An irregular, irreverent, post-modern account of the surreal, the ordinary, and the bizarre happenings on and around the Felia lavender farm in Crete

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Getting hot and sweaty

Gilbert sat at the computer. He was sweating profusely, Perspiration dribbled down his forehead. He sipped now and then from a glass of cheap white wine and pulled upon a hand rolled cigarette. It was past half ten and the temperature was still up in the 80s. The humidity was up there too - nearly 40%. It had been too windy to go to the beach today but n the last hours or so the wind had now dropped away completely. He dragged his forearm across his forehead. He had shifted his writer's block by reading some pulp airport fiction and had been working flat out ever since. And Tracey's recent email had cheered him immensely. He had shaken off Dick - for a while at least.

He had rung Trace out of the blue yesterday - they had worked together a few times while he was still in IT and she had remained a friend. Her husband was odd but sociable. She had been very helpful on the phone and was sure she could help and she had been as good as her word. And now that he felt more secure he could get on.

He had begun to write again too; hiding this new screed away in the new location behind the books (here). It was here that he would unveil and investigate the hideous plot that the Laz was hatching. He was thinking of writing to Hubert too. It was a busy time but fulfilling. He dragged his forearm across his forehead again and pressed on.


(to be continued ... )

3 comments:

  1. Don't lay too much store by Trace and her pal Kevin. They are the usual types who work in IT; promise much and deliver little - Bill Gates would be proud of them. The secret place has been desecrated, despite their claims. Watch out!

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  2. It's 97F here at the moment - feels like 101F with the humidity apparently. Ye gods.

    Oh, and hi. Long time no see! I keep reading though...

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  3. The ennui of awaiting your sporadic posts is becoming tedious in the extreme. Do buck up, dear fellow.

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