Episode 5 And A Bit: The Umpire Strikes Back!

My beloved Reader, it has come to my frazzled and most nervous attention that the two thespian actors, widely known for their frequent and loyal photographic services in my whimsical projects and who recently starred in the ambitious visual production of my story, ‘The Legend Of Corfe Castle’, were spotted early this morning in our majestic capital city of London and each had on their person a suspicious article swinging off their arms! CCTV cameras picked up a clear visual of the two ladies – a Ms Agnes and Ms Katie – casually approaching the front façade of The British Museum, a landmark reputed to stand as a forefront in world-class architectural sophistication and whose contents are filled with astounding artefacts of impressive educational merit.

When detectives finally could not bear the suspense for a moment longer, they stormed into the paved courtyard and stopped the aforementioned suspects in their tracks. Meanwhile, the head co-ordinator of the taskforce made an urgent request for reinforcements in case upon confrontation the ladies were to reach into their bags and pull out certain named chemical irritants. In five minutes flat, ice-creams vans were dutifully deployed on standby to cool the situation down if things got out of hand – literally!

Witnesses report that when the senior field officer asked the two suspects to drop their bags and to step away immediately, they chose not to comply. The officer repeated his commands, but this time he spoke through an old brassy gramophone horn that belonged to his granddad . Each woman gave a disarmingly wry smile that had the remarkable effect of confusing all the officers on the scene. It would appear that this cleverly engineered state of unfocused attention created an opportunistic time window for both ladies in which they were able to quickly dig into their bags and unleash upon the faces of the officers an attack of the most orangey oranges, each one shining ripe and bursting with exponential quantities of Vitamin C!

Both ladies were handcuffed, each to an officer, and then promptly scooted off in cars with wailing sirens and screeching tires, all the way down to the London Metropolitan Police HQ where they were detained securely inside separate interrogation chambers.

When questioned about their motives their answers were remarkably identical.

What is the purpose of your possession of suspicious quantities of oranges in your bag?

We were inspired to bring colour back into people’s cheeks…

Ergo, I have now successfully got myself stuck in a highly pickle situation. The entire Metropolitan force is in pursuit after me and I need somewhere to lay low. Any offers?

NB (No-Ball nota bene) To the proprietors of dodgy and ruinous castles who may wish to assist. Thank you, but no thank you!

Giggle, giggle!!! ♥♥♥ 

Episode 5 And A Bit: The Umpire Strikes Back!

“… Each woman gave a disarmingly wry smile that had the remarkable effect of confusing all the officers on the scene…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | British Museum | London | UK 2016


Dining With A Shopping Mystery (A Bittersweet Conclusion!)

How To Train Your Train: A Stupendously Timely Update! 14-03-2016

You see my dearest and most beloved Reader, sometimes circumstances are such that the Conductor might go amiss and the smartypants phones of one’s travelling companions conspire to dissent from serving their duty as navigational aids, and the journey henceforth prickled with unpredictable perils and way too many unfactored unknowns that You begin to wonder that far from enjoyment, one has simply let themselves in for a ride from which a safe return may not be guaranteed!

Oh do stop worrying for goodness sake, You know I cannot resist the temptation for building up crescendos of tension before the final splatter of the true news! And it is a rather nice and beastly news for that matter, for three things have happened this very morning that suggest to me that TRAINS are a pivotal part of MY STORY AND YOUR STORY, the one that shall connect me to someone rather special! Ahem, ahem!

First of all, I have just discovered that someone by the name of ‘Miska Khatun’ has flagged a Like for a comment of mine that I penned on the page of my favourite photographer who lives on this side of the galaxy. The comment was made early last year, so I am rather deliciously bamboozled as to why this chap or chapette has chosen to show interest in what I have to say about the world of ‘Porters’ at this point of time. How enormously fascinating!

Secondly, my favourite photographer on this side of the galaxy – or his admin – has hoisted up on his Instagram page an image of a poor lady cradling a child and who is totally petrified of a rushing train! We need to do something positive about this spot of unfortunate botheration!

Thirdly, the most magical gift I received I this morning, is that my beautiful and kindly friend, Agnes has at last sent me a menagerie of photographs from our London adventures in which she has very craftily captured my cheeky face and then has subsequently shown her friends and family back home in Poland! In a blink of an eye I have crossed borders it would seem! Giggle, giggle!

