This week’s words: Sterile Dull Rivulet Barley Volitant (engaged in or having the power of flight. Active; moving.) Phlegm Embasan (to wear clothes while taking a bath) Precarious Sanatorium (a hospital for the treatment of chronic diseases, as tuberculosis or various nervous or mental disorders.) File Sombre (it is just the British spelling of somber use whichever form you prefer) Soup
It all started over a bowl of soup. Carson questioned the sterility of the kitchen as his soup has traces of hair and other things he called foreign objects in his soup.
What made it hard was that it was a vegetable soup so questions arose as to what should be there and what shouldn’t. The argument went back and forward as Carson was never what you’d call a dull person. He loved an argument never caring greatly if he won or lost.
Such was the disagreement that the chef was soon involved arguing that barley was an acceptable ingredient in his soup. Carson maintained it was a grain fit only for bovine creatures and should be kept well away from humans.
It was when the chef produced his meat cleaver and began to make threats upon Carson’s potential manhood that he suddenly saw the need to become volitant, leaping over tables and other guests in a display that shocked everyone including Carson.
He fled out the doors of the restaurant and made his way the Medway Rivulet where he had a hiding place for such emergencies. He had escaped another precarious situation by the skin of his teeth and now decided to lay low for a while and see if time would help settle the air for him.
But he did file away in his small and limited brain the actions and aggression of the chef.
In the middle of the night Carson experienced another of his reoccurring nightmares where he found himself incarcerated in a sanatorium having once again been found bathing in a highly questionable embasan manner in the rivulet.
From an early age Carson had an aversion to water. His father had warned him of its evil powers and Carson had made it a life long mission to avoid it on every occasion and the wearing of clothes was a sure way he thought of preventing his skin from coming in contact with the malicious liquid.
It was in the sanatorium that his fears were fully realised as the first thing they tried to do was wash him and Carson who promised himself to be at his sombre best had fought like a navvy to stay out of his greatest nightmare.
Realising the nightmare had taken its usual path, of terror for him, he cleared the phlegm from his throat in his usual violent way and settled back in to what he hoped was a peaceful sleep devoid of volitant thoughts and embasan activities.