The Charlton Story

Hazel Wood and her son went to Holland. It was bright and
she went for a Costa coffee but it was duff. “They are crooks”, she thought, “5
Euros is a fortune”. It did madden her. Hazel was small, but smart though
wilder than when she was young. She bought some pates and some Pringles and sat
in a horse field. She loved the ferns and every berry on every tree. She hummed
a song, but could only think of the spectre of a long spring and more summers
with her Welsh husband, Sam. They lived in a white house. Sam was a tiler and a thatcher
and used to work in the mills. He enjoyed being a miller and was in charge of
the barns – he liked working on his tod. She was sure her dire relationship
went wrong after Sam had too much rose and white wine plus a litre of borrowed
ale. There had been hints before yet some hope, but she began to lose heart
despite showing true grit and being bolder. There was a bond but she would
remain sure she was right. “Kits off”, he slurred 
drunkenly. “Kits on”, she replied, but he quickly done a shirt lift and
a mooney. She shields her eyes. “Willy’s out”, he laughed. “You’d ‘s better
stop this. You must, oh, you must”, she said. “This burns me inside. You are a bright
man, but you should go to chapel with a candle and hear the vicar read a
sermon. You’ll need to grant me some space. And, your breath stinks – have a
minto. Tut tut”.  He burped loudly. “Pard’
you”, she snapped “Sod ye”. She went to the kitchen and had some salmon. She was a good
cook – she used to be a fryer at the fish shop – she used to order all the
stocks. Sam then came in looking green and was now bent double. He was not at
his peak now. “I feel like a plum”, he said. He gave Hazel a garland and looked
into her brown eyes. She turned on TV. “What’s on?” he asked. “Gavin &
Stacey”, she replied. Sam thankfully fell asleep.