Robert and I visited a restored corn mill recently. I was captivated by the sounds of the water gushing through the sluice gates, the creaking of the old timbers and the grinding of the millstone, as the powerful waterwheel turned. What a delightful place to administer a caning, I thought to myself. My imagination sprang to life, and the result is a new short story, published today, called ‘CANED AT THE MILL’.
As we left the mill, we paused to browse in the gift shop. Robert noticed that they sold wholemeal flour that had been milled on the premises. They sold bags of various sizes, right up to 10kg. Robert does like to make the odd loaf in our bread machine.
“Shall I buy a 10kg bag?” he suggested.
“I really do think that’s too big, Robert,” I advised, “We should make sure we like it before we buy such a large amount.”
Robert foolishly chose to ignore my advice. He bought a 10kg bag.
“Tell me, Robert,” I said, as we left the mill. “Why do you bother asking my advice if you then ignore it?”
When we arrived home, I read the label on the flour packaging for the first time.
“I thought bread flour is usually labelled ‘strong’ flour, Robert,” I said. “This isn’t.”
“Oh…well, it will probably be OK,” he replied, sounding decidedly unsure of himself.
“It had better be,” I warned, “Against my advice you bought the biggest bag they had.”
Robert’s face was a picture as he later prized an inedible brick like object from the bread machine. Even the birds in the garden turned their beaks up at it.
“That’s going in the punishment book, Robert.” I said, as he cleaned the bread machine.
Unfortunately, he is still too badly bruised and marked from his last caning, so his punishment will have to wait. I think I’ll add six strokes a week interest.
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