And, therefore, before I commence to enjoy this stunning sunny day here in England with my mates, I wish to reassure YOU – the man who is in a bit of quandary and whose true face I have yet to decipher – that when we meet, I shall be more than glad to give You a tour of London and I assure You that, though I am not a slave to the digital world with its menacing range of social media tools, I have on me the auspicious blessings of Destiny and my infallible book of marvellous navigational powers, my fabled but oh so very true ‘LONDON A-Z’… ♥♥♥

I raise a toast of tea to the curly-haired Photographer who once wrote to me to say that I was a born Storyteller,
Mazzy xxx

P.S. Yes, there are more voyages with friends to be had, watch this SPACE

How To Train Your Train!

Katie Sunshine and myself on board the London Waterloo to Winchester night train! Gosh, did we ladies make a racket in that carriage! Giggle, giggle!

Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2016
Photography Kindly Sent By © Agnes | 2016



On our final night in the intricate maze of the capital city of London, the hunger pangs had us grabbed by our starved tummies, a pleasing symptom – if not a rather annoying one at the time – that spelled out clearly and with ample credence that the three of us ladies had expended and exceeded our energies beyond our expectations while on this city break. Now the time had come to refill our bodies with the morsels of tasty grub and the warm elixir of tea! Ravenous, we sought food!

Ladies, we were supposed to arrive at The Real Greek restaurant for 5.30pm but, it seems like we are going to be a tad late, in fact, precisely half an hour late!” I informed my friends that we were about to forfeit our knack for punctuality, and yet it was spoken without the slightest angle of worry or grievance in my voice. So wrapped up we had been with sightseeing and, of course, plodding ourselves in cafes here and there, that we had lost all trace of our awareness of the fact that a pre-booked table was waiting for us in Covent Garden in the homely premises of The Real Greek Restaurant! Oops!

Mazzy, I know! But listen, I have to stop by in that shop over there, they sell the most fabulous skin products that agree with me. I have a hard time finding them anywhere else!” Katie looked at me desperately and I honestly thought that was unnecessary, for I knew she was as swift as lightning when it came to the business of buying purchases. I did not mind the slightest!

Of course, go ahead! We will wait for you out here!” With the announcement of my green-light decision, Katie sped off into the shop and rustled up those precious buys that had always proven to be as elusive as a blue moon when she had  formerly attempted to track them down in our local area.

The night drew in fast and the air took on an unnatural chill that had both myself and Agnes clutch onto our thick blanket scarves and we pressed on them harder against our throat and chest, hoping against hope that this added attention would prevent any more of the cold wind from invading our weather-beaten skin.

Now, remember that I had mentioned at the start of my storytelling series for the half-term holidays that I would take up on rebellion and sashay forward and backward along the timeline so that what You read would fit in neatly into the jigsaw of Your day? Well, prepare for such a moment to occur right about now.

In the absence of our dearest Katie, and to cushion our minds from the deviancy of the cold wind, Agnes and I reminded ourselves of that highly animated and thrilling conversation that had taken place early on in our adventures, right in the middle of Waterloo Station, when, and in replication to the temporary disbanded nature of the group as it was right now, Katie had disappeared to the loos and Agnes had begun to talk of her book! Yes, she had very generously brought a book with her that she was currently much immersed in, and I was profoundly touched that my darling friend, in all the excitable anticipation and preparation for this trip, had not erased it from her mind. She had remembered! Hurrah!

Tell me again about your book – about ‘The Mystery Of The Clockwork Sparrow’ so that I do not forget its contents when I come to write this tale up in the future!” I rubbed my gloved hands together, blowing into them what little warm breath I could siphon out from, what I believed at that time to be, my incurably frozen lips and mouth.

Mazzy, I think you come to a point when you are fed up with reading the complicated books. The books for mature readers and the books people study from. I have lost interest of them lately. Agnes had recently completed her Masters and I could quite easily picture her weariness for the type of literature that was driven by the more systematic goals of the world. “Like you, I like a good adventure story, especially ones with mystery and suspense!” Presenting an eminently accurate character portrait of my own inclinations in the book world, Agnes may not have known it at the time, but the conviction of her passion for the book that shone so beautifully through her dark eyes, had already won me over to the point that I promised myself to read her picking as soon as I finished the other outstanding titles sat on my desk.

