It was
nice to be out of the war
and in
a nice prisoner of war camp.
The
camp was called
Palais
Royale.
The
guards were nice.
The
food was nice.
The
prisoners even tended
their
own organic veggie garden
so
extensive one could
be a
vegetarian or even vegan.
My
wife was there also
god
bless her with her long
grey
hippy hair.
There
were activities also
to
keep the mind active.
There
were religious
cults
one could join and even
one or
two in development.
There
was a ukulele
orchestra
that played
a good
rendition of “Suicide
is
painless” when someone
died.
No one
seemed very interested
in
escaping although there
were
plenty of tunnels already
dug.
These
were mainly used
by
small teams who snuck
out to
do bush regen work
in the
surrounding remnant
native
scrub.
And
there was one spot
fenced
in from the rest
where
you could
smoke.
In
there you could always
find
Fairweather and Dransfield
cooking
up some crazy comedy
routine
for talent night.
In the
smoke spot also there
was a
conversation that was
passed
on from person to
person
as they came and
went.
To
keep them vital
some
of the men scoured the net for
parts
for a split screen kombi
they
were piecing together
from
memory.
They
allowed us two marijuana
plants
each for medicinal purposes.
For
talent night Fairweather
wearing
a sarong like a cape
produced
a PVC pipe variation of
a
angklung and started playing it with a pair of thongs.
It
sounded like an organic drum machine.
Dransfield
prowled the stage wearing
a
straw boater singing in a menacing
fashion
“I’m
disable in the
brain
I need
a wheelchair
for
the mind”
Fairweather’s
eyes wild and
Dransfield’s
long hand wiped
the
sky.
This is hilarious and wry.
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