This length of stay was almost unheard of and, as was becoming standard for both Friday and Saturday night, D we drunk a couple of bottles of Concorde each before thinking about leaving the house. It was the strawberry kind. Maybe peach. Rancid, whichever it was.On this particular weekend, D’s parents had vacated their comfy, three bed bungalow for the night with the odd idea that he might not use the interlude to get tanked up, run around in their car and invite various ‘ner do wells into their lovely home.Obviously, they were wrong and come half eight we were drunk , speeding up the road to the nearest large town, listening to White Zombie with as much volume as the crappy set of speakers in D’s mum’s Vauxhall Nova could stand.Our destination on this night was called Ellin. Though as often as not, we’d give the place a body swerve. The country was our turf and usually a massive carry-out and lurking in the darkness among our accumulated acquaintances was as good as any nightclub. Before it was even light, Joe was bouncing Jenny out of bed and bugging her to get packed. Things went well the first day or so. Jenny was still a little uncomfortable. Sailing along the coast of Mexico, the landscape was barren and hot. They had plenty of food and water. Joe cooked some of the fish they caught.Jenny was ecstatic when they approached Angel Island. Soon they would be on their way back. They broke out the Champaign that evening to celebrate. Jenny felt better. The trip was half over, and nothing had remotely gone wrong.Suddenly, as she was putting away the food and wine, a storm seemed to come up out of nowhere. It didn't last long, but the lightning took out the main mast. No problem; they had back-up generators and gasoline engines with enough fuel to get back to civilization. The problem that came up was that the lightning had also fried the computer chip on the engines. It would not start. The sails would not work. They were stranded. They let their anchor down. In.
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