More Bl**dy Days

For those who are curious, this is a long running saga appearing on Facebook of being trapped on an 'island' - previous days are on the blog

Day 105. When I was younger there was a fantastic programme called Tomorrow’s World. It used to show new inventions and science and probably taught me more that any school lesson. In some hazy childhood memory I remember a machine they showed that would aid my escape. It has taken all day but by using things from the shops I believe I have managed to recreate it. I walked to the end of the pier closed my eyes and placed my hand on the ‘belt’ and visualized where I want to be. After an hour I gave up and then remembered. The belt was from The Tomorrow People not Tomorrow’s World.

Day 106. In ‘The Adventures Captain Starner and the Gumleighs’ day 106 was when they saw the fish people emerging from the water. I am not in anyway superstitious but just in case I have moved into the Tower Room of the old Asylum. It is amazing how these old buildings seem to hold memories in their walls. I found myself sobbing uncontrollably as I saw a young girl story played out in the shadows. Sentenced from the age of eleven to spend all her days in the Victorian edifice. And what was reason for such confinement. Simply breaking the social norm of the day by challenging everyone she met with a flaming raison soaked in white spirit before stabbing them to death. How times have changed

Day 107. One of those wonderful freaks when the sun shines after days of rain. It makes me realise how affected by the weather I am. Constant grey skies really impacts on my mood but this sudden shaft of sunlight is like someone switching on a bulb driving out the darkness and pessimism in my brain. I must not waste this day. I must make the most of this sense of optimism, the feeling that everything will be ok. I took a chair down to beach and sat directly facing the sun and closed my eyes to let the light bathe my eyelids. Then I wrestled with the question that has bugged me since I got here and within three or four hours I had an answer to what appeared unanswerable. The Ashdowne Aylesham Mix is my favourite roof tile. I shall sleep well tonight.

Day 108. Thinking of your favourite things can be quite fun but does lead to intense self-questioning. My favourite Blue Peter presenter was John Noakes – does this make me sexist to rule out Valerie Singleton, Lesley Judd, Karen Keating etc. No, because my favourite Magpie presented was Susan Stranks. Oh god, but wait, was that because I fancied her? On potatoes I cannot decide between roast and chips. Roast. No, wait a minutes, chips. With eggs its scrambled or fried but if its chips then I should lean to fried. So is Noakes ‘fried’ and Stranks ‘scrambled’? Now that does sound sexist, a typical male comment. So if Noakes is ‘chips’ then Stranks is ‘roast’. I shall not get onto my favourite way to eat prawns.

Day 109. David Attenborough is 86, Julie Andrews is 77. David Attenborough is famous for sharing his knowledge on nature and is rightly lauded and Lorded but what of Julie. Without her I would have never know where lonely goat herds live. 86+77=163. What happens if I am still here after 163 days. In the night I though I heard the sound of a helicopter flying over. Today I have spelt 'HELP' out in stones on the beach. I have done it in a beautiful Pegypta font which makes it barely legible but does reflect the inner turmoil I am struggling with. Fonts can be so descriptive. This evening I discovered the key to the Off License.

Day 110. Having been inspired as child by listening to big bands on the radio I nagged my parents to let me learn a musical instrument. We were not a wealthy family so my requests for a trumpet, saxophone or trombone were turned down as being too expensive. Finally after much persuasion my Father said he would teach me to play the Euphemism. Oh the happy hours we spent as I learnt my craft whilst my Father encouraged me by saying how ‘special’ I was. Finally I was ready to practice with a band but unfortunately, despite my Father’s constant enquiries, no local band needed me and so I stopped playing. I was reminded of this after I finished my first twelve bottles of Babycham.  I think having the key for the Off License is going to help pass the time.

Day 111. Stumbling along the beach with a half finished bottle I recall that in cricket ‘111’ is called a Nelson and is unlucky. I remember scoring 111 against the West Indies. No wait, it was West Molesey. Their under elevens team was very good but it took them apart, I was twenty four. Suddenly I see it and life changes. There in the sand - a fresh footprint and it’s not mine. It’s daintier, smaller. An expression from my teenage years comes back as my body goes into convulsions “my god, it’s a bird”. I look up to follow the path of the footprints and there, staring back at me with an expression of fear is a Gannet. I start to run alongside the footprints so as not to spoil them and turn the corner of the beach and there, in the distance, a human figure. A woman.

