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Click hereOk, no watches. No newspapers--oh, she could go ashore to get one, or send Robin, but it hardly seemed worth the petrol for the Whaler. She turned on the computer, found the usual nonsense, and shut it down. This was a perfect day for eating, doing nothing, adding flab. Fuck this!
"Get your shore-going rig on, crew! We're going to take in the sights and attractions of Stanley, whatever the fuck they are, God help us!"
They locked upDread Sovereign, set the alarms and the silent alarms, hoisted out the Whaler, and fired it up. The Evinrude roared at the first shot; apparently the battering of the storm couldn't faze the Big E. They landed at Public Jetty, saw the Liberation Memorial, the Anglican Church (making note of the 8 a.m. time for Holy Communion the next day), Whalebone Arch, and stopped at the Brasserie for lunch and a few draught pints.
That left the afternoon. Time to wander a bit, smoke one more Uppman perfecto, and go back toDread Sovereign.
Wonder if we're going to see the Navy, thought Margarethe. Might give our brave matelots a real treat, show them our appreciation. Could be fun.
She didn't know, and couldn't guess, the treat (if it could be called a treat) that was waiting for her.
- COMMENTS
estragonabout 13 years agoAuthorIt is intolerable, as Hector Berlioz said about the trombones. So I'll comment. The trolls have one-bombed this story, as well as everything else I've posted, and left no comments or feedback. A simultaneous, cowardly sneak attack shows exactly why the present rating system doesn't work.
