Monday, August 30, 2010


In Lagarde our boat was moored near a church with a bell that rang every 15 minutes. That's right, every 15 minutes, 24 hours a day, a deeply resonant gong would check-in to see if anybody had fallen asleep.

Funnily enough the bell never woke me, and I suppose I outgeneralled it in this respect, as whenever it sounded I was already awake and waiting for it.

15 minutes past — ding.
30 minutes past — ding-dang.
45 minutes past — ding-dang-dong.
On the hour — diNG-a-LanG-a-doonGle-diNG-dong, di-DOOong, di-DOOoong ... ... DAAAAAANG! ... DAAAAAAANG! ... DAAAAAAAAANG!

"Oh, I say," said I, propping myself up in bed. "It's good to know we've struck the third hour past midnight, what? I'll just wind my wrist-bound chronometer in accordance with ... hold on a jiff ... that was a hundred, freaking, years ago!"

1 comment:

Sweet Olive Press | Helen said...


Does no one in that town own a sledge hammer?