Last year I disappeared for two weeks, like Agatha Christie did once upon a time.
Agatha and I have a lot in common. We’re both writers — she detective novels, me shopping lists. Also, we both like tea.
Anyway, as I said, last year I disappeared for two weeks. Not literally of course — I just wasn’t here. I went to America to a wedding — a wedding, if you can believe it, of two rivers. The Mississippi and the Tiber.
Rivers get married all the time, but you’d not know about it as they do it during droughts. You think they’ve just dried up but that’s not true. They travel along the ground at night, take their fish and old car bodies with them.
The ceremony was wonderful. It was an interfaith marriage — the Tiber being Catholic and the Mississippi, of course, Baptist — but the guests there, all bodies of water, and I, saw through the theological differences and had a great time.
There were some minor incidents, though. The Tigris and the Thames were caught making out behind a couch, and the Amazon got drunk on peach schnapps with Lake Erie but as far as weddings go, it was fine.
The happy couple went on a honeymoon to Hawaii where surfers enjoyed record waves.
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