Punting down Wind Street, Jess’s thoughts turned to the Wales On-Line headline 2nd August 2020,-“The areas of Wales set to be underwater in 30 years due to climate change”
“WAY too long. My choice:- Climate Catastrophe;-Wet Wales Underwater in 30 and include a virtual reality video. But out by 4 years only, – pretty good.”
Back then aged 23, it was the imminent re-assignment surgery rather than a career in politics which excited the trainee multi-media reporter.
“Or floated my boat!”
Jess, always one for the absurd, could not restrain a virtual chuckle.
“Self-deprecation equals self-confidence. Use humour as a weapon.” she had instructed the speechwriters. The stream of consciousness musings continued.
“ Vast sums of campaign funds ushering celebrity “influencers” on board had been a game-changer. Endorsements from rap artists, film stars, Mrs Hinch – of cut-price cleaning tips fame – and Childline.” There was never any doubt that Mx Jess Davies’ candidature as the first trans Swansea mayor could be other than victorious.
“ <On board.> There I go again!”
Sea Cadet training at the Boy’s school was coming into its own now. She steadied the pole in anticipation of the bend ahead.
“Wind Street certainly does wind.” The effort of steering had reconnected tongue and thoughts, startling Pookey the white Pekinese, perched on the bow. Concentration on his role of figurehead jarred, he tipped overboard as the mood of the flood changed. A growing stench of foulness preceded the drumming crescendo of the advancing surge. On-lookers,- had there been any,- would have seen the 57-year-old ex-Mayor, grey ringletted tresses buttered to her scalp, back-paddling furiously; seen the paddle strike something metallic glinting in the afternoon sun; seen Pookie struggle out of the foaming waters to totter precariously on what seemed to be some dislodged signage.
Looking back Kim could just make out a lack of “g” on the No Si..n Bar.
“Would Dylan, Swansea’s beloved son, have been amused in this favourite haunt being so re-named?”
As these thoughts floated past so did a befouled Pookie. Swept up in the torrent of oxtail soup he zig-zagged crazily back and forth, then back again across Wind Street, his waltzing partner the entanglement of branches caught in the “g”….. until indistinguishable on the torrent’s crest
“Please let me make it to the Marina” Jess silently prayed,- to her own skill rather than any specific deity.
“Waters there are protected by the loch-gate so should be calm and home’s just around the corner ”
The moon was rising as mission accomplished, she placed the punt coracle-style
Over her head and waded through the open front door. And who should be dog-paddling towards, tail oscillating but Pookie!
Cwtched up with Pookie in bed, safe from the flood-waters downstairs, Jess offered up thanks. “Didn’t turn out too bad after all.” Tomorrow… well that’s another day!
