As to what side I’m referring to, I’ll let you make up your own mind …
But…
We’re in the grip of a drought, and finding some green grass is very hard.
Rain is not predicted for quite some time, so I expect in a few months time the question will be, is the grass browner on the other side?
Somehow, it just doesn’t have the same ring about it, does it?
Aside from that, there is that saying, ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’, and, while it may once meant that your neighbour had it better than you, to me it always meant that if your were looking for something better, you were not going to find it.
My father said it more than once in my lifetime, but then, he always said I liked ‘living high on the hog’, simply because I preferred the finer things in life, like champagne, eating in five star restaurants, and staying in six star hotels.
I tried to tell him I was only trying to find out ‘how the other half lived’.
I guess it’s not a good time to say ‘it’s no use vlosing the stable door after the horse has bolted’.
But it was just another episode of the helicopter story, we’re back on the ground after that fateful jump, things are not going quite as planned.
Do they ever in life or death situations?
… Yards were like miles, and I didn’t have the time to reach the weapon. I could see the pickup going around the burning wreck as he of the helicopter and approach me.
But, being the optimist I was I had to try.
And fail.
The pickup was on me before I’d made it halfway, stopping about a foot from me. Any further and it would have run me over.
I got to my knees and put my hands on my head not giving them any immediate reason to kill me. The man who had fired the rocket got out of the vehicle moments after it stopped.
A man in military garb, not very old. And not a foreigner. I was expecting South American, but not ostensibly one of us. A glance inside the vehicle showed the driver was a woman, in civilian clothes.
A surprise, yes.
“Mr. James I presume.” English, well spoken.
Another surprise or more than one, that he spoke English and knew who I was.
“We were expecting you but not be quite so dramatic entrance. Please stand.”
Kneeling had been difficult; I was not quite sure how standing was going to work. I was still recovered from the impromptu exit from the helicopter.
I tried and fell back on the ground. I looked up at him. “Sorry, the legs are still a little rubbery.”
He simply shook his head, leaned over and dragged me to my feet, then slung me over his shoulder, carried me to the rear of the pickup and tossed me in. I just managed to avoid hitting my head on the floor.
The man climbed in the back and then slapped the back of the cab.
Crunching gears, an over-revving engine, then a jerky start. It was not going to be a comfortable journey.
Through this window, which wasn’t one of those floor to ceiling, walk out onto a balcony type windows, we saw big ships, little ships, small boats, and then huge ocean liners.And when that wasn’t enough, sunrise and sunset, or just the sight of Venice in the sunshine
The many vaporettos that came and went
It was simply a matter of watching ships go by, or watching the Venetians go about the daily business Ferries that would arrive in the morning, and leave at night, small
One minute I was sitting out in my office, working on some tweets, and the next I woke up, staring at a black screen.
I thought we’d lost power.
No, I’d been asleep for a long time.
To be honest, I’m worn out. It’s the end of the year and when it’s supposed to be a time to relax, go on holidays, do something else, I find life is getting more and more hectic.
Yes, I’m going on holiday, but it will be a time when I’m subconsciously looking for new locales for stories, the people, the places, what goes on, all different to my usual humdrum.
So, not a holiday in the true sense of the word.
What put me into this trance-like state was writing the next line, yep, it was as simple as that. I stopped at a particular point where I had something else to say, and it just felt like the train had come to the end of the track, out there, in the middle of nowhere.
I wrote that line in my mind, and it sounded good, much the same as we sometimes say something in our mind before we speak, and when we finally do, it sounded better in my head than out loud.
Perhaps I’m losing my touch.
Perhaps that ability to sum up everything I want to say in less than 200 characters is beginning to desert me, and old age and decrepitude is setting in.
Which reminds me, pills before bed.
Perhaps I’m just tired and it’s time to go to bed.
I keep putting it off because sometimes I can’t go to sleep and I’m just lying there staring at the ceiling, sometimes the cinema of my dreams.
