EB - An Old Friend

The Isles of Indulgence

In which Daftie Goes Off-Route, Embraces All Earthly Pleasures, and Forgets Why He Left Home in the First Place

Daftie was more than glad that the dizzying climb – and even more dizzying narcissism – of Mount Selfie was behind him. He could see the pilgrim path ahead leading down to a long  coastal glen. From a high ridge he caught sight of the sea at last. In the distance silvery waves danced in an indecisive sun. As he came closer he noticed several lush islands spread out across the water – each glittering with light, music, and the promise of dangerously nice things. Arriving at a crossroad he noticed a sign that read

‘To the Holy Loch – this way (Eventually)’
‘To the Isles of Indulgence – That Way. Ya Legend’

Underneath someone had taken a marker and scrawled

‘Just a wee detour won’t kill ye.’

Daftie, with blistered boots and a soul growing peckish, squinted towards the isles. Music was floating across the water. The sound of fiddles, synth beats, and the unmistakeable sound of people purposefully forgetting their problems. The air smelt of salt, sizzling meat, and absolute irresponsibility.
‘One night cannae hurt.’ He muttered.

Daftie took the ferry. It was free, and run by Captain Craig Gimme, a charismatic boatman wearing mirrored sunglasses, and who referred to everyone as ‘Champion’. As he stepped onto the first island his senses were immediately assaulted. He was greeted by someone in a velvet blazer.
‘Welcome to Easiedonia, where the burdens are optional, and the consequences are, quite frankly, someone else’s problem.’

Island 1 – The Gluttonarium
A buffet the size of a sports pitch awaited. Puddings stacked like pyramids. Cheese boards with their own postcode. Daftie made vain attempts to resist – he really did – but after two pies, a novelty sausage roll called ‘The Salvation Stick’, and four servings of trifle he stopped trying. He waddled out four hours later clutching his stomach as if owed him money, and gently weeping.

Island 2 – Lustwick
Everything was soft lighting, suggestive harp music, and people with names like Fiona-Fire and SensualTam. Everyone wore robes. Or didn’t. Daftie, in a haze of confusion, wandered the mist garden paths. Somehow he accidentally joined a ‘cuddle circle’ and ran when someone offered to ‘align his inner passion chakras’. He was last seen climbing a fence muttering
‘I only wanted a cup o’ tea

Island 3 Lazaria
This island was composed of hammocks, hot tubs, and bean bags the size of a Heilan Coo. No one moved unless it was absolutely necessary. Daftie lay down for ‘just ten minutes’. He woke up three days later Half dressed, sunburnt, and emotionally dehydrated. The man next to him looked over, gave him the thumbs-up, and immediately went back to sleep.

Island 4 Mammon’s Cay
An island of neon-lit shops, casinos, spiritual investment seminars, and algorithm worshipping influencers. Daftie won £100 from a fruit machine, and immediately lost it buying an enlightenment shaped candle. He almost signed up for a course entitled ‘Manifest Your Own Religion for Profit’. He left clutching a tote bag full of branded regret.

By the end of a week Daftie was bloated, bleary-eyed, and spiritually exhausted. He sat on a beach watching the sun set, A woman in a designer robe offered him a drink called Holy Spritz.
‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.
She replied brightly
‘Oh, ages. Time’s not real here. Or guilt. Or trousers.’
‘D’ye ever get… tired of it?
She frowned.
‘Tired of joy?’
He looked out at the water.
‘I dunno if it’s joy. It’s… more like distraction wi’ garnish.’
She stroked his hair and said.
‘Oh, you poor thing, you’ve still got purpose. That’ll fade.’

That night with fireworks exploding over Lazaria, and someone trying to teach a goat yoga, Daftie looked down at his pamphlet. A note appeared on the next page, glowing but faint it read

‘Comfort is not the same as rest. Pleasure’s a decent stop, but a poor destination.’

Beneath it was a tiny arrow.

‘Ferry to Holy Loch leaves nightly at Regret-O-Clock.’

Daftie worked his way to the dock as dawn was breaking. The boatman was waiting wearing the same sunglasses, but now with a quieter smile. He asked
‘Leaving already Champion?’
Daftie nodded.
‘Aye, it’s all grand, but if I stay I think I’ll lose more than time.’
‘Aye’ said Captain Greig ‘that’s how they get ye.’
The ferry moved away from the dock with waves gently lapping at the hull. Daftie didn’t look back.