The Boat-Train {A Journey in 4 Acts} -:- Act 2
What has gone on before..
I was on my way between Cologne and London with the boat train. On arriving at Oostende I had offered an inebriated (induced due to thalassophobia) Yugoslavian Tsimahian with three pink cases to accompany her onto the boat to Dover and then the train onto London.
Act 2. Scene 1
I was about to leave the train with my rucksack on my back a pink case in either hand and the third tucked under one arm, when JL said she had to collect the rest of her luggage. I was beginning to regret my spontaneous gallant manoeuvre.
What was this about ‘the rest of the luggage’?
JL said I should get out of the train and she would pass the rest out through the corridor window.
“Ok” I said, and stepped down onto the platform.
In hindsight I should have dropped everything and made a beeline for the boat. But no, that wouldn’t have been fair. At Oostende the train stops directly on the quay next to the boat so it was only a matter of a few hundred yards to go. Anyway she would probably have found me and duffed me up with her homemade silver knuckledusters.
Well the next sequence of events was most surrealistic to say the least.
The window was pushed down and a pink case matching the three at my feet appeared to dangle of its own accord in mid-air. Now where did that come from? I took the case and placed it next to its relations. As I looked back up again - déjà vu - another pink case! This was becoming uncanny. I repeated the exercise and low and behold when I looked up again a sixth case was hovering in the same place. I took it and placed it next to number five.
At this point I was rapidly developing a sixth sense with a pink hue. It was time that I took on myself to have a fit of self-panicking. Most of the other passengers had drifted off in the direction of passport control and onto the gangplanks.
We were still unloading!
As if a suite of pink cases wasn’t enough, the next object to appear was not a case but some sort of hay rake. About two meters in length and with a wide five tined head. I couldn’t believe my eyes when it was followed by a wooden butter churn with plunger. I packed it and with difficulty brought it down upon the platform. Was it heavy! I had the idea it was still full of butter, rancid butter if the length of JL's trip was any indication.
I stood expectantly looking up at the window for the next farm implement. Well at this time I was pretty open minded in what to expect if the past few minutes were anything to go by. But nothing more appeared. I felt a right charley standing there with a rake in one hand and the plunger of a (rancid) butter churn in the other, and the pink of the cases just did not go with the redness of my face. I would have probably got some funny looks - but there was no one around!
I pressed my panic button
and moved up a level...
Also thinking about it a three tined rake would be a tri-dent and a five tined rake would therefore be a ‘pent-dent’. No that can’t be right, sounds like a brand of toothpaste, anyway as I said, a right charley...
I called to JL, but no reply. While waiting I started to look around for a trolley because in no way were we going to get all this stuff moved without wheels. Before I had the chance to make a move there came from the door of the next wagon a “Hello! I’m here!”
At the top of the steps was JL, and in each hand she had what looked like 15 litre flagons wrapped in a mesh of straw. I was slowly coming to the enlightenment that JL's relatives had ladened her down with gifts and local farm produce from the ‘old country’.
I took the two flagons out of her hands and put them down. I then watched her slowly and carefully climb down from the train using all manner of hand holds that she could muster. If she had had rope and ice picks I think she would have used them.
JL was not in total communication with her extremities.
With a closer look at the flagons at my feet I had an inkling of what was behind the slow motion descent. One of the flagons was open. The cork and what looked like red sealing wax was obviously broken and a good measure had been recently been extracted. I suspect for municipal purposes.
"Try it" said JL, "It’s homemade".
Why not I thought, what the heck I’ve earned it. I removed the cork and sniffed. Ah! red wine, I took a swig and that was not as easy as it sounds, the flagon was b*** heavy! But it was worth it, it went straight to me head. I took another why not I thought it lightens the load I thought.
Everything distanced itself from me. After what seemed like an age and a bit I was suddenly back in full Technicolor. The 'what the heck' was pushed aside by the harsh reality of the situation.
I took another swig and pressed my panic-button and the additional hit points allowed me to again move up a level...
Act 2. Scene 2
Now was the time to take the upper hand.
I sat JL on the largest case, propped her up against the butter churn and placed the hay rake vertically in front of her line of vision. To stop her falling over I told her to grasp the rake with both hands. I followed this up by looking her straight in the eye and commanding her - in a pseudo-American-cop accent - ‘to freeze’. Maybe I’ve seen to many American movies but it worked 2aT.
Just in ‘case’ she keeled over, I spread the other five cases around her to soften a potential fall. If I’d had the chalk I would have joined up the five cases to make a pentangle to ward off any daemons in the vicinity. But I suspect the only “jinn” in the area was leftovers in the little empty bottles tinkling in her handbags.
The flagons were placed in easy reach just in case of a 'de-freezing' before my return. With a glance over my shoulder I set off looking for a trolley.
After what seemed like ages I returned to the scene with four wheels and to my relief JL was in the same position, frozen in the stance of which I had left her. The magic imaginary pink pentangle was still intact on the optical and by the feel of it on all other metaphysical planes.
I packed everything I could find onto the trolley starting with JL and ending with the rake. To gain strength I took another swig of the wine and we were off!
We must have looked a right pair. Me in my NATO anorak hood up [Ed: it had started to drizzle] head down pushing like mad. JL sitting on the trolley, rake in the one hand the other arm cuddling one of the flagons her head held high with a look of serene stupor on her face.
If I could have captured the scene on canvas I would have probably have called it ‘Bodacia on a binge’.
I headed direction customs and there standing around the uniformed Belgium equivalent of the HM Customs and Excise. I can only imagine that they were staring on in disbelief as we sailed past. I had my head down if you remember and I had no intention of looking up and making eye contact.
There was no stopping now. If I had even slowed down it would have probably broken the spell and all hell would have been let lose. Our collective gods were on our side or giving us a reprieve to see what would happen next.
Which would
and did..
[Ed: Here the link to Act 3..]
The Boat-Train {A Journey in 4 Acts} -:- Act 3
I was on my way between Cologne and London with the boat train. On arriving at Oostende I had offered an inebriated (induced due to thalassophobia) Yugoslavian Tsimahian with three pink cases to accompany her onto the boat to Dover and then the train onto London.
Act 2. Scene 1I was about to leave the train with my rucksack on my back a pink case in either hand and the third tucked under one arm, when JL said she had to collect the rest of her luggage. I was beginning to regret my spontaneous gallant manoeuvre.
What was this about ‘the rest of the luggage’?
JL said I should get out of the train and she would pass the rest out through the corridor window.
“Ok” I said, and stepped down onto the platform.
In hindsight I should have dropped everything and made a beeline for the boat. But no, that wouldn’t have been fair. At Oostende the train stops directly on the quay next to the boat so it was only a matter of a few hundred yards to go. Anyway she would probably have found me and duffed me up with her homemade silver knuckledusters.
Well the next sequence of events was most surrealistic to say the least.
The window was pushed down and a pink case matching the three at my feet appeared to dangle of its own accord in mid-air. Now where did that come from? I took the case and placed it next to its relations. As I looked back up again - déjà vu - another pink case! This was becoming uncanny. I repeated the exercise and low and behold when I looked up again a sixth case was hovering in the same place. I took it and placed it next to number five.
At this point I was rapidly developing a sixth sense with a pink hue. It was time that I took on myself to have a fit of self-panicking. Most of the other passengers had drifted off in the direction of passport control and onto the gangplanks.
We were still unloading!
As if a suite of pink cases wasn’t enough, the next object to appear was not a case but some sort of hay rake. About two meters in length and with a wide five tined head. I couldn’t believe my eyes when it was followed by a wooden butter churn with plunger. I packed it and with difficulty brought it down upon the platform. Was it heavy! I had the idea it was still full of butter, rancid butter if the length of JL's trip was any indication.I stood expectantly looking up at the window for the next farm implement. Well at this time I was pretty open minded in what to expect if the past few minutes were anything to go by. But nothing more appeared. I felt a right charley standing there with a rake in one hand and the plunger of a (rancid) butter churn in the other, and the pink of the cases just did not go with the redness of my face. I would have probably got some funny looks - but there was no one around!