Tell me more about the narrative structure, how does it tug you along?” I had completely forgotten how cold it was out here, and that is no new thing for me when my mind is wonderfully led astray to other quarters of investigation! She recounted the primary events of the tale and since I did not have my journal in my hands I provide below of what I vividly remember from listening to my friend that night.

The story is set in Edwardian England and tells of a girl called Sophie who is left orphan and without income after her father dies, however her fortunes take a surprising turn when she lands a job at a prestigious shop for hats – a millinery by the name of Sinclair’s – based in the heart of London and whose owner is an enigmatic millionaire from New York. Sophie quickly makes friends with Billy and Lil and she feels that life at last is beginning to brighten up, opening up new prospects in both her professional and personal life. Alas, on the eve of the opening of this high-fashion boutique, a sharp and cunning thief has penetrated through the security and many things are stolen from the shop, including the most priceless item that was hoped to be the star attraction of the inauguration of the opening event – a diamond-encrusted clockwork sparrow! The immediate blame falls on Sophie and it is a race against time as she and her two loyal friends attempt to solve the true culprit behind this dastardly act of thievery ever committed on the streets of glamorous London!

The writer does an excellent job of making the plot spread out in different directions and the range of suspects keeps growing, then suddenly it comes together again! It is amazing!” And to that our frolicsome mate, Katie, reappeared and looking down at the watch, we realised how drastically late we were and yet not a wince of anxiety passed our faces! We were built that way, eternal optimists!

Pushing forward the heavy doors of The Real Greek Restaurant and stumbling in from the cold, I stepped forth with the bravado of the cavalry and explained to the manager that we had booked a table for 5.30pm.

But you are late! Why did you not inform us before…?” He was not very pleased at all, however I detected a little vulnerability in his voice and to that I tunnelled through and whizzed up my next reply with the artifice of the Artful Dodger himself!

Oh, well, I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for that: We are not from here and tried our very best to find your establishment, unfortunately we got terribly lost somewhere back there, and now that I am here I am so so so happy to have found you..!” I winked my dimple smile at him and he melted in the manner of an ice-cube on a hot stove!

Ok, ok, your table is still here. Follow me…” He casually walked us to our table at the back of the room, a cosy spot with families and children sat around us, the laughter of life and the spirit of the evening in its most convivial form and it lit up the whitewashed walls of the quaint and warm eatery in which we took solace in the late hours. Thanks to Chiara – you remember our beautiful friend from Molly’s Den?! – we followed up her recommendation and it was indeed everything she made it out to be! We plonked down, satisfied and relieved, and enormously eager to taste the delicacies of the Mediterranean continent, to let it consummate our palate with victorious deliverance!

Our final night in the magnificent capital, London, overseer of countless brilliant writers of the centuries, and here we were, scoffing down our dishes in rapid zest, abandoning our ladylike etiquette to the wind, and then only to proceed to order a round of beverages. Before embarking on the trip, Chiara, with calculated poise, had used a spot of reverse psychology on me so that when the waiter asked me what I would like to drink, I said – and I strongly advise You to wear Your seat belt as I gather up the courage to say this, “I am going go for your house special, your famous Greek coffee served extra sweet, please!

The other two friends of mine stared at my face as if they had seen the visage of a morbid apparition float before their eyes. I caught their gaze and simply replied in an indifferent tone of voice, without making a huge festivity of oddness about it, “Oh, blame Chiara!” We all let out a chuckle and for this once, I suppose, I ought to comply with that famous adage ‘When in Rome..’, and that is exactly what I did!

As the night wore on outside, the bittersweet Greek coffee that arrived to our table in the tiniest cups imaginable, echoed stunningly the rich and dark mysteries of the unfathomable nocturnal hours, the leagues of untold knowledge we saw in towering kingdoms of books, and the coiling and convoluted narratives that belonged to a heroine out to restore and return to its true home a most priceless treasure of Time.  And so we laced the conclusion of our literary adventures, quite appropriately, with one last picture of the books whose contents threw down a beacon of dazzling light, at times funny and contemplative, and then, in unison, we raised our three cups of wholesome coffee and let their ceramic sides touch and tinkle high above the centre of the table, advancing our motto with charisma and smiles:

To the forever power of books and friendship♥♥♥    

The Concluding Chapter!

