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The Shadow over Weymouth
Jun. 28th, 2010 09:48 amGoing to Dorset for a holiday has both its good and its bad sides. On the one hand, it's a quite spectacularly beautiful part of the world; the coastline is rippled and wrinkled with delightful little bays and coves which are dotted with fishing villages each of which seems to specialise in selling quite remarkably tasty food, whilst inland the countryside is impressively lush and green and filled with rolling hills and a chocolate-box village nestles in every valley like a head resting between a pair of breasts.
Sorry, miles away there. Where was I?
On the other hand, the downside of visiting Dorset is that it is Deep One country. Before I set off, I rang![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mrmmarc, who lives in that part of the world, to let him know I'd be in the vicinity. As soon as I'd told him my plans, his voice dropped to a hushed, terrified whisper. "Don't come, Dave!" he hissed down the phone. "They're fish people! FISH PEOPLE!". And then there was a terrible gurgling and the line went dead.
If anyone else had said all this I'd've considered it a warning, but Marc is the biggest conspiracy theorist I know and frankly he talks like this all the time so I didn't pay too much heed.
Anyway, I arrived in Dorchester and hopped on a passing bus to my final destination. The bus trundled out of town and over the aforementioned lush, rolling hills and through the delightful little coves and chocolate box villages nestling like...nope, I'm not getting distracted again, this is serious. As we drove, we pulled up at a bus stop in the middle of nowhere. Quite seriously, there wasn't a dwelling in sight in any direction. Just a stop on a country lane. We stopped, and a girl got on and sat next to me.
Under normal circumstances this isn't something I object to, but this girl...I looked at her. She goggled back at me with huge, watery eyes. I noted their limpid depths, her pasty complexion and her lack of chin. Lumme, I thought. She has literally no chin. Her neck simply extends straight into her head.
You might think that it's pretty easy to spot a Deep One. You'd think that a pallid and greenish complexion, webbed fingers, vestigial gills and an obsession with bringing about a time when the earth will be plunged into an eternal darkness and human souls will be rent asunder in neverending torment would give the game away, but no. You might just be talking to a member of the Labour Party. Instead, you can spot a Deep One by their wristwatch.
Unlike any normal person, Deep Ones are so obsessed with the stars being right that their wristwatches have only two possible settings: 'Wrong', and 'Right'. And believe me, if the big hand is pointing to 'right' then your problems have only just started. So I eyed her watch cautiously. It was five to right.
I got off at the next stop. You can't be too careful.
Sorry, miles away there. Where was I?
On the other hand, the downside of visiting Dorset is that it is Deep One country. Before I set off, I rang
mrmmarc, who lives in that part of the world, to let him know I'd be in the vicinity. As soon as I'd told him my plans, his voice dropped to a hushed, terrified whisper. "Don't come, Dave!" he hissed down the phone. "They're fish people! FISH PEOPLE!". And then there was a terrible gurgling and the line went dead. If anyone else had said all this I'd've considered it a warning, but Marc is the biggest conspiracy theorist I know and frankly he talks like this all the time so I didn't pay too much heed.
Anyway, I arrived in Dorchester and hopped on a passing bus to my final destination. The bus trundled out of town and over the aforementioned lush, rolling hills and through the delightful little coves and chocolate box villages nestling like...nope, I'm not getting distracted again, this is serious. As we drove, we pulled up at a bus stop in the middle of nowhere. Quite seriously, there wasn't a dwelling in sight in any direction. Just a stop on a country lane. We stopped, and a girl got on and sat next to me.
Under normal circumstances this isn't something I object to, but this girl...I looked at her. She goggled back at me with huge, watery eyes. I noted their limpid depths, her pasty complexion and her lack of chin. Lumme, I thought. She has literally no chin. Her neck simply extends straight into her head.
You might think that it's pretty easy to spot a Deep One. You'd think that a pallid and greenish complexion, webbed fingers, vestigial gills and an obsession with bringing about a time when the earth will be plunged into an eternal darkness and human souls will be rent asunder in neverending torment would give the game away, but no. You might just be talking to a member of the Labour Party. Instead, you can spot a Deep One by their wristwatch.
Unlike any normal person, Deep Ones are so obsessed with the stars being right that their wristwatches have only two possible settings: 'Wrong', and 'Right'. And believe me, if the big hand is pointing to 'right' then your problems have only just started. So I eyed her watch cautiously. It was five to right.
I got off at the next stop. You can't be too careful.
