From the mind of a mild mannered maniac

bbike

What was I thinking, trusting Smedley like that?
Take my Tux to the cleaners, pick up my uniform, post my letter, and meet me at the cricket green, by 1:00pm, I’d instructed him.
A simple enough set of instructions, wouldn’t you say? A ten-year-old of average intellect would be more than capable of performing such tasks. Bernard Smedley on the other hand, who can say?
Well… By 2pm our team was down to the final third of our batting order, and I Was fidgeting, listless and bored, in the dingy old clubhouse. I glanced at my reflection in the plate glass window. A man of slight build, thinning salt and pepper hair and slightly sallow complexion, stared back at me. My basic blue business suit with a, rather dapper looking,  grey and white speckled, silk tie, looked as out of place as a spacesuit in a sauna.
Where on earth was my man Smedley?

I punched in his number for the eighteenth time in as many minutes. “The client you seek is not currently available”, said a mechanical sounding voice, again.
Then as if by magic, in he shuffled, with all the urgency of a doddery old tortoise. No, wait, what am I saying.? Some tortoises actually win the occasional race, don’t they?
“Smedley”, I growled, “where the devil have you been all this time?”
“Sir”, he gasped, His cheeks were a most, alarming shade of chartreuse, and he was teetering unsteadily as he struggled to catch his breath.
“You look like you’ve just completed a triple Marathon, with a cart horse on your back, my dear chap!.” I exclaimed.
Bernard Smedley sighed almost imperceptibly. “Closer to the truth than you might suspect, Sir.” The quizzical expression on my face obviously urged him onward in earnest. “Today’s assignments were, dare I say, a tad challenging.”
I shot him one of my patented scowls through the handles of the, plastic, shopping bag I’d been scrutinizing. “Challenging” I asked? it was hard to disguise my incredulity.
My Butler, to his credit, had somehow managed to compose himself, and despite his, obvious discomfort, was now, standing there, ram-rod, straight.
“Well Sir”, he began, “Your Cricket uniform was not in evidence at the London residence, so I thusly concluded that it must be ensconced at the country estate. Since Davis had the Bentley in pieces, presumably performing routine maintenance, I gather, and since Madam is using the Rolls Royce on her, erm procurement venture to Harrods. I availed myself of a schedule and endeavoured to intercept the number 43 bus. The public conveyance was three minutes and forty-six seconds late, by the way. Not to worry though, Sir it only took me three hours to get there. Your Uniform was not there, by the way. So I borrowed a motorbike from one of your Gardeners. In hindsight, it might have been fortuitous had the, charming fellow, thought to have informed me that it was almost out of petrol. Still, those five kilometres required of me to push it to the nearest petrol station were quite invigorating. When I arrived at your dry cleaners, the obstinate service clerk patently refused to oblige me with your Tuxedo, even when I promised him an extremely unpleasant visit from your solicitors, if he should fail to do so.

It was at that point that I discovered my, most egregious, oversight. I had inadvertently abandoned your letter, back at the estate. The journey back there was quite uneventful, by the way. I’m beginning to quite enjoy motor biking”
How I’d listened to the, whole, ridiculous tale without laughing myself silly is, quite honestly, beyond my comprehension.
“So”, I said, finally, “what’s this?” I pulled a wooly white jumper, and a pair of white painters trousers out of the bag.
“Those,” he said, pointing sheepishly at the offending articles, “are the nearest I could find to a Cricketers ensemble, at such short notice, Sir.”
I simply smiled, poured him a cup of tea, and we sat and watched the remainder of the match together in companionable silence.cric

.

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At the, not so, spacious headquarters of, Cribbs & Cribbs Investigation, an old, though tastefully adorned, office space in the West-side of Downtown Vancouver, Dave Cribbs slammed down the phone.
His wife rested a comforting hand on his shoulder“ How’s our favourite Chief inspector today?”
“Arggh!” Cribbs jumped to his feet abruptly. “ Just as obstinate as usual- Says he can manage, just fine without me.”

