Nine

I was at a wedding not too long ago and there were some ladies on the dancefloor. At a quick glance I’d say there was nine of them. Perhaps more. But no matter how many of them there were, it’s safe to say those ladies absolutely loved dancing.

They were throwing shapes I’d never seen before! Knees were hitting ears, elbows were smashing on the floor, stomachs were smacking stomachs, backs were arching backwards, forward rolls turned into headstands, it was remarkable.

If I’m being completely I was a little embarrassed, but that was only because it was day time, there was no music and at that moment the dance floor was being used to host the wedding ceremony, but once I got my head round all that it was impossible not to join those infectious nine ladies dancing.

© Carl Burkitt 2018

9

Eleven

The Piper family was fed up. Two weeks ago they’d moved into their new mansion and the plumbing still wasn’t working. With eleven people and zero working bathrooms, you can only imagine the tension.

“Look,” said Mum Piper. “If those plumbers are gonna keep cancelling on us, I propose we tackle these damn pipes ourselves. As a family.”

“What?” said Dad Piper.

“Are you kidding?” said teenage Piper.

“No way!” screamed toddler Piper.

“Don’t be like that!” said Mum Piper. “We’re the Pipers, damn it. When we all band together, we’re capable of anything!”

“Mum’s right,” smiled young adult Piper. “Let’s do this!”

“Yeah!” said twin Piper.

“Yeah!” said other twin Piper.

“Oh, go on then,” said Dad Piper.

“Fine, why not,” said teenage Piper.

“Perfect!” said Mum Piper.

“The Pipers damn it!” said toddler Piper.

“Watch your language,” said Mum Piper.

Dad Piper grabbed the family tool box and handed out spanners and wrenches and hammers and screwdrivers and aprons and cloths and a whole lot more.

Mum Piper gave out instructions and the Pipers piped their arses off. They removed, added, fixed and replaced loads of bits. Eleven people working as one – it was a magical sight.

After three hours had passed, the Pipers cried their 22 eyes out as their dream home was inevitably submerged in 400 tonnes of water.

© Carl Burkitt 2018

Eleven

Twelve

Ronald was not having a good time. He’d agreed to go to the gig for his son’s birthday, but was struggling to understand how anyone could enjoy this kind of music.

His son had always had questionable taste, but this was too much. It was essentially 12 drummers drumming on the same kettle drum. At the same time.

THUD.
THUD.
THUD.

For the first minute or two Ronald thought it was a theatrical gimmick and expected some dancers or guitarists or singers to start making their way out to join in.

After 45 minutes, he realised that this was the show.

THUD.
THUD.
THUD.

To make matters worse, he hadn’t even managed to find his son. Ronald was alone, stuck in the crowd. A room full of 20-somethings who were too cool to even dance. They all just stared at the front, motionless.

THUD.
THUD.
THUD.

It was terrible.

So terrible in fact, that when his son was carried on stage by four cloaked men to be sacrificed, he was kind of pleased just to see a little bit of something new.

© Carl Burkitt 2018

Drum

Bantz

“Can I buy you a beer?”

“I don’t know, can you?!”

“Well, yes. Would you like one?”

“I don’t know if I’ll like it, I’ve not tasted it yet!”

“Right. I’m going to buy myself a beer. Shall I get you one?”

“Nah, I don’t drink.”

“Prick…”

© Carl Burkitt 2018

Timing

“What time is it?”

“Two hairs past a freckle.”

“What?”

“Two hairs past a freckle.”

“…?”

“I’m not wearing a watch, you see.”

“Right…”

“So I looked at my wrist, where a watch would be, and saw a couple of hairs net to a freckle… so I said ‘two hairs past a freckle’. You know?”

“Oh right.”

“Yeah.”

“…So can you check your phone, or something?”

“Sure… it’s 2:30.”

“Thanks.”

© Carl Burkitt 2018