The Witches In the Willows

 

A Family of Witches
(Close relations of mine)

The Beginning Before

(A prologue-in-progress)

It was love at first sight when Petulia Picklewhip’s parents, Pablo and Sophia-Paloma spied each other across the lawn. The Priory’s feted Cauldron Casserole Fiesta was boiling at full bubble. The day was brilliantly sunny. But as soon as the couple ogled each other, lightning flashed, tree tips fizzed and a shower of warm rain sprinkled down. A purple rainbow even appeared, in a perfect arch over the experimental topiary garden.

Pablo was a well-known wizard of twenty-five years.

Sophia-Paloma was a well-known witch of twenty-one. 

That afternoon, Motherwitch McMinty won ‘Best Potion’ for the 500^th year in a row, with her Bewitching Belladonna Youthful Forever Formula. Meanwhile, Pablo and Sophia-Paloma were concocting a spell to make the cherry tree they were sitting under in the Bonsai garden, burst into blossom. Pink, papery petals soon unfolded and they discovered their lifelong ambitions were the same! They both wanted to make good witchcraft. The world as they knew it was becoming increasingly filled with untidy, land grabbing witches. Forests were being cut down willy nilly. Crystal lakes were being polluted. Witch-castle prices were through the turrets! False nonsense by the way of misinforwitchmation was being spread across the land.

While the couple chatted, Pablo studied Sophia-Paloma’s features. Her long hair was as shiny and as black as a raven’s. Her eyes were the softest silver-grey. Her skin the softest ivory. Her high-necked, black taffeta gown was extremely flattering. And she smelt fantastic. She was wearing the latest and most hypnotic witch-fragrance on the market – Poisonne by Cauldron Klein.

At the same time, Sophia-Paloma studied Pablo. She admired his dark hair, slicked back into a wizard-bun. His smiling moustache waxed into two, upturned tips. His ruby red lips, which revealed a mouthful of pearly-white, slightly pointy teeth, when he talked. (Pablo had a slight lisp, witch she also thought cute.) His eyes were as green as green glass bottles. Pablo wore a snappy black suit and a white shirt with a very stiff collar. His boots were black lace-ups with sharp pointy toes. In fact, everything about Pablo was sharp! Especially his wit. That was razor-sharp! 

The priory bell rang. It was time for supper – share plates of meaty cauldron-casseroles. 

Pablo fashioned a ring from a piece of gold thread and the skull of a blackbird that he found in his pocket. He slipped it on Sophia-Paloma’s ring finger. ‘Will you be my best-witch-wife?’ 

A smile crept over Sophia-Paloma’s face, and the apples of her cheeks turned a rosy blush. ‘If you will be my best-wizard-husband?’ she replied. 

They held hands and said together, ‘I will!’ While unicorns pooed glitter in a far-off unicornverse.

‘We’ll live a long happy life together casting make-better spells on all the wicked people,’ beamed Sophia. (She’d recently won Kindest-Eco-Witch-of-the-Year.)

‘And we’ll have a happy family with lots of little witches and wizards running about,’ said Pablo. (He was an only wizard-child and had longed for siblings to turn into moths.)

Then they kissed, a very polite but very electric witch-kiss. The sky went dark. Cloud-sized, golden fireworks crackled and fluttered out of the sky. Hand in hand, they ran back to the crowd to share their magical news.

They had set a date for their wedding. It would take place in exactly one year’s time. On exactly the same day. The sixth day of the sixth month, June 1866.

Sophia-Paloma already knew their first child would be a girl, and they would name her Petulia Paloma.

Unfortunately, Motherwitch McMinty knew too …

PLEASE NOTE: This work of fiction (like all writing) is protected by copyright. This simply means do not copy it in any shape or form. If you do your hair will fall out! Or you may turn into a mouse. You have been warned.

Always Back a Kiwi Horse - Melbourne Cup 2021

The last time I thought I’d take a flutter on the Melbourne Cup my daughters were in primary school and my son kindergarten. At around about 3.15pm on a warm November afternoon, I determinedly dragged them into the first TAB pub I found in downtown Queenstown. With my sweet blond boy child on the hip and girls holding my skirts, I scanned the crowd sinking jugs at leaners, pencil stubs poised over racing books, and instantly realised they were not my people, and left.

