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| CruelLadyScorpio |
on Fri 5 Mar 04, 12:03 AM to CruelLadyScorpio's blog.
I sell my old crap (known to my friends as 'Cru's Crap') on eBay every now and then so I have money to buy new crap on etc etc, and I offered an Orinoco Womble backpack for sale a while back with a load of other stuff. Being the last thing I was offering to get a bid, I went to look at the bidder's recent buying record, assuming it was either an indulgent parent or a Womble collector.
The previous item he purchased was an identical Orinoco backpack. Ok, I thought, one kid jealous of the other blah di blah. Second from last ... another Orinoco backpack. Triplets, I'm thinking, fighting over two backpacks (bit tenuous, though). Third - Tomsk backpack (for the rebel of the family?). Fourth from last ... another identical Orinoco backpack ... (ooooohhh dear). Fifth item - shotgun cartridge bag. Sixth, GPS unit carrying case. Seven: camoflage duct tape. Eight: titanium torch. Nine: 2 CDs of Wombles music.
Reckon that's gonna be a night to remember out there on the Common - shotgun over the knee, firelight flickering on gleaming eyes, the haunting strains of 'Remember You're A Womble' drifting from the Jeep's sound system; for company, only the rustling of night creatures (ok, cottagers getting some fresh air) ... and an intimate circle of identical Womble backpacks. Save one, the Tomsk, who will be found floating the next morning in a nearby puddle, bound with cammo duct tape, and no clue to the perpetrator of his demise ...
The endgame in a plot of Gorky Park complexity, involving a global network of agents only identifiable by an 'O' tattoed under their third toenail in UV ink, referred to by deep-cover Middle Eastern intelligence services as 'Orinocoids', and controlled by ...
Perhaps I should go for a walk in the fresh air before the light goes. But just remember - you heard it here first.
Edited Fri 5 Mar 04, 12:14 AM by CruelLadyScorpio
