Companion
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Join Date: Jan 2018
Location: North Yorkshire UK
Posts: 765
Companion
1.
a person or animal with whom one spends a lot of time or with whom one travels.
"his travelling companion"
synonyms: associate, partner, escort, consort, colleague, workmate, co-worker, compatriot, confederate, ally;
I do not remember when I met the companion. No matter. I shall tell you of a time I noted his presence. Fletch (my faithful Jack Russel) and I had traveled to the Scottish Borders in Audrey, our VW camper van. A beast of a day spent hiking a mountain at the side of a Loch. Fletch, ears flapping in the bitter wind, had I feel enjoyed the hike more than I. Nonetheless the sense of satisfaction at the summit - highlands to the right, lowlands to the left. It was worth the climb and as we descended the cold wind carved its name into my very bones.
As we turned a corner the view opened to us and in front was a large misty Loch with a jetty poking its finger into darkness. Maybe there was a monster, glittering skin, swimming through its waters. Waiting to pounce, encircle its prey and squeeze the life from it. Fortunately for us a "travelers rest" stood on the side of the road and the smell of the log fire burning beckoned us inside.
A small room at the entrance for wet clothes to air and dry and then into a wonderful warm and welcoming bar with a roaring log fire and the smell of home cooking hit our nostrils. Fletch was anticipating a sausage supper. We took a table close to the fire and warmed ourselves eagerly.
He arrived sometime later. I'm not sure when. He slipped into the seat that wasn't there. Smelling of peat, smokey fires and warmed tar and when he leaned towards me the very slightest note of pipe tobacco. I could feel myself somehow dropping, slowly, through a pool of amber. Warm and wrapping itself around me I lost all sense of space and time. He told me wonderful stories of all the places and all the people he met as he traveled round the world. Occasionally I checked Fletch was still there...and then I didnt. The music grew louder and voices, singing, a Highland Fling...round and round like a whirling dervish and I could hear him laughing. At first his laughter mirrored mine and it changed and somehow he seemed to be laughing at me.
The dreams enveloped me. I was sweating and my pores were filled with the smell of him, oily dark filled smoke house. Darkness and dreams.
When I awoke I wasn't sure of the time or for that matter how I had even arrived in the campervan bed. I was glad to see Fletch snoring at my feet but when i lifted my head the clattering headache forced me to put it back on the pillow. I must have laid there for some hours, nausea taking over like an old grey blanket pulled around me. I must have pulled myself together as the sun started its journey tipping out of the sky. The day was no more and when I clambered into the cab and caught my reflection in the rear mirror I had a gash above my eye. I fingered the cut, flinched, i had no recollection.
Perhaps a faint mocking laugh?
a person or animal with whom one spends a lot of time or with whom one travels.
"his travelling companion"
synonyms: associate, partner, escort, consort, colleague, workmate, co-worker, compatriot, confederate, ally;
I do not remember when I met the companion. No matter. I shall tell you of a time I noted his presence. Fletch (my faithful Jack Russel) and I had traveled to the Scottish Borders in Audrey, our VW camper van. A beast of a day spent hiking a mountain at the side of a Loch. Fletch, ears flapping in the bitter wind, had I feel enjoyed the hike more than I. Nonetheless the sense of satisfaction at the summit - highlands to the right, lowlands to the left. It was worth the climb and as we descended the cold wind carved its name into my very bones.
As we turned a corner the view opened to us and in front was a large misty Loch with a jetty poking its finger into darkness. Maybe there was a monster, glittering skin, swimming through its waters. Waiting to pounce, encircle its prey and squeeze the life from it. Fortunately for us a "travelers rest" stood on the side of the road and the smell of the log fire burning beckoned us inside.
A small room at the entrance for wet clothes to air and dry and then into a wonderful warm and welcoming bar with a roaring log fire and the smell of home cooking hit our nostrils. Fletch was anticipating a sausage supper. We took a table close to the fire and warmed ourselves eagerly.
