Henrietta

lived, like many other characters in my stories, in a caravan balanced on top of a steep hill.
One day there had been a strong wind, and the caravan had rolled down the hill, and into the local swimming pool. Henrietta had had to pay a large sum of money in repayments and had lost all of her possessions at the bottom of the diving pool. That was not a good day in the history of Henrietta. Luckily, most other days were good days, with only the occasional plastic bag over the head or chewing gum on the shoe incidents.
One night Henrietta went out with her friends, and woke up the next day in her caravan with a man named Frank. Her memories of the night before being very vague, she could only guess as to why this man called Frank was in her caravan, and, being quite an accurate guesser, was quite disturbed at the results. She had been about to label the day BAD on her desk calendar, when Frank started to make her a full English breakfast on the trangia that she used to cook her meals, complete with macaroni cheese and pickled onions. That day actually turned out the one of her best, and culminated in her marriage to Frank. They seemed to be made for each other, what with both of the having a certain penchant for beach fishing and sharing the ability to make milk come out of their eyes. Now, anyone could have told them that these were hardly a basis for a stable relationship, but Hank and Frenrietta managed to live together in the small caravan for 3 whole weeks before becoming sick of each other.
At the bottom of the hill, lived Mr Rodney Sayer, who, apart from sitting in the barber’s chayer, liked to watch Frank and Henrietta go about their daily business through his home made telescope. He watched them through the big end of the telescope so that they looked a long way away, and he would pretend that they were ants in the ant farm that he never had as a child. Rodney spent most nights alone, drinking ‘wine from a box’ and pretending that he was devastatingly good looking in his singlet and shorts. Rodney had a very sad life, especially when he didn’t take his pills.
Luckily, though, we don’t talk about him anymore, or you’d all be crying into your sleeves like Wade Walker.
Instead, we see some dots
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Yes. I really do specialise in those little stories that go nowhere. What a talent. Sono la mia specialità, ma sono molto inutile.