Chapter Seven

THE TRAVELLERS

And so it came to pass that great hoards of travellers began to come in search of The Promised Land, and they carried with them their Dollars, and their Yen, and their Deutchmarks and, yea, even their Pounds Sterling.

And the great silver birds multiplied a hundred-fold, descending from the firmament like locusts on the wing. And it pleased not the locals, who slammed their windows and their doors, and placed their hands upon their ears, and mouthed curses unto the heavens, saying: "Flamin’ tourists".

Yet the travellers continued to arrive in The Promised land, and they came from many and diverse places. And there were those who dressed in loud checked trousers with clashing sports jackets, and whose wives wore tortoiseshell glasses, and were called Martha. And these were blessed with wallets of exceeding bulk, for they had come to purchase anything that wasn’t bolted down; and they were particularly interested in the sacred great rock which was fabled to exist in the centre of the land, for it would look rather nice alongside the swimming pool, next to the tropical hibiscus.

And these entered the landing ground of the great silver birds and enquired of the labourers therein: "Hey Mack, where’s the big rock?" And when they were told it was many thousands of leagues away, they replied: "OK, where can we pick up a cab?" And the labourers at the landing ground laughed gaily, and they held their sides, and they nudged one another, saying: "Flamin’ Yanks" and "Bloody Septics!"

Then, other travellers came amongst them, and these were clothed in a strange garb, for bowler hats and rolled umbrellas doth signify this creed. And one amongst them beheld the labourers from above his stiff upper lip, and he spake unto them loudly and in strident tones, saying: "Bloody hell, bit strong, what? How much longer do we have to wait for our damn luggage?"

Then he enquired of the throng as to that place wherein was kept the warm beer; for he was blowed if he was going to drink that freezing cold local muck, where the glass sticks to your bloody lips, and the froth takes up half the glass anyway.

And the labourers were still of tongue, for no words could they get in edge-wise; and the traveller continued thus: "Anyway, it’s bloody expensive enough as it is, without throwing away my hard-earned money to a bunch of bloody foreigners in some Bruce-forsaken colonial backwater!" And the labourers looked one unto the other, and shook their heads sadly from side to side, and murmured things like "Jeez" and "Flamin’ Poms".

And with no answer forthcoming to his question, the traveller picked up his duty-free bag and wandered alone unto the sweltering land, seeking the suggested lemon upon which to suck; and he perspired freely as he went, beneath his navy blue pin-striped three-piece suit. And tranquillity was once more upon that place.

Chapter 8 - The Gateway