Run Run Away

Question:

<< << Like you care anyway. roger. <sniff roll over, Rover…

Now I’m you’re bitch?  Honey, your *HOT*!!!! Spank me, pleeeeese…

Response:

<< Spank me, pleeeeese… Not to worry. I will, but first: Bring me back a four-leaf clover. _______ Blog, or dog? Who knows. But if you see my lost pup, please ping me! http://journals.aol.com/virginiaz/DreamingofLeonardo                    - –  //

Response:

Bring me back a four-leaf clover.

You don’t need one, just Google for ‘luck’.

Response:

<< Like you care anyway. roger. _______ Blog, or dog? Who knows. But if you see my lost pup, please ping me! http://journals.aol.com/virginiaz/DreamingofLeonardo                    - –  //

Response:

<< Like you care anyway. roger.

<sniff

Response:

<sniff

Doing coke with that LSD?

Response:

<< << Like you care anyway. roger.

<sniff roll over, Rover… _______ Blog, or dog? Who knows. But if you see my lost pup, please ping me! http://journals.aol.com/virginiaz/DreamingofLeonardo                    - –  //

Response:

<< Doing coke with that LSD? Rule 1. I don’t have broadband, I’m a simple girl, I dial up for my connection. Rule 2. Diet Coke, prefer it over Pepsi. Rule 3. My loss. _______ Blog, or dog? Who knows. But if you see my lost pup, please ping me! http://journals.aol.com/virginiaz/DreamingofLeonardo                    - –  //

Response:

Yesterdays destination was the nature reserve that is the Isle of May, about an hour and a half by sailboat off the East Neuk of Fife.   We were a noisy party of nine on my chums Sadler yacht-thingie, a mixture of adults, kids and a cat.   Just as we cleared the harbour wall the aforementioned ships kitty – which had been dancing around on the bow of the yacht – toppled into the salty, wet, water as we hit a lumpy swell.  A shout of "Cat overboard" was followed by much laughter and a quick 360 (we were under motor).   The unfortunate beast was scooped into a bucket and deposited in the galley to dry out and ponder the folly of practicing its disco moves too near the edge of a moving vessel.   Apparently it does this fairly frequently, so the capt’n always keeps a bucket handy just in case… Capt’n – who was one of my juniors at work and now takes every opportunity to lord it over me on his smelly yacht – ordered the sails set and vacantly gazed at his GPS to determine which way to point the thing.   Even as a non-yachtie I could see sail-setting was a pointless exercise as there was little wind and a heavy sea mist.   As visibility was down to about 500m we prayed he knew what he was doing, lest the next stop was a sandbank off the Danish coast.   After an interminable period motor-sailing, we arrived at the (very) rocky shore of the Isle of May – actually just off some bloody great cliffs.   You have to creep c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y round the other side of the island and head for a *very* narrow channel to reach the tiny landing at Kirkhaven.   By this time me ‘n’ the boys had changed into wetsuits so we didn’t care if the skipper hit a rock, we’d swim to shore OK. Landing accomplished, the rest of the party wandered off to annoy Puffins while we stayed to play in the anchorage.   The waters were crystal clear, bloody freezing, but absolutely teeming with strange fish, crawly crabbie things and angry diving seabirds.   Having no weight belts we swam like corks but, once acclimatised (i.e we’d peed in our wetsuits to warm ourselves up) the water was quite pleasant.   Baby had purchased a snorkel and was making strange gurgling sounds every time he saw something interesting.   Big boy was trying to look cool as another yacht with a teenage girl crew member was already in the bay.   His day was made when she called him over and asked him to bring her a crab she’s seen scampering under her yacht.   It took him three tries, but it’s amazing what he can do when he’s motivated Feeling sorry for the still-damp feline, we scooped up a flat fishy thing and deposited it onto the deck of the yacht.   Kitty appeared grateful, if a little perplexed.   After a couple of seconds pacing around the beast it pounced and tried to despatch it to fishy heaven with a telling bite to the head.   Fish was having none of it, and proceeded to thrash around the deck like a dememted kangaroo, terrifying kitty in the process.   We left it to the gods to decide whether frenzied fish escaped or cat cunning triumphed. By the time we set off home, all that was left of our fishy friend was a passable imitation of the fish skeletons you see in comic books.   Disco kitty 1, flappy flat fish 0. By this time we’d had enough of the wet water so we dried and changed.   The boys decided to run the gauntlet of some angry Arctic Terns and join the others on their Puffin hunt, while I changed into my running gear and planned a circuit or two of  the islands numerous paths.   However, the resident Ranger took a *very* dim view of this activity and it took me a full fifteen minutes of argument before he accepted that a running Roger represented no more danger to the nesting bird population than a walking Roger. Now I’d like to report that it was a fantastic run in some beautiful scenery but, although the sea mist was burning off as the day warmed up, it was dull, damp and depressing.   You couldn’t run off-path for fear of crushing a Puffin in its burrow or stepping on a chick careless deposited by some stupid seabird.   The paths were little more than animal tracks with carefully concealed holes and rocks in amongst the springy grassy mossy stuff that covered everything.   On the positive side, dumb chicks refused to move from the path as I ran towards them, thus presenting the perfect opportunity to practice my rather rusty steeplechase hurdle technique.  I could tell they were impressed.   However, all in all, unless you’re a birdwatching fanatic or have access to a wetsuit, the Isle of May only gets a one-running-shoe rating from Roger.   Best give it a miss. Little did I realise, as we sailed for home, that the next hour was to present me with my most traumatic experience of recent years.   Perhaps, when I’ve come to terms with the matter, I’ll tell y’all about it.  OTOH, perhaps I won’t.   Like you care anyway.

Response: