Only Seventeen… Again

There is no need to be discouraged. Although, the experiments so far have not yielded quite the results we were hoping for, these are still early days.

After all, I found the book by accident. I could see the book was far older than its dust jacket and that it was not a copy of Five go on an Improbable Adventure and Come Home in Time for Tea as the dust jacket claimed. As it was only a small village jumble sale though, I was not expecting that much.

But when I got it home amongst the pile of paperback thrillers I tipped from the shopping bag, it did seem out of place.

‘What’s that,’ she said with a hint of the suspicion and scepticism of one only too familiar with my habit of buying interesting books.

‘I don’t know.’

She picked it up gingerly. She has experience with old books and the non-literary purposes people sometimes use them for.

Sex Magic: The Arts and Sciences of Diabolical Enchantment for the Procreative and Sensual Arts,’ she read after blowing the dust off. ‘I don’t think it is Enid Blyton.’

‘Not unless it is one of her later works,’ I agreed.

Anyway, that explains – or maybe it doesn’t – why I’m here at dawn, standing naked – and holding a pumpkin above my head – in what is claimed to be a sacred circle, but looks more like a ring of old misshapen rocks.

The book is open at page 54, and my wife is dancing around me She is also naked, except for a garland of cheese scones.

At least we think we’re doing it right. The spelling is all that f instead of s stuff, strange capitalisations and weird spellings, and all in that kind of circumlocutory logorrhoea you expect from something written several centuries ago.

But having said that. Back when we first found the book I was about to see if I could find out how much it was worth, when the wife read out a couple of sentences at random.

Well, after we got our breath back and put back on what remained of our clothes, I looked at her and she looked at me – in that  way she used to look at me before we got old and I developed my bad back and she… well, you know – probably.

We all get old.

Well, not necessarily, as it turns out.

That spell on page 234 does work.

Although, it does tend to leave you reeking of garlic for a few weeks afterwards. But I used to daydream about what I’d do differently if I was ever seventeen again.

Apparently, it is much the same as the first time we were seventeen. except now we don’t have to do it in the back seat of my Ford Escort, or in the middle of a field, or wait until her parents are out.

The book warns of the downsides of the dark arts, but at our age, even though we are now seventeen again, you tend not to worry about the future – much as though when you were seventeen for the first time around.

Odd that.



Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

2 thoughts on “Only Seventeen… Again

  1. Not me. I KNEW, even at that age, that getting involved in, ah, certain arts, had the potential to derail my progress toward a PhD in Nuclear Engineering (eventually), and I’d get stuck in Mexico as a housewife. No way.

    But I wouldn’t be against the concept of going back now. After all, they don’t revoke those PhD thingies.


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