“… And so we laced the conclusion of our literary adventures, quite appropriately, with one last picture of the books whose contents threw down a beacon of dazzling light, at times funny and contemplative…”

The Concluding Chapter!

“… “To the forever power of books and friendship…”


Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | The Real Greek In Covent Garden | London | UK 2016

I Adore The Secrecy Of Fog

Poetry Fest is still running strong here at Hobbit HQ, Winchester, and all the better as it means that I have legitimate grounds on which to argue in my defence that the camera is taking a well- earned break, allowing the gypsy poetess inside to take to a phenomenal phoenix flight with her fantabulous fizzy toolkit of jiggling words! Giggle, giggle! Today’s offering concerns that amazing of nature’s starlets, I mean to say the seductive allure that one can find embodied in the gauzy and shifty canvas of early morning fog. Such potency for hypnotic powers, the fog has always transfixed me on the spot and if looked at with enough careful attention I do believe it has a certain impressive capacity to create a poet out of anyone! ♥♥♥

LINK:  Things will either appear enigmatically beautiful or intriguingly suspicious inside the dense nebula of morning fog, and, I hasten to add, no one is spared, not even accident-prone bears from Darkest Peru! So please do not jump to the conclusion that just because he has elected to send Your way a ‘hard stare’ that he is out to get You in trouble, allow time for the fog to brew up into the vanishing ether so that our little friend can have the rightful chance to show everyone what a truly fine chap he really is! ♥♥♥


I Adore The Secrecy Of The Fog

“… Such potency for hypnotic powers, the fog has always transfixed me on the spot, and if looked at with enough careful attention I do believe it has a certain impressive capacity to create a poet out of anyone…”

Image, Words & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016


My Constant Red Scarf Saves The Day!

As always I took to my feet today as I set off from home to make the long and arduous trek to work and in that half-awoken dawn light, that had strenuously climbed down from the skies and through air that was bitterly pierced by unforgiving and migrating Siberian winds, I discovered a new-found appreciation for my trusty blanket scarf. The motif of the ‘constant red’ scarf saved the day in other ways too and if You wish to learn more then click on the Link below and be prepared to be surprised by a tense and literally gripping ordeal of a tale about how dangerous rips and tears in the fabric of vast swathes of ice were overcome in saving a person from a horrid predicament, and all because a few people were a dab hand with my constant red, the good old Sellotape of wool… ♥♥♥

LINK: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/peoplesdaily/article-3409753/Extraordinary-moment-crowd-passersby-join-forces-use-SCARF-pull-ice-skater-fell-frozen-reservoir.html

My Constant Red Scarf Saves The Day!

“… I discovered a new-found appreciation for my trusty blanket scarf…”

Image, Words & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016


The Return Of The Hobbit

In jolly old England the Pub is the bustling community social house where families, young people, old people and even your giant Alsatian dog can hang out for a well-deserved pint, fish and chips or, in my case, a full-bodied cup of English Breakfast tea with the accomplice of a meaty and moist slice of creamy patriotic Victoria sponge cake! I do agree some pubs are just plain horrible but the ones we have in Winchester are top-notch and classy and for those of You who have read ‘Lord of the Rings’ the earthen and rustic ambience of its many inns will seem to come to amazing life when you step foot inside one of our local treasure rooms!

Today, I happened to chance upon a news article issued from another city situated north and, coincidentally, I do have some relatives living there. What drew me to the article initially was that the pub in question is called ‘The Green Man Pub’ which has a twin in Winchester, highly popular and quite posh, located directly opposite my brother’s cinema. As I read the article today for the first time it soon became sensationally clear why my sixth sense had pulled me to it! Nothing in my Universe can be explicated down to randomness or coincidence alone. Destiny is always at play! I must say it is quite a nice and warm feeling to have MY OWN WORDS embraced by the gentle raindrops of speech marks, my Voice, like the title of the newspaper itself, became as like an echo echo echo…. ♥♥♥

Read my story first then click on the link underneath it to read the words that were quoted under my echoing name… ♥    

The Return Of The Hobbit

“… In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit, but one day the very bright lights of the city cast a spell…”


Image & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016

Mr Taher’s Bag Of Tricks!

