Episode 6
On his way back home, so to speak, Mumbles came to an abrupt halt. ‘What the….’
He gazed at the far pavilions… or, more accurately, the chaste ivory- tinted beauty of a series of conical buildings. ‘Bastards!’ he hissed, ‘let’s hope they have a lovely time GLAMPING in their sylvan slums. ‘See if I care’. He did. But worse, by now he had lost his way. Not difficult with about 50 square hectares of tented terrain to navigate. Where was the bloody flag?
He gazed at the far pavilions… or, more accurately, the chaste ivory- tinted beauty of a series of conical buildings. ‘Bastards!’ he hissed, ‘let’s hope they have a lovely time GLAMPING in their sylvan slums. ‘See if I care’. He did. But worse, by now he had lost his way. Not difficult with about 50 square hectares of tented terrain to navigate. Where was the bloody flag?
Calling Paul on the mob was the last card to play. This episode would go into buddy mythology and be wheeled out at every opportunity. NO, he will search. After passing the same fire hydrant 5 times he had to summon help. Pulled out mobile, and there, reflected in the screen in the distance was a tiny flash of canary yellow. Deo Gracias! It was a beautifully restored Lotus Elan with German plates. He had passed it on his way to seeing his Eastern European chums. A re- creation of his original position was required… a real test for his Malbec and Shiraz soaked neurones. A sigh of relief was matched by a lengthening stride.
Paul had his dinky little chef’s hat on when Mumbles arrived.
He was putting the fishing touches to some bacon baps which had been cooked on his small gas stove. Of course he had his microwave and his ‘CampAGA,’ but he liked to blend in with his fellow campers in the great outdoors. Things got a bit difficult when it came to hot drinks. ‘All the rooibos you can drink’ he announced cheerily. Mumbles eyes ablaze with apathy. One of the jewels of his liquid iconography was a 50cl mug of piping hot Ethiopian Arabica, just thin enough to drink but not thick enough to plough. Baps great.
He was putting the fishing touches to some bacon baps which had been cooked on his small gas stove. Of course he had his microwave and his ‘CampAGA,’ but he liked to blend in with his fellow campers in the great outdoors. Things got a bit difficult when it came to hot drinks. ‘All the rooibos you can drink’ he announced cheerily. Mumbles eyes ablaze with apathy. One of the jewels of his liquid iconography was a 50cl mug of piping hot Ethiopian Arabica, just thin enough to drink but not thick enough to plough. Baps great.
After breakfast F1 practice beckoned. A huge column of humanity shuffled towards the entrance gates. Very young, young, middle, old, male, female, infirm.
A Petronas pilgrimage. Reminiscent of Lourdes or the Camino de Santiago.
Practising terrific. On the limit. An ear-splitting world. Pauls response was measured, expert. Mumbles embraced every bit of this alien culture, so wished his 10 year old grandson could have been with him. Stunning.
A Petronas pilgrimage. Reminiscent of Lourdes or the Camino de Santiago.
Practising terrific. On the limit. An ear-splitting world. Pauls response was measured, expert. Mumbles embraced every bit of this alien culture, so wished his 10 year old grandson could have been with him. Stunning.
Next… Another teensy tent problem….
David Armitage 