Skip to main content

To those who have exhausted politics, nothing remains but abstract thought.


Seen better says. The Derwent Estuary, as seen from Errol Flynn Reserve. October 2011.

Theme Thursday again, and far be it from me to try and give you some kind of cheap THRILL by penning a brief Drabble inspired by the above tired boat.

But I shall.

He loved that boat like he loved his wife. In many ways she resembled the little runabout: THRILLing to begin with; developing into a sturdy and dependable relationship of shared joy. And it was.

Eventually his eye was drawn to bigger, flashier models. Faster, sleeker, smoother and seemingly capable of giving him whole new range of experiences. She knew it too.

It wasn’t quite resentment and it wasn’t quite resignation. There was anger. Nobody likes being taken for granted, especially after giving your all for so long. So early one evening, amidst a gentle chop, over the side he went.

Comments

Mrsupole said…
LOL, that was a cheap thrill that you penned. And such a true one at that. As everything ages better days are left behind. I see it each time I look in a mirror. Oh and the horror of looking into a magnifying mirror. Who invented such a terrible thing?

I can imagine when that boat was new that it must have been amazing to look at and take a ride on. Maybe someone will restore it to it's former glory. It would be nice if we could be restored and then maybe he would not have had to go over the side. But he deserved it.

Thanks again for joining in on Theme Thursday.

God bless.
Roddy said…
You should see the boats lining the Brisbane river. In a lot worse condition than these.
One or two, million dollar yachts too though.
Tom said…
The Thrill is gone...
Betsy Brock said…
hahaha...oh my. :) I let out on "Ooop!" at the end. Very clever.
Nanka said…
I hate to throw old things out and always keep them hoping to resurrect them someday!! Old is like gold, its worth increases with age!!
The Silver Fox said…
The temptation is often there to "go over the side." Especially because "Nobody likes being taken for granted, especially after giving your all for so long," as you said so eloquently.

Great post!
Kris McCracken said…
Mrsupole, cheap thrills are the best!

Roddy, they must be in it for the depreciation.

Tom, well and truly.

Betsy, you must feel for him.

Nanka, unless it is food.

The Silver Fox, everything is disposable these days!

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral