Bromfords of the Kollobita´´rtainnen - Part 9

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"Bromford U.S.A."

All life we work but work is bore,
If life's for livin' what's livin' for,
She lives in a house that's near decay,
Built for the industrial revolution,

But in her dreams she is far away,
In Bromford U.S.A.
With Shirley Jones and Gordon McRea,
As she buys her paper at the corner shop,

She's walkin' on the surrey with the fringe on top,
Cos in her dreams she is far away,
In Bromford U.S.A.,
She walks to work but she's still in a daze,

She's Rita Hayworth or Doris Day,
And Errol Flynn's gonna take her away,
To Bromford U.S.A.,
All life we work but work is a bore,
If life's for livin' then what's livin' for.

A round little man with a horizontal striped shirt is standing behind the bars outside the cell. He is wearing a headscarf tied like a turban and carrying a tray with a loaf of bread, some hard cheese and some sausages.

»Strange place it is, this Kollobita´´rtainnen Sea, don't you think? « the little man asks. »And strange things are happening here. Where did you stowaways come from in the middle of the storm and in the middle of the night? I have seen ones of his kind before«, he is nodding in the faun's direction, »but the rest of you is wearing strange clothes and talking in very strange ways. Well, I have seen stranger things since we left Berkeley, but maybe I haven't. «

»I am Bromford Bibble«, I introduce myself and try to explain, »We are only travellers from abroad. And we are here to bring him«, I am pointing on Mr. Tumbleweed, »home to the island of Greenlion. Have you heard of that island? «

»Tummy's the name and cook's the profession«, the round man is performing a little bow. »And Greenlion is near, if you ask me. It is always near. Wherever we set sail, regardless which direction - North, West, South or East - we are always near Greenlion. But I wouldn't call it an island. It's much more than an island. It is more like a continent, if you ask me. «

Suddenly light is shining through the trapdoor at the end of the stairs to the upper deck and Captain Hammock's voice is filling the belly of the ship.

»Bring me those stowaways, Mr. Tummy! Let's give them their breakfasts on deck in the sunshine. «

The cook Mr. Tummy is giggling.

»Some of you really look like you could use some sun«, he says. »You are looking kind of cheesy. Seems you haven't gained your sea legs, yet. «

»Sea what? « Nigel asks as Tummy is putting down the tray with the food and opening the door to the brig with one of the rusting keys on a jingling bunch of keys he has taken out of the pocket of his trousers.

Today is Saturday, the 9th of December 2023.