Our Man In Hiatus – Issue 18

“It’s white, too white! It’s a warning to us not to  let things drift.”

This was no job for the faint-hearted as I trudged through the chest deep falls that made the scene like a sea of bluish marshmallow.

There is a beauty in such sights, as like the popular myth of Eskimo lexical range for snow, the reality was neither here nor there.

My voice was beginning to go but, in contradiction to vicious rumours, I wasn’t feeling a little husky. The cold was even stopping my thoughts as I struggled to comprehend the remoteness and indifferently hostile conditions in which these people existed.

The local ‘shaman’ told me that recently a group of people had been to see what they might do with the environment, but soon  they realised their spirit level bubbles  didn’t flow and the weight on their  theodolites had frozen stiff. Even when they changed to digital instrumentation they found that the LCD froze up before they could read even one degree.

Some misguided fellow came with an ice cream van but the indigenous populace asked him how he’d received a banking loan for such a business plan. Apparently he said that the bank was politically motivated to make it look like their economy was flourishing.

One thing I did know was that no one could even contemplate vegetarianism as there wasn’t any sign of any thing remotely vegetation based. The inhabitants did tell me that they still get their five a day, all fish.


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