said, sitting down slowly. “Only problem is that he’s just gone off for the bird walk.”

“Typical. And Jen’s still asleep.”

He watched as she fixed her green eyes on the view, and then sat down, her back stiff as a pylon.  

“Let’s think about this,” he said. “Is it definite your brother can’t come?”

“Of course, it is. It’s just so irritating. He always makes a plan, and now, suddenly, when it really, really matters, he gives up. Just like that.”

The door thumped open and Innocence rattled past, en route to the kitchen, his arms stretched taut by a tray, laden with teapots and empty mugs.

Rudd felt the sudden stab of Katania’s eyes.

“I know. You could take the service for us.”

“Me?”

Alarm surged through Rudd.

“Yes!” She leant towards him. “Yes, you Rudd. You’d be perfect.”

“Me?”

“You’d be completely inoffensive. Boring. Nobody would object.”

Rudd stared at her.

“Boring” he muttered. “Inoffensive …”

He’d never been called boring. Young, yes. Quiet, yes. Tough, yes. Inoffensive … part of his job. But not boring. His jaw clenched. He took two slow breaths, as she studied him.

“Yes. Ideal. It’s not about you anyway.”

 “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. It’s not about me, but I won’t do. No … I mean … I’m sorry. There’s no way I can take the service for you. I’m too busy.”

He paused, flushed, as her eyes scanned over him. First they were surprised, and then dismissive. Then she flicked a bangled wrist in his direction.

“Oh well. That’s a good thing. I can see that now. Wouldn’t have worked anyway. Not enough gravitas.” She paused. “So who else?”

Rudd wondered if there was anyone who wanted to do her a favour. Her brother, he thought, but knew that wouldn’t do. The tap of her fingers on the table, drummed on his nerves. He retraced the guest list in his head, putting names to faces, but found no solution. Then he remembered the priest he’d met at the tea factory. Norman. Father Norman.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

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A few words imagined around a wedding

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A family wedding is due this week, and excitement is mounting, so I thought I’d ask the fictional characters who kept me company during lockdown, to keep you company.

When I met my characters, they were at a wedding in Zimbabwe. Over the next few days I’ll put up some short, draft ‘postcards’ from that time. Simi and Rudd will be your hosts.

Simi: happens to be staying at the resort while the wedding is on

Rudd: the young manager of the resort

Katania: the mother of the bride

Jen and Hansie: the soon-to-be-married couple

Rudd, still not fully awake, was halfway back to his office when he met Katania. There was no missing her. Crisp in pale linen, she came out of reception, just as he was about to go in.

“Rudd, there you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. That waiter said you might be out here.”

“Oh. How can I help?” asked Rudd, regretting his decision not to shave.

 “It’s my brother. He’s just texted. He can’t get here.”

 “I’m sorry. I thought all the guests had arrived …”

“No. No!”

The stress in Katania’s voice alarmed Rudd. His mind raced, trying to put a name to the brother, but he couldn’t find one.

“Is he on the room list?”

“Of course he’s not,” she snapped. “He wasn’t going to use a room. He likes to camp. Don’t you see? This is such a mess. It’s a disaster.”

“Why? I mean, I’m sorry he’s not here, but …”

“Ah! Maybe they didn’t tell you. He’s taking the service. He’s the celebrant … or he’s supposed to be.”

Rudd slapped his head, now he remembered his conversation with the best man, Tim.

“He must be Mick Lang. Coming up from Beira. He’s your brother?”

Katania nodded.

“Tim did mention him,” said Rudd. “Makes sense now. By the way, I’ve just met your other brother. Steve? He didn’t …”

“Oh, he wouldn’t know. Don’t want him involved any more than he has to be. He’s never liked me, and the feeling’s mutual. Anyway, this is nothing about Steve. This is about Mick. I just don’t understand why he can’t come. He promised he would.”

“Didn’t he say why?”

“No, well, something about the weather. It’s so annoying. Things like that don’t normally stop him.”

 “Okay,” Rudd said, “why don’t we go inside and sit down? I’ll get us some tea.”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

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On the subject of bird boxes

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Last year two men decided to build a bird box – and not just any old bird box, a complete terrace, built to exact specifications. The bird box was then fixed high on a wall, and the wait began.

It was a long wait, with no sign of honeymooners. The only witness who could offer any hope was the human resident of the room on the other side of the wall, who said early morning bird chat had been a summer constant by his window.

But other than that, nothing. Not even a feather. And no confirmed sightings of comings and goings.

This year, almost exactly a year later, the decision was taken to move the bird box due to apparent lack of occupation. Location, location, location – that had to be the problem. Perhaps it was too high. Possibly too hot. Possibly not good enough. So the box was taken down, and the lid taken off to check.

And there they were! Beautiful, boutique appartments, fluffed up and fancy. All but one had been occupied, and box number four still had a clutch of tiny, abandoned eggs in the corner.

So the spaces were cleaned out, the lid was screwed back down, and back the box went. A little lower on the wall, and a little closer to north … and the wait has begun again.

A few top tips for any aspirational bird box builders out there, especially if aiming at the discerning end of the blue tit market: keep the boxes facing north or east, and don’t interfere with them after February. Also, if you have any labrador fluff, or old sheepskin, lying around, they’ll thank you for it, if you leave it outside for them to find.

This link has some plans, and includes the information that unhatched eggs can only legally be removed from October to January.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023