The Omen

I set out to swim along the coastline, my destination being a private beach a mile odd way. The sandy coloured cliffs along the coast appeared half crumbled into the turquoise sea with rocks jutting out sporadically from the water, forming private lagoons shaded somewhat by overhanging shrubbery. Shoals of small black fish swam underneath me as I observed the seabed through the clear water. I occasionally breathed in at the wrong time whilst doing overarm stroke and a renegade undulation splashed into my mouth, causing me to swallow some tasty water thick with salt. I’d stop, wretch it out and continue my pleasant swim.

Just before I reached the beach I came across a small cave in the sandy cliffs, which I’d explored the previous day. I slowly swam inside careful not to bash against the rugged edges. The cooing of pigeons echoed off the damp dark walls, slick with plankton. At the far end a white dove sat on the dimly lit shore amid a pile of decomposing driftwood. I felt for a half decent footing on the greasy rocks underfoot and stood up.

 Suddenly something big hit me on the shoulder and let out an eerie shriek!!!

I shit myself and jumped backwards, crashing under the murky water. I splashed to the surface and swam back a little, turning around to see what had attacked me in the dark.

A rather large pigeon chick was splashing around, screeching but steadily heading towards the shore. I stood up shocked, not knowing if I should help it or not. Would it’s parent disown it once I’d fingered the little fella? It floated out of view whilst I procrastinated and, even thought I felt I should help, I just sort of stood there numb. Less than a minute later the fledgling floated back into view….dead.

I swam off to the private beach and lay in the sun for an hour feeling rather ashamed of myself. The gentle waves splashed against my feet and I jumped whenever a loose pebble hit my foot, thinking it to be the cadaver of the unfortunate pigeon I’d let drown.

The long swim back home, as the sun slowly sank toward the Cyprus strewn hills in the west, was peaceful; yet still I wondered at my part in the creatures demise. Did my presence in the cave cause it to want to leap onto my head? Did the sight of my miserable personage cause the innocent little thing to give up all hope and jump to its doom, or ( more likely) did the curious baby slip whilst trying to peep over the nest at me. Was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time; and if I had try to save it and placed it lovingly on the shore would it have suffered an immeasurably crueller death and slowly starved.

A good while later my swim brought me back to Ipsos beach. I headed towards the partly dismantled pier which was situated outside of my apartment. When the sea became shallower I stood up and waded towards the shore. As I stepped out of the water, Rachael (who had accompanied me for the swim back) stood pointing at something washed up on the beach. I walked over and noticed two little legs sticking up from underneath the foaming water.

No! It cannot be!!

The dead bird!!

It had followed me home, travelling all this way in such a short space of time. It had washed up at the  exact spot I’d exited the sea, just opposite my house. Why here when it had a hundred miles of coastline to choose from? Was it coincidence or an omen of some sort? My tiny brain found it difficult to take it all in. What did it all mean? Was I being punished for not saving it? Should I feel slightly more remorseful? Am I to dedicate the remainder of my days, like the ‘Birdman of Alcatraz’, devoting my time to the study and care of our Avian brethren.

I was freaked out and watched it bobbing up and down for another minute before deciding to head back home where I had a nice bowl of pasta and a cup of tea.

Summers over…

The summer finally starts to wane, and that means it’s only 30 degrees and rains once a week. Gotta love this Greek weather. The majority of the tourists have fucked off home, so I have the nice pebble beach back to myself again and the clear blue water no longer has kebab wrappers and tampons floating in it. My bank account is emptier than a peados nut sack in a Cambodian kindergarten and I’m starting to wonder whether I should have taken the job in the seedy cocktail bar downstairs after all. I know that, more likely than not, I would have been a fat piss head again within a few month so my new slim figure regrets that decision not a jot. I’ve earned a few bob here and there. I was a yacht maintenance man for three days, Gardener for a fortnight, waiter for in some posh old English gentry’s villa once or twice. I even tried my hand as a white van man’s side kick for a day or two, so it isn’t like I’ve been a beach bum the entire time I’ve been living here (although the blonde sun streaks in my hair would appear to argue the opposite).

Well, my travelling funds have well and truly fucked off and my credit card has received more than a couple of harsh rapings. Am I to go back to the UK without a solitary bean to my miserable name? It appears so as I check my on-line bank account and a small tear starts to form in he corner of my eye. When LO and be- bloody well-hold I notice an inconspicuous email in my Hotmail junk from my old friends at the medical testing unit in Wythenshawe, Manchester. They offer me a ridiculous amount of money to be a guinea pig for the duration of November. I obviously jump at the chance as the cash will pay off all my debts and set me up for another nice adventure, possibly snowboarding in the Swiss Alps this winter. Jeezus! I should really get a proper job……..