Accidentally, I am a guest of some sort at a shabby farm. My host is a curious
elderly man with a fascination for anthropology. As soon as I arrive, he regales
me with stultifying tales of his years as an explorer and ethnographer. It is all
I can do to stay awake. There are two other guests at the farm, a large,
big-boned man and his boyfriend, a man with an expensive haircut. Two days pass, and
I am sitting on the dilapidated veranda with the big-boned man, drinking gin.
Our host shuffles over from one of the barns, and invites us to come and meet a
man who thinks he is a pig. Intrigued, we put down our gins and follow to the
barn. After our eyes adjust to the dim light, we find ourselves in a disgusting,
reeking sty. In the gloom, we make out a man covered with mud and excrement,
snuffling loudly in the steaming straw. He looks at us, grins broadly, and
grunts several times. Our host tells us that the pig-man likes us. We settle
down on the filthy ground and watch as the pig-man start to fling mud about. My
big-boned companion seems quite taken with the idea of becoming a pig as he
hurriedly removes his shirt and grabs a handful of mud. As lumps of stinking
matter fly perilously close, I decide to make a hurried exit. I effect my
egress, and emerge blinking in the daylight outside. Wiping spatters of slime
from my person, I return to my gin, shaking my head and wondering how on Earth I
always end up surrounded by lunatics and maniacs of one sort or another.
that evening, drinking yet more gin and watching the setting sun, I am set upon
by the man with the costly hair, who accuses me of leading his boyfriend astray. He
screams to me that his once-polite partner now believes he is a pig, and then
commences a vigorous and sustained physical attack.
Needless to say, I cut my
'holiday' short and return to my room in the city. There I brood on the nature
of relaxation, and the fact that my recuperative powers are perhaps deformed in
some horrible way.