Welcome to the 2nd installment of Chardonnay Sunday. In case you don’t remember, Chardonnay has just been shot to the moon, fallen off, and bounced across several continents. Lets continue the story…

Chardonnay had landed on a remote exotic island much like Hawaii but better and much cheaper to fly to. If the miserable Cherry Bottom had know this he would have had a much happier holiday, because when he did eventually turn 298 he found the hotel had double booked and couldn’t accommodate him, the surf was actually very mediocre and, he realised he couldn’t surf anyway. He came home with a bad sunburn and jet lag and vowed that he would give up the snow sandwiches and never travel again.

Chardonnays travels on the other hand were for the best. Her cries attracted a tribe of chocolate skinned locals who decided to worship her as a goddess/ princess/ weather predictor. She grew up amongst the banana leaves and sandy beaches wearing elephant bones and breaking young lovers hearts. Or more specifically, eating young lovers hearts out with a spoon. You see, not only was their skin chocolate, but so was their hair, fingernails, bones and internal organs. Whenever little Chardonnay (who had come to be known as waggy-coco, which is native for “tiger woman from the sky who eats our hearts”) got bored of eating the regular feast of exotic fruits, hippopotamus, llamas and sweetened lizard guts, or just when ever she got annoyed, she would bite off a leg, suck out an eye or drink their chocolate blood. This was too often for the friendly locals, who’s population had decreased by 320.6 citizens by the time little chardonnay had turned five.

One fateful day chardonnay predicted a storm was a brewing. And with that news the local witch doctor knocked her on the head with a large stone and the entire tribe went down to the beach to wave goodbye to her as she sailed away on a flimsily made raft. This was in keeping with the tribal handbook on “how to kill a goddess / princess / weather predictor”, available from your local library. Now, Chardonnay was a very resilient little girl, having already survived a trip to the moon, bouncing over several continents on her behind and the social inadequacies of having an upside down nose, it was of no consequence what so ever that she was in the middle of an ocean or how sound the craftsman ship of said raft was. Raft may be the wrong word, funeral pier would be more accurate, as none of the tribes people had ever actually made a boat before and were surprised beyond belief when the thing actually floated.

Anyway, after the funeral pyre dissolved into a cloud of twigs called Rodney (Chardonnay took the time to name each specific twig with care so that their name might match their personality. Only one was not named Rodney and then crumbled away to dust. To this day anyone named herpamaratuway will instantly crumble away to dust. Don’t believe me? After bouncing your baby, write that on its birth certificate). It was at this time when chardonnay discovered that she could not breath underwater. Fortunately she managed to hold her breath long enough to swim through the middle of the earth and end up in Canada! By this time she was six and her hair had several metres worth of algae, seaweed and crab in it.

until next time…