After our traumatic attempt to reach Cuba (we ended up on the tinsel-infested gallows outside Speedispend, instead - see previous posts) and our dramatic albeit involuntary rescue by Spockfingers, Geoffrey and I crept back to the Outcrop under cover of darkness.
Why under cover of darkness, you ask? well, the days are so short now we'd little choice in the matter. It gets dark about half past one.
Besides, readers will remember (or perhaps not) that the Solstice is celebrated, or "marked" Hereabouts in Very Special Way. viz., there is a poll, and the person voted "least popular" is thrown willy nilly and without so much as a by your leave, Over the Top. Last year it was yours truly, 'cept being a highly resourceful type I managed to escape. This year, I might not be so lucky, so best to lie low for a while...
Showing posts with label cuba. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cuba. Show all posts
Monday 14 December 2009
Thursday 3 December 2009
extraordinary rendition (of a song, not us)
"TRA LA LA LA, TRALALA LALA WINTE-E-E-R..." Yes, it's Spockfingers. We've been in the Speedispend queue for, er, about 24 hours now and we've barely moved an inch. To make matters worse, Spockfingers turned up with a massive trolley and an iPod, and barged along the aisles singing along to James Grant's Winter. Seasonal, I'll give him that. And it's not that Geoffrey and I don't like the song - it's Spockfingers rendition that is, well, "extraordinary". Whip him off to Cuba via Prestwick, and leave him there, somebody, please.
Saturday 28 November 2009
the debt-bringer
Blimey we've had a strange few days. As soon as Geoffrey finished waterproofing and "caulking" (as I believe those familiar with such goings on call it) the coracle, we put on our wellies and sou' westers and set off in a dreadful storm the other afternoon, just as sun was setting.
Rather than boringly pushing off from the rocks in the Bay below, as we normally would, we decided to try a new, exciting type of launch. We enlisted help from our neighbours, the T-G and Apsley and Cherry. Then Geoffrey and I sat in the coracle and waited for a suitably powerful gust of wind; when one arrived, our helpers pushed us in a windward direction, i.e. Over The Top - and off we flew, sailing out and over the Bay, carried by the storm in the general direction of Over There.
Anyway - we were heading for Cuba, so we were hoping that the wind would carry us in a westerly direction, for some considerable distance. If that occurred, and with any luck, we reckoned we'd definitely overshoot Over There, thus avoiding all the concomitent ghastlinesses such as the Speedispend Hypermarket and compulsory health screening centre, and so forth. But as it happened the wind shifted direction and forced us northwards. We now find ourselves just to the north west of Over There, and on course for Greenland rather than Cuba. Oh dear. To make matters worse, we seem to be just within range of the Speedispend magnet-style Xmas shopping victim detector and grab radar, (known as "the debt-bringer")so we are having to scull for our lives just to stay in the same place - if we give up for a second, we'll be sucked into the terrible vortex that is Speedispend. We can even hear the tinny blare of Xmas carols and pop tunes being played incessantly like some sort of ghastly medieval noise torture...
"Keep sculling, Geoffrey! for pity's sake keep sculling!"
Rather than boringly pushing off from the rocks in the Bay below, as we normally would, we decided to try a new, exciting type of launch. We enlisted help from our neighbours, the T-G and Apsley and Cherry. Then Geoffrey and I sat in the coracle and waited for a suitably powerful gust of wind; when one arrived, our helpers pushed us in a windward direction, i.e. Over The Top - and off we flew, sailing out and over the Bay, carried by the storm in the general direction of Over There.
Anyway - we were heading for Cuba, so we were hoping that the wind would carry us in a westerly direction, for some considerable distance. If that occurred, and with any luck, we reckoned we'd definitely overshoot Over There, thus avoiding all the concomitent ghastlinesses such as the Speedispend Hypermarket and compulsory health screening centre, and so forth. But as it happened the wind shifted direction and forced us northwards. We now find ourselves just to the north west of Over There, and on course for Greenland rather than Cuba. Oh dear. To make matters worse, we seem to be just within range of the Speedispend magnet-style Xmas shopping victim detector and grab radar, (known as "the debt-bringer")so we are having to scull for our lives just to stay in the same place - if we give up for a second, we'll be sucked into the terrible vortex that is Speedispend. We can even hear the tinny blare of Xmas carols and pop tunes being played incessantly like some sort of ghastly medieval noise torture...
"Keep sculling, Geoffrey! for pity's sake keep sculling!"
Wednesday 25 November 2009
Cuban Heels
Geoffrey and I are heading for Cuba. Anything to get away from this cold, wet, germ-ridden hell-hole. (And that's just our livingroom by the way.)
Yes, the long winter evenings are proving even more of a trial than usual this year, so we're off to the land of cigars and sunshine.
We'll have to use the coracle, of course, as we have to cross the Atlantic in order to get there. However, that's nothing to the likes of us. We'll head off on a cloudless, starry night, and set our course by the Dog Star. (is that the right one? don't suppose it matters much.) Geoffrey's been busy waterproofing with a tin of black gluey tar-like stuff, and we've strapped a length of Willesden canvas over some withy wands to form a cabin-type structure, so I'm sure we'll be fine.
I'm writing a list of comestibles at the moment. Geoffrey's developed a bizarre liking for honey sandwiches, so I dare say we'll have to find room for a few of those. As for me, I'm happy with handy, portable items such as tins and packets.
We'll take the old soup ladle so we can bail if need be, but the coracle's very robust and I hardly think we'll have any trouble...
Yes, the long winter evenings are proving even more of a trial than usual this year, so we're off to the land of cigars and sunshine.
We'll have to use the coracle, of course, as we have to cross the Atlantic in order to get there. However, that's nothing to the likes of us. We'll head off on a cloudless, starry night, and set our course by the Dog Star. (is that the right one? don't suppose it matters much.) Geoffrey's been busy waterproofing with a tin of black gluey tar-like stuff, and we've strapped a length of Willesden canvas over some withy wands to form a cabin-type structure, so I'm sure we'll be fine.
I'm writing a list of comestibles at the moment. Geoffrey's developed a bizarre liking for honey sandwiches, so I dare say we'll have to find room for a few of those. As for me, I'm happy with handy, portable items such as tins and packets.
We'll take the old soup ladle so we can bail if need be, but the coracle's very robust and I hardly think we'll have any trouble...
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