This week’s words: Pint chase fists cease sleeping bag octopus marooned metal breathless pennyworth wastrel (noun). a wasteful or good-for-nothing person. wanderjahr (noun). A year spent travelling abroad, typically immediately before or after a university or college course.
Finding the octopus, tentacles curled into fists in the sleeping bag was a tad unnerving but not unexpected. After all, during the wanderjahr one had to expect the unexpected.
It was in the town of Slothful that the incident of the octopus occurred. That we were three thousand feet above sea level made it all the more intriguing.
My youthful companion, Mans-Catherine and I had spent a tough day climbing and trekking the hills around the town and had retired to the pub for a pint or two. Having a sweet tooth, Mans-Catherine purchased a pennyworth of liquorice allsorts to chew on around our campfire.
The discovery of the octopus in her sleeping bag had upset her, and she was at first reluctant to climb into her bag for fear there might be another in there. She had visions of being chased around the campsite by an octopus demanding she vacate what was clearly a warm and comfortable abode.
This excitement was all she needed having been basically a wastrel for most of her life living in squats and sheltered doorways the opportunity to go on this trip with me was too much to refuse. Initially, she was breathless with anticipation only too happy to cease her wastrel ways in favour of a more constructed lifestyle.
Meanwhile, we concluded the octopus must have been marooned in Slothful for how else could it have ascended the three thousand feet above sea level to this quaint town. As we pondered the problem of what to do with the marooned octopus, we noticed it had wrapped itself around one of the metal supports of our tent.