Who on earth is this newly appointed Mr Taher and why should he be in possession of a so-called “bag of tricks”, I hear You mumble and mutter with sweet nonplussed wrinkling of the forehead?!

Why, he is my own brother of course!

The father of that super precocious little nugget who I have diagnosed to be blessed with a ceiling-bashing Midichlorian level of a zillion,  Mr Zack, this Mr Taher I speak of is my brother who lives in the Middle Lands of Birmingham. Older than Ab and Sambo, though two years younger than me – apologies for the wicked intrusion of algebraic mischief in my expressions! – Mr Taher lives on a passionate intake of films and literature like me. It happened that when I was in Birmingham all three of us put our heads together for a magnificent conspiratorial conferring in which we plotted to slip out for an adventurous trip to the well-reputed comic book shop that lay round the corner of the restaurant in which were booked to eat! Whilst the rest of the families scoffed up their posh dishes, Mr Zack, Mr Taher and myself legged it out through the door and like spies, on a mission addled with booby-traps and perilous dangers at every step, we made an expedient dash to the shop, taking care not to be caught by one of the elders, for that would certainly lead to a most severe sentence and telling off, humiliation and condemnation in front of the grandmas and aunties and uncles is really not an ideal way to be carrying oneself when on holiday! Giggle, giggle!

I might have mentioned in my previous post last year that upon entering this treasure-trove of a bookshop, a bombastic shock overwhelmed my face, the setting was hugely successful in stealing the breath out of my lungs! Gasping for dear life as my hand reached out to my chest as a last ditch attempt to resuscitate myself from the glorious sights that ambushed my composure, for on all sides were stacked tower upon tower, and shelf after shelf, of vintage and recently released comic books! Tomboy heaven!

The covers sizzled as if they were the echoes of virginal temptations, and though my nerdish fascination for books is well known in all the lands, I discovered that many of the titles that this shop stocked were posed like new creatures to my mind. Here lay a safari of worlds yet to be discovered and in minutes I was racing around in circles with Mr Zack to see what we could bag! My brother, Mr Taher, on the contrary, is a chap of solemn and calm mannerisms, so that he would have quite easily given any outside observer the impression that this cave of supreme literary eccentricities was just another room in his house, it was thus not necessary at all to be scampering, scuttling and scurrying the floor space as if one were doing a timed exercise and whose failure to complete it would mean certain exile into the bog of eternal stench! Giggle, giggle!

The time spent in that sparkling phantasmagoria of the imagination, incarnated in the form of glossy pages, was abominably too short, how I wish in retrospect that I could have slowed that beast of Time down so that I would have had the opportunity to treat each comic title as if it were a lost world that awaited the footfall of my eyes!

But time did pass and we soon had to make our way out, what cumbersome botheration that the door had to appear, why could such hindrances not simply vanish for those rooms for which we most adore and love?!

Just in time to squeeze back into our seats at the plush restaurant, the other family members were still deeply immersed in their frenzied bantering whilst Mr Zack, Mr Taher and myself exchanged snickering smiles and resumed our gobbling activities. I must confess the food tasted more tastier than ever, only explicable by the fact that when energy is expended by the bucket loads, anything eaten afterwards nearly always promotes itself to become as like thick, velvety honey to the mouth!

When I left for Winchester – and boarded that destined train on which another magical encounter was to happen that You know of already! – I requested to take a souvenir back with me that would serve to remind me of that day when a comic book shop momentarily erased my lungs on how to breath properly. After slathering sweet praises for my brother’s kindness in introducing me to the comic book shop he had no choice but to gift me the object that I so keenly sought after – the Orange bag!

I know, I know, it is only a bag!

But, it is positively no ordinary bag!

