By moor land
It’s quite unusual I suppose being swallowed by a whale. And to think I was just paddling at the time. Yes, the shallows. And he, let’s give him a gender, swam right up, belly skidded for a good twenty metres with his mouth open like a...whale. It could have been worse. At least I’d finished my ice-cream. And phew, good choice to wear the full swimsuit. I may have lost my bikini bottoms as I went down his gullet. You’ve Been Framed would have loved that.
Oh well, it’s not too bad down here. Some stinky fish, sand and plastic bags from Waitrose. I’d like to add at this point, I always have a bag for life. Not like my next door neighbour, who does a big shop on Saturday and never reuses her carriers. She’s oblivious to peer pressure. My fixed stares just makes her shuffle faster into her house. That’s why the world is in such a bad place. At least I’m out of that.
When his mouth is closed, it’s like one of those floatation tanks. Quite relaxing really. I’ve only tried that once before. On a hen do. When I say hen do, it was upmarket of course. Cream tea at Fortnums, wine tasting that kind of thing. The floatation came last. That was probably a mistake. Despite the salt, I was so full I really thought I was going to sink. It took them fifteen minutes to hear my shouts. I wonder if anyone would hear me now.