Rising from a warm bed in the depths of winter and milking cows is okay for my father, but not for me. Work should be easy, fun and done in the warm places. But what?
The answer came whilst watching the box. Fame and fortune beckoned; well how hard could it be to play darts.
I hung the board in the barn where I would perfect my skills in secret. Shaking with enthusiasm, I threw the first dart which ricochet off a beam and went straight in the bull's eye.
My dad wasn't pleased and made me pay the vet.
It was the moment I'd been waiting for. I was standing in front of four of the finest singing judges and the audience was going wild.
My eyes were dazzled by the spot lights and my knees were so weak that I thought I might collapse at any moment. Everything was a blur and I couldn't comprehend what they were saying about my performance. However, it must've been fantastic because I'd been working so hard. This is my whole life and what I've always wanted.
"That'll be four nos," said one of the judges, "but it's been nice meeting you."
He gazed slowly across the grim landscape whilst carefully making a note of what fell before his eyes. Into the distance spread a view of blackened and charred remains of eerie shapes that were unrecognisable. His eyes searched through the debris and were then drawn to the centre where there stood a solitary tree. It was bare and completely stripped of foliage, but its magnificence was brought into silhouette by a bright orange sky that was tinged with pink.
The artist swished his bush around in a jar then shook off the excess water, he was happy with his work.
Minette trembled with anticipation as she bent over and dragged the scales into position. Last week's bullying had been awful; the taunts and name calling were unbearable. Even in the privacy of her own bathroom she felt vulnerable and, when she caught her own reflection in the shower cubicle door, it only added to her misery.
Slowly, she stepped onto the scales and waited with nervous anticipation for the digital readout to do its stuff.
A pool of tears came to her eyes as she realised she'd gained half a pound. Skinny Minnie would soon be just a bad memory.
As she stood by her husband's grave her senses were raw. She could smell the newly dug earth as it mixed with the scent from the beautiful floral tributes. But most of all, she could hear his friends' words echoing around her brain.
"A real gentleman and a ray of sunshine."
"He was a good and honest man."
"Salt of the earth he was; he'll be sadly missed."
Tears came to her eyes as her tongue searched the gaps in her gums where teeth used to be.
"They know nothing," she said out loud and then spat on his headstone.
I'd had a harrowing day with my best friend and after seeing her in such an emotional state I had to share it with somebody. Hubby was in his favourite chair, with one eye in the paper and another on the telly.
"She's in a terrible mess, her mother's died, her father's got diabetes and her cat's been run over. She's on all sorts of tablets and despite regular counselling she's tried to end her life five times."
He turned to me with a vacant look, "Next time you see her, tell her to try and cheer up a bit."
The light aircraft was falling slowly from the sky, but the pilot remained calm and joined his terrified passengers. One was well dressed, while the other was obviously a backpacker.
"I've got bad news," said the pilot, "there are only two parachutes."
"Well I'm a captain of industry and I make quick decisions, so I'm having one and you two can fight over the other," said the man in the suit as he grabbed a chute and jumped.
"I'm sorry," said the pilot.
"We'll be alright," said the backpacker, "the captain of industry has just jumped out with my rucksack."
Anxiety was getting the better of him, it brought a lump to his throat and he could feel his shoulders shake as he walked towards the wooden stage. As he climbed the steps, with his small entourage following him, he could hear the crowd cheering. His pulse was racing and he knew he wouldn't disappoint them.
With weakening knees he was almost there, he took a deep breath and took several steps forward. This was it; he'd entered the arena for what would be his last performance.
"Stick yer head in there, lad, it'll soon be over," said the hangman.
Wendy had never sought the limelight. She respected great art, so it came as a big surprise when the art world experts heaped praise on the colourful abstracts she had done for amusement.
Sitting in the TV studio, listening to the host introduce her, was embarrassing on a scale that she never thought possible.
"And tonight ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure of introducing Wendy Taylor, who has wowed the world with her brilliant use of colour. Perhaps Wendy, you could explain to the lovers of art how you do it."
"Yes, it's pretty easy really, I'm colour Blind."
Robbie loved rock music and his Walkman was his constant companion. The bass throbbed in his earphones as he moved along quickly with the rhythm of the music matching his footfall.
He especially liked Bon Jovi and was enjoying 'Living On A Prayer' when the gate came in sight. Robbie also like freedom and hated it when any kind of barrier was put in his way. Still this one represented no problem; he took it in his stride and vaulted it with ease.
The train was doing about 120 miles per hour when it smeared Robbie along the track.
Seven years of caring had been a drudge. She'd abused me, taken me for granted and failed to understand that I had a life of my own just waiting to be lived. We'd had several emergencies but somehow she always survived, so that's why I bought her a little present.
Now as she lay on floor, I watched her lips turn purple and her gasps for air become more acute; she was unconscious but still breathing. It wouldn't be long now and the paramedics would be here, so I slipped the specially engraved necklace over her head. "Do Not Resuscitate."