Jerry, Thierry, and Ferry gazed at the sea in companionable silence, watching the waves gently sweep their way up the beach. A crab scuttled past and launched itself into the soft sand next to them.
A low, long rumble shattered the peace.
"Seems there's a storm coming," said Jerry.
They turned their heads to the sky and peered at the perfectly white clouds wafting past like floating cotton balls.
"No, Jerry. That's definitely a speedboat."
"You might be right, Thierry."
They all peered at the sea, waiting to see the tell-tale spray jettisoned into the air.
Another, louder rumble, scared the crab out of his hidey hole.
"No to both of your ideas," confessed Ferry. "It's my stomach."
Jerry and Thierry tilted their heads towards Ferry's protruding tummy which emitted another grumble in confirmation.
"What's for dinner?" queried Jerry.
"Fish, I suppose," said Ferry.
"Le fish," corrected Thierry.
Jerry groaned. "Why do you always say "Le fish"? It's fish. Not le fish."
"My mother was French," Thierry retorted.
"She wasn't French. Who has ever heard of a French Pelican?"
"Le Pelican," corrected Thierry. "Her name was Claudette. That's French".
A noise somewhere between drunken trombone player and strangled rhinoceros emerged from Jerry's throat.
"That's not what makes someone French. Plus, adding 'le' before a word doesn't make that French either."
"It makes it more French than not having 'le' in front of it."
Jerry and Ferry couldn't argue with that.
"I like French food," declared Ferry, always the peacemaker.
Jerry was intrigued. "When have you had French food?"
"I had a French Fry last week. Well, that's what I overheard someone call it. It was delicious. Crisp and golden on the outside, fluffy in the middle, quite salty."
Jerry was quickly persuaded, particularly since it was dinner time. "I like the sound of French food myself."
"No le comment," retorted Thierry.
The trio gazed at the sea again.
"Despite my stomach's protestations, I'm not sure I can be bothered getting dinner tonight," remarked Ferry.
Thierry nodded in agreement. "I know what you mean. I've only just dried off my feet. I do hate the way le sand gets stuck between le toes."
Jerry despaired. "You're a pelican. You don't have toes."
"Of course I have toes. How else do I keep my thongs on?"
"Your thongs? Are you..." Jerry's sentence was cut off when Thierry burst out laughing.
"Had you there, didn't I. Oh that was brilliant."
"Nice one, Thierry. Your face, Jerry! Priceless."
Thierry and Ferry guffawed while Jerry's face collected storm clouds.
As far as Jerry could tell (and he had done a lot of thinking on the subject) he had three flaws: he was highly gullible, quick to temper, and terrible at space and measurement (his judgment on beak to fish ratio was a constant battle which had seen him almost choke to death on multiple occasions). He also didn't like people facilitating the airing of those flaws and could carry a spectacular grudge for significantly longer than the average pelican.
Fortunately, one of Jerry's gifts, was his ability to change the subject. He didn't do it particularly well, but if you were wanting a subject change, Jerry was the pelican for the job.
"While we're on the topic of names..."
Thierry stopped his guffawing. "Were we on the topic of names?"
Jerry ignored him. "I've always been curious about your name, Ferry. Were your parents into
boats?"
"Yes! How did you know?"
"Because you're named after a sea faring vessel."
"I suppose I am. Hadn't really thought about it."
"Hadn't really..." Jerry paused before he worked himself up. "I really do need a different
group of friends."
"Thanks very much," Thierry said, adopting the persona of being Utterly Miffed.
Ferry was still distracted by the question. "My name doesn't have anything to do with boats.
My father's from Avalon."
"How does that link?"
"The song by Bryan Ferry? Greatest artist of all time?"
Thierry, still miffed, declared, "I refute that."
"Please don't say your favourite is Edith Piaf," said Jerry.
"No."
"Thank heavens for that."
"It's Le Freddy Mercury."
"Save me."
Ferry ignored them, lost to musing on the origin of his name. "Bryan Ferry is amazing. Well, so my father said. He once heard him singing Avalon on a radio in Avalon. He said it was a sign, so when I was born he already had my name selected."
"And he didn't choose Bryan."
"That's my middle name."
"Your name is Ferry Bryan."
"Yep. It's a bit confusing with my brother though, he is named after a boat."
"Let me guess, Titanic?"
"No."
"I give up."
"Ferry McFerryface."
"Your father named his children Ferry Bryan and Ferry McFerryface."
"Yes. Mum wasn't very happy."
"My cousins are called Nissan and Micra." Thierry paused as Jerry and Ferry gazed at him in confusion. "They were born in le carpark," he added.
Ferry took a leaf from Jerry's book and changed the topic. "We could just get takeaway."
"Sorry?" Jerry was confused by both the question and the role reversal.
"For dinner. We could get takeaway."
"What's that?"
"Not sure. I heard someone talking about it the other day. They said, 'I can't be bothered cooking. Let's get takeaway.' Seems to echo the mood we're all in. Keen, Thierry?"
"Le absolutely." Thierry paused. "Where do we get takeaway?"
"Not sure. We could ask someone?"
"Maybe it isn't a place. It might be an action. You just have to take the food away from someone else?"
"You could be onto something there, Ferry. Well, what are we waiting for?" Jerry turned from the water's edge and headed for a cluster of squawking seagulls surrounding a hapless
picknicker. "Come on chaps, follow me. Let's be guided by the experts."