It is an Orange Vision bag on whose cover a miniature scene belies a thrilling slice of adventure that is an inch close to leaping off from the surface of its plastic cover and hit You square in the face! What I worship about this piece of artwork is that it very concisely captures the besieging epitome of the spellbinding joy of reading a good book, be it a fanciful comic or a lengthy novel that spans over several lives and generations. An epic distractive device, a free-of-charge mode of escapism, a means to refine our ability to empathise with other characters other than our own, when a book finds You and You can feel in the pit of Your stomach that it was meant to be read by You then enter it and do it without haste! Do not be afraid if You discover that You have not moved a muscle and yet that Your feet have collected strange clods of mud and grass, that there is dirt under Your nails and an ancient talisman round Your neck. It is called Your imagination, treasure it at all costs.

And when I reached home today after a long day at work, my brother’s orange gift fell out of my bag, and I swept my fingers lovingly over its front cover with a fond smile. There is nothing inside the orange bag now, but that is what grown-ups would say without a second thought. I took it out into the garden and placed it on the stone paving. The sun began to set and the air was piercingly chilly, and I knew that I had to photograph my memento from the Middle Lands and share it with You tonight so that You may know, like I do, that the most magical of things in life cannot be seen with the eyes no matter how hard You might try.

Mr Taher’s bag will appear empty only for those whose eyes are open and yet whose minds have never kept opening hours… ♥♥♥

P.S. Bish-bash-bosh I say to those slimy shadows and arc I do my mucky shoe– Read how this line from my New Year’s poem beautifully coincides with the message dispensed in one of Mr Dahl’s letters that was published today in which he helps to raise the confidence and uplift the spirits of a little girl who had been terribly upset by the things that were happening around her – although I would tell Mr Dahl that my brother is not that bad! Oh, and take heed of her address and You will immediately know why Mr Dahl and my Abba shared the same soul♥♥♥

LINK: http://www.roalddahl.com/blog/2016/january/letters-from-roald-dahl

Mr Taher’s Bag Of Tricks!

“… The sun began to set and the air was piercingly chilly, and I knew that I had to photograph my memento from the Middle Lands…”

Mr Taher’s Bag Of Tricks!

“… The father of that super precocious little nugget who I have diagnosed to be blessed with a ceiling-bashing Midichlorian level of a zillion, Mr Zack, this Mr Taher I speak of is my brother who lives in the Middle Lands of Birmingham…”


Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Birmingham 2015 | Winchester UK 2016

Christmas Month Puzzle Box 5: On The Matter Of Coffee and Canons!

Miss Beth pulls tightly round her fair face the fur lining of her hoody coat
To mask out deathly blows between Spanish galleon and the fleet of British boat
Plumes of smoke and ash, the birthmarks of mind-blowing canons heavy and black
Hulls blown into and masts fallen, though treasure chest remains intact
A battle on the seas played beyond the shores now famous for its berry rounded beans
Coffee I speak of and doth thou pour Colombian from thy coffee bean machines?
I have no fancy for such ‘rabbits droppings’, that is what they seem to me
But I confess I have entered a coffee house but only for wholesome tea
And may I direct Your attention to Starbucks, although there really is no star in there
Hop into my red balloon, away on Google Maps there’s something I want to share
Situated on 186 Earls Court in London, the number is that of Light speed I attest
But to those whose spelling is slightly shaky they shall think they are richly blessed
For what appears as a mundane coffee joint in the heart of London, one easily forgot
Shall to a Colombian coffee lover equal to 186 Pearls Caught ♥♥♥


LINK TO COLOMBIAN TREASURE FIND: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-latin-america-35014600


Christmas Month Puzzle Box 5: On The Matter Of Coffee and Canons!

“Miss Beth pulls tightly round her fair face the fur lining of her hoody coat, To mask out deathly blows between Spanish galleon and the fleet of British boat…”

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

Kiosk No 6 Red Telephone Box: Winchester’s TARDIS To The Rescue!

