Another camera-free go at the WordPress Photo Challenge…
Ugg was lying on a stone slab in the blazing sun, which was shining directly onto his face. His face was the colour of a tomato, and his nose had begun to peel. His wife Ogga lay on a similar slab beside him.
Of all the hardships of their cave-dwelling lives together, the coldness of the nights, the fleeing from boars, the visits from her mother, he had never endured, nor imagined, any situation as bad as this.
They were on the first ever package holiday.
Their friend Tomascuk had come up with the idea. He had told them that it would be relaxing, that they would have a carefree, fun time, and had persuaded them and twenty other couples from their village to leave their caves for two weeks to go to the village (or ‘resort’ as it now termed itself) of My Orca. To stay in smaller caves.
Relaxing it was not. Each morning Ugg had to get up at six to place two fur-skin towels on two of the slabs, because this apparently warded off evil spirits, and other tourists.
Nor was it fun. There was a small pond in which the tourists could paddle, catch malaria and have their toes nibbled at by coelacanths. This seemingly was known as a Waterpark.
Nor was it carefree. They were harassed out of any chance to enjoy themselves by people who were determined that they would enjoy themselves.
Each day they were made to go on coach tours, in which a coach would give them morning fitness exercises and then make them jog around visiting local rocks, lichens and places of interest.
One of the places of interest that they had visited had been their own village, which after all was only five miles away.
In the evenings they were in the hands of the Entertainment Organiser. He made them play a game called bingo, in which they would put stones on numbers that he called out. If they were first to cover all of their numbers they had to shout out “cave”.
Later they would wear huge daft hats and drink the local drink, which tasted like something that had been passed through a vole. They had to form something called a “conger”, where each of them grabbed the hips of the person in front of them and they impersonated a giant eel.
They were made to do the actions to The Birdie Song, because it has been around forever.
Now Ugg sat up and looked at Ogga lying on the slab beside him. She, however, was lying on her front, and to his horror she had untied the top half of the two-piece fur-skin that she wore. He noticed that while he was getting redder by the second, her bare back was turning a golden brown. He also noticed that while he was lying there with nothing to do, she had a drink beside her, in which floated a small red round fruit and an umbrella. She also had a book, seven hundred pages of cured leather which lay open and face down on the table beside her.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
“It’s called a holiday novel,” she said. “Boy meets girl, girl dislikes boy, boy goes off with other girl, girl realises she actually likes boy, other girl falls into bear-trap, boy and girl get together.”
“What are the boy and girl called?” asked Ugg.
Ogga thought for a second. “I honestly can’t remember,” she admitted. “The thing about a holiday novel is that it goes in one eye and then seems to vanish up its own arse.”
Ugg lay back and was mentally counting down the seconds until they could go home and he could fish at weekends, dozing happily and being truly carefree, when he heard the yell “mammoth”!”.
He looked up. Sure enough, a huge mammoth was lumbering into the resort.
The Entertainment Organiser raced passed them, all duty to his charges forgotten in his charge. Ugg pulled Ogga to her feet and her top to a level of modesty, and they joined the stampede of fleeing fellow tourists.
As they fled Ugg panted “this is no different to what we have to do at home most days”.
“No, it‘s different,” said Ogga. “Listen to the mammoth’s roar.”
The mammoth was roaring in a foreign language.