Not herding puffins

I have thought, at times, that it would be nice to have to go into witness protection, and get sent to a remote island in the North Sea to herd puffins. It would be a way of retiring. Sometimes, I have thought it would be fun to be a spy, as long as I got the cushy jobs in comfortable international hotels and all the computers.

I have discovered, in the last 48 hours, however, that I am not cut out for the undercover life, for subterfuge, or espionage. It’s too stressful.

I’m in hiding, and have been since Wednesday (as I write this, it’s Friday morning).

I travelled under the radar to get to here, and I’ve been hiding out since then. I’ve realised that I usually have to be telling people things about what I’m up to, and I haven’t written anything anywhere public for days, in case I give the game away. I haven’t dared speak to some people on the phone, in case they were being listened to. I couldn’t complain out loud online, as I am wont to do, about fucking air travel. I couldn’t stick a photo of a beautiful sky above the clouds on instagram, and I daren’t write anything in my substack for fear of letting any cats out of any bags, including the brilliantly thuggish cat that lives where I’m holed up. I couldn’t discuss the pros and cons of charging an electric car, something I’m entirely new to, without the game being up, or extol the virtues of an English Chinese Chippy (because of Lucy Sweet, I was longing for some chip shop curry sauce, so I had some and was fascinated to see how it has changed since the last time I had some, possibly in 1989). I couldn’t say anything about the 5 pack of creme eggs I bought because it would be obvious that I wasn’t at home, on the banks of the Tejo where creme eggs don’t grow (also, because nobody anywhere understands my undying love for the creme egg. I’m 55, for god’s sake).

If I were herding puffins or hacking computers in a Singapore hotel, I’d be so distracted by the having to keep a secret part that the puffins would suffer, and no spying would get done.

I’m hiding out in my sister’s house in Bristol, as I write this. It’s not that my fledgling cult has come under suspicion and that interpol is on my tail. Nothing like that. Yesterday was my mother’s birthday, a BIG birthday, so we’re all for surprising her. My part of the surprise is that I’ve got on a plane to come back just a month after the last time, i.e. Christmas. That never happens.

Almost nobody knows I’m here. Well, kind of almost nobody. In fact, almost everybody knows I’m here, except my mother. I didn’t tell my girlfriends I was coming until I could hold it no more, and blurted it out in our little group chat an hour after I landed. It’s not like they’re going to bump into my mother, as they’re all in Portugal, BUT YOU CAN NEVER BE TOO CAREFUL.

Dad took her to London for a surprise show, some shopping, and lunch with my uncle. Then on to a hotel on the south coast today, where my sister and I will be crouching in wait behind an aspidistra in the restaurant. I’m hoping there is an aspidistra. I might try and buy a blond wig on the way, in case there is no aspidistra.

Nobody in our family likes surprises, so this will be hilarious. Hopefully she hasn’t guessed already. It took all my will not to say “see you tomorrow!” on the phone yesterday morning when I called, from my sister’s house, to say happy birthday. “Why isn’t your camera on?”, she asked, as we almost always facetime. “I just woke up with a shitty cold, and nobody needs to see THAT!” I lied. “Terrible rain, here, still” I truthed. If our jumping out from behind restaurant greenery comes as a genuine surprise, she might be momentarily speechless for the first time since 1992, when I shaved off all my hair.

She’s going to be absolutely FUMING. I can’t wait.

—UPDATE—

When she found us propping up the aspidistra (i.e. the bar), she said “you BASTARDS!” but in a nice way, and we listed all the lies we’ve told her for the last couple of months.

Wait till she hears about the family skydiving trip we have planned this afternoon.

—-

In other news, stay safe in storm #43 of the week, Storm Marta.

Also, please let me know if you hear of any puffin herding opportunities, with a nice warm lighthouse, with room for a big projector to keep Luís entertained while I’m out dealing with the puffins.