The Flying Mermaid
Spitfire or Bombardier, we talked about how we faked our work plans and just winged it.
Some of us were gliders and some of us were jets. We took off from a runway and crossed borders we weren’t meant to. We drowned our jet lag with ale from the cask, and looked up at the landing strip.
Kathryn was a real mermaid, no plain Jane, she could dive under our defences and disarm our reluctance. Of course, guys like to boast how they met the mermaid down at the coast but Kathryn was her own woman you didn’t get to choose her she chose you!
It didn’t matter if you were a big wheel in an aerodrome or a khaki Land-rover stuck in the mud, doing battle in an outdated time-frame, she treated everyone the same.
She’d take you down the cellar to clean up the barrels; there was ale dripping down her breasts but you wouldn’t dare look. She was a kickboxing champ in a mermaid disguise.
One night, she caught me off guard, on autopilot, thinking my thoughts and ignoring her protocol. She could drink like a fish, and role you in the waves and pull you into her ether.
Back in the bar they called it ‘ Flying with the Mermaid ’ and the best you could do was to try for a smooth landing.
Well the Flying Mermaid got bulldozed on the orders of a jilted Councillor and Kathryn moved north. No matter what the council did, they couldn’t shake the myth or the legend of the Flying Mermaid.
Me, I still live in those legendary times and no one has asked me for rent.
I could tell you some tales about me and the mermaid but it would probably be mixed in with lies!