aka Capri-Sol inferioris

The Belgian once found an unexpected islet emerging from the sea at low tide. I can’t say for sure how long he was on there abusing himself before calling the society but large areas of sand were in an uproar. “My boys,” he said, “I shall make this a new Congo, that all of us might live well.” He gestured towards a pile of well-thumbed Roy of the Rovers comics – The President immediately began classifying them, and though I could not tell the logic behind his ordering, the Belgian seemed to appreciate his efforts.

Given the empty wine bottle, it was apparent that he spent some time making a plan. He cocked his head towards the ocean “We are surrounded by water”, he told us, “but I have a boy with a kayak.” Escape was obviously on his mind, but I couldn’t say from what exactly. I checked the rutted sand for signs of a struggle, or even worse, sweat, but so far it seemed that no evil had transpired.

It was then that I noticed what appeared to be some seaweed at his feet was actually a crown of kelp, he put it on his head and looked up at the sky for a second before letting out a ovine howl. The Treasurer, who fears his last brush with the law was possibly his last, went pale white and fumbled around in his breast pocket for his kinder egg. Checking that the Belgian was still looking skywards he assembled the toy. The Belgian went silent and took a few paces to the small sandcastle which was the highest point on the island. He stared seawards and started. A kayak was approaching. “Prepare to land the vessel you animals”, he said. “Teamsters and stevedores”, he muttered, stroking himself. The boat was of a small size and seemed to be crowded. It was only as it came closer that I saw that its captain was an otter almost one foot tall (and she was easily the prettiest on the canoe). As they approached the President was already wading out to meet them, his shoe raised above his head.

It was time to drink my Um Bongo, but I had lost the straw.