Once upon a time lived a man in a campervan. He lived there with his two beautiful daughters and his wicked* wife.
The man was happy, but something was missing. His fairy godmother visited him in a dream and reassured him. "Don't worry," she cooed, "tomorrow the sun will shine and you will discover true happiness"
The next day the man, seeking mountainbike trails, visited a shop. The shopkeeper touched his arm in a conspiratorial fashion and handed over a bound tome of Corsican routes, and one started just a stone's throw away. Tears of happiness clouded the man's eyes but when he blinked the shop had gone. And so had the 20 Euros in his pocket. He had been robbed, but robbed in a way that felt like a privilege.
The trail wound upwards from the sea. The man stopped for a time and took in the view. The sea was as blue as Cinderella's eyes. The beaches were as golden as her hair. The pine clad hills were as green as the envy of her step sisters when the glass slipper nestled onto her foot.
The man continued on. Emerald green lizards darted across his path. The scent of pine filled his nostrils. Colourful butterflies fanned his perspiring brow. Things couldn't get any better, could they? He rounded a corner. A comely French maiden had taken advantage of the perceived isolation and had discarded her blouse in the heat of the day.
At the top of the mountain the man paused. A thought struck him. It was transitory, but a feeling he hadn't had before had been there for a fleeting second.
He...he...he...LOVED CAMPERVANNING.
*Wicked in the sense of the modern street vernacular 'it was wicked man.' Obviously. What did you think I meant?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment