Thursday February 20th, 2014

The exercise:

Write about: the launch.

While I was catching up on comments this morning I had the women's hockey gold medal game on in the background. With the Americans up 2-0 with five minutes left in the third period I almost turned it off, but I decided I'd give the Canadians a little more time.

Three and a half minutes left, 2-1.

Less than a minute to go, goalie pulled for an extra skater, 2-2.

About eight minutes into the sudden death overtime, 3-2. Gold medal for Team Canada.

There's no way tomorrow's hockey semifinal between the men's teams is going to top that. Right?


"What's 'er name goin' ter be then, Cap'n?"

"I... be still mullin' over me options."

"Yer jokin'! The christenin' is gettin' done at noon, right?"


"That be less than an hour from now! Yer namin' yer ship, not yer fifth born child! Ye don't leave this sort of thing to the last minute!"

"Don't ye think I know that, ye pox faced donkey?"

"Well then, what be the problem?"

"It be... ye won't believe me."

"Tell me it has nothin' to do with yer mother, rest 'er evil soul. Tell me it be no dyin' wish nonsense. Please, Cap'n."

"Leave me be."

"Oh ye flea ridden fool. It be those blasted flowers she loved so dearly. Oh, Cap'n, ye can't!"

"Git out of me sight! Be gone, and never show yer face to mine again!"

"But Cap'n, I be your First Mate since we were wee lads! Why would ye-"

"I'll not have yer insubordination a moment longer! Yer not welcome aboard me new ship, whatever I happen to call 'er. Be gone, I said!"

"Fine... fine, Sandy. Just... please, no matter what that old sea hag wanted, promise me you won't call her The Pink Daffodil..."

"Be. GONE!"


Greg said...

Now that's what you call edge-of-the-seat action! Clearly your women's hockey team never, ever give up, and they make it count too. Well done!
I hope the men's hockey is even more exciting for you now!
Ah, the Pink Daffodil. I had a sneaking suspicion as the dialogue progressed that I might know what the name of the ship was going to be. It's nice to get a little bit of prologue about how it came to happen. You have me wondering what happened to the poetry-writing first mate now :)

The launch
"I must say, I'm really excited that so many people have turned out for this today!" The rain hammered from a slate-grey sky, hitting the ground so hard that it was visibly bouncing back up again and denting umbrellas. There was a steady wind from the east that was driving the rain under the umbrellas for everyone on the edge of the crowd, causing them to huddle as tightly together as they could without intruding on each other's personal space too much. The exception was the front row, the tramps and homeless folk who'd been queueing since the previous evening; no-one was huddling with them, and they looked more miserable than usual.
"Get on with it," came a rough, surly voice from the front-row. Mildred Bottom, sister of the famous sea-captain and daughter of the famous botanist Arthur Bottom (he of the blushing daffodil fame) shuddered delicately, glad that the stage protected her from the dreadful weather.
"Well, thank-you all for coming to the launch today of my new--"
"What?" That surly voice was the strongest that rose from the hubbub of the crowd. Mildred paused, and brushed her mousey-brown fringe from her eyes and peered out. There was a lot of noise from the audience.
"Er, the launch today of m--" she said again, but the audience drowned her out once more.
"What about our bloody lunch?" came the voice from the crowd. "It was on all the posters! We're here for the lunch!"
"Launch," said Mildred firmly, but not firmly enough. "It was supposed to say launch!"

Marc said...

Greg - yeah, that was a remarkable comeback. And to think the Americans hit the post while the Canadian net was empty - an inch to the right and it would have been game over.

I thought you'd might appreciate a few words from Captain Bottoms :D

Love the description of the rain at the start of yours.

Oh dear, Mildred is about to have a bit of a riot on her hands, it would seem!