author - "Alastair Macleod"
“Are not our wars in Iraq and Afghanistan really a form of tourism, and our Aid missions in Africa?”
“How can you say that?” spluttered Freda.
“Isn’t it true we are getting sensory inputs from these things? In the case of war - fear, adrenalin ? In the cased of Aid Work - a sense of nurturing, caring, feeding, the need to be needed?
“It’s a very cynical view,” said Birna.
“He has a point,” said Allan Bitter, “let him continue.”
He had a soft spot for Andrew. Both had similar backgrounds; deprivation in the east end of London, making good.
“Conflict and aid as a sort of tourism?” said Ben. “I never thought of it that way.”
"the sound of women’s laughter drifted across the still water of the harbour, lights glinted on the oily blue surface.
She was an Indian ship, The Mumbai Princess. He could see turbaned members of the crew moving among the guests serving drinks. It was Divali, the Indian festival of light, flickering lanterns and night lights.
In the stern of the ship was a golden statue, one of the Hindu goddesses- garlands of bright flowers hung round her neck. She shimmered, reflecting the light surrounding her.
Ahan looked down at the sea. Underwater it was dark, only his ROV lit the gloom when it dived into the deep. The powerful bulbs illuminated his world ahead of him. He manoeuvred the craft with ease.
But you had to be careful. The umbilicals that fed life into the ROV and returned signals and pictures to his mind had to be kept free from snagging on wrecks and bits of pipeline structure.
Was he like the goddess with his ROV? Did he bring light into the world
of darkness? The goddess was already in a world of light and colour
He headed below; time to turn in, it would be a long shift tomorrow."
“Are not our wars in Iraq and Afghanistan really a form of tourism, and our Aid missions in Africa?”
“How can you say that?” spluttered Freda.
“Isn’t it true we are getting sensory inputs from these things? In the case of war - fear, adrenalin ? In the cased of Aid Work - a sense of nurturing, caring, feeding, the need to be needed?
“It’s a very cynical view,” said Birna.
“He has a point,” said Allan Bitter, “let him continue.”
He had a soft spot for Andrew. Both had similar backgrounds; deprivation in the east end of London, making good.
“Conflict and aid as a sort of tourism?” said Ben. “I never thought of it that way.”
"the sound of women’s laughter drifted across the still water of the harbour, lights glinted on the oily blue surface.
She was an Indian ship, The Mumbai Princess. He could see turbaned members of the crew moving among the guests serving drinks. It was Divali, the Indian festival of light, flickering lanterns and night lights.
In the stern of the ship was a golden statue, one of the Hindu goddesses- garlands of bright flowers hung round her neck. She shimmered, reflecting the light surrounding her.
Ahan looked down at the sea. Underwater it was dark, only his ROV lit the gloom when it dived into the deep. The powerful bulbs illuminated his world ahead of him. He manoeuvred the craft with ease.
But you had to be careful. The umbilicals that fed life into the ROV and returned signals and pictures to his mind had to be kept free from snagging on wrecks and bits of pipeline structure.
Was he like the goddess with his ROV? Did he bring light into the world
of darkness? The goddess was already in a world of light and colour
He headed below; time to turn in, it would be a long shift tomorrow."