Graham Moncrieff

About me:

Complete nut and hell bent on self destruction, was, now a cool cat with the interests of life on planet at heart. ......................................................... ........................................................ .... My current children's story (first page. copyright), feel free to comment: Murphy Richard:- Murphy was one of the newer designs of robot or bot as they were more commonly called. He could change for different tasks more easily than the earlier models. He could clean up the leaves as twice as fast with his newly developed super vacuum. As for the stubborn weeds they had no chance against his newly developed weed destroyer. It simply put a large shock of electricity straight through the weed into the ground, the weed turned to a cinder. A wisp of smoke was all that was left of the weed. Leaving nothing left to grow. Murphy was a little bit different from the other robots. Murphy knew he was a robot. He enjoyed being a robot that was unlike all the other kinds of robot. He wasn’t just different because of the new gadgets his robot chassis (body) had built in. It was something more than that. He didn’t know why he had become different, he just was. He knew he was different because he had tried to communicate with other robots but they just ignored him and went about their usual business. At first this made Murphy a little annoyed. He didn’t mind that they just wanted to get on with their job but when they deliberately ignored him it was a little bit frustrating. He thought about trying to connect with the humans, but he had seen what had happened to one of the bots, which the humans had been unable to repair. It had been totally taken to bits. The parts sorted into separate little boxes, then fed back to the other bots at a later date. This sent a small electrical charge down back of Murphy’s back support rod, and then he shook uncontrollably. He decided after that, perhaps right now, wasn’t the time to try to connect with the ugly bags of mostly water, that’s how Murphy saw people. A large bag of skin filled mostly with water. When the robots became run down and their energy cells needed replacing or they needed repairs of some kind they were sent back to the repair depot. At night, when there was only a skeleton maintenance crew (small amount of people, not skeletons, to look after the place). Murphy discovered he could send the place into a panic. He had discovered this at night, when he would plug into the recharge and repair network, to try to talk to the other robots. All the other robots were also plugged into the recharge and repair network. When Murphy couldn’t get a reply from any of the robots, he got annoyed. Once in his frustration he hit the virus detection alarm! Hundreds of lights lit up all over the maintenance depot. Sirens went on; all the robots were booted up to full readiness. All this really did was cause a large amount of chaos. Some robots spun around and went into their routines. Cleaning up rubbish, where there was none. Window cleaning bots trying to clean windows, where there were no windows. Gardening robots trying to dig the concrete floor! Hundreds of bots trying to communicate to the repair network what was wrong with them, if anything, all at the same time. This was all very noisy indeed. At first Murphy didn’t know quite was going to happen, then he realised this was fun! Murphy got his reaction at last! Alec Owen the Chief maintenance engineer was doing one of his occasional late shifts. He only did a late shift when he was beginning to feel guilty, about not doing any late shifts for a while. These days he spent most of his time as part of the research and design department. “What the bloomin’ heck is going on here,” Alec blurted out. When he heard the alarms go off, as he sat fiddling with the insides of an older model gardening bot. The noise was deafening. p.s. visit http://www.mmsounds.com/MMSounds/html/browseArtist.php to hear the narration. ...................................................... ...................................................... Here's another Billy Bunter TYPE story, obviously not quite the same. ..................................................... ..................................................... Right Chaps, Are you Up For a Scrap................... ...................................................... ‘Well Willy you’re sitting stuffing your face as usual with cream cakes from the village cake shop’, said Arthur the school head boy who was also a bit of a bully. ‘You’re just jealous because I got the last of the coconut cream truffles’, retorted Willy as he lustfully tucked into his mouth wateringly delicious cinnamon buns. ‘Well next week the baker gets in his Christmas tucker and if you’ve eaten all the goodies before I get there I will personally give you a horse whipping’, said Arthur menacingly. Willy just went on stuffing his face, pretending not to care but he was more terrified of Arthur than all the rest of the potential bullies - mainly because he had the authority of the school behind him. Old MacIntosh school for boys was a decent school as far as Public Schools went; it was beautifully set in between two hillocks, the hills were green and rolling. There were numerous thickets of trees and bushes teeming with rabbits and country wildlife, though Willy found the insects could be extremely annoying in the summer months. He had once tried to hide in Wisely wood, the small forest just on the edge of the school grounds with his prize of goodies he managed to acquire from the cooks kitchen; it was just a few bits of pie, some biscuits, buns and a few legs of chicken. When he had sat down to tuck into his feast and had just gotten through his first bit of deliciously fruity ‘fruits of the forest’ pie. He suddenly saw hundreds of ants crawling all over ‘his’ lovely feast. ‘Aargh’ screamed Willy, ‘get away from my food you creepy crawly invertebrates’. It was Willy’s fuss over the ant’s nest he had accidentally found which alerted the cook and her husband, one of the porters, to Willy’s hiding spot. As Willy was to fat to run far he was easily caught and taken in front of the headmaster who really made him suffer by banning Willy from the kitchen for a whole week. Willy wasn’t able to get any extra evening sandwiches, biscuits