1.

What the bineo!

   He who could hurdle over lofty hedgerows back home without a second thought! It was hard to comprehend how his leg was now refusing to raise itself over such a low rim. He tried once again, leading with the other leg.

   It was no good. He flopped down, panting for breath. Perching on the edge of the contraption, and swivelling his body, he toppled in with a loud splash.

   Allowing himself to sink until only his chin and nose jutted out above the waterline.

   For a while, he was soothed by the warmth. He stretched out one arm, then the other, inspecting his hands. He glowered at his feet poking up through the water.

   What was this creature he had become? A gnarled, purple-blotched lizard of a thing held together by stretched papyrus! 

   Once more, he went over the recent events that had brought him to such depths.

2.

And now for today’s weather forecast: Erebus – cloudy; Tartarus – very cloudy; Stygian Marsh – dense fog, with high chance of rain; Acheron Delta – gloomy; Thalassa – warnings of gale force winds, becoming cyclonic later; Phlegethon – very hot, with visitors strongly advised to carry protection at all times; Asphodel Fields – bright intervals alternating with dull spells; Mount Olympus – sunny… 

 

3.

   “Do you think some rain would make a nice change? After all, I’m pretty good at making storms happen, only usually, it’s down on Earth below.”

   Hermes considered the question, carefully. 

   “I think not,” he replied, after a while. “It might make some of the residents here a bit jumpy.

   "That would serve them right,” said Zeus, glumly.

   They both stared down from Mount Olympus. It was a dizzying height, but as they each had perfect eyesight, they could make out tiny objects far below. Idly, they checked out what was going on down in the area just a little further down the hill, where the demi-gods lived. The aspect at that level was still fabulous, if not quite so wonderful as higher up, the scent of the trees, maybe, just a little less aromatic, the landscaped gardens, pools and fountains a tad smaller. 

   Not much was going on; the residents there were not known as early risers, and only a single figure seemed to be moving about. He was heading into the woods, carrying a book. Hermes recalled him, instantly, as a rather obscure young fellow, known as Narcie. Zeus did not recognise him at all, only noticing that he was strikingly good-looking, if not cute in quite the same way as his cup-bearer, Ganymede. 

   His attention wandered, and he scanned far below, towards the realms of mortals, emitting a series of deep sighs as he did. Hermes wondered what he could say to lighten the mood. Being around Zeus was becoming quite trying; no wonder some of the other gods were avoiding him.

   “The first millennium of any eon is a bum-hole. We should start each time with the second one.” 

   Zeus did not reply. Perhaps, Hermes was right. All he knew was that he was sick of the wall-to-wall sunshine, each day the same. He was tired, too, of all the petty squabbling, the gossip and intrigue among bored and irritable deities. At this very moment, he could hear a loud argument amongst a group of immortals who must have been about five hundred plethra away, that is to say, around fifteen thousand metres. 

   Zeus stooped low, picking up an apple and flinging it in the direction of the group. Hermes was peering towards them.

   “I think you hit the mouthy one on the head. Good shot! Looks like you’ve knocked him out.”

   “He should count himself lucky it was just an apple,” growled Zeus.

   Perhaps, it would be an idea to chuck things at the other gods more often. He could not put a finger on it, but these days, they seemed vexed by his presence; quite a few did not even seem to laugh anymore at his jokes and pranks. Even when he brayed ‘Gelos!’, reminding them that it was just a joke, they remained sullen. 

   He continued to stare down at that other world far below. He imagined happy people there, partying their short lives away. Hermes seemed to read his thoughts. 

   “Do you remember when we visited them in disguise? That was fun.”

   They fell silent in private reminiscence.  

	 “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could do it again? An ethnographic follow-up study. Only, it’s not so simple these days. Nothing’s simple anymore.”

   Zeus yawned. He thought about all the forms that now required filling in. He did not like to admit it, but this was largely his own fault. After all, it was he who had decided to leave these matters to an ethics committee. Who were the members? Arete. Pistis. Dike. Horkos…

   What a bunch of boring farts!

   “Of course,” mused Hermes, “if we could think of something informal, a kind of chance occurrence, it might pass by unnoticed. We could avoid all the forms with those endless questions: What risks do you envisage? What have you done to minimise them? Have the subjects of the study given their consent? How will you ensure confidentiality and anonymity? Might any information be recorded that could identify individuals – such as names, addresses, e-mails, IP addresses, social media profiles, visual materials or meta data? Might the study involve children, vulnerable people or discussion of sensitive topics? Does the study include the collection of any biometric data? Might the dissemination of the study have adverse effects, either directly or indirectly, on participants, groups or third parties? What a drag!  By the time you have completed the forms, you could have carried out the research.”

   Zeus had lost interest long before Hermes had completed his list. He was thinking, instead, about what he would like to do to the clowns on the Ethics Committee. He might have to spare Dike, one of the members, on the grounds of family connection. Bumping into her once, he had blurted out that if there were prizes for the least sexy goddess, she would have to be in the running. She had replied that she found his comment inappropriate, still more so, she reminded him, in the context that she happened to be one of his daughters through his relationship with his second wife, Themis. He had stared at her with disbelief. Was she sure?

   “Your mother had such a plump, juicy rump. And yours is… well, barely existent.”

   For a moment, it looked as if Dike was about to slap him.

   “Gelos!” he exclaimed. “Just jesting! Where’s your sense of humour?”

   On another occasion, he had found himself at a festival seated beside Arete. He had joked about her looking less like a goddess than a stick insect, adding that her boobs were tiny even by the standards of that species. For some reason, she had not been amused either. 

   No, whatever happened, he would give the Ethics Committee a miss.