I imagine I’m somewhere else, someone else, doing something else.
Lying there, afraid to move, I honestly believed that was just the stupidest thing I’d ever done.
Aside from the fact I could see we were about to be blown to kingdom come by a rocket, I had that split second to decide if I wanted to be incinerated, or in possession of 206 broken bones.
I guess I was assuming I’d survive the landing.
After all the helicopter was only about twenty to thirty feet above the ground and not moving very fast, in fact, it was slowing, and turning away, when the pilot saw the rocket launcher.
I could hear the crackling of fire not far from me, a result of the helicopter hitting the ground. It wasn’t a large explosion, and certainly not accompanied by a hail of red-hot metal parts.
Not yet.
I moved and it hurt. Understandable. But there didn’t seem to be any broken bones, which was nothing short of a miracle. I did try to affect a roll when landing as we were trained in parachute jumping, and maybe that had helped.
Enough time to recover, I rolled over and got to my knees. Ok, that hurt, twinges in my lower back, a slight sprain in my right ankle. No running then.
Then I heard the gears crunching, so sort an old Toyota pickup would make, followed by an over-revving engine. A novice driver. Or a man in a hurry.
Damn.
The pickup was coming back to check the wreckage.
And if there were any survivors.
No gun, lost that in the jump. But, as luck would have it, an AK47 was lying on the ground between me and the burning wreckage.
Only one problem. The pickup would be on me before I could get to it.
…
Is this the very definition of being between a rock and a hard place?
Through this window, which wasn’t one of those floor to ceiling, walk out onto a balcony type windows, we saw big ships, little ships, small boats, and then huge ocean liners.And when that wasn’t enough, sunrise and sunset, or just the sight of Venice in the sunshine
The many vaporettos that came and went
It was simply a matter of watching ships go by, or watching the Venetians go about the daily business Ferries that would arrive in the morning, and leave at night, small
One minute I was sitting out in my office, working on some tweets, and the next I woke up, staring at a black screen.
I thought we’d lost power.
No, I’d been asleep for a long time.
To be honest, I’m worn out. It’s the end of the year and when it’s supposed to be a time to relax, go on holidays, do something else, I find life is getting more and more hectic.
Yes, I’m going on holiday, but it will be a time when I’m subconsciously looking for new locales for stories, the people, the places, what goes on, all different to my usual humdrum.
So, not a holiday in the true sense of the word.
What put me into this trance-like state was writing the next line, yep, it was as simple as that. I stopped at a particular point where I had something else to say, and it just felt like the train had come to the end of the track, out there, in the middle of nowhere.
I wrote that line in my mind, and it sounded good, much the same as we sometimes say something in our mind before we speak, and when we finally do, it sounded better in my head than out loud.
Perhaps I’m losing my touch.
Perhaps that ability to sum up everything I want to say in less than 200 characters is beginning to desert me, and old age and decrepitude is setting in.
Which reminds me, pills before bed.
Perhaps I’m just tired and it’s time to go to bed.
I keep putting it off because sometimes I can’t go to sleep and I’m just lying there staring at the ceiling, sometimes the cinema of my dreams.
I imagine I’m somewhere else, someone else, doing something else.
Lying there, afraid to move, I honestly believed that was just the stupidest thing I’d ever done.
Aside from the fact I could see we were about to be blown to kingdom come by a rocket, I had that split second to decide if I wanted to be incinerated, or in possession of 206 broken bones.
I guess I was assuming I’d survive the landing.
After all the helicopter was only about twenty to thirty feet above the ground and not moving very fast, in fact, it was slowing, and turning away, when the pilot saw the rocket launcher.
I could hear the crackling of fire not far from me, a result of the helicopter hitting the ground. It wasn’t a large explosion, and certainly not accompanied by a hail of red-hot metal parts.
Not yet.
