We're waiting for the big truck to arrive with our new washing machine. Because our laundry is in the garage, I've had to move the car out so that the blokes can wheel their trolley in. They've also agreed to take the old machine away. I met Bertine from Number 5 at the supermarket yesterday and told her that our machine had blown up just like hers did the previous week. She asked whether we had bought a Bosch which she believed would last longer than other brands.
"Don't be silly, dear," her friend commented. "It doesn't have to last a long time; it only has to see them out."
That's what I think, too.
The topic for today's story was 'On the Beach', inspired, no doubt by the 1959 movie starring Gregory Peck..
ON THE BEACH MAY 16, 2024
He was on a beach, that was clear, and the sun was coming from across the water so he was on the east coast of somewhere. He couldn’t think where that was. He struggled to sit up, taking stock of his situation. Nothing was broken, he decided but there was a gash on his left leg, not bleeding, thankfully, and, as he looked more closely, he noted several other lacerations. Even though the sun was shining, he was very cold and he was soaking wet. What on earth had happened to him?
He became aware of a splitting headache and, feeling his skull gingerly, found several bumps he couldn’t remember from before. Before? When was before? Before what? What had happened to him to put him into this predicament?
His survival instinct kicked in and he painfully scrambled to his knees and attempted to stand up. Whoops! It was not as easy as he had thought and he sank back. Take it slowly, he reminded himself, took a deep breath and rolled over on to his knees. I’ll be right in a minute, he promised himself, waited until the dizziness had passed and tried again to stand.
This time he was more successful and he managed a few steps before he fell back on to the sand. I need a walking stick, he thought, looked around and noticed a length of salt-bleached driftwood maybe 50 metres away. That might do it. Laboriously, he began to crawl towards it. It was too painful and he noticed that both of his knees were covered with lacerations. What on earth had happened to him? The easiest way for him to move was to sit on his bottom, use his hands to push himself up, extend his legs and flop back down on to his bottom again. In this way, moving backwards, he could cover 40 or 50 centimetres at a time. It wasn’t much, but at least he was making some progress.
After a dozen or so attempts, he found himself in some sort of rhythm and was making reasonable progress. The stick he was aiming for was still far out of his reach but at least it was becoming measurably closer. He paused for breath and gave his attention to trying to make sense of his situation. It was morning, that was clear, but why was he here on this beach and not in his bed at home?
Vaguely, a memory impinged on his consciousness. There was a girl and they were sitting together at a small round table. There were two drinks on the table, one in front of each of them. I remember, he thought, her name was Sandy or Sandra, something like that and she was a friend of what’s-er-name, Craig’s new girlfriend. That’s right, Craig had arranged that they were going to meet these two girls at the Dolphin Hotel in Coogee. Craig thought it would be romantic to walk along the beach in the evening and watch the moon coming up over the water.
But this wasn’t Coogee Beach. Surely, even at this time in the morning, there would be people around, if it were Coogee Beach. This was deserted. He stopped his painful progress towards the piece of driftwood and held his head in his hands. He remembered a car and girls laughing excitedly about going for a drive. He had had a few drinks and everything felt like an adventure so he had agreed with the idea. One of the girls drove because he and Craig were sure they were both over the limit. He had no idea how long they had driven but they had clearly ended up at this very lonely beach.
Had one of the girls suggested a swim? Yes, that sounded right and he vaguely remembered putting his wallet in the glove box of the car for safe-keeping. He had just been paid and he probably had three or four hundred dollars in it. He stopped as the realisation came to him that he had been robbed – set up like a mug and robbed.
He became aware of a voice calling and realised it was Craig, walking across the sand towards him. Am I rescued, he wondered, or are we both lost?
Oh, well, he thought, this will
be a tale to tell my grandchildren. How their grand-dad fell for the charms of
a pretty girl and ended up beached.
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