Islands
Adrian J Walker
I appear to be in a bit of a pickle. I’m stranded in my shed, of all places. Unbelievable. I mean I’m used to living remotely but this is ridiculous. 75 and stranded in my shed. And in nought but my nightie too.
It was dark when I came here. It must have been because I can see the kitchen light on in the house, and – well, I’m in my nightie. But now it’s light. It feels early, six o’clock perhaps. Everything’s packed with heavy mist and I’m sitting here on a deckchair trying to make sense of what’s before me. What used to be my garden is now sea. The tide has cut me off from my house.
They’ve been having problems with it. The tide. It’s all they were talking about on the mainland last time I was there – when was that? Three weeks ago. Four. Something like that,
