Is it? Mmm? Is it?
Every week we have to write a blooming masterpiece of 100 words or less (100 on the nose for the purists) and our glorious leader is none other than Rochelle, she made us what we are, and make no mistake. Each week somebody provides a photo on which we have to base our musings, this week it is Ted Strutz; I have no knowledge of the background of this chap, suffice to say he must be a jolly good egg if he’s involved in this rabble.
So as usual my thinking cap is on and the flying plane is a goodie, its not a Spruce Goose, but not to worry. So here goes.
On My Marks…
The whole fetching of a pail of water from the top of the hill thing had ceased years ago. Branson had moved in, planted a flag and claimed the island for himself.
Oddly the island was mainly Amphibolite to the lower part and limestone to the upper, meaning the aquifers existed at higher altitudes; a geological contradiction.
Jack had kept himself fit collecting water for Jill, but when his back was turned she was Banging Branson’s Buxom Butler; Beatrice.
The resort demanded fresh “Aquafonic H2O”, Branson drilled a damn bore hole; fucked the ecosystem,
Jack jumped the plane and left.
There we are, this is what we do to places, money, and lots of it, corrupts, we are all doomed.
But on the other side of the coin, Ive completed the task in 100 words, so until next week playmates…