OK, it begins at three o' clock in the morning

and I'm standing in the rain with the thunder

and lightning very Lear-like and the wind in

the Desert Oaks going whoo whoo like some

crappy sound effect. I'm wearing my

underpants and a tiny yellow plastic hat that

makes me look like a camp whaler. My skin is

covered in mud and I'm holding an axe in my

left hand.

I say you'd better come out here honey. You'd

better get out before you drown. Kate sticks

her head out and flashes the light on me. It's

all Fuck Fuck and Help me Help me but

there's nothing I can do. I don't care any

more.

Later on we're in the car. The rain has

stopped but we're parked under a tree and

massive raindrops are still banging on the

roof. It's starting to drive me crazy. The sun

must have come up or something because,

when I look outside, I can see a god-awful

mess. The tent has collapsed like an old

rubber and the garbage has been washed

away. It looks like a battlefield, except I'm

dead objective about it and cool too. I give a

little giggle. So much for digging drainage

trenches, I say.

I turn to look at Kate with a loony smile but

she's not interested. There's mud everywhere

inside the car, all red and slimy, coming off in

lumps and streaks every time we touch

something. You look fucking awful, she says. I

know what she means. I feel like somebody

has emptied their guts over me. Let's get out

of here, I say.

So we start chucking stuff into the car, not

looking at each other. We don't muck around.

We don't want to be stuck in this turd hole a

moment longer. It's funny how things can twist

around in the night. Yesterday we blew our

tubes trying to get here, the fucking Garden of

Eden, just the trees and stuff and a golden

sunset. But that was yesterday. Sometimes

that happens.

We get back in the car. I'm driving. I turn the

motor over but it doesn't catch. I feel the

tension get a little thicker but, when I try again,

it starts OK. The engine sounds very loud

under the trees and it makes me jump. I get

this weird feeling that I've disturbed

something. It's not a real feeling, like

happiness or sadness, just a sense that

something's wrong. I can't quite get a handle

on it.

Anyhow, it's enough to make me hit the gas

and, before you know it, the wheels are

spinning and the engine's starting to scream.

Kate grabs my arm and gives me a few good

thumps on my shoulder, shouting something

that I can't hear. I take my foot off the pedal.

The car rests at a slight angle as if sucked

down into the ground. I kill the motor.

What did you do that for, you stupid fucking

moron? Now we're really stuck, says Kate. We

get out and circle the car in a clockwise

direction, keeping it between us. We leave the

doors open, spread wide like a pair of wings. I

like the look of that. It looks dramatic.

The rear wheels have carved out a couple of

grooves in the mud. We're in up to the axle.

The grooves are wet and smooth as if freshly

polished. Looks like we're bogged, I say. Ever

been bogged before? I try to sound casual, as

if being bogged is something that everybody

should try now and again.

I

thought

I

knew

what

that

was.

But

I

was