Further Adventures of Trevor and Patrick: 1. Trevor and Patrick Go On Holiday
Trevor the Red-Footed Tortoise and Patrick the Pomeranian decided to go on a journey. They traversed a hundred fields, hitchhiked the length of a dozen A-roads, got lost in thirty-five supermarkets, sat on two-hundred-and-fifteen benches, relieved themselves by ninety-six trees and ended up in a static caravan in a holiday park in Devon.
“This is nice,” said Trevor, in the language of snuffles and grunts that he and Patrick shared.
“But what shall we do now that we are here?,” asked Trevor.
Patrick licked his testacles.
“That’s easy for you to say,” said Trevor. “But I don’t have your dexterity.”
Patrick ate half a sausage that was wedged between two of the sofa cushions.
“I guess it comes down to me to find something for us to do then,” said Trevor, who proceeded to explore the caravan.
Five minutes later, after Trevor had whizzed around, checking all the cupboards, under the beds, behind the curtains and inside the oven, he returned to where Patrick had just thrown up on the carpet in the middle of the lounge, due to eating a small packet of crayons that had somehow found itself behind the wooden panel under the fridge (Patrick did not question how Trevor had retrieved it from said location).
“Shall we go out then?,” said Trevor.
Patrick the Pomeranian woofed, panted, then threw himself at the door.
They took themselves off to the entertainment complex.
“What an exquisite palace of decadent frivolity,” said Trevor, as they entered the two-storey arcade.
Patrick yelped, as an overeager child rushed past and stepped on his paw.
Trevor spotted a glittering pound coin in a clearing amongst the forest of human legs - which was just as well, as neither he nor Patrick had thought to bring any cash. Trevor quickly dashed over to the coin, scooped it up with his nose and flipped it into the air, whereupon it clonked into the slot in a change machine, which then proceeded to spew forth fifty two pence pieces into the paper pot that someone had fortuitously left under the spewing aperture. A teenage girl then whipped up the pot and began pouring the coins therein into a coin pusher game.
“Thief!,” said Trevor.
The girl, however, paid no heed.
“I don’t think this is the place for us,” said Trevor. “How about a round or two of crazy golf?”
Patrick would have said, “Why not?,” but he was too busy licking a sticky patch on the floor.
They located a golf ball in a nearby bush, then with a nifty nuzzle of his nozzle, Trevor got a hole in one. When it was Patrick’s turn, he picked up the ball with his mouth, ran over to the outdoor swimming pool and threw it in.
“Well that was the shortest game of crazy golf ever,” said Trevor.
They decided to go for a walk on the beach. By the time they had descended the steep path to the sandy place, however, they were brought short by a sign which warned that dogs weren’t allowed on the beach in low season - which it was.
“Botheration,” said Trevor.
So they ascended the path and went for a drink at the café instead. This consisted of Patrick licking more sticky patches, whilst Trevor tipped up unfinished glasses of beer and other intoxicating beverages and got as tipsy as a red-footed turtle could get. Which was pretty tipsy. As commonly occurs when one gets tipsy, Trevor got maudlin.
“How long have we known each other, Patrick?,” said Trevor.
“Oh, I thought it was longer than that.”
Trevor took a sip of a mixture of pale ale and Guinness.
“We’ve been through some adventures, Patrick,” said Trevor.
Trevor imbibed more alcoholic victuals.
“We’ve facilitated human time travel,” he continued.
Patrick woofed confirmation.
“And we’ve... um... what else have we done, Patrick?”
“Oh yes, there was that.”
“I’d rather you didn’t mention that, Patrick.”
“Well that’s just obscene!”
Patrick sipped on a small spillage of absinthe, then lost consciousness.
The remainder of Trevor and Patrick’s Devonian vacation passed relatively uneventfully. Much sipping of tea in the caravan, getting annoyed by raucous children and playing cards on the veranda. Upon returning home, Trevor composed a strongly worded email to the holiday company, complaining of the lack of provision for reptiles and canines, which was responded to three weeks later, in a manner consisting of bland apologies and a £20 voucher off their next holiday. Trevor partook of the expected dickering and upped the value of the voucher to £35. Since they never actually paid for their holidays, however, preferring to ‘squat’ in an empty caravan for as many days as they could get away with, this voucher would never actually be spent, but Trevor was pleased, because a principle had been satisfied.
Trevor and Patrick had a think about what to do next...