Today’s awesomeness was a rollicking adventure featuring real booze and real water.*
I finished off the ginger wine in our cupboard – leaving a few potent-smelling drops for authenticity’s sake. I tested whether it was watertight by sending it to feed the fishes (who enjoyed it very much, thank you).
Then I wrote a note, burned the edges** and soaked it in tea.
The note reads:
I have been marooned by my dastardly companions on this cursed isle, with nothing but sand to eat and nothing but sea to drink. But I have the last laugh!
Gold! It’s mine, all mine! All buried under this very spot.
Should I live, it is by this note, my plea for help cast upon these vile waters. Should I die, it warms my cold pirate heart to know I’ll die rich.
I put the note inside the bottle, and set off.
After accidentally ending up at Lake Ginninderra (having decided to go to Lake Burley Griffin, but cunningly taking a wrong turn), I hurled the bottle into the water and watched it float away.
A person in a nearby building came out and stared at me. I smiled politely and left in as suave a manner as I could, all but whistling to indicate
(a) Me? Littering? Certainly not!
(b) Me? Crazy? Hah! As if! Purple sprocket!
*probably. Scientists haven’t definitively stated what it is that fills Lake Ginninderra.
**and my fingers. And some of the words, if I’m perfectly honest. For extra authenticity, of course.