This piece was written for the Six Sentence challenge, with the prompt word of ‘season’.
Barnaby took an elastical approach to the Ecclesiastical wisdom that to everything there is a season; the advent of 24/7/365 sports coverage meant that somewhere north or south of the Equator someone, somewhere, was getting obscenely rich by entertaining the obscenely poor.
He was a great believer in seizin’ the day, irrespective of the carpers seeking D&M moments to achieve their fulfilment, rolling up their peace in their yoga mats and strolling in their leisure wear through the supermarket of life.
This devil-may-care approach to the seasons worked less well in his gardening pursuits, where the green shoots of his sweet corn didn’t take kindly to the first frost and the tomatoes boiled on his unshaded vines in 40C+ week-long heat waves.
Sailing seas ‘n’ oceans was his holiday of choice in the main and he pursued the eligible ladies on board with a passion; he was especially fond of widows who had some grass.
When his progeny came to visit he was only too willing (in fact overwilling) to provide them with the benefit of his accumulated wisdom, especially the males, who dreaded conversations beginning with ‘See, son, ..’
And he delighted them (so he imagined) with his culinary skills, when in fact most of his concoctions were barely edible but his family had learned to cope over thyme (especially Basil and Rosemary) as they lived out the dictum that for every bad meal there is a seasoning.