Shipwrecked

It was Friday, it was cold and drizzling in Caledon, and, darn it all, I needed a vacation. I fired up the airship Hangover One and set a course for Antiquity.

Ah, God makes sport of the best laid plans! After a mysterious failure of the propulsion system - perhaps occasioned by my failure, in my haste to leave, to load coal in the boiler belowdecks - I found myself losing altitude, surrounded by open sea.

In the distance, I espied the spire of a church, and what appeared to be a spit of land. With a favorable tailwind, I judged that I might just make it.

The Hangover One crash-landed on a pristine beach, in front of the church.


As I awaited rescue, I contemplated: is there anything more lonely than sitting by one's self on a bench meant for two?


The answer: yes. One could be sitting there, on a lovely beach, by one's self on a bench meant for two, and realize that the ship lacked adult beverages. Sigh.