There is no ME in TEAM (oops, come to think of it…)

To all those interview panel members who sat through accumulated years of me rambling on about what a great team member I am…I LIED.

 

I don’t like teams.  I remember once being thrust into a team building exercise with my work colleagues where we all had to decide what kind of person to keep around after the Apocalypse.  After half an hour of wrangling, they all decided to keep the Olympic Athlete (because he’d be fit enough to find food [not without drugs mate]) and ditch the Historian (because what use is knowing about the past when push comes to shove).  It was at that moment that I decided I hated teams.  There would never be a ME in team.  Until..

 

I looked a bit closer and realised that if you shift the letters around, there actually IS a ‘me’ in team.  Which is probably why the Wanderlust Gene sent me –

 

The Wonderful Team Member Readership Award – nominate 14 bloggers within a week!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Unfortunately – or should that be ironically – I didn’t notice that you had to accept it within a week or die a horrible death.  So, from the depths of the grave, can I posthumously accept the award and also –

 

thank Wanderlust, who lives (unless she’s wandered off already) in Sri Lanka with the Misses Kotte (pictured here) and a seriously huge number of monkeys. 

 

In your honour, Wanderlust, and for the 14 other bloggers who I should’ve nominated months ago, here’s a breathy (but short) bodice ripper set in Colombo.  Tighten your stays, ladies, cross your legs gentlemen, here we go…

 

Miss Carolyn de Vere stood behind the magnolias, her unruly heart pounding as she recalled the brash temerity of Lord Michael. Why, only a moment ago, as they stood in the Bamboo Ballroom surrounded by the cream of colonial society – deep-chested poetess Mrs MaggieMae, keen-witted political commentator Colonel Mike Sasso – he had swept her into his rude embrace and pressed his…but she blushed to think of it. 

 

She must flee.  She gathered up her white crinoline -deaf to the restraining cries of the authorial King Midget and Ranting Kate, and rushed into the jungle, little thinking what might come next. 

 

But the steamy heat of the equatorial jungle soon became unbearable.  Forgetting her modesty, Carolyn slipped off the crinoline and dived into a crystal pool in only her Chinese silk knickerbockers – a present from the demonic Sir Michael Griffith. 

 

‘Oh, this is Delaytful!’ she cooed playfully, wishing her bosom friend, the passionate Miss Carpe Noctem, could be there to sport with her in this sensual paradise.

 

Suddenly she realised she was being watched by a dark and sultry stranger.  But not for long.  ‘I am Felix, lord of the jungle’ he said, raking the wet silk with his eyes.

 

At the sight of him Carolyn felt a torrid thrill course through her body. But what of Cameron, her true love, and now a broken man?  But no – he had betrayed her in the voluptuous arms of the macabre yet sweet Katherine – she loved him no more!

 

“How dare you rest your eyes on the body of an English maiden!” stormed Carolyn, rising scarcely clothed from the tropical waters. ‘This is a secret and sacred space!’

 

“Get back into that water immediately!” hissed Lady Alice of Wonderland, appearing from behind a nearby cinnamon tree in a form-fitting seagreen sari, together with her administrative assistant, Lady Emily Cooper.

 

Just then a troupe of monkeys swung down from the trees and before she realised it, Carolyn had been swept up in the capacious arms of a large male and manhandled to his treetop lair.

 

 

I’ll save you! ejaculated heroic bystander Captain James Smudgefutt, bravely.  But first, I too will need to get my kit off, the better to climb after the accursed beast.

 

By this time, a crowd had gathered.  All eyes were trained on Captain Smudgefutt’s rippling chest hairs as he ascended the lianas.

 

Oh my god, he’s got her!  He’s coming down! No, he’s – oh dear, oh my gosh, they’re falling! They’ll be killed!  But don’t they look good together! exclaimed Miss Mugz, admittedly an incredible bitch.

 

The crash of tropical foliage deafened the native birds as the Captain and Carolyn fell headlong through the bushes – straight into the pool.

 

And it was at this moment in history, as the learned Barb will attest, that the noble sport of jumping into a kiddie pool from the tenth floor balcony of your hotel while drunk originated.  Oh, by the way, Carolyn didn’t end up with any of these guys, actually she set up a menage a trois with two hairy chested intellectuals in Goa and always maintained a secret passion for white-arsed baboons.

 

Humans are weird!

 

There you are, I think you’ll find that’s MORE than fourteen!  And thank you again, Wanderlust (whose pictures these are)!