But not really because 'finale' kind of implies that something Exciting is going to happen, which it isn't. Sorry. Most of the excitement happened at the start...in hindsight, I should have told the story in reverse. Maybe next time.
Final Leg (10pm - 2am next morning*)
* which I am including because I didn't go to sleep until then.
Eventually, the gangway opened and I boarded the ferry.
What, you were expecting something exciting just because I left the last installment on a cliffhanger? You should know better than that by now.
I spent most of the ferry trip over standing outside on the deck and smoking and being Sad. It was very cold. Just like my heart. I also wrote a song which was not at all over-dramatic and most certainly not about tEp and sang it over and over, standing outside in the cold, smoking. (What a nutter.) I also drank several glasses of wine and, when we swung around into Wellington harbour and I saw the city lights, started crying out of sheer relief that the day was over and I was home! Also out of drunkenness, and over-tiredness, but mainly relief. I took the pen that tEp had stolen from the bar and given to me from my pocket and, wilfully and unrepentantly disobeying maritime law, threw it into the ocean. So somewhere on the bottom of Wellington Harbour is a pen from a Dunedin bar, handled by myself and tEp (and presumably several barstaff before that but never mind about them). I like to think that fish are shitting on it.
The rest of the story is fairly straightforward - disembarked in Wellington, carted my suitcases into a taxi, and went to my new house, where I promptly fell asleep on the couch, relieved beyond the ability of my blog to express it that the curtain had finally fallen on...The Longest Day of my Life.
Cue closing music, credits.
I hope you enjoyed that! Sorry it got a bit crap near the end. If you did enjoy it, let me know, and I may write another serial story! Just for you! If you didn't like it, well fuck you. No, just kidding! (But still, there's a little bit of 'fuck you' sentiment present.) Let me know if you hated it and I'll never do it again. Well not for a while anyway.
Have been writing a fairly gory short story, and keep saying inappropriately gory things to my family. Everyone else, I just keep saying generally inappropriate things to, as per normal. It has been Week of the Inappropriate Comment at my house. The most recent one was only asked for story research purposes, so I feel the outcry that followed it was a little over-reactionary. (Reaction to the in-defence-of-Hitler comment, though, was justified.) So, to extend the gory inappropriateness (real word? probably not, should have used impropriety (spelling?) but is too late now) to the blog, do tell me: how would you prepare human flesh, if you were a cannibal? What would you serve it with? Us writer types need to know these things.
(Strips of arm, basted with teriyaki marinade and shallow fried. With julienned carrot and snow peas. Atop a heap of udon noodles, although I'm not sure how their texture would work with the arm. Or perhaps an enormous leg drumstick, with the usual fixin's for a roast.)