My detective mate, the vertically blessed, Miss Beth and I received a distress call
Triangulated its source to a hidden chamber masked behind a fortified wall
Gales incoming, storms scheming, hastened our feet to Kiosk No 6
Unassuming red box of England past, proclivity towards a line of bricks
Beth, we can’t waste a moment, the Doctor’s in a hurry, this impediment we must lift!
My Bantam might have done the trick but where he is there’s no such gift
Mazzy, what do you suppose we do know, what number must we dial?
Confidently I explained to her, “This mission requires my tomboy style!
Determinedly we turned our heads in synchronised step to face the door of the red box
The square root of my birthday divided by hers and then we pulled up our respective socks
To pep us up as we opened the door, ready to punch in the resultant numbers
A blast of cool air hit our face, refreshing as like fresh cucumbers
Oh Doctor, be it the jungles of South America or in New Zealand’s rolling hill
This tomboy polymath shall get You out of there, just look out of the windowsill
And should You see a red box in the sky, spinning towards Your way
Take my name – a piece of MEERA – and catch the morning sun’s bright ray
The corridor has not run out for You and life has not been summed up
You and I still have a date, O Doctor, romance in a teacup…  ♥♥♥ 

LINK: https://www.facebook.com/DoctorWho/photos/pcb.1249296421751049/1249295161751175/?type=3&theater

Kiosk No 6 Red Telephone Box: Winchester’s TARDIS To The Rescue!

“My detective mate, the vertically blessed, Miss Beth and I received a distress call Triangulated its source to a hidden chamber masked behind a fortified wall…”

Kiosk No 6 Red Telephone Box: Winchester’s TARDIS To The Rescue!

“Mazzy, what do you suppose we do know, what number must we dial?” Confidently I explained to her, “This mission requires my tomboy style!”


Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015



Celebrating Mr Shano’s Birthday – The Boy King!

A budding amateur Egyptologist from since the time I first began to decipher the squiggly-penned hieroglyphics that we commonly call the English language, the historic annals of Ancient Egypt continuously fascinate me. I cannot ever conceive of ever a time befalling me in which the land and its ancient history diminish in its spellbound grip over my sensorial and imaginative faculties, that is an impossible predicament! Alas, what to say of the unendurable irony that is insufferably distressing, for I have travelled all over the world extensively, albeit it is the poignantly and golden dusty dunes of Egypt that have yet to be touched by my pilgrim’s feet.

Imagine now of the extent to which I am teetering on the edge of a precipice of nail-biting suspense after news was released that, since the monumental discovery of Tutankhamen’s tomb – The Boy King – in November 1922 by English archaeologist Howard Carter and his team, there is to be now a RENEWED examination of where the boy sleeps. The most preserved and intact tomb to be found in the Valley of the Kings returns to the limelight again, in another November nearly a century later, and the tomb is once again subject to serious study, aided by technological accomplices that were unavailable the first time round.

For what reason do the eyes of the world gather and return to the site of one of the most glorious material and cultural treasures ever found on earth? Surely all that was to be retrieved and archived has been done so, then what underlies this sudden resurgence of scholarly attention to the tomb KV62, the Boy King’s resting place?

Because there is a firm unity among the contemporary archaeological community insofar that they believe that although the Boy King rests peacefully so in his elaborate tomb, it is not the BIGGER PICTURE of the HISTORIC TRUTH. There is strong evidence to suggest, according to the results of preliminary analysis that BEYOND THE WALLS THERE IS ANOTHER WALL…

To apply a personal analogy to the significance of the potentiality of this find I would dare to align it in comparison to the hypothetical scenario of discovering that one day, as opposed to the general view of a four-chambered heart, something came up and it was proven thus that the human heart housed five chambers instead! To confirm the existence of a chamber beyond the walls by which the Boy King has rested for centuries is to welcome a complete revision to the very architecture of our current knowledge of Ancient Egypt, and undeniably it will go far in accentuating the already romanticised imagery we all naturally associate with the world of the Pharaohs.

But there is another twist to the tale – all good tales are bound to this property after all! Many theorists hold dearly to the idea that inside this potential chamber may be the last resting place of one of the most enigmatic queens of Ancient Egypt, her name – if You do not know already – is of course Nefertiti. Married at 15 and who was in faithful reign alongside her husband Akhenaten, they were truly a HERETIC couple, passionately devoted to the establishment of a religion that called for the worship of One God whose personification was said to be the Sun.

