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Published: March 7th 2014
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The dreamtime tale you are about to read is true.
The pictures that accompany this dreamtime tale, I took with my mind camera. This may not be true.
Last night I had a dream.
It goes like this . . .
I awoke around 2:00am to Queequeg shaking me, most distressed and enquiring “Massa, Massa, are you alright Massa?”.
“Of course”, I replied, “why do you ask so alarmingly Queequeg?” (trying to avoid my eyes drifting helplessly towards his welts).
“You were talking in your sleep Massa”, he said.
“What was I saying Queequeg?” I replied.
“It sounded like ‘Buff, buff’ Massa”, he said.
I searched the corners of my mind and instantly recalled the very moment of which he spoke. This caused me great mirth and I wheezed and coughed as I struggled to catch my breath to recant my dreamtime tale. I shall give you the shortened version, for you are not interested in the detail.
I had broken into someone’s house. In fact, for those who need more, it was Andy Marshall’s house (I kid you not - Mr Marshall being someone I have worked with in a
previous life).
The reason I had broken into his house is of no import. Suffice it to say it was something to do with Tarot cards and the lottery, but that has no more consequence in this dreamtime tale.
I was crouched in the corner of what appeared to be his living room. As is often the case with the stuff of dreams, it was identical to my Mother’s living room. Who would have thought that Andy Marshall and my Mother would have such similar tastes in furnishings?
Anyway, I was crouched in all fours hidden behind said furnishings, but in plain view from the other side as I was beside a large patio window. Although not visible to anyone within the room itself, I was fully exposed should anyone happen to stroll past the window.
And, of course, all of a sudden, someone did perchance to stroll by the window, and what's more, stopped and stared right into my face.
I was discovered!! What to do? How could I explain my presence? Quick thinking was required to salvage the situation before they called the alarm.
“I know”, I thought, “I’ll pretend I’m a
dog”.
I looked straight into their eyes and said “Buff, buff” (and as it transpires in both the dream and the real worlds simultaneously).
At which point Queequeg came in.
How we laughed and wheezed together.
He then let me out for a quick run in the grounds and a wee before returning to my basket for the remainder of the night. All I can say is thank goodness there was no one else around at such an ungodly hour as I could not have trusted myself I would not have sniffed their bottoms or worse.
But, enough of bottom sniffing, or worse, back to the journal.
The weather today is inclement. Rough seas. Wind. Rain. All the whales are sitting at the bottom of the sea indoors watching their sea televisions I’ll be bound so there are no sightings, and even if there were, it would not be safe.
So, as the sea was so rough, Queequeg and I decided to take a ferry to the adjacent island of Faial.
Being seasoned mariners, we had no need of a SicSac, but the same could not be said of our fellow travellers,
so the vessel lurched and bounced on the salty waves as our fellow travellers lurched and retched into their SicSacs. What fun.
We arrived safe at Horta harbour on the Isle of Faiel, disembarqued and found the nearest Inn to sooth our nerves and quaff some grog, downed with a goodly portion of salty sea biscuits (without the maggots it has to be said).
They have a saying about the island of Faial on Pico, and that is there are two good things about the island – the first is that you can get a ferry to Pico, the second is the view of Pico. This, however, was not to be experienced today, with the inclement weather making visibility down to less than one nautical mile, we could hardy make out there was an island at all, let alone the majestic volcanic peak that would have dominated the view.
But not to worry. The grog and no maggots helped.
The town of Horta itself was small, interesting and deserted, though we did spot one albino whale along the way (see picture) so all was not lost.
A gin and tonic and half a bottle of
wine each later, we were singing all the way back to the harbour to ride the waves back to Pico. We wondered if we might see our dinner again on the return journey, but Neptune was kinder this time, and we simply rolled gently from side to side.
Tomorrow is to be the same. We will not be sailing.
Which means, for the first time, Queequeg and I can enjoy a lie in. I am hoping that I will bark at him again as it was most amusing.
Buff, buff.
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