Duncan Harley

The parrot has become something of a problem. I have now recognised that, alongside my grammatical failings regarding the fiendish flesh-eating heathens whom I misconstrued as cannonballs Molly has been – dare I say it, taking the piss!   I put my cannibal error down to both exhaustion and to long and crazily confusing over-complicated sentence structures replete with ungrammatical asides and convoluted syntax infused as often as not with unstructured paragraphs replete with made up spelling rules and excessive and unnecessary-instances of hyphenation.  On-land I had a challenging sub-editor who would, for a favour, correct my syntax and my often-unintended attacks on the English language. Here, on this god-forsaken island there is not even a copy of the Abridged Oxford English Dictionary with which to bolster my prose! But back to Molly. The parrot has what I can only describe as a somewhat offbeat sense of humour. Her suggestion that we name my injured heathen ...

It was only by luck that I managed to drive off the screaming savages. Outnumbered some eighteen to one I was at first fearful for my very life. However, my fearsome appearance, plus the fact that I brandished a loaded rifle, proved sufficient to ward them off and I had only to scream back at them in my native tongue to startle even the boldest of them. ‘Awa ye go ye nasty wee radgies! Awa wi ye before I take this wee sharp blade and cut ye a Glesga smile and maybe perchance a new bum! Am no kiddin an at’s a fact ya filthy bunch o’ heathens!! Plus, a've got a big gun and you've no got one between the whole lot of you!' At this, the largest of the savages - a sheer giant of a man,  raised his club as if to counter my threatening tone. So, I instantly shot him through the throat and followed up with several facial thrusts of my dagger. He grinned widely and dropped down dead at my feet with blood spewing furiously from his wounds. It was a classic case of gaining domin...

Mixed joy indeed! I have not only found a supply of potable water, but have by some strangeness of fate stumbled upon a dreadful sight.  I had, since early dawn, been heading inland via a narrow and quite steep wild animal trail when, just as the sun reached its zenith, I detected a familiar sound. I was at once paralysed with the fear that this was just some ghastly resurgence of those lurid and unwelcome hallucinations of yesterday. But as I approached the source of the noise my fears seemed without solid foundation. Before me lay a thin but quite stunning waterfall. A splendid stream of foaming water lay before me  and I immediately threw off my goat-stained apparel (remember the goat from day four of this pandemic?) and rendering some exited version of The Lord is My Shepherd  plunged into the foaming pool which lay beneath the thundering waterfall. My spirits were entirely lifted. I drank my fill from the tumbling waters and bathed completely naked in the clear...

When I awoke today at first light my fever had completely and miraculously vanished and, despite the rigours of the past few days, I felt able to eat and drink a little from my meagre store of salvaged provisions which consist mainly of a damaged water barrel and some soggy ships biscuits. The water however tasted brackish and even the parrot declined to take more than a beak full of wet biscuit. We must find more sustenance and soon! Also, in the cold light of day, I have decided that Gertrude is not a good name for a parrot and will henceforth address her, if indeed she is a she, as Molly. Quite what made me consider calling her Gertrude eludes me now that I am clearer in thought and I can only assume that it was down to my fevered state of mind. Mid-morning, I again scoured the beach for salvage and was pleasantly surprised to stumble upon an intact timber box containing what must surely be the first mates set of engraved pistols. Undamaged and complete with both flints and le...

Today I resisted the urge to return to the shipwreck, which still lies firmly on the reef just some hundred yards offshore. To say that I lacked the energy for the trip would not be completely accurate since in truth, the beach is littered with the washed-up remains of my fellow shipmates and through the lens of my telescope I was able to spot the shattered body of the ship’s captain still lashed to the foremast alongside the limp form of the ships dog. I confess I found this sight to be too much for my already overwhelmed senses and will hold off until the ghastly remains are claimed by the sea before venturing out to salvage what little remains on-board. In any case, there is ample treasure to salvage onshore. A washed-up wooden chest revealed a still dry supply of gun-powder and a tea-chest from the ships hold contained both an ample supply of flour and sufficient yeast to make a sourdough starter. Both items will I think aid my chances of survival. That is of course shoul...

Eager for slave labour I foolishly embarked on a slave gathering voyage and now find myself shipwrecked and alone on a deserted island off the coast of Trinidad. It seems that I am the sole survivor of the venture and I must now seek both sustenance and shelter in this strange and foreign land. The wreck has so far yielded both gunpowder and food plus some fragments of timber from which I have constructed a rudimentary shelter. There was also a rifle and some barrels of rum. Both of which I shall put to good use. The island is quite lush but deserted and providentially has both water and goats in abundance. Fortunately, my journal floated ashore amongst the wreckage and over the coming days of isolation I am intent on recording my lonely struggle. I may well have been hallucinating, but I swear I saw a parrot amongst the treetops … this must surely be a good omen. Duncan Harley is a writer and blogger living in the Garioch. His books are available from Amazon. Just ...

I’m conflicted. Official advice on the evolving global disaster involves self-isolation and much wringing of hands. But - and I am certainly a big fan of handwashing, self-isolation is pretty much what the digital age is all about anyway. Big-Bit-Corp such as Apple and Amazon – Facebook maybe not so much, WhatsApp certainly, feed on separating us from the herd already. Bring on some digital paranoia. Empty shelves of handwash and big bananas are the thing and the preppy paranoia includes survival gear ranging from assault rifles through to bendy fruit. Even the bananas! What kind of dumb-ass preppy weaponizes bananas? Suddenly everyone from my friendly local car-dealer to the likes of Cineworld wants to be my internet friend. Their reassurances are flooding my inbox with survival hints and assurances that once this is all over, all will be well in the land of car sales and ‘go to’ cinema. I don’t think so. I mean really? Who in Cineworld can even possibly imagine that even 12 m...