Message in a Bottle
If anyone finds this bottle, please, please read the note inside!
Wait! OMG! This is the note inside! Jeez! Sorry!
Anyway, firsties, apologies for my scrawl — I’m writing this with squid ink and the last remaining decent false fingernail between the two of us — us being, well, me, Hermione, and my best mate, Sweet Betsy — or, as she likes to call it: ‘co-conspirator in the escapades of life.’
You may have heard of us, actually, now that the “Two Welsh Girls on the Loose Mt. Kilimanjaro 10-K Downhill Tandem Elephant Fun Run” video has gone viral. (But then again, you might be some old beachcomber coot in wellies with a metal detector ... in which case ... probably not.)
Secondies — and more to the point — HELP!!!
We are stranded on a small uninhabited island, sans wi-fi, and in desperate need of instant gratification nutrition — not to mention a couple of head to toe exfoliations.
Gauging by the size of our goosebumps, and our advanced level of hair frizz, we calculate our location to be somewhere within the triangle formed by Iceland, Greenland ... and that other cold-land … Lapland, maybe?
“How did this happen?” you may be asking. (As if it is at all relevant!)
So, three weeks ago, S.B. and I were happily gearing up (which in our case meant ‘resting up’) for the North Wales All Girls Regional Volleyball and Glee Choir Tournament, when a ghost from our past came knocking on our glossy hot-pink front door.
“Hello der gals! So, what’s the ‘Two Welsh Girls on the Loose’ been up to doin’ these days?”
Even though the sight of Ferme ’agent provocateur’ Akinde had instantly triggered internal fight or flight warning alarms — twenty minutes later we were serving him tea and Welsh cakes and like totally buying into his latest pitch: “When I caught it on the Beeb, you two talkin’ ‘bout that Fun Run viral video, I noticed you both lookin’ pretty pekid, ya know, and I started to worrying.”
“It’s not pek-id-ness, Ferme, it’s just that we’re from north Wales,” I enlightened him.
“Well, anyways, the bottom line is this, gals: I got the two of youse booked for one week at Seashanty Saul’s Deluxe Hot Springs Island Health Resort and Spa! All you gotta do is appear in their promotional video … ’cause ya know, you two are now the big-time online celebrities! And it won’t cost you tuppence … not even one thin dime! How can you beat that, eh? It’s win-win all de way ’round, to be sure!”
The next day, after the volleyball and choir tournament (bridesmaids, once again!) we were whisked away from the Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllant-ysiliogogogoch pier on a motorboat piloted by Ferme Akinde.
Two days later, in the motorboat’s galley, over a lunch of mock fried something or other, Ferme posed a question to us: “Say, you gals, you don’t got any maps or things like that, do ya?
It’s been six weeks now since Ferme offloaded us — as a fuel conservation measure — on this rocky outcropping (which we’ve named New Uranus) — promising that he would come back for us soon.
So, again, I repeat … SEND HELP!
