Well, no doubt those of you who suffer from such a surfeit of spare time that you actually follow this collection of my musings have been biting your nails to the quick as you ruminate on the burning question of just when Professor Avalanche was to make good on his bought and paid for promise to take your blushing narrator out on a date?
If you recall, I had somehow managed to outbid the other women for the privilege of the gentleman's company for an evening. Now, despite the fact that I chat with the big lunk (American for "gentleman") on a daily basis, somehow we always found ourselves tinkering with various, occasionally exploding devices. Mind you, I love that sort of thing, but it's scarcely the sort of thing that one finds described in the well worn pages of a good tub read, n'est ce pas?
So, I was completely delighted when he proposed an afternoon out. Yesterday found me in the upstairs of the Coaching House, desperately fishing through the closet for what to wear, besides deciding to go for a summery casual look. As I was to discover, such informal attire was just the ticket for the upcoming events!
Coming downstairs, I discovered that Professor Avalanche, to his credit, was actually in his evening, so he arrived in his tightly stretched evening jacket. A few awkward moments in which I said brilliant things such as "Um, so, this is, er, a date then?" We sat there, shifting feet for a bit until he coughed and asked if I might, just possibly like to go for a curry. Well away, I am never adverse to a bit of Indian food, and far less so than when he announced the means of transport! To wit: un Montgolfier!
A leisurely half hour over the beautiful county of Eyre ensued, punctuated only by the occasional scream of "AAAAAH!!! Professor! Mind the steeple!". Completely unnecessary hysterics, of course, but it did serve to keep the pulse up, which I am told is good for one's circulation. Be as that may, I can recommend ballooning as unreservedly one of the better "date activities" out there.
Perhaps sensing a need to keep things proper, a random self-appointed chaperon popped in, just as we were making the crossing into Tanglewood.
A gentle soul, the Professor did not give the fellow the boot, but instead toured the beanstalk.
Perhaps overcome by the vertigo of it all, we lost our chaperon, and set down in the thick woods of Tanglewood. Chaperoneless, I considered it time to do the racy, the daring, the never heard that would raise eyebrows should it be heard of in my home town. Yes. We....surfed. Specifically, Sky Surfed, using Colonel O'Toole's clever new invention, the Steam Surfboard Duuuude (According to the well travelled Colonel, "dude" is a form of articulated punctuation common amongst certain South Sea Islander nations)
Whizzing through Tanglewood, and after a few nasty slaps from branches, over said woods, we sported about the Island of Lionsgate for a while, flying about the towering volcano and under the high stone bridges, having just good silly fun. Then I proposed a race to the Sky City hangars, and we were off to the South again.
We made it to the hangar, whereupon, I learnt that the Steam Boards have a certain lack. They haven't brakes. Whilst I surveyed the bent up board, Professor Avalanche went to the docks to secure a more proper mode of transport.
The Caledonian Queen proved a fast ship, and we were soon taking in the sights along the South Coast. We were compelled to remark in wonder about the talent and skill of our countrymen. It seems everytime we pass through our lovely kingdom, we see something new and exciting that we had never seen before. Including a rocky breakwater on the coast of the Moors. Professor Avalanche stoked the boiler, swung the helm with all his might and...
Ran aground. I suppose I could have been of more use, besides yelling "Oh, look! Rocky bits!" Well away, we sadly waved good bye to the sinking Caledonian Queen and trudged up the hill to the railway station and waited.
Well, no one has ever compared Governor Shang to Mussolini, I believe. And our land does present absurd difficulties in providing rail service. Nonetheless, we were presented with rail sans train. Fortunately, the Professor is beyond clever, and with the aid of surplus, "I am sure no one is using this" parts at the depot, soon threw together a lovely pair of possibly safe monocycles.
In no time flat, we made it to Victoria City Station, where the trains were, in fact, running. One might point out that the trains run awfully well in proximity to Governor's mansion, but no doubt, many would wonder exactly what one's point is.
Regardless, the train was there and waiting, and the Professor gallantly helped me into the carriage. Whereupon the train started up. Without him.
Well, I think it was somewhere in Carnaigh that the poor fellow caught up, necessitating a bit of a cinematic holding of the hand out by yours truly accompanied by a hurdler's leap by him. Overcome by all the excitement (or perhaps, by this point a bit of curry-less hunger), I had a bit of a faint.
Fortunately for this narrative, I came to with the aid of smelling salts. Vile things, salts, but hardly worse than the unpleasant, inexplicable dreams of some mechanical voice announcing "your account will be available at 2402 in a year or so, should we feel like it". Despite these ill omens, coming to, I saw the bright minarets of the Taj Mahal--aka Miss Vi Paravane's Curry Shop.
Bellies full and teacups in hand, we toasted a successful, if unexpectedly adventurous romantic excursion. Well, excursion--to be truthful, it was, in fact a Platonic Ideal of a date. Which suits us both fine, and no doubt, Miss Fuschia Begonia as well (his true love in RL and SL). In that spirit, after our toast, Miss Begonia and a bevy of our other friends showed up, filling the curry shop with banter and laughter. Truly, I can think of no better end to an afternoon out!
Pardon me whilst I adjust the moving cog corsage I have received this morning in the post (winsome sigh....)