Her name translating loosely as, “a beautiful woman has come”, she could quite easily be the most profound TREASURE of Ancient Egypt ever to surface, favouring to be hidden and unseen behind WALLS of a chamber famed for its sleeping boy, perhaps she has been waiting to reveal herself to the world at the RIGHT TIME? Only TIME will tell… ♥♥♥

Meanwhile, I present to You the luminously adorable portrait of one of my most big-hearted students and friend, Mr Shano, and I will hope very much that You raise a toast or show a rousing clap of hands for my good chap because he is the Boy King of the moment – well, that is how we all feel do we not on the day of our birthday?! Giggle, giggle! ♥♥♥

No wall is fierce enough to thwart the echoes of my Love & Faith,
Always Your tinkling little majesty, Mazzy xxx

LINK 1 [Excellent Photo Archive of Carter’s Expedition]: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/africa/king-tutankhamun-officials-90-sure-there-is-a-secret-chamber-ancient-egyptian-tomb-a6752586.html

LINK 2: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-34952947

Celebrating Mr Shano’s Birthday – The Boy King!

“Meanwhile, I present to You the luminously adorable portrait of one of my most big-hearted students and friend, Mr Shano, and I will hope very much that You raise a toast or show a rousing clap of hands for my good chap because he is the Boy King of the moment – well, that is how we all feel do we not on the day of our birthday! Giggle, giggle!”


Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015


Belle UK: Chilling Out With A Winter Wonderland Pixie! EPISODE I

The wintry air crisp and cool, ripe with dappled early morning light laced with honey tones whose colour impishly belied the nippy clime, I was in high spirits today, for I had arranged a magical walkabout in Winchester with another very good matey of mine! My fingers were embittered with a layer of coldness that even my thermal gloves resigned from the arduous challenge and I was left to resort to diverting my mind to the warmer thought of the imminent prospect of meeting up with my gorgeous and adorable pixie mate, Miss Emily! Pathways bustling with eager-eyed Christmas shoppers and the Germanic wooden cabins glinting in their golden sheen outside the entrance way to the stony fortress of the Cathedral, I scudded along as fast as I could and when I saw her waiting for me I gave her a massive jump by dashing in front of her, but the shock quickly gave way to bear hugs soon after!

We took huge sniffs of the Spanish doughnuts and steamy sweet mulled wine being concocted and stirred into life inside enormous shiny brass cauldrons, and little trinkets such as stained glass lanterns and dried satsuma wreaths twinkled at us, beckoning to be purchased and taken to a loving home. Our first stop, however, was an ordinary looking bench that happened to be facing the vibrant wonderland theatrics of those humming Christmas cabins. Taking stock of the sublimity of the beautiful weather and exchanging thoughts for the prospective Christmas party, I contemplated how the laid-back and quiet simplicity of two friends hanging out on a park bench was not something tenable for having a price tag attached to it. Priceless, it is. To sit on a bench is to invite the rare relief of pausing the world even though it is seen to be moving in front of You. You do not watch the world go by, more it is the case that You allow permission for Yourself to be immerse in the awareness and appreciation of the world that You are.

I should wish that You shall take a spare moment soon and acquaint Yourself with a companionable bench and should You be with a friend when You do this and observe that moments can pass without a single word spoken – in the absence of phones that is! – then I extend a hearty congratulations as the two of You have mastered Silence as yet another language by which to express the unceasing luminosity of Your friendship. That is a nice privilege to be had, indeed!

My cheeky pixie mate, Miss Emily, was the perfect accomplice today in the admiration of Winchester’s besieging display of alpine greenery amid the Christmas cheer but I do hope that in the future I will play host to a special guest to this wooden bench that You see in the photograph below. Do You dare to guess who he is? If all else fails there is always a Link at hand. Click on it to access a dapper picture of the furry gentleman in question! Giggle, giggle! ♥♥♥

You will be ejected from Your seat should You begin snoring on the bench!
Your winking Hobbitina, Mazzy xxx

LINK: https://www.facebook.com/PaddingtonBear/photos/a.157585777634955.33066.125079994218867/988023317924526/?type=3&theater

Belle UK: Chilling Out With A Winter Wonderland Pixie! EPISODE I

“To sit on a bench is to invite the rare relief of pausing the world even though it is seen to be moving in front of You.”

Photography, Concept & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015