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A Second Attempt : Part One

The Channel Isle of Jersey is a very pleasant place for a holiday ; punching well above its size for walks of all kinds, flowers everywhere, spectacular cliff scenery, interesting sights such as an interesting ancient mill driven by a large wooden wheel in a stream and the walkable when the tide is out causeway to La Corbiere, good inexpensive restaurants especially during Octoberfest, an abundance of dark folk stories, even its own language which one occasionally hears in remote pubs. It has its genuine dark sides, but casual visitors are unlikely to encounter. So when Conor got an invitation from a rich cousin to stay at her coastal villa while she was in the states, he didn't hesitate; especially when he had a just-broken heart to deal with and relations with interfering parents were at a very low level.

He was very impressed with the villa and its incredible sea views. Mary had left it well stocked with food, wine, whiskey, even money with instructions he was to spend it. The first day was spent, unpacking, sending her a thank you message, getting groceries that needed to be fresh, and bargaining one car hire firm against another for the cheapest smallest hire car posslble : a Fiat500 no less which they'd deliver in two days. He was quite slim and the island speed limit was very low, so why pay any more? He'd nobody to impress and intended things to stay that way. The second day required an effort to get off the comfortable sofa, gazing at the sea and sipping wine, but he was really keen to do the cliff walks. He decided to aim first for a ruined castle at the most westerly point - Grosnez. Shorts, underpants, tee shirt, socks, sandals, shades should suffice. He disliked head coverings but the sun was strong so a shapeless canvas thing which did nothing for his beauty was added.. A carrier bag was needed for water , suncream, and camera. He made himself "brunch" and set off into adventure.
Part two will follow shortly - promise
alan20 · M
A Second Attempt : Part Two
The sea, looked down at from a height, resembled the Med : bright, translucent blue, the sun glistening on the ripples and wavelets. But as the wind grew stronger it was obvious that the Channel was part of the Atlantic; increasingly violent waves crashing into the obstacle in its path, determined to destroy it. White spray shooting an impressive height into the air as it thundered into the cliffs ; he was hundreds of feet above but still felt it. One or two tiny boats tossing alarmingly. How did they manage to avoid being filled with water in a few seconds? The seagulls were the dive bombers of the battle, their lonely calls audible above the sea itself. On the banking to his left purple heather and yellow gorse bushes. He looked around to make sure he had the world to himself before breaking into song and poetry. The word "Freedom" seemed to feature prominently. What the fuck was he singing "I belong to Glasgow" for when he didn't and wasn't even drunk! He thought of how Debussy had been holidaying here when he composed part of La Mer, not to mention The Girl With The Flaxen Hair. Musicians are all the same. He started humming the latter but then stopped. That was what got him into the mess in the first place. And then froze. There was a girl walking in front of him with golden hair blowing in the sunlight. Had he finally parted company with anything resembling sanity? Could she be the ghost of the original inspiration? Or the great-great grand-daughter?
Something else he couldn't avoid noticing was her short loose skirt which was nearly meeting her hair despite her constant attempts to hold it down. For a moment he felt guilt along with amusement at staring but if she'd really been concerned with modesty she'd at least have donned underwear that amounted to more than a string. She did what he had done minutes earlier - looked back and then quickly away. Presumably not pleased (?). She stopped and produced a camera opposite some impressive cliffs. As he caught up he decided he had to say something. "Very windy day!" "M'm. You actually noticed. Here, you might as well do something useful. Would you take a few photos of me with those cliffs in the background. Between gusts of wind, s'il vous plait. Never mind where the zoom is!". "Your English is better than mine but I detect a slight foreign accent". "Jesus. So much for my father sending me to finishing school, and three years at Cambridge Uni". "I'm Swiss". "Ah. The land of Honegger". "What would you know of Honneger?" "I'm a musician". "Gee! I'm a computer operator. Did have hopes of being a pianist but not good enough. Are you familiar with Un Sospiro?". "A Sigh. By Liszt. Used to play it. What do they teach you for three years about computers?" "How to find the On switch. I'm good at finding On switches. Not so good at finding the Off, unlike my recent boyfriend". "Girls can be very adept at that too. It must have been a good grass-growing season. Plenty of pastures new, and greener". "Oh! Was she pretty?". "She didn't have flaxen hair blowing in the wind. There's a pub inland. We need to rest our weary limbs". "Okay but I fear we have something disastrous in common. Inability to learn from mistakes".
( To be continued ).
1Dogma · F
@alan20 @alan20 so it's not totally finished, still....but that mysterious girl, uhm...is he interested doing something else aside from clicking the camera?
alan20 · M
@1Dogma Give me time girl. I'm a slow worker. You women are always in such a hurry. Current thinking is they are about to undergo a transformation but how much will the censors allow? It is fiction. Can I hold my readers for another 2 or 3 parts? Let's say 5 in total! ❣️
1Dogma · F
@alan20 yeah girls are faster in mind 😉and also action, maybe...? 😂
helensusanswift · 31-35, F
Carry on. . . who is this mysterious holidaymaker?
This message was deleted by its author.
alan20 · M
@helensusanswift Who is Conor? Do you in all seriousness want a 100,000 word thesis? You're madder than me, god help you!
helensusanswift · 31-35, F
@alan20 I am looking forward to finding out!

 
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