I must confess, I have been back from Toronto for a couple of days, but have not had a minute to myself. How do people write epic novels whilst raising a family, (i.e. JKR)? I’m only raising myself and can’t manage more than a couple of hours every few days. What do you mean its a question of priority? The hoovering won’t do itself . Apparently. And there was plum jam to make this morning. I can’t just let them rot. Natures bounty bla bla bla…
Exciting trip to Provence tomorrow and this time all for pleasure. Two sunny days in the port of Toulon. A quick web search uncovers the opinion that it is the Portsmouth of France. Can this really be true? I don’t really know Portsmouth, but it always looks perfectly nice from the back of a departing ferry. I think I can get away with this as nobody seems to be reading this blog yet, (and if they are, I may well provoke a comment).
We are surprising a friend’s mother who is on a cruise and if I can find a decent bowl of bouillabaise at the same time, i’ll be a very happy scribbler indeed. Back on Sunday, with inspiration for more flashing hopefully. Until then, please accept this little piece from Toronto. I love this city, so I’m not entirely sure why it provoked this mood. The water maybe.
SINK OR SWIM
The Canadian Geese bobbing at the harbour entrance were trumpeting a patriotic greeting to the approaching pleasure boats; or was it a warning?
James stepped nervously along the decking, away from the insistent noise. He peered out across the water; halfway to the islands a ferry cut through a thousand sparkling diamonds.
‘How far do you think I’d get?’ he said to the older man standing near him.
‘About half way,’ replied the stranger, ‘if the ferries and sail boats didn’t get you, the current would.’
James gazed back out to sea, fixing on a buoy in the middle of the channel.
‘That’s what I thought,’ he said quietly.
The man sipped his coffee.
‘Tempting, is it?’ he asked, turning to James.
James turned round to lean against the railing. He looked up to the iconic tower, following the elevator rushing tourists into the sky.
‘Do they know what I’m thinking?’ he asked quietly, squinting against the morning sun.
‘I imagine,’ said the man turning back to the water, ‘you want to know if they care.’
James looked down at the water lapping against the deck.
‘Well, do they?’
The man shrugged.
‘They might, if they knew you,’ he said.
‘I suppose,’ said James.
‘Come on,’ announced the man, ‘we’ll take the ferry across. It’s much easier.’
James smiled at the man.
‘Does the city look different from over there?’ he asked.
‘It’s another perspective,’ the man replied, ‘but you might like it.’
copyright: flyingscribbler 2010.