Suzanne sat down at the uncomfortably tidy desk and silently studied her partner’s ruggedly handsome profile. Things had been quiet lately, Not Even a run-of-the-mill, domestic case to occupy his supple mind. As a valued former employee and frequent police consultant of note, it rankled him not to have been called in on a big case like this.

“Don’t stress it, Hon, he’ll come around eventually, he always does.”

Dave Cribbs, who was staring vacantly out of the window at the bustling street below, shrugged resignedly.
“Yeh, maybe. He’s too proud for his own good though.” He thought about it for a moment then added “They’re bound to need our help on this one, right? The department’s swamped at the moment, and massively understaffed.”

The news had broken earlier that morning. Henry Davison had met his end between midnight and three AM last Saturday. A toxicology report had determined that a lethal dose of a powerful, fast-acting, barbiturate had been administered just prior to death. The medical examiner, had corroborated that, after a detailed examination, a corresponding injection site had, been discovered, between the third and forth toe, on the victim’s right foot. It was deemed, highly unlikely, to have been self-administered.

The headline had set the news world abuzz with wild theories, conspiracies and far reaching speculation. Tales of Secret trysts, disgruntled former business partners, a business rivalry, a dissolved marriage, disinherited offspring, and Davison’s last two years of seclusion all made the rounds.

Two days later, a folder with a copy of all of the case files lay open on his desk. Dave chuckled to himself as he recalled the conversation with Chief inspector Reginald Stubbson of The West Vancouver RCMP detachment. For Stubby, as he was referred to, in hushed tones, amongst his underlings, it must have felt tantamount to pulling teeth. Having grudgingly admitted that he had a, temporary, manpower shortage, and that Cribbs could be of some minor assistance, he had dispatched the necessary documents in record time.

Reports from the first officer on the scene, including his interview with the cleaning lady a Mrs. Doris Rhattenburg. She, who had, tearfully, recounted, at length, the shocking, discovery of her employer’s body. The folder also contained photos of the crime scene, obligatory interviews with Davison’s next of kin, toxicology and medical examiner’s reports.

Having perused the notes and reports, Dave turned his attention to the photographs. Henry Sinclair Davison, had been a ruggedly handsome man, whose athletic build and six foot three inch frame, must have been an imposing sight. Even in death, his chiselled features and robust physique, were strikingly apparent. To Cribbs, It was not a huge surprise. Before his self imposed exile, Davison had been an avid outdoorsman, equally at home in the wilderness, as he was in the boardroom. His exploits in the jungles of Africa, and the ragged peaks of the Himalayas had been documented at length, and replayed in a continuous loop on all the major news outlets in the days following his untimely death.

Suzanne Cribbs, who had been peering over her partners right shoulder at one of the, more revealing, photographs, let out a low breathy whistle.

“Well now,” She said, “there’s a man who died in his prime of life.”

*********To be continued

The Murderer Did it

Hello Friends, I am back!
Sorry there haven’t been any entries in February, well, until now, that is.
There’s some very odd thing called Family, that has kept me preoccupied for a week or two, but while I have a moment or two to my self, I thought I would spend them with you. Hope this post finds you all happy and healthy.
Heres just a wee snippet of something I have been working on, any feedback/words of wisdom you could impart would be most welcome.
Thank you,
Cliffy 

THE MURDERER DID IT (A Working Title) By Cliff Lewis

“It’s murder”, he declared boldly.

“What are you talking about?”

Private Investigator, and retired police detective, Dave Cribbs, had a crazed expression painted across his, chiselled face
“Murder!”, he repeated emphatically.

“Are you reading one of your silly stories?” Enquired the woman seated to his left in the restaurant booth.

“What? No, don’t you see, it’s as plain as the nose on your face!”

“Well now that’s a lovely thing! My nose is perfectly proportioned for my face shape, thank you very much!”

“No”, said Dave, ignoring the look of indignation on the woman’s face, “look at this!” He waved a rumpled newspaper. The gleam in his eyes was intensifying with every passing second.

