FAR AWAY FRUITS
Frustrated with the speed at which my novel was proceeding, I needed a break from all writing activities. I took a holiday. On returning, I needed a quick tune-up, to get the literary juices flowing once more, paddling in the shallows rather than diving into the deep end.
I saw a picture of fruit and nuts in a bowl, and Far Away Fruits was born.
Here is an extract. I would be grateful to receive your comments, as well as telling me – be gentle, even though I’m a fruit and nut-case – what I should do with my zany tale.
FAR AWAY FRUITS
The news had finally come through on the grapevine, causing a tremendous ripple over a multitude of excited skins.
Planning and constant arguments had taken up the best part of fifty years, but at last the act had been enshrined in the law of the land, and with the decree issued, the voyage of discovery could begin.
The Fruity-Etonians and their friends, the Notorious Nuts, would finally be allowed to undertake the most difficult and dangerous journey that their races had ever attempted.
They would invade Planet London.
To a fanfare from the Royal Gala ensemble of Apples, the selection of luscious fruits and hard nuts entered their Space Tractor of the void. Taking their assigned places in the heart of the mighty vessel, they settled down for the long voyage that lay ahead.
Asleep in their refrigerated containers the dreams of the Fruity-Etonians wandered like seeds in the wind. Sunshine and rain, the dry and the wet, the seasons swept through their minds as they slumbered in contented bliss.
Eventually the temperature rose inside the cabin and the occupants stirred. After so much time in space destiny awaited them, and, eager to embrace it, they rushed to the port holes to watch the mightiest space ship of their race descend on a sparkling beam of gold and red. Many sought the comfort of others, some stood in silence, yet all felt the sap rising inside them. Whilst their Space Tractor left the dark sky afire with its wake, the Fruity-Etonians looked downwards in trepidation. Speculating about their arrival, some huddled close together, asking questions, the noise growing into one incoherent din. Elsewhere the Nuts cracked a few jokes, wondering what all the fuss was about.
Landing in Trafalgar Square proved easier than anticipated, as only the few remaining pigeons greeted them. Flying in disgust over the gleaming Space Tractor, now covered in poo, the birds soared upwards to the top of Nelson’s Column and looked down on the unwelcome visitors with disinterest.
As the first light of a new dawn appeared over the horizon, the doors opened, the gangway shot down and the proud banner of the Fruity-Etonians was unfurled. Out they came, slipping and sliding behind their flag of a hundred colours, as proud as the day they first budded on a tree.
Juicy Tangerine, tightly enclosed in her amber coloured onesie led the way, soon followed by her close friend Monsieur Orange. Back home every fruit wanted to be like them. Many of the unripe had even dyed their skins fluorescent orange, whilst others had spent hours under their idols colourful tree house awaiting autographs. With sales of their merchandise climbing ever higher, the succulent pair had made plans for even more public appearances on their return.