At first I lived in a house; and when I finished school my
big sister
and I went to my dad’s bookshop. We sat in the Children's section and we
could read anything
we wanted
until my
dad finished work and took us back home. I hope I didn’t leave any sticky fingerprin
ts
on the pages.
When I was eleven we moved to a boat. By then there were four of us kids, and another on the way, and our house wasn’t big enough to fit us all in. I’ll never understand why they chose a boat to live in. My friends thought it must be great to live on a boat. They didn't realise how squashed up we were.
Dimcyl was moored at the end of an orchard. The only place for toys and books was in a shed in the orchard . To get to school, I had to cycle three miles across Cambridge.
I had a Siamese cat called Ayuthia. She didn't like the geese, either.
On the boat or on shore, I was always reading. Life was getting stormy on the boat because my mum and dad weren't getting on well, and reading helped me to escape into another world. In the end, they decided to get divorced, and that was the end of living on the boat. My dad went off to live somewhere else, and the rest of us – plus Ayuthia – went back to living on the shore. I didn't like it when they got divorced, but bit by bit I began to think that it's better than living with two parents who don't get on.
When I got married, we had three children; and much later on, when our children had left home I worked with asylum-seeking and refugee families. Terrible things had happened to them in their own countries. These children had lost people they loved, they had lost their homes and they had had to run away to another country and ask for help.
I am still leading an adventurous life. Recently I went to India
and I rode on an elephant. I was a long way up from the ground
and there was nothing to hold on to. Scary!
And here I am in Cornwall, trying out a surf rider. Great fun!
But I don't like wetsuits. They cling to you like a second skin
and they won't let go. Getting them off requires monumental effort.
Never again, is what I said!
This is my best place for writing!
WARNING!
If it's cold and you wrap a duvet round yourself, be careful
that you don't cover the air vents of your laptop; or you may find
that your computer crashes and you lose everything you have written.
I know about this because I've been there and done that.
Nicki Cornwell
Christophe’s Story
ISBN 10: 1 -84507 521
This edition is now out of print,
but you can read Christophe's Story with a new jacket that looks like this:
and a new ISBN number: 978 1 84780 250 7
And here's another story about Christophe called Armel's Revenge!
ISBN 978 1 84780 224 8
Here are some more stories I've had published!
(Writers always write a lot more stories that the ones that get published.)
Mira’s Butterflies
Short story in Lines in the Sand
ISBN 0 7 112 22827
Baa & the Angels
A short story in Give me Shelter
ISBN: 978 1 84507 522 4
Mud Eggs
Short story in WOW! 366
ISBN: 978 1407 10798 1
VEGETARIAN CONUNDRUM
How can sheep
be made of meat
if all they eat
is grass?
And how can eating
grass-made sheep
be called
carnivorous?
The body of an Octopus
is tucked up in its head;
and where its body ought to be,
its tickles grow instead
SQUIRMING WORMS
Worms squirm, no doubt of that;
they've all got squirming habits.
if they'd got legs to run away,
they'd probably be rabbits!
Every time they're picked upon,
they blush and wriggle round
as if they're trying very hard
to vanish in the ground.
They seem to think assertiveness
is dangerous to try,
so others trample over them
and then they wonder why.
But, candidly, I must admit,
I'm puzzled they're so fat.
with so much walking over them
NO PERSONALITY!
Do you, like the Chameleon,
take on other peoples' hues?
and nothing much to lose!
ROSIE MY HIPPOPOTAMUS
Why does everyone have to be the same?
Now Rosie hates puddles and loathes getting wet;
At the sight of a bath, she breaks out in a sweat!
Whenever it rains, we have to take taxis
And bribe dear Rosie with hamburgher maxis
And thousands of chips. She’s as round as a top;
If she goes on eating, she's sure to go pop!
It’s clear there's a problem (I've no idea why),
And something is needed to keep her feet dry
So we went to the shops to buy Wellington Boots,
But the shoe shop assistants burst out into hoots.
They gathered around, all the better to stare:
Each arrogant creep had his nose in the air!
They hummed and they ha'ad, and they cried "It's a bore!
Two boots aren't enough, she will have to have four!
The front and the back are different sizes;
The soles aren't the same, and nor are the thighzes!
The lady's quite strange, and she don't fit the norm;
She'd better lose weight and refashion her form.
Two legs need to go, that's the best thing to do!
We'll sort out her feet when she's only got two!"
I saw Rosie blush and I yelled at the brutes,
"We don't want your sneers or your Wellington Boots!"
We called for a cab to take us to Tesco
And sorted a way of travelling alfresco!
So now through the puddles she merrily sploshes,
Her feet safely swathed in plastic galoshes!*
*in plastic bags from Tesco’s!
HOW I HATE CONCEITED PEOPLE!
If that puffed up Armadillo
had a perforated skin,
hot air could come hissing out
and doubts come pouring in!
KANGA, KANGA, ANGEROO
Kanga, kanga angeroo,
look at what they did to you!
Lumpy body, flapping skin,
top half elegant and thin,
angry kanga, kangaroo,
this is what they did to you!
What did parents want for you,
angry little kangaroo?
Perfect body, flawless skin,
not too fat and not too thin;
but you had to fit the space
in your parent's pocket place.
Angry kanga, kangaroo,
this is what they did to you!
Pockets wouldn't stretch too far:
that is why you're how you are!
Will your children be the same?
Will they, too, their parents blame?
NEVER TRUST A CROCODILE!
The crocodile is full of guile
Don’t listen to his needs
For, closer come, and you become
The food on which he feeds
You can send an email to me by clicking HERE
All content, including hand-drawn pictures, on this site is © Nicki Cornwell 2011