I pressed my panic buttonand moved up a level...
Also thinking about it a three tined rake would be a tri-dent and a five tined rake would therefore be a ‘pent-dent’. No that can’t be right, sounds like a brand of toothpaste, anyway as I said, a right charley...
I called to JL, but no reply. While waiting I started to look around for a trolley because in no way were we going to get all this stuff moved without wheels. Before I had the chance to make a move there came from the door of the next wagon a “Hello! I’m here!”
At the top of the steps was JL, and in each hand she had what looked like 15 litre flagons wrapped in a mesh of straw. I was slowly coming to the enlightenment that JL's relatives had ladened her down with gifts and local farm produce from the ‘old country’.
I took the two flagons out of her hands and put them down. I then watched her slowly and carefully climb down from the train using all manner of hand holds that she could muster. If she had had rope and ice picks I think she would have used them.
JL was not in total communication with her extremities.
With a closer look at the flagons at my feet I had an inkling of what was behind the slow motion descent. One of the flagons was open. The cork and what looked like red sealing wax was obviously broken and a good measure had been recently been extracted. I suspect for municipal purposes. "Try it" said JL, "It’s homemade".
Why not I thought, what the heck I’ve earned it. I removed the cork and sniffed. Ah! red wine, I took a swig and that was not as easy as it sounds, the flagon was b*** heavy! But it was worth it, it went straight to me head. I took another why not I thought it lightens the load I thought.
Everything distanced itself from me. After what seemed like an age and a bit I was suddenly back in full Technicolor. The 'what the heck' was pushed aside by the harsh reality of the situation.
I took another swig and pressed my panic-button and the additional hit points allowed me to again move up a level...Act 2. Scene 2
Now was the time to take the upper hand.
I sat JL on the largest case, propped her up against the butter churn and placed the hay rake vertically in front of her line of vision. To stop her falling over I told her to grasp the rake with both hands. I followed this up by looking her straight in the eye and commanding her - in a pseudo-American-cop accent - ‘to freeze’. Maybe I’ve seen to many American movies but it worked 2aT.
Just in ‘case’ she keeled over, I spread the other five cases around her to soften a potential fall. If I’d had the chalk I would have joined up the five cases to make a pentangle to ward off any daemons in the vicinity. But I suspect the only “jinn” in the area was leftovers in the little empty bottles tinkling in her handbags.
The flagons were placed in easy reach just in case of a 'de-freezing' before my return. With a glance over my shoulder I set off looking for a trolley.
After what seemed like ages I returned to the scene with four wheels and to my relief JL was in the same position, frozen in the stance of which I had left her. The magic imaginary pink pentangle was still intact on the optical and by the feel of it on all other metaphysical planes.I packed everything I could find onto the trolley starting with JL and ending with the rake. To gain strength I took another swig of the wine and we were off!
We must have looked a right pair. Me in my NATO anorak hood up [Ed: it had started to drizzle] head down pushing like mad. JL sitting on the trolley, rake in the one hand the other arm cuddling one of the flagons her head held high with a look of serene stupor on her face.
If I could have captured the scene on canvas I would have probably have called it ‘Bodacia on a binge’.
I headed direction customs and there standing around the uniformed Belgium equivalent of the HM Customs and Excise. I can only imagine that they were staring on in disbelief as we sailed past. I had my head down if you remember and I had no intention of looking up and making eye contact.
There was no stopping now. If I had even slowed down it would have probably broken the spell and all hell would have been let lose. Our collective gods were on our side or giving us a reprieve to see what would happen next.
Which would
and did..
[Ed: Here the link to Act 3..]
The Boat-Train {A Journey in 4 Acts} -:- Act 3
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