Monday June 27th, 2016

The exercise:

Write about: the swimmer.

Kat took Max and Miles to the beach this morning to meet up with some friends and to get into the lake for the first time this year. Highs of 33 will do that (it's supposed to be going up to 35 tomorrow).

I spent the morning weeding out the garlic patch and our row of tomato plants. Hopefully a little fertilizer will get the tomatoes back on track, as they are clearly in need of some love.

Not a tonne of local orders to pick for tomorrow, but we need to get all the ripe raspberries off the canes regardless. Fingers crossed that the heat hasn't burned them to a crisp before we can get to them.

Mine:

"Hey Hal?"

"What?"

"I thought you said George was a good swimmer."

"No, I said sinker. He's a great sinker."

"What? Who even says something like that?"

"Me, you idiot. I do. Obviously."

"Oh for... is he at least wearing a life jacket?"

"A life jacket? Are you serious? How do you think we're keeping the beer cold?"

2 Comments:

Greg said...

That's hot! Though I say that from here in Malta where I believe the temperature is similar with about 30% humidity. I'm coping, just, but I crave an igloo somewhere and the blissful sensation of frostbite. In a previous life I was definitely one of those early explorers who abandoned Africa for somewhere where clothes were necessary instead of optional. I hope your garlic and tomatoes are doing well, as that sounds like all it needs is fresh pasta :)
Haha, this made me laugh today. I love the idea of George being a great sinker and that that's how the beer is being kept cold. I do hope this little group pops up now and again with these kinds of scenes!

The swimmer
The smell of chlorine permeated everywhere, infesting clothes and bleaching nose-hair. Bill sniffed, then wished he hadn't.
"Is this strictly legal?" Ben was lying on a beach-lounger at the side of the water. He'd taken his shoes off -- his sole concession to their location -- and was wiggling his toes inside his burgundy silk socks.
"Depends," said Bill. He was standing barefoot, his trousers rolled up to his knees and one hand resting on a large metal box. "Employment law doesn't cover interviews, so I don't think there can be any complaints on that side of things. And I think we can make a good case that our would-be henchmen volunteered to do this to show their worth... I think we're probably good."
Ben nodded. "How much chlorine is in the pool now?"
Bill inspected dials on the side of the metal box and sucked air through his teeth. "About 14 litres," he said. "Whatever that means."
"Is that worse than that bank-vault we robbed two years ago?"
Bill rubbed his arms reflexively as memories of a corrosive gas flooding a vault twelve feet cubed came back. He and Ben had been warned about the traps but this one had been a trap that was itself booby-trapped. He'd had a moment of respect for the guy defending his vault, quickly replaced by the searing pain of the gas eating into the skin on his arms.
"No," he said with feeling. "This is about as bad as the breath of your last-but-one girlfriend."
Ben looked hurt. "Clothilde was French," he protested. "She liked garlic."
"She could take the paint off a Rolls-Royce at fifteen feet."
"That turned out to be useful!"
For a moment they were both quiet remembering that, staring out into the green haze rising above the swimming pool. Then the reverie was broken by the splash of a swimmer coming into view and the hoarse noises of someone who's screamed so much their throat has given out.
"I think we have our first henchman," said Bill.
"Still has to pass the other two tests," said Ben.

Marc said...

Greg - I find it difficult to imagine you choosing to live in a warm locale. I do hope you're finding a way to keep cool - perhaps a friendly butcher who lets you make use of his meat locker?

Hah, thanks. I will try to bring these guys around again for another visit or two :)

So many great details and references in this one. Ben and Bill are quickly becoming favorite recurring characters for me :D