Tubular Bells

The magical lady of the Highlands danced through the crags and rested by a rock, she turned back to me and her voice floated down on the cool breeze “Just a little farther, there’s a perfect pitch with a hidden spring not too far away…”
I smiled and followed her, it would be nice to get to camp and get the stove on.
Clang!
She floated above the summit, pointing down, urging me to look before she faded into the evening glow. I squinted towards the bright golden skyline where something moved, a wee furry thing, scurrying around, but I lost it. A few paces further on it shot from the rocks into clear view. Yes! It was real live haggis, a young one, but the long nose and asymmetrical legs were a dead giveaway. Cheered by the rare sighting, I hurried on.
Clang!
True enough, there was a carpet of flat grass surrounded by shapely rocks, and between these ran a trickle of cold clear water where I filled my mug and drank as I gazed around. Across the glens to each side of me I could see Ben Lomond, Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan, the Eiger, Doughnot Hill, with the four big heids of Mt Rushmore were still holding some snow in the crevices, even this late in the year.
Clang! Hey?
As night fell to the sound of birds singing and the whispering whoosh of pteranadons swooping onto the settlements for slaves, the lights of distant Mos Eisley twinkled as the Millenniun Falcon shot silently from the jumble of buildings and rose into the darkness.
I slipped back into the tent and gazed up at the sky as…
Clang! Petesy?
I woke to dawn, and the most wonderful of mornings lay in front of me, stretching to the sun as it rose slowly to flood the land with warmth and light. I saw a sea of bubbles with plastic farm animals bobbing up and down in it, foam letters fell from the sky as they dried out…
Clang! Clang! Petesy are you asleep in there?
The bath drained and I sat spinning in a giant teaspoon…
Petesy, It’s lunch time!!
He sat up, damn it was warm in this boilerhouse. Cough, sniff, adjust waistband, “Aye, aye, I’m coming now. I was er, fixing the er,  thing there…”
He clicked the light off as the door swung shut behind him. Macaroni cheese and chips on his mind.

11 thoughts on “Tubular Bells

  1. More than a passing resemblance to at least one member of the mythical Swedish Bikini Team…. hard to tell without her smalls on though ;)

  2. “All my own work. All the content, words an’ photies an’ that, was made by me. I’ll definitely say so if it’s otherwise.”

    Please do reassure your readers that you did not have the pleasure of snapping this “photie”…. to have stumbled upon one of these creatures in the wild is highly unusual!

  3. Getting that photie really cheered me up that day on Ben Vorlich when I was sleeping under that rock…

    By the way, Randall brings up a serious point which I forgot to mention a couple of weeks ago after a comunication from an annoyed listener. I was assuming that folk know that photies scanned from a 1951 guide book, a photie of a train from 1967, nudie ladies and the like weren’t taken by me and were actually supplied by Google… ?

    Bloody knackered. The contract is going well, but my knees are on the limit.
    Looking forward to getting back out there. This month is freelance crazy too, Kintail, Assynt and Arrochar all before the end of the month. Aye, it’ll be close…

  4. Well you’ve got 31 days. It’ll be fine.
    Also you might like to point out to the guys above that women in Scotland generally wear more than a blade of grass when walking in the hills, just in case they wondered.
    :o)

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