My grandad on my mum’s side, Buster, was a keen Hawkes Bay racegoer. I still have his racing binoculars in their handy leather case. A wedding present from my gran, which cost a cool sixty pounds way back a long time ago. Like Buster, I’ve often enjoyed a flutter on race day. Two bucks each way on a fine steed named Lady Jaynee or Sir (insert bf name) and I was as happy as a filly.

But on Monday, I went all out. Under the current feeling of doom pervading every New Zealander, I felt a glow of optimism. Something good was about to fall from the heavens. On me! I’d been sniffing around on Twitter. I had the hot tip. A kiwi horse from Rotorua. Owned and trained by a smooth looking dude with a moustache and a beige hat. The father of great crime writer JP Pomare. The horse was my favourite horse colour – chesnut. It even had a cool name - Ocean Billy. 

I told The H and Lily. Hey, I’ve got a hot tip on the Melbourne Cup. Before I couldn’t even name drop OB I was told he’d been on the nooz the night before. Everyone already knew. Lily said, get in quick. She should know the system. She dated a bookie in Sydney who handsomely substituted his student allowance working the big meets. 

I didn’t even have to walk over the sticky carpet at the Pig & Whistle, I could bet online! All I needed was a TAB account. 500 hours later this Boomer managed to make one. It didn’t take much, my mother’s maiden name, ID facial verification, microchip in my forehead, my right forearm, 5000 passwords, 50 pin numbers, and I was in. Only I’d locked myself out and had to reset. And re-enter my credit card details 50,000 times. You have to be in credit to bet, you see. When I finally selected my bet amount and hit pay, another warning triangle flashed at me. Good god almighty, I was a loser before I’d even lost. The winning stake on Ocean Billy had already dropped from $51 for a win, to $41. I gambled anyway.

Tuesday 2^nd November 2021, as fellow Melbourne Cuppettes sloshed on their fake tan, Showpo Dresses, Kmart hats and started preparing to get totally shit-faced at a Covid free venue by commencing pre-drinking, I received an email from my new best friend the TAB. Informing me of ‘The Shark’s Top Four’. There set out under four, easy to follow punter headlines. BEST. NEXT. VALUE. ROUGHIE. Horses and jockeys were listed and their stakes. I should note at this point I was HIGHLY alarmed not to see mention of my sure-bet-baby Ocean Billy. However, VALUE (with a Silverfern) caught my eye Verry Ellegant paying a decent $17. Well, I scratched my fascinator and logged into my account. Thanks to the handy feature on Chrome – save password. I hovered. I dithered. I thought no, I’m addicted to a lot of things but I’d already spent more than I ever had on a horse in the hope I’d reap the returns which would be more than what I’ve earned from my writing this year. $4,400 to put you in the picture. It was tough, but I drew the line I would not put $10 bucks each way on the sexy Kiwi mare very, Verry Elleegant. More fool me.

At 5pm I turned on TVOne. We all watched the race. I’d chilled champagne to celebrate my winnings. What a dick. My horse lost. No, I wasn’t the punter who put a heady $27,000 on the nose of Ocean Billy. While the totalizer quivered at the thought of paying out close to one million buckeroos. Nevertheless, I felt a huge disappointment and a certain shame as I turned off the telly and took the dog for a walk by the river.

Moreover, I didn’t even realise until the next day that sweet, three-white socked Ocean Billy game 23^rd.  Dead last! If I’d pressed ‘place bet’ on the clear winner Verry Elleegant I would have covered my foolish gamble and taken home a hundy. 

Kiwi jockey, James McDonald rode an extremely elegant race. He pulled the dark bay mare out from the pack at the 500m mark and bolted down the field to win by a whopping three and a half lengths. The pairs’ first Melbourne Cup win. Woohoo

But that’s gambling for you. I guess I’ll have a flutter nek year. Unless I lose my password.