“Potatoes 45 cents a pound?”

“No, no the other side.” He wrenched the newspaper from his wife’s tenuous grip and flipped it over.

Suzanne Cribbs scanned the article with an expression of polite disinterest on her petite, some would say, pretty face.
“Yes”’ she said, I see that you have an overblown imagination.

The article in question, outlined the story of a 68 year old multimillionaire recluse Henry S. Davison, who’s naked, body had been discovered cold and inanimate in the bathtub of the locked, ensuite bathroom of his West Vancouver Mansion. A primary investigation had suggested his death was by natural causes. The Police are awaiting results of the Medical examiner’s report, but have found no suspicious circumstances.

Mrs. Cribbs sighed.
“I know we’ve been without a case for a week or two, but this is ridiculous. You might not be aware of local statutes, dear, but you cannot, possibly, be suggesting we investigate death by natural causes?”

Dave Cribbs stabbed the article emphatically
“Except it’s not natural causes, read the fine print.”
“How ‘bout just saving me the trouble, and outlining it for me?”
“OK.” The great detective cleared his throat with exaggerated gusto.

“Multi Million dollar mogul publicly announces he’s severing ties with his money-grubbing family, aka cuts them all out of the will, adopts the life of a hermit, then two years later, is found dead in his bathtub.”

He pounded on the table, with such a force, that the salt cellar toppled, causing a diner at an adjacent table to drop her fork. She snorted, glared in his direction for a full second, then stormed out.

“I’ve been on the job long enough to know a murder when I smell one, Suzanne, take my word for it, this,” he tapped the paper again, “is definitely one.”

His wife just chuckled. There was no denying her husbands powers of deduction, but this was laughable.

They finished lunch, and strolled casually down the block to the offices of Cribbs & Cribbs Investigation.

Several days later, Private Investigator David Cribbs was proved right.

.>>>>> To Be Continued <<<<<

CONVERSATION, WHAT’S THAT?

So,

I’m sitting in a crowded café, with the lilting tone of The Beach Boys in my earbuds, faced with the leisurely task of writing something, at least, halfway interesting for today’s blog.

Someone is screaming from a table nearby, I assume it is from pent up excitement, and not some real emergency. Other than that, the only thing I hear is the indecipherably, merged rumblings of the coffee shop’s clientele. Its kind of comforting in a strange way. Different at any rate, from the all too silent surroundings I’d occupy, at this early hour, at home. There, where the ticking of a clock, the dull hum of the refrigerator or the drone of the furnace, can seem like a hundred elephants thundering across the living room floor.

If you suspect that I’m stalling here, then you would be correct. I’m dithering around, as I wait for the caffeine to kick in, and for inspiration to strike. That obviously hasn’t occurred yet, Lol! Oh and yes, in case you’re wondering, I was, indeed, just tittering to myself. The women at the next table appear to be measuring me up for a straight jacket. I’m not concerned, just merely amused and, somewhat, gratified that I have provided them with a moment’s entertainment.

So anyway…
Have you ever wondered how this world of ours keeps functioning? As I glance around me now, I see very few people that don’t have the dull glow of a smartphone, or tablet, screen reflected in their glazed eyes. (I must, in the traditional of serious journalists everywhere, include yours truly, as I stare at this display, and strive to impart some sort of meaningful missive.

The only exception to this internet inseption, seems to be a rowdy bunch of pensioners who are engaged in an ancient rite, which I believe was once referred to as conversation. A few are even reading newspapers. How unique that seems in this age of electronic pacification.

Actually, upon further investigation, I find myself in the awkward position of amending my previous statement. There are a multitude of multitasking millennials who seem to be texting and verbally conversing with their table mates simultaneously. Perhaps our future is in the hands of a far more capable bunch than I initially suspected.

I am not judging, merely observing.
I find myself staring at my own devices for an inordinate amount of time. Oh well, such is life.

