»Kylie!«
I still try to calm down my best friend and neighbour and having a sensible phone conversation with her, trying to ignore the excited and panicked llama at the same time.
»You are not seriously in Antartica near South Pole, at the moment, aren't you? There are no mysterious tunnels and no polar bears at the South Pole, are there? And where is Nigel?«
»I am where I am«, Kylie insists, »on a science mission with Mr Claude Sideburns, my former professor for Antarticaology. And who is Nigel?«
»His name is Burnside, the llama cried out, »Professor Burnside.
»NO!« I interrupt, shouting at both of them, Kylie on the phone and llama jumping around in the living room of my penthouse apartment in the building on 666, Whitaker Lane, in Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside. »Not again! And Nigel is your son, Kylie, student at university and so on…«
»Nigel is not here!«
»But where is he? Where is Nigel?«
»Christmas Islands or Easter Islands or Galápagos Islands or somewhere around those places exploring giant turtles and their strange behaviour. They are trying to get rid of their turtle shells, lately, probably because of the climate changes. In return humans who have been in contact with those turtles have started to transform into giant turtles and to grow their own giant turtle shells to hide away from the outside world from time to time.«
»Tortoises«, the llama adds now chewing the plant in a pot in the other side of the room. »On Galápagos Islands they are called giant tortoises, not turtles. And everyone should grow protective shells to hide away from this year of craze.«
I still try to calm down my best friend and neighbour and having a sensible phone conversation with her, trying to ignore the excited and panicked llama at the same time.
»You are not seriously in Antartica near South Pole, at the moment, aren't you? There are no mysterious tunnels and no polar bears at the South Pole, are there? And where is Nigel?«
»I am where I am«, Kylie insists, »on a science mission with Mr Claude Sideburns, my former professor for Antarticaology. And who is Nigel?«
»His name is Burnside, the llama cried out, »Professor Burnside.
»NO!« I interrupt, shouting at both of them, Kylie on the phone and llama jumping around in the living room of my penthouse apartment in the building on 666, Whitaker Lane, in Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside. »Not again! And Nigel is your son, Kylie, student at university and so on…«
»Nigel is not here!«
»But where is he? Where is Nigel?«
»Christmas Islands or Easter Islands or Galápagos Islands or somewhere around those places exploring giant turtles and their strange behaviour. They are trying to get rid of their turtle shells, lately, probably because of the climate changes. In return humans who have been in contact with those turtles have started to transform into giant turtles and to grow their own giant turtle shells to hide away from the outside world from time to time.«
»Tortoises«, the llama adds now chewing the plant in a pot in the other side of the room. »On Galápagos Islands they are called giant tortoises, not turtles. And everyone should grow protective shells to hide away from this year of craze.«
⏯⏯⏯⏯⏯
Today is Sunday, the 5th of January 2025.
No comments:
Post a Comment