Posts Tagged ‘ill’

F is for….

FLIGHT

I had a bit of a random dream last night and since you guys are pretty good at working them out, I thought I’d share it with you. It was obviously influenced by the fact that I watched that film, Flight, last night.

I seemed to be on some type of trekking journey somewhere, I think to find the plane. There were four of us, a woman, a man and a boy, about twelve years old, I think.

Two of us got into one of those small two seater paragliders and the others got into a bigger one with ten other people already on it. I had my phone and was filming the take off. We circled past the other plane then came out across an open delta area, all vivid blues and greens that, when I think about it now, reminds me of aerial photos I’ve seen of the Okavango Delta in Botswana.

We swooped lower and there was a big deep bit of water, like a huge lake. All four of us jumped in from our planes and started swimming to the edge. It took quite a while.

When we got out, we were on a busy shopping street in a town and we made our way to a cafe and then upstairs to a room above it. We were watching the videos I took on my phone of the first minute or so of the flight when the boy and the woman started to get really ill and shivery. I was hugging the boy and trying to warm him up and talking about how the water in the lake must have made them ill.

Then I woke up.

A childhood story

When my two friends and I were travelling around Asia, we got to know each other pretty well. As already told inĀ Budgeting in Laos, we once stayed in a fancy-ish hotel and, after trying unsuccessfully to leave, spent two or three days there. One friend had a few bites on his feet and had got water in his ear when we scuba dived and a few other little things. Day two in the fancy hotel culminated in everything worsening at once and him being really quite ill. So we spent some time just hanging around in the fancy room chatting.

This is one of the stories my ill friend shared with us:

When he was younger, about six years old, all the other kids on his street used to come and call for him early in the morning and they would play out for a few hours until they had to go inside for lunch or whatever.

This one time, it was super early, before 7am, I think, and all the kids were playing in my friend’s back garden. There was a little climbing frame thing and, for some strange reason, the game they had invented that day consisted of climbing along the frame until you got to the slide. You then sat at the top of the slide with your hands in the air and shouted as loud as possible, the word “Fanny!” while sliding down.

After a little while, these loud shouts became screams and the word ‘Fanny’ was echoing around the neighbourhood. They woke up my friend’s mother as her bedroom window faced the garden. Shocked and still a bit sleep-dazed, she went to the window, opened it and was greeted by the sight of her son, hands in the air, standing at the top of the slide, mid sentence.

“Fan……” the word died on the air as Mum was spotted.

“What on earth are you doing?!” Mum yelled, or words to that effect. “Get to your room!”

My friend sheepishly scurried inside, face reddening, the delirium of the Fanny Game rapidly giving way to embarrassment. He was made to stay in his room for what felt hours. Eventually his Mum called from downstairs then he could come out of his room and come downstairs. He did that thing kids do, where you think that if you just move very slowly and don’t say anything, people might think you’re invisible. He did his invisible trick down the stairs and into the hallway. He had just about dealt with his embarrassment, he had learned his lesson, don’t shout ‘fanny’ out loud. He would never do it again and he hoped no-one ever found out.

His Mum was in the front room chatting to a friend, they were laughing and joking. When she saw him, (for of course she did, his invisible trick did not go well this time) she said to her friend, let’s call her Jenny, “I was just telling Jenny about you being naughty. You were being naughty this morning, weren’t you?”

My friend nods, meekly.

“He’s been shouting Fanny in the garden, haven’t you?”

His cover blown, he nods again. The game’s up, he knows this story will get told to all and sundry and he will remember it for the rest of his life. And he still does.