The tourist boat going upriver means time for lunch of some "Bratkartoffeln mit Spiegelei" washed down with a glass of rough red; the tourist boat going downriver means time to sleep off the effect of both on the old sofa on the verandah.
It's now half past three and I'm back inside in front of my computer, with a cup of tea and an extra-soft iced finger bun by my side (I just thought you might like to know). My newfound ex-German ex-plumber friend at Long Beach sent me another email. I know he'd rather phone but thinks he'd disturb me (which he doesn't), but I let him persevere with his laboured typing for a little longer. Who knows, he might get good at it and have a crack at a retirement job; I never did any good at mine.
Anyway, what's all this about talkative retired plumbers? Every year around this time the Council sends out a retired plumber to inspect our septic tank. The first few years it was a retired plumber who cracked scatological jokes from the moment he walked through the gate, and who stopped only briefly to push a stick down the hole to pronounce the tank as "working" which was more than he was doing, because he would stay on for another fifteen minutes and for at least as many more jokes.
He must've choked on one of his jokes, because in more recent years he was replaced by a "Sanitation Officer" who, once he'd found out that I used to live and work on Thursday Island in the Torres Strait, regaled me with stories of that part of the world which he knew from past travels or employment (I've forgotten which). What a great retirement job!
As soon as I've finished my extra-soft iced finger bun, I'll give the ex-German ex-plumber a call before he breaks his finger on the keyboard. Then it's back to my supine position on the old sofa on the verandah.
The meaning of life? Just like the river, go with the flow!
