A Smear Is a Smear Is A Smear

Gaius! says Unni. Schopenhauer's slipped and sat down on something slimy!

Gaius peers at the seat of Schopenhauer's pants, with scientific interest.

Could he have sat on a jellyfish?

But a smear is a smear is a smear.

Where exactly? asks Gaius.

Over there, says Schopenhauer, pointing. What does it matter?

My dear chap, says Gaius. It matters for identification.

Of course, says Schopenhauer. For the purposes of stain removal.

That too, says Gaius.

It could be a jellyfish, says Unni, dabbing as lightly as possible at Schopenhauer's bottom, so as not to distress him. It's clear and wobbly.

Any traces of pink? asks Gaius.

No, says Unni.

Arthur, come with me, says Gaius. We'll look for the culprit.

Arthur and Gaius walk slowly over the Howden rocks looking for things that are slimy.

It is marvellous how many things are slimy, and wobbly and clear.

Not all of them jellies.

Arthur spies a used condom, and tactfully kicks it away.

........

Later. Still on the freezing cold beach.

We need to find somewhere to stay overnight, says Schopenhauer. Somewhere with a laundry.

I met this young boy, says Gaius. He lives over there somewhere. He was called back for dinner.

We could .....says Schopenhauer.

No we couldn't, says Unni.

We could ask, says Gaius.

Yes, says Arthur. Let's go.

They get back on their bikes and ride along Howden Road looking for occupied houses.

Here is one with the lights on. Knock, knock.

Xavier opens the door. Hello, says Xavier. What do you want?

Does your mum have a laundry? begins Schopenhauer.

We're looking for somewhere to stay, cuts in Unni. Somewhere with a laundry. Not your house, she adds, with a look that she hopes is disarming.

A look lost on Xavier.

Mum! yells Xavier.

Mum comes to the door.

They want to use our washing machine, says Xavier.

Sorry, says mum, firmly. It's broken. But try Villa Howden, down the road.

Thank you, says Unni, on behalf of them all. And off they go, riding.......

........

Villa Howden, says Schopenhauer. That sounds more like it.

I'll google it, says Unni.

She taps at her phone.

Ooh, says Unni. It's gorgeous. It looks like an Italian villa. It's got free wifi, a saltwater swimming pool, a library.....

It will be pricey, says Gaius.

Never mind, says Schopenhauer, sliding dangerously about on the tan San Marco saddle of the Platonic Ideal.