He arrived sometime later. I'm not sure when. He slipped into the seat that wasn't there. Smelling of peat, smokey fires and warmed tar and when he leaned towards me the very slightest note of pipe tobacco. I could feel myself somehow dropping, slowly, through a pool of amber. Warm and wrapping itself around me I lost all sense of space and time. He told me wonderful stories of all the places and all the people he met as he traveled round the world. Occasionally I checked Fletch was still there...and then I didnt. The music grew louder and voices, singing, a Highland Fling...round and round like a whirling dervish and I could hear him laughing. At first his laughter mirrored mine and it changed and somehow he seemed to be laughing at me.
The dreams enveloped me. I was sweating and my pores were filled with the smell of him, oily dark filled smoke house. Darkness and dreams.
When I awoke I wasn't sure of the time or for that matter how I had even arrived in the campervan bed. I was glad to see Fletch snoring at my feet but when i lifted my head the clattering headache forced me to put it back on the pillow. I must have laid there for some hours, nausea taking over like an old grey blanket pulled around me. I must have pulled myself together as the sun started its journey tipping out of the sky. The day was no more and when I clambered into the cab and caught my reflection in the rear mirror I had a gash above my eye. I fingered the cut, flinched, i had no recollection.
Perhaps a faint mocking laugh?
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Thread Starter
Join Date: Jan 2018
Location: North Yorkshire UK
Posts: 765
The names have been changed to protect the.
I had a friend. Let's call him Mr X. I could imagine he was like Mr Big from Sex in the City. But he wasn't. He was maybe a bit famous. He had contacts with people who were really famous, big time famous, but he was on the periphery. None the less he was quite someone to say you knew. I think I was flattered that I knew him and that we were friends. (Now I think he, in a way, abused my flattered self). So it went a little something like this....
We would chat on the phone long distance. He seemed wise, worldy. Knew a lot of things about a lot of things. People too. Knew a lot about people and, at the time I underestimated how much I knew about people but then again my thinking was getting confused. I thought I knew what I was thinking but sometimes I would chase a thought like running after a balloon that had loosened its way from my tight grip. Trying to watch it bob this way and that my mind would lose sight of it. Anyway we talked long distance on the phone and he would say"Let's hook up!" So hooking up was he would come over to mine and I would, to all intents and purposes, roll out the red carpet. At the time I didnt mind so much. Life had taken on a somewhat mundane feel and the prospect of a house guest for the weekend meant planning and writing lists. Cooking, shopping, listening to music. Hurrah!.
I would normally start the preparations on Wednesday. A big shop had to be done and ticking things off my list I would click clack my way round the shops getting stuff for a paella or maybe a jerk chicken. Some veg, fruit...("and dont forget the bottle of rum for Mr X - the large one" my companion would whisper. "He would easily see that off over the evening, and a few beers (and maybe a few more) and a couple of bottles of white - chilled to start the evening and then maybe he would fancy a glass of red?" Well may as well pop in a few bottles of red. My companion would always appear after I put the phone down to Mr X. Perch next to me on the sofa, always too close for comfort, gleeful and excited at the prospect of a party! His hands would clap together and he would excitedly suggest having a glass or two whilst the list was being written because party party party.
When Mr X arrived he would suggest a few snifters at the pub. Oh what a good idea my companion remarked. Why not! We hadn't seen each other for a while and it was quite something how I could match him drink for drink. A little blurred round the edges we would stumble tumble home and I would start to become the miracle in the kitchen trying to pull together days of planning and chopping and prepping but my eyes got a bit dazed....not to worry another glass of wine should make the party run smoothly. Bits/gaps start to appear and the day turned to night...fuzzy. The kids came in and out. We smoked some weed. The music got louder and he danced. He danced really well. I felt clumsy.
"So we'll drink, a drink, a drink to Lily the Pink".
But Lily wasn't pink. She was black. I fell. Sucked into the black hole that was Lily. Spat out the next morning.