or left overs. He was sure he lost a lot of weight during what seemed like a very long time. During the winter months Crocker Valley got quite a lot of snow and nearly all the boys would go sledging down Crocker hill, the largest hill on the side of which the school was situated. As usual a large snowball fight would breakout; the sledges left lying around the hill or put up as barriers against the onslaught of snow and slush. Willy of course enjoyed the occasional toboggan because his weight would make him unstoppable once he got going. Everybody, especially the first years would dive out the way of blundering jugger naught of a sledge. But as soon as the snowballs started to fly Willy was off; knowing full well if the rest of the boys got a chance, most of their fire would come his way. As usual the school Christmas tree at the school was quite tall, about twelve feet. It stood in the main hall with all its baubles sparkling and a beautiful, golden, glittering fairy perched at the top of the tree. Everybody was excited about the school Christmas dance because as usual St Bellam’s school for girls from across the way was going to arrive by the bus load. Except Willy who would rather get stuck into all the lovely Christmas tucker available than, ‘dance around with some stupid girl making a complete fool of himself.’ While everybody was out waiting for the buses to arrive Willy decided to try and nip down to the kitchen and just get a sample or two of the festive feast. ‘Good nobody was about even cook had gone upstairs to welcome the girls,’ thought Willy as he sniffed the wonderful smells of the kitchen. He heard the buses arriving so he knew everybody would be preoccupied. Willy went to his favourite first; the Christmas pudding, not yet heated but that didn’t matter, Willy poked his finger in to the mass of gooey sweetness and pulled out a big lump and placed in his large mouth. ‘Scrumptious,’ thought Willy. He was just on his third fingerful when he heard a truck pull up at the backdoor. It must’ve come up the back entrance because it would never got through all the buses so quickly. Willy thought he better delay his sampling and investigate, just in case they were coming to the kitchen. The truck looked like a bakers van or something like that, he could just make out on the side of the van in large curly letters ‘Paterson’s Excellent Pies.’ Then he saw a dark shadowy figure with a cloth cap skulking at the back of the truck, Willy only saw him because he was smoking a rolled cigarette. Then two other men appeared also wearing cloth caps carrying sack between them, their eyes darting about looking around them and there was something moving in the sack.............................................. ......................................................... Graham .................................................. ........................................................ .......................................................... ................... Dangerous Grounds .................Chapter 1 – sweet life................. ........................................................ Gareth Mosley had never really got on with his parents and since he had dropped out of university things had gone from bad to worse. He had only just got onto the course by the skin of his teeth, only having the bare minimum of qualification required to be accepted. He really didn’t enjoy the academic side; astronomy, philosophy he could enjoy to a certain degree but mathematics and political theory he just found he fell asleep after a while. Gareth mostly liked staring up at the sky and watching the satellites go by. He was intelligent young man but he had little ambition, unlike his father who was a successful business man. It was electronics he sold or more accurately the company he virtually ran singled handed, or so he would have you believe. Built for, and sold missile guidance systems to the military, this was the ‘big family secret’. His father reminded Gareth persistently from the age of about two. How important it was to get a decent education. His mother, who was of a loving doting personality. Mostly agreed with his father and also reminded him constantly to tidy up his room. Fortunately this didn’t start till he was six. His father hadn’t liked the idea of his son going on to become Socrates or Plato at his expense. His father thought it would be far more productive if he had done a course in business studies or even computer business studies at least. After he had finished smoking the joint he put out in the ash tray, he stared at the Blondie poster on the wall which he had bought when he was a teenager and just getting interested in masturbation, in fact he began to feel stirrings down there just thinking about how aroused the poster got him when it was new, this was good ‘smoke’. ‘I’ve told you before not to smoke that material in this house,’ Gareth’s father announced as he sniffed the air, soon as he came into Gareth’s room. he ignored or didn’t seem to notice Gareth’s attempts to cover up. ‘It destroys your motivation to succeed and become a wealthy, productive member of society!’ Gareth pulled his hand out of his trousers and felt a little sheepish almost being caught in the act by his dad. He knew he should just keep quiet and nod his head but he wasn’t in one of his more affable moods. In fact he was feeling stressed by the whole situation, having to move back home and sign on the dole. ‘Well I agree about the bit about not becoming a ‘member’,’ said Gareth in a very antagonistic tone. ‘You’re a bloody idiot, all you do these days is sit about watching daytime television and smoking that shit,’ said Gareth’s dad, the anger growing in his voice. ‘An good shit it is too; if some of these daytime television producers smoked some! Maybe they wouldn’t come out with so much dribble, which is made for home keeping wives who don’t have a life of their own,’ said Gareth who thought daytime television was as much fun as anally inserted cheese grater. ........................................................ ...................................................... ...................................................... .................................................. .............................................. ............................................. <