The Daily Post.Five Items
The storm was fierce, smashing the ship, and sinking it. I was lucky enough to secure a makeshift raft. A few desperate survivors tried to pull themselves onto it, but I was forced to kick them back into the sea. I hadn’t drowned the teenagers who had originallly found it just so I could end up sharing it with some bore.
There was only one person I was prepared to rescue. I knew Leonard Cohen had been on the ship, and I searched for him. As luck would have it, he came from nowhere, frantically splashing his way towards me. I grabbed his arms and pulled him aboard. His gratitude lifted my sensitive soul.
I hoped, should we be fortunate enough to find a desert island to inhabit, that he wouldn’t turn out to have any irritating habits, such as squeezing the toothpaste from the top of the tube, or wearing jazzy socks under his sandals.
We were adrift for hours, and by the time we caught site of land I was dying for a cup of coffee. I was pleased to see that a lot of the ship’s supplies had floated onto the sands, including sealed jars of coffee, cafetieres, pans and mugs. While we were waiting for Leonard’s cigarette lighter to dry out we collected wood to make a fire beneath the dense shade of some trees; I didn’t want some do-gooder to see the smoke and come to our rescue.
That first cup of rich, steaming coffee was delicious. The only thing that made the day less than perfect was the realisation that I could have poisoned my irritating next door neighbour who parked in my space a couple of times, afterwards using the flimsy excuse that i didn’t own a car; but at the time I hadn’t known I wouldn’t be going back
We’ve been here for six over months, and I have all that I need;
1) A lifetime supply of coffee
2) A pocket-full of the pens I always carried around with me in case I got shipwrecked (it wouldn’t do to be unable to write)
3) Constant mental stimulation from the greatest poet alive (Leonard)
4) The full attention of a romantic soul who has no other human being to love (Leonard)
5) The beauty of song (Leonard)
Leonard has not disappointed me, though I expected him to be impressed by my accuracy with the bow and arrows I made. Instead he seemed quite cross about the rescue team, but I think he believed me when I said that I had mistaken them for wild (and edible) beasts.
Leonard is packing up the bits of bark on which he has written his latest songs, so I have to work quickly to make it impossible for the helicopter to take off. I can’t let him leave me, or worse still, carry me back to civilization, although it would mean that I could go home, poison the neighbour, pick up some chocolate, kidnap Eric Clapton and return to my island.
But I don’t think it would be the same with Eric…
©Jane Paterson Basil