The exercise:
Write about: going international.
It took 36 years, but Canada is finally back on its way to the men's World Cup.
The exercise:
Write about: going international.
It took 36 years, but Canada is finally back on its way to the men's World Cup.
2 comments:
Well done Canada! Though I did have to look up what CONCACAF is as I'd never heard of it. It does seem like football might take second place in your hockey-loving nation's heart :)
Rather than try and figure out what international means in the context of an Empire, I figured I'd revisit my romance novel :)
Going international
Aubergine stood outside the airport terminal, her suitcase on the ground in front of her and her taxi pulling away from the kerb behind her. She tugged her coat -- a cheap replica she'd ordered online from Alibaba; it looked like Hermès from a distance but the label read 'Er-miss?' and the wind cut through it like a hot knife through soft butter -- around her and wondered for the first time since getting out of the taxi if going on holiday with Adrian was the right thing to do.
It had been his idea, of course. She'd been working out if she had enough money this month to get the fancy ramen and he'd turned up out of nowhere, startling her so much that she'd dropped the bottle of wine she'd been holding into someone else's shopping cart.
"Aub," he'd said in his deep voice that seemed to resonate in his chest and made her think of Smokey the Bear, "I was hoping I'd find you here."
She'd looked around the shop, which was like Walmart if Walmart were cheaper and only homeless people shopped there, and asked "Why?" before she could stop herself.
"Actually," he said, taking her elbows and looking into her eyes, "I've been round every shop in the locality looking for you. I knew you had to eat and that meant you had to shop somewhere. You hid from me pretty well, you know."
Agreeing she'd been hiding and not telling him that this was the only shop she could afford seemed like the best plan.
"I want to take you on holiday," he'd said, and she found herself admiring his steel-grey teeth, a legacy of the steel mill's dental plan from the days when he'd worked there. "Somewhere international. How about Argentina? Just you, me, and the dogs."
"Argentina?" she'd said, and only now did she realise she should have asked about the dogs. Fifteen chihuahuas were a lot of dogs to take with you on holiday.
"We can go Nazi hunting, if you like," he'd said. "Or just hunt for Nazi gold if that's more fun?"
Her phone pinged with a text message: it was Adrian, of course.
"Just checking the dogs in," it read. "See you airside!"
She sighed, just a small, quiet sigh that might be resignation and might be satisfaction, and realised that she didn't know herself which it was. Then a quick selfie outside the airport to post to social media and tell the world that her boyfriend took her on holiday to international and exotic locations without being forced to, and she went in.
Check-in was easy enough, though she had to get her NRA membership card out several times to explain why she was bringing her father's hunting rifle with her, and then she was walking through to the security check-point secure in the knowledge that between her shooting skills and the chihuahua pack no Nazi stood a chance. Ahead of her she saw Adrian and both her heart and her step quickened, though when he got pulled aside for a strip-search her pace slowed and her heart quickened even more.
Greg - well recent success is moving it up the ladder, I think. Between the women winning Olympic gold and the men qualifying for the World Cup for the first time since I was... 7? People are starting to get into it more.
Ah yes, the lovely romantic tale of Aubergine. It's been too long! Also, I definitely laughed at the coat label joke.
Post a Comment