After a healthy dose of anti-psychotic medication, he asked me again and I said "Where do I start?"
He said I could go anywhere in the British ISles and talk about whatever I liked. With such an open invitation, I thought about what sort of place I would call a british paradise...
And then it hit me! In a book I'd read as a child, it talked of a magical land where strange creatures roamed the lush, green fields, and where men in huge suits took up the bolts of lightning from the hands of dead gods to make power for we mere mortals.
When I suggested this place, my editor told me it was a fantastic idea, and signed a week release form. I hurried home, trying to resist the temptation to molest birch trees along the way, and packed my bag with everything I'd need for my pilgrimage:
- Toothbrush
- Medicated toothpaste
- Fashionable undergarments
- Bell bottom jeans
- Sequined waist coat
- Afro pick
- Sun cream (Factor 20)
- Edible thong (For the train ride)
I hopped aboard the train, making sure my mittens were on tight, so I wouldn't start anymore fires.
The sign pinned to my coat said this:
"Please look after this bear. He bites small children and animals"
The guard, while making sure not to get his hands too close to my mouth, took my ticket, punched it, and left me alone in the first class car (Though I later found out I had no business being there.).
Aftr 5 changes, 6 muggings and a few cups of cold tea, I read the sign of the incoming station:
SELLAFIELD
I had arrived!
* * * * *
As I was wheeled from the station in my Lecter-cart, I saw all the wonderful sights that Sellafield had waiting for me. Flying cars! External combustion engines! Cream cakes! The beach! Unicorns fornicating with busty Goblins!
I later awoke in my hotel room with a hypodermic needle coming out of my neck, and a not e from the hotel management saying that I was speaking in tongues about flights of fancy and other such rot. They didn't have a tranquiliser, but gave me a shot of blueberry jam to the cartaroid artery, which had the same effect.
A few minutes of vomiting later, I left the basement penthouse I had been booked by my editor and went in search of adventure!
...there wasn't any in stock at the local supermarket! What a bust!
I walked along the beach instead.
The long, slightly oozing sand road became my friend over the 3 days I spent in Sellafield. It showed me the natural beauty of the indiginous wildlife, including a new species of crab that knows the entire score of "The Marriage of Figero", but nothing lse. After the final number, the creatures spawn a sack of eggs, numbering in the hundreds, and die on the spot. Those lucky enough to be in the chorus, survive to learn how to breathe and eat.
The feeling of sand between my feet was wonderful. The town should be praised for it's clean beach! It's natural properties are astounding! Even now, I never bump my feet into anything in the pitch blackness.
I was also lucky enough to be in town long enough for the summer carnival! Which began with the running of the sheep, due to most of the bulls being incredibly huge and agressive.
I, along with several other young men, were chosen to be in the event itself. We were herded into a large pen by a halfcaste man, who I later came to know as Shep. As we waited, the sheep was brought into the opposite pen. It had a garland of flowers, weaved by the women's institute, around each of it's heads. Each head was eating another's garland.
The time was nigh! We awaited the starter's pistol. Unfortunately, the local area authority wouldn't allow any sort of firearm to be fired, for fear of something they called an "84 cockup". So the starting pistol was replaced with a large gentleman having his genitals slammed into a vice.
The agonising scream came and we were off! The sheep was in hot pursuit! One man leapt into a rubbish bin for fear of being savaged by the creature, another threw himself into the Windy Scales, the local pub, and upon the mercy of the landlady. He was never recovered.
Yet another tried to climb up and over the wall surrounding the local nuclear power facility, but the wall consumed him before he even reached halfway up.
It was myself and another man left. My compatriot tried to bargain with me as we downed a gallon of beach sand, asking if I'd distract the creature while he ran on ahead. I told him I wanted a fair race, so kicked him in the cobblers and ran for home.
By winning, I was allowed my pick of the women in the town, those being the laws of the land.
I picked out my sweetheart and we spent the rest of the weekend in the throes of romance and the ocean (My hired dingy struck a roack and we had to swin back to shore).
When I arrived back at my inner London townhouse, my doctor told me that the asylum didn't allow pets. I told him she was a citizen of the realm and my worthy foe in battle, come concubine.
She bleated in agreement.
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