Mr Beckham! Do come in!

At last Thursday afternoon’s writing group at the library someone suggested we write about a member of the royal family breaking the law and being sentenced to community service.  You could tell by the looks on people’s faces that some were more ‘struck’ by the idea than others, but in the wonderful, magical way that happens in writing workshops, individual imaginations turned over and played with the idea until they found something they could connect with and write about. 

Why don’t you see what you’d come up with, with the same stimulus?  In the meantime, here’s what arrived on the Imagination Express in my head and with a few minor tweakings, is pretty much as I read it out on Thursday:

The day the children invited David Beckham round for tea I began to think that Twittering was the worse invention in modern history and regret I’d ever allowed them access to mobiles.  It’s not that he was unpleasant or unsociable or made unnecessary demands on my culinary skills or anything, simply that it was rather more faff than I can do with on a midweek-meal-day, when I don’t get in from work till well after 5 and no-one’s bothered to empty the dishwasher.  Thankfully, David quite likes plain cooking and didn’t turn his nose up at quick-cook spaghetti with sauce from one of Mr Dolmio’s handy, family-sized jars.  Funny, that.  You’d think after all those years on the continent that he would.

No, the real issue was the 47-strong press-pack and security entourage that follows him everywhere.  They made a quick game of keepy-uppy in the back yard rather difficult, as I’m sure you can imagine.  My youngest really wasn’t impressed at all and I’m not sure the marigolds will ever fully recover.
 

David Beckham – concerned over press-pack damage to the garden, perhaps?

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