Mr X left. He had crashed on the sofa and when he awoke pulled on sunglasses and stumbled tumbled out to drive home.
Washing up. Empty bottles. Dirty ashtrays. Bank balance dented. Kids neglected. A day wasted.
Still my companion enjoyed the party. He asked when we could do it again.
We would chat on the phone long distance. He seemed wise, worldy. Knew a lot of things about a lot of things. People too. Knew a lot about people and, at the time I underestimated how much I knew about people but then again my thinking was getting confused. I thought I knew what I was thinking but sometimes I would chase a thought like running after a balloon that had loosened its way from my tight grip. Trying to watch it bob this way and that my mind would lose sight of it. Anyway we talked long distance on the phone and he would say"Let's hook up!" So hooking up was he would come over to mine and I would, to all intents and purposes, roll out the red carpet. At the time I didnt mind so much. Life had taken on a somewhat mundane feel and the prospect of a house guest for the weekend meant planning and writing lists. Cooking, shopping, listening to music. Hurrah!.
I would normally start the preparations on Wednesday. A big shop had to be done and ticking things off my list I would click clack my way round the shops getting stuff for a paella or maybe a jerk chicken. Some veg, fruit...("and dont forget the bottle of rum for Mr X - the large one" my companion would whisper. "He would easily see that off over the evening, and a few beers (and maybe a few more) and a couple of bottles of white - chilled to start the evening and then maybe he would fancy a glass of red?" Well may as well pop in a few bottles of red. My companion would always appear after I put the phone down to Mr X. Perch next to me on the sofa, always too close for comfort, gleeful and excited at the prospect of a party! His hands would clap together and he would excitedly suggest having a glass or two whilst the list was being written because party party party.
When Mr X arrived he would suggest a few snifters at the pub. Oh what a good idea my companion remarked. Why not! We hadn't seen each other for a while and it was quite something how I could match him drink for drink. A little blurred round the edges we would stumble tumble home and I would start to become the miracle in the kitchen trying to pull together days of planning and chopping and prepping but my eyes got a bit dazed....not to worry another glass of wine should make the party run smoothly. Bits/gaps start to appear and the day turned to night...fuzzy. The kids came in and out. We smoked some weed. The music got louder and he danced. He danced really well. I felt clumsy.
"So we'll drink, a drink, a drink to Lily the Pink".
But Lily wasn't pink. She was black. I fell. Sucked into the black hole that was Lily. Spat out the next morning.
Mr X left. He had crashed on the sofa and when he awoke pulled on sunglasses and stumbled tumbled out to drive home.
Washing up. Empty bottles. Dirty ashtrays. Bank balance dented. Kids neglected. A day wasted.
Still my companion enjoyed the party. He asked when we could do it again.
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Join Date: Feb 2014
Location: East Coast USA
Posts: 120,850
Originally Posted by soberista 
1.
a person or animal with whom one spends a lot of time or with whom one travels.
"his travelling companion"
synonyms: associate, partner, escort, consort, colleague, workmate, co-worker, compatriot, confederate, ally;
I do not remember when I met the companion. No matter. I shall tell you of a time I noted his presence. Fletch (my faithful Jack Russel) and I had traveled to the Scottish Borders in Audrey, our VW camper van. A beast of a day spent hiking a mountain at the side of a Loch. Fletch, ears flapping in the bitter wind, had I feel enjoyed the hike more than I. Nonetheless the sense of satisfaction at the summit - highlands to the right, lowlands to the left. It was worth the climb and as we descended the cold wind carved its name into my very bones.
As we turned a corner the view opened to us and in front was a large misty Loch with a jetty poking its finger into darkness. Maybe there was a monster, glittering skin, swimming through its waters. Waiting to pounce, encircle its prey and squeeze the life from it. Fortunately for us a "travelers rest" stood on the side of the road and the smell of the log fire burning beckoned us inside.
A small room at the entrance for wet clothes to air and dry and then into a wonderful warm and welcoming bar with a roaring log fire and the smell of home cooking hit our nostrils. Fletch was anticipating a sausage supper. We took a table close to the fire and warmed ourselves eagerly.
