The tale of H., unlucky in love, who found solace by the Avon

Now, I notice that our town festival is running a competition. You have to write a story of 50 words and it must be in some way connected with the River Avon, which flows through this town. I thought I'd write a series of 50 word stories for you - the first of which is about the Avon. I wrote this in bed last night and timed myself. With revisions, it took me 12 minutes.

"Take me down by the river?", she'd suggested.

"Not on our first date!"

Never good with women, a social misfit who couldn't resist inappropriate double entendre, our hero gave up courtship, went fishing, saw kingfishers; a fine swan's nest. Thought for a while.

"This'll do instead" he said, half smiling.


The idea for the first bit comes from something I was thinking about myself the other day: when nervous or slightly ill at ease in company, I slip into banter - some of which may drift towards double entendre. I don't know why I do this! Deep abiding insecurity, maybe. And could it be also just a little impulse to be a tiny bit subversive? Other details: you can indeed see kingfishers on the river even near the centre of town and I'd seen that swans were nesting near the town bridge. Fishing is, I think, meditative. Those thoughts were all in the 12 minutes, by the way.