Legends from our own lunchtimes

Saturday, August 30, 2014

The morning after

We think of weather as unpredictable, but the forecast we check is by the hour and it rarely seems to be far wrong.  Perhaps it’s a matter of probability that when changeable weather threatens by making a different forecast every hour reality cannot be far away.   Today the forecast for most hours was illustrated by a symbol of a sun with a little white cloud beneath it.

Only the size of the cloud varied throughout the day, and since we were connected to electricity and had a water supply, that could mean only one thing.   


Everything that has ever been even close to dirty had a turn of being pummelled to death in the machine, before being sent outside to play in the sunshine.  As fast as things could dry or every twenty-nine minutes whichever happened sooner, they were replaced by things emerging fresh from the washing machine.

The boat was turned upside down looking for stuff that may have escaped.  Production barely stopped for long enough to eat, let alone to replenish our supplies.

By the time the white clouds turned to grey and the sun had disappeared, so had the pile of laundry, and pretty much any other sign that anyone else had ever been aboard.

Suddenly we felt quite alone.

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