Day 112. No matter how hard I run I cannot catch the woman in the distance who is seems to be just walking languidly. Or is it languidly walking? Oh for god’s sake don’t worry about that now just run harder. Once again she has disappeared from view behind an outcrop of rocks. As I negotiate the edge I look up and she has gone. Not only has she gone, so have the footsteps. I look back and can only see mine in the sand. Please don’t let her have been a, a, a …., I can’t remember the word in English only in French – a ‘mirage’. The light is playing tricks on the water. I rub my eyes hard and attempt to sober up but I’m sure, well pretty sure, that there is a boat on the beach. I this what that ghostly vision, that siren wanted me to see.

Day 113. It is a boat. I have been up and touched it. There is no one aboard and no sign of recent life but it looks seaworthy. This could be my route off the island and away. I need to go back to the town and pack provisions, but sensibly this time. I can check out what to take in the Library where there must be a good book on survival. It will take maybe ten trips but I can do it. I will just have to be careful about the tigers. They could grab me at any point so perhaps I will have to carry some form of weapon. Then I had a silly thought. I must check the boat each time to make sure a tiger has not got on board although even as I consider it does seem rather a stupid idea. Suddenly I feel hungry. It must be the drink and the running but why do I only want to eat some pie.

Day 114. The packing is going well. I have been sensible and used plastic containers from the Pound Shop. The ones in the hardware store seemed tougher and more durable but the price was outrageous. I have separated out the food and water from the rest of the supplies. I have got jackets, ropes, a penknife and other life saving elements from the walking shop. I have even got two compasses or is it compi just in case. I have taped them together so I won’t lose one. Now is the small matter of getting them to the boat safely. They are extremely heavy so I think just two trips a day. Keep an eye out for the tigers

Day 115. I am very conscious of the old legend of ‘Jarek the Oresman’ so in between my two trips a day taking supplies to the boat I have been building up my rowing muscles on a rowing machine. As the tale of Jarek says this is essential to avoid just going in a large circle. I say a rowing machine but it is something I have made by bringing suitable components together. It is an upturned kitchen cupboard with two tennis rackets but it certainly is hard work. All the physical exercise should mean I am sleeping well but my brain just won’t switch off. I spend my nights worrying about what might happen on my voyage but during the day I know that whatever occurs is going to be better than being stuck here alone for the rest of my days.

Day 116. I carried the final load of provisions to the boat this evening and secured the tarpaulin to prevent the tigers getting on board. Tonight will be my last night on dry land for god knows how long. I thought I would celebrate by doing things that I will not be able to do when I am on the water. I sat underneath a tree and rested my back against the trunk. I ran down a grassy mound onto the beach where I let the sand fall through my fingertips. I went into the local Post Office and imagined my self at the back of long queue whilst the queue next to me moved quickly. I went to the clothing store, held a jumper up and shouted “have you got this in large”? I shall miss so much.

Day 117. At first light I went along the beach keeping my eyes peeled for the tigers. They are at their most active at dawn and dusk but I want to make sure that I have the longest amount of daylight in the boat on day one. As I peeled back the bight blue tarpaulin I could hear their strange guttural noises in land. I was mightily relieved once I was on board and able to get on with things. I have packed all my food and drink provisions in individual Tupperware each labeled with a day. Rather than calling the first 117 I have reverted to number 1 as today is the start of a great new adventure. It’s about 8 or 9 in the morning but I wanted to eat lunch and I suddenly remembered that urge from school trips. What was it about getting on the coach that made you hungry?

Day 118. I have sat in the boat all day. The sounds of screeching gulls filled my ears. I began to imagine them as the echoed cries of the poor tortured souls lost at sea. These are not great thoughts just before a sea voyage. Made me feel sad. I hate seagulls - they're just pigeons on holiday. I have been in the boat for four high tides and none have got near the boat. I am beginning to think I should have noticed that earlier and certainly before I loaded it. I suppose it is why the boat has on the beach and not drifted away. I have two choices I believe. Dig a channel to the sea or find a way to drag the boat further down the shore. I cannot entertain not escaping this island now.

Day 119. After numerous attempts to move the boat I had in the end to come terms with the fact that I do not have the strength nor the ingenuity to shift it one inch. This leaves only one choice – a channel. I had forgotten how much fun it was digging on the beach as a child. It was hypnotic as you lost entire days making castles, burying people, digging holes and general playing as though the day would never end. It is not fun as an adult. I brought a good spade and shovel from the town and begin to dig a channel. It needs to be a straight run down to the sea. Thank goodness whoever left the JCB that was in the way left the keys in the ignition so I could move it a little to the left.