Being Robinson Crusoe

Robinson

Hi there

 

My name’s Robinson. Robinson Crusoe. I’m a castaway and I live on a desert island. I’ve lived here for seven years now and I’m getting mighty sick of the place. Let me give you a run down of the pain-in-the-backside factors which go towards my feeling the way I do.

 

First off, I’m all alone. When I was washed up, I had the ship’s dog, whose original name was Rex but I changed it to Abraham, which I thought was a good idea at the time. Abe lasted all of two years – I think it was the diet that killed him, all that fish, can’t be good for a dog. I had a parrot, too, which I called Jehovah. He would mimic what I said but he wasn’t exactly good company – his interlocutor skills were crap – so I wrung his neck and roasted him one Christmas. Oh and then there was Friday, that useless savage that I saved from a cannibalistic barbecue and how does he repay me? By trying to feast on me! It took me forever to drill any sense into him. What a waste of time and effort. Before long, some mates of his popped over to our island and dragged him off to a stag party or something, I forget, anyway he never came back. And he took my Swiss army knife.

 

Second, there’s the food. It killed Abraham and it’s taking its toll on me, I can tell you. Fresh water – no probs, I have a lovely cool stream of neo-Evian cool loveliness. Meat – I have a small herd of diseased inbred goats to which I help myself, one a week; the occasional wild pig and they all taste of fish; Fish – whatever I can get my hands on, nothing identifiable, and it all tastes like wild pork; Coconuts, which are fine as far as coconuts go but coconuts only go so far; mysterious berries and herbs which taste of wild pork and coconuts… I have no cooking oil or fat apart from wild pork fat, and no bread, potatoes, pasta or rice and I’m really into carbs so I’m hating this diet big time.

 

Third, the TV. I can only get eighty-three channels on my satellite receiver and more often than not they broadcast in some freaky language like French or Swahili. Why bother, I ask myself. No, honestly, I mean, why bother?

 

Anyway, I just thought I’d let you know how I’m getting on.

 

Look after yourself,

 

–          Heen XXX

PS : Hey, it could be a lot worse …..:

I was only joking!!!

I was only joking!!!

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