He arrived sometime later. I'm not sure when. He slipped into the seat that wasn't there. Smelling of peat, smokey fires and warmed tar and when he leaned towards me the very slightest note of pipe tobacco. I could feel myself somehow dropping, slowly, through a pool of amber. Warm and wrapping itself around me I lost all sense of space and time. He told me wonderful stories of all the places and all the people he met as he traveled round the world. Occasionally I checked Fletch was still there...and then I didnt. The music grew louder and voices, singing, a Highland Fling...round and round like a whirling dervish and I could hear him laughing. At first his laughter mirrored mine and it changed and somehow he seemed to be laughing at me.
The dreams enveloped me. I was sweating and my pores were filled with the smell of him, oily dark filled smoke house. Darkness and dreams.
When I awoke I wasn't sure of the time or for that matter how I had even arrived in the campervan bed. I was glad to see Fletch snoring at my feet but when i lifted my head the clattering headache forced me to put it back on the pillow. I must have laid there for some hours, nausea taking over like an old grey blanket pulled around me. I must have pulled myself together as the sun started its journey tipping out of the sky. The day was no more and when I clambered into the cab and caught my reflection in the rear mirror I had a gash above my eye. I fingered the cut, flinched, i had no recollection.
Perhaps a faint mocking laugh?
a person or animal with whom one spends a lot of time or with whom one travels.
"his travelling companion"
synonyms: associate, partner, escort, consort, colleague, workmate, co-worker, compatriot, confederate, ally;
I do not remember when I met the companion. No matter. I shall tell you of a time I noted his presence. Fletch (my faithful Jack Russel) and I had traveled to the Scottish Borders in Audrey, our VW camper van. A beast of a day spent hiking a mountain at the side of a Loch. Fletch, ears flapping in the bitter wind, had I feel enjoyed the hike more than I. Nonetheless the sense of satisfaction at the summit - highlands to the right, lowlands to the left. It was worth the climb and as we descended the cold wind carved its name into my very bones.
As we turned a corner the view opened to us and in front was a large misty Loch with a jetty poking its finger into darkness. Maybe there was a monster, glittering skin, swimming through its waters. Waiting to pounce, encircle its prey and squeeze the life from it. Fortunately for us a "travelers rest" stood on the side of the road and the smell of the log fire burning beckoned us inside.
A small room at the entrance for wet clothes to air and dry and then into a wonderful warm and welcoming bar with a roaring log fire and the smell of home cooking hit our nostrils. Fletch was anticipating a sausage supper. We took a table close to the fire and warmed ourselves eagerly.
He arrived sometime later. I'm not sure when. He slipped into the seat that wasn't there. Smelling of peat, smokey fires and warmed tar and when he leaned towards me the very slightest note of pipe tobacco. I could feel myself somehow dropping, slowly, through a pool of amber. Warm and wrapping itself around me I lost all sense of space and time. He told me wonderful stories of all the places and all the people he met as he traveled round the world. Occasionally I checked Fletch was still there...and then I didnt. The music grew louder and voices, singing, a Highland Fling...round and round like a whirling dervish and I could hear him laughing. At first his laughter mirrored mine and it changed and somehow he seemed to be laughing at me.
The dreams enveloped me. I was sweating and my pores were filled with the smell of him, oily dark filled smoke house. Darkness and dreams.
When I awoke I wasn't sure of the time or for that matter how I had even arrived in the campervan bed. I was glad to see Fletch snoring at my feet but when i lifted my head the clattering headache forced me to put it back on the pillow. I must have laid there for some hours, nausea taking over like an old grey blanket pulled around me. I must have pulled myself together as the sun started its journey tipping out of the sky. The day was no more and when I clambered into the cab and caught my reflection in the rear mirror I had a gash above my eye. I fingered the cut, flinched, i had no recollection.
Perhaps a faint mocking laugh?
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