Now as I swallow the last dregs of cold coffee and stop to review this rather pathetic blog entry. I must sadly bid you all adieu and farewell. Perhaps next time I will have something important to say. 😉
Keep smiling, and if you made it to the end here, thanks for reading my blog.

I love you all ❤

~CLIFFY

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCpyubr_j_njte9AzuNgR7_w

The gentleman in the photo above is Rick Sare. He is a hardworking, fun loving, long distance Trucker, stationed out of Florida. He is also a witty, charming, and very generous, part-time YouTuber. His channel The Glass Geek, can be found here or by clicking the link above his photo.

Rick’s vlog, which comes out regularly on Mondays and Wednesdays, but also various other times of the week, including live-stream Fridays. is very entertaining. It features fun and unusual roadside attractions, visits to theme parks, box openings, and various other points of interest across The American continent.

Rick’s videos are highlighted by his own special charm, personal introspective reflections, witty repartee and self deprecating humour, and feature some beautiful aerial, drone footage, and occasionally some interactive 360 degree videos.

Why am I telling you all this? Mainly because Rick is my favourite YouTuber, and although his small wonderful devoted group of followers are very loyal, I believe he deserves many more viewers/subscribers than he currently has. Rick cares a great deal about his subscribers, he is constantly working to improve his already excellent filmography techniques and toils endlessly to provide entertaining content. He also goes to great pains to respond to your comments.

Besides, he is fun to watch, and I wouldn’t want you all to miss out on it.

That link again is https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCpyubr_j_njte9AzuNgR7_w

Check it out, and let him know Cliff Lewis sent you.

Thanks for reading,

Have a great week, and keep smiling,

~ Cliffy ☺

SWEET DREAMS

I’m in my happy place. Insulated, protected from cold hard reality, not isolated, no never that.

The world is always within my grasp, a single step away, if that is what I need.
Ah, but here, within this cozy cocoon of my own design, I can be what I please, and do anything my imagination can conjure up for me.

Leaning back, I feel the Earth, gently, slide away. Sights and sounds, of the material world fade slowly but surely into this temporary oblivion. Some distance ahead, the ties that once held me captive, will start to unravel and slowly drift off into the ether , like weightless wisps on a wayward wind.

I can fly like a dove, I can soar to the heavens now, perhaps even far beyond. I can delve to the foggy depths or deeper still. I am no longer earth bound, no longer tied to one place or time. Endless possibilities, boundless adventures are all but a dream away.

I don’t have to pinch myself, and wonder if I’m dreaming, I know I am. Oh, but what dreams these be!
Sometimes I am in the world, well, not this world, perhaps, but another, maybe, or in an alternate universe, Where the sun always shines, the skies are always blue, and there’s a pleasing scent of Honeysuckle, Sweet pea and Lilac in the air.

I am young here, and free to run like the wind, to romp and role around like a carefree child, in a dewy meadow, or to climb high amongst the Cherry Blossoms.

Here, where a gentle brook babbles gently by, a tuneful flock of Plovers, Wrens or nightingales sing a medley of my favourite songs. Peacefully then, I meander from scene to scene.
Sometimes an adventure on the high seas, or Skyward scaling some snow kissed mountain peak, or sightseeing in places I have neither vocabulary nor willingness to attach to world weary passages. Perhaps that is a task for another time or place, Who Knows?
For the present though, in this blissful state, I will awaken refreshed to face a bold new day.

For now though, I wish you sweet dreams, and happiness always,

~Cliffy 🙂

FREE WRITE

What will I write today?
I don’t always plan, or know.
It’s like magic, when inspirations strike,
And on the paper flow.

They can take you to a Wonderland,
Or into a forest deep
Where long forgotten memories
Awaken from their sleep.

when the palette is dryer than desert sand
And my canvas remains a blank.
I’ll Cast into a stream of thought
Or favourite memory bank

Sometimes just an uttered word,
Or phrasing will suffice
It needn’t be a complex theme
Or tricky plot device

When real-life tries to intervene
And my thoughts grow circumspect
Free writes can be refreshing,
care-free moments to reflect.

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