I moved and it hurt. Understandable. But there didn’t seem to be any broken bones, which was nothing short of a miracle. I did try to affect a roll when landing as we were trained in parachute jumping, and maybe that had helped.
Enough time to recover, I rolled over and got to my knees. Ok, that hurt, twinges in my lower back, a slight sprain in my right ankle. No running then.
Then I heard the gears crunching, so sort an old Toyota pickup would make, followed by an over-revving engine. A novice driver. Or a man in a hurry.
Damn.
The pickup was coming back to check the wreckage.
And if there were any survivors.
No gun, lost that in the jump. But, as luck would have it, an AK47 was lying on the ground between me and the burning wreckage.
Only one problem. The pickup would be on me before I could get to it.
…
Is this the very definition of being between a rock and a hard place?
So, there I was, hanging half out of the helicopter, shooting a handgun at a truck speeding along a dirt track.
I know, what’s the effective range of a handgun?
The sound of the rotors was still deafening even with the earphones on and as I run out of bullets and was reaching for another clip, I heard a voice crackle in my ears.
“Some fool’s got a rocket launcher.”
That fool was trying to lean out the passenger side of the truck and aim the launcher at the helicopter.
The bucking and swaying of the vehicle nearly tipped him out onto the roadside, but something managed to anchor him, and he was taking aim.
“Now would be the time to peel away,” I said, not knowing if the pilot could hear me.
Our course didn’t deviate, so perhaps he hadn’t.
I calculated the distance between the helicopter and the ground, and the speed we were traveling. Fast. Short drop. Quick landing. Very painful.
In that moment I saw the rocket leave the launcher, I let go.
There was that instant where you feel disembodied and floating on air. The same as that few seconds in free fall, just before pulling the rip cord of a parachute.
I hit the ground a rolled, not that I thought it would do much good, and the stopped, just before I lost consciousness. Somewhere in front of me, there was a huge explosion, and then nothing.
Last thought, I hope the helicopter didn’t land on me.
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
Even now, I still believe he is here with us, in spirit, though sometimes I swear I hear him coming down the passage, or is sitting on the floor, behind me in the office, waiting to hear the next piece of writing and offer his often sage comments.
But, no. When I turn around he’s not there, and I stop, for a moment or two, and remember.
…
This was Chester.
For a few days, we have been monitoring Chester.
He hasn’t been talkative, in fact, I have been mistaking his usual taciturn nature in the mornings for what it really was.
A total lack of interest in anything.
He did not come down in the morning. OK, so, sometimes he cracks a hissy fit and totally ignores me.
But, this is different.
After a few days he returns and gives me the benefit of his wisdom.
Today, he hasn’t shown at all, so I went looking for him.
He was in his usual hiding spot, lying down. I give him a pat, he opes his eyes and looks at me. This is a cat who is not well.
I pick him up, and there’s no immediate fight back. He doesn’t normally like to be carried anywhere. Today, he’s putty in my hands.
I call the vet. She can fit him in now if I run. I’m running.
He goes into his carry basket without a fight. OK, now I know something is definitely wrong.
There’s not a sound between home and the clinic. Usually, he screams the place down, trying to get him into the carrier, and then makes as much noise as possible when driving.
Today there is nothing, not even a whimper.
The vet comes out. She has been seeing him for the last ten years and they are well acquainted.
We see her every six months. Without fail, for shots and stuff.
I take him out of the carrier and he lies down on the metal bench.
She looks at him, then picks him up.
She weighs him.
He’s lost two kilos, and that’s a lot for a cat.
I can see it’s bad news.
It is.
He’s 19 years old, long past the average life expectancy.
To keep him alive now would be inhumane. He has, apparently, reached the end of his life, and has lost the desire to eat or to do anything. There was nothing I could have done to prevent it.
She says, it just happens.
It will be quick and it will be painless.
I can see in his eyes that it’s what he wants.
I said goodbye, went outside and sat in the car, and cried.
There’s going to be a lot more tears before this day is out.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 