The other day, Mungo experienced an odd sensation that something very bad was going to happen. Admittedly, to say that the sensation he experienced was "odd" is somewhat misleading given that Mungo is a regular sufferer of strained mental disturbances that lead him to become hugely paranoid about all sorts of absurd and crazy things. For instance, he has in the past believed the following:
- that he was being targeted by the KGB after he got food poisoning from drinking a pint of Guinness in the pub (denial of excessive drinking habits aside, he never did explain why he felt that the KGB would have reason to get after him...)
- that the IRA had infiltrated his local parish because a large percentage of the cars parked outside the church one Sunday had yellow registration plates (this is perhaps, a little bit more believable)
- that the Americans were controlling the weather in Connemara because it had rained for three months straight (again, he is still working on an explanation as to why the Connemara region is of strategic importance to the Americans and why three months of rain would in any way help their cause)
What makes Mungo's latest "odd" sensation that something very bad was going to happen actually odd, is that, what he sensed was going to happen actually did happen! Sort of.
Before divulging the details of Mungo's vague premonition of danger - as it was perceived and subsequently realised - I should first explain how this premonition of his initially came about.
As you should have realised by now, Mungo is an eccentric man with quite unusual interests. He enjoys getting lost places and trying to find his way back home; he takes great pleasure in sitting around all day watching wet mung beans sprout shoots; and he enjoys observing nature's smaller creatures (such as spiders and periwinkles) crawling around, living life. It is his innate passion for sitting around, doing nothing - some people call it "observing"- that gave him cause to step outside his front door to set about taking pictures of rocks.
He had recently taken up the art of photography since finding a very nice camera down at the beach as he was picking seaweed one day. Seemingly, its previous owner was a male Japanese tourist who had traveled all over Europe. That is, if the narcissistic photos taken by a Japanese looking man with an outstretched arm saved on the camera's memory card were anything to go by.
Mungo did feel bad that the Japanese man had lost all of his photos as well as his fancy camera, but he presumed that the man had backed them up onto some other electronic device. Mungo felt that any reasonable man would surely know to back up their digital content on some other electronic device. Even he knew that!
So anyway, off he went photographing rocks. Lucky for him, there are plenty of rocks lying around Connemara. They are most apparent in the form of stone walls but they are also all over the fields and the roads and the seafront.
Mungo decided to go for a walk down to the sea, taking pictures of rocks along the way. He decided to go via the aquaculture farm to check on his abalone and his periwinkles and to make sure that everything there was ticking along smoothly. On his way, he passed the wind turbine that powers the farm. It was spinning wildly as usual, thanks to the crazy weather that Mungo believes the Americans to be responsible for.
Mungo tried to convince himself that the wind turbine was behaving normally, but he could not suppress the fear that rose from the pit of his belly and settled itself into his tiny mind. He suddenly became very afraid that a blade would fly off while spinning and decapitate him as he sat squatting over a pretty rock. He suddenly was not enjoying his photography anymore. His simple hobby had now become far too risky. He snapped photos here and there, running and not focusing the camera properly as he took his shots. His composition grew sloppy and his shutter speed and f/stop combinations became increasingly un-coordinated. Mungo was not enjoying this experience at all. All that he could think about was having his head chopped off by an air-borne turbine blade.
So he fled to the safety of his own home, annoyed with himself and, with the wind turbine in particular for infecting his brain with such crazy notions.
The next day he returned to the farm, armed once again, with his camera and this time, with a braver temperament. However, to his horror, he discovered that not only had the wind turbine stopped blowing in the wind, but that it had actually been blown to smithereens!
Mungo was distraught. Who would do such a thing? Yes, it is true that he did, momentarily, have an irrational fear of the giant blade spinning structure, but who in their right mind would be so stuck in the dark ages that they would be driven to destroy a piece of useful modern technology? Who would be so shallow as to have no concept of what real progress or development means? Who could come down to his farm -with its aquaculture and its wind turbines- and not be able to see that he was laying the foundations for the future? That he was laying the foundations for the future of shellfish and wind energy production, not only for Ireland, but for the world!
And then it hit him in the head like a 15metre wind turbine blade. It was the KGB! Mungo thought to himself. How could he have been so blind! Of course the Russians didn't want him getting his energy for free, from the wind. They are in the business of selling oil! At that moment, Mungo experienced a myriad of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he was angry about the destruction of his wind turbine and on the other, he felt vindicated for claiming all along that he was being targeted by the KGB.
Just as he was processing all of this in his head, an angry mob came marching towards him. They were carrying placards with the words, "STOP! The Wind Turbines!", "STOP! The Madness!", "STOP! The Wind Farm Lunacy!" and "Wind Farms Ruin Lives!" written across them. Mungo recognised the parish priest in the crowd and saw that the mob was being led by a local politician of the mildly militant breed. Then he heard the vulgar screech of an old American man screaming, "If my lung cancer ever returns I will be holding you responsible!" while he pointed at him with his old and crooked finger.
As he sat on the ground, taking pictures of the mob with his new Japanese camera to later show to the guards; he reflected once again on the question that he had earlier posed.
Who in their right mind would be so stuck in the dark ages that they would be driven to destroy a piece of modern technology? Who would be so shallow as to have no concept of what real progress or development means? Who could come down to his farm -with its aquaculture and its wind turbines- and not be able to see that he was laying the foundations for the future?
Why, who else but the good people of Ireland themselves! Mungo thought. They don't need help from the KGB to put an end to progress. Although, the presence of the American and her influence on the mob does remain unexplained....