Isle of Wight – meeting Lord Miller (part 1)

It was raining. Cloudy. But there was a glimmer – we were off to collect Jolyon and Cath from Yarmouth, a mere 25 minute journey, and bring them back to Seaview for a fish lunch and plenty of chat and wine. Carolyn had many uses, her most used being the fact she is tee total and when I am a little giddy with alcohol consumption, she can drive.  Today she would drive Jolyon and Cath back to Yarmouth after our fish lunch.  A flutter of giddiness took me over.

I set the post code into my phone and grabbed a bottle of water.  The girls were excited. I was not. Carolyn’s driving was not to my liking. It was vomit inducing.  But I should not complain.  She tapped the post code into her phone and stuck it on the windscreen. I also tapped in the code to my own phone to ensure we were going in the right direction. And off we went.

10 minutes into the journey I was alarmed. My sat nav said we should turn left. Carolyn’s said straight on. What is this fuckery I hissed. Carolyn applied the brakes and with a look that could kill pulled into a side road. We agreed to follow her directions. I sat in silence. I had run out of mints and was sucking on a Halls Extra Strong Mentho-Lyptus sweet. My tongue was tingling. I liked it. For a brief moment I was back in Germany with a butch lezza called Helga.  And then I was back.

Rather than the sea route to Yarmouth, the road swung away from the coast and took us right into the armpit of the IOW. The roads became thinner, the bushes high, the people odd and the level of car sickness rose. After 15 minutes we were still nowhere near Yarmouth. Vivien and Ruby were now whimpering. I needed a snifter.  I turned up My Jamaican Guy and listened to Grace Jones until the girls announced they hated her.

40 minutes and there was a glimmer of hope on the horizon. Yes it was cloudy, it was raining, it was windy, I wanted to vomit, the girls were crying, and Carolyn was not talking to me.  But we were 6 miles from Yarmouth.  I sent a text to Jolyon and Cath announcing our arrival imminent.

Jolyon, my eccentric younger brother. Jolyon who has a title of Lord Miller. Jolyon who once shared a house in Spain with 25 feral cats. Jolyon who jested loudly on my arrival to our Spanish villa with new boyfriend that he had warts on his knob and could I go and purchase some Wart cream.  Jolyon who assumes the posture of a sergeant major, marches like Captain Mannering, drinks like Oliver Reed, cooks like Keith Floyd, smokes like a ruddy chimney and only dresses in Royal Blue.

We drove into Yarmouth and headed to the George Hotel. Jolyon likes the simple things in life, ie, not having to travel far. The Ferry terminal was literally attached to the George hotel, offering a mere 25ft walk from terminal to hotel bar.

I saw the smoke before I saw Jolyon. He marched in a semi-circle, looking a little flustered, and a tad hungover.

I needed to vacate the car before I vommed. I told Carolyn to pull over. I told her again. And then I shouted. I jumped out of the car and walked towards Jolyon and Cath greedily gulping  water and breathing deeply.  As the car sickness began to wear off  I went to kiss Jolyon  – he marched past me, blowing clouds of smoke in the air, to the boot of the car and announced we were to take his antiques back to Henley as they were too heavy for him to carry.  He handed the large plastic bags to me and sniggered as the weight dragged my arms down.  He sucked hard at his cigarette – his wheeze was crackly and loud.   I noticed he was attired from head to toe in royal blue Lazy Jacks sailing clothes, even down to a rather splendid pair of deck shoes. My snigger caused a bogey to drop.  I quickly wiped in the hope nobody saw. He marched over to the girls and bent down to kiss them. The subtle waft of stale cigarette and fresh wine hit my nostrils. The girls pulled away, Uncle Jolyon was smelly and his whiskers scratched their skin.

We all piled into the car to head back to Seaview, a journey I was not looking forward to.  We drove around Yarmouth for 10 minutes, and then parked. We had decided not to drive back to Seaview but instead to dine at Jolyon’s favourite establishment. A reservation was made and we made our merry way to Salty’s.

Jolyon marched ahead, fag in hand, telling us how he had spent most of yesterday ‘ferry spotting’ from the bar in the garden of his hotel.  And that we will also partake in ferry spotting this afternoon. What ruddy joy I hissed.  The girls were still wiping away the smell of wine and fags from their faces as we strolled into the rustic restaurant.

There was a strong fish stench as we walked in. I started to tell my lesbian brothel joke but Carolyn told me no. Our table was ready. Jolyon ordered the wine. I ordered the girls drinks. Cath went to the balcony for a fag. Jolyon went out for a fag. And then we began.

 

 

 

On the Buses – the 800 to be precise

I had no car today. And so at 4.10pm I decided to close shop and hitch a ride on a bus. I’ve not been on a bus for some time now and felt an urge of excitement in my lower regions as I headed towards a bus stop. According to my in depth research, to reach Henley upon Thames one should hail a bus to Friar Street where one dismounts and awaits the number 800 to High Wycombe, via Henley upon Thames. What fun this would be I chuckled as I headed to the bus stop. How wrong was I?

The bus stop was outside the Royal Berkshire hospital off London Road. I approached with caution as I noticed a couple of elderly men with sticks arguing with each other. Further down the pavement a young girl with a brace of kids, a bun perched on her head, tattoos across her cleavage and a stud so big in her tongue she sounded deaf, was screaming obscenities at her children. A woman in her dressing gown and a mobile drip was lighting a fag. An Indian man sat in the bus stop. He had unfortunate long goofy teeth and reminded me of a bottle opener. Whilst he talked he dribbled. It was fascinating to watch but I realised it was not Victorian times, and I was not in an asylum. I sat down and played solitaire waiting for my bus. Moments later the bus arrived. I paid my £1.20 and made my way to a seat by the window.

I walked to my seat and could feel a bus full of beady eyes upon me. I sucked my extra strong mint and sat down. As I breathed in, relieved I was on the bus, the stench of body odour hit me like a sledge hammer. I could not work out where it came from but it was strong, it was putrid, and it was making its way up my nostrils. I placed my hand over my nose but the smell infiltrated my nostrils and before long I felt the urge to vomit on the head of the woman seated in front of me. I found her hair rather upsetting. But that aside I managed to contain my vomit and people watch. My people watching was abruptly stopped when a woman sat beside me and opened a packet of cheese and onion crisps. I looked at her for a second and we caught each other’s eye. I smiled sickly. As did she. I could see the damp crisps stuck to the front of her teeth and the subtle smell of onions on her breath and felt the urge to throw again. I turned away quickly and stared out of the window.

The bus stops were lined up near the back of M&S and there was hundreds of them. I had no idea which bus stop was mine, and the buses that did stop all went to ruddy Calcot! Ruddy Calcot, where the feck is ruddy Calcot? There was no number 800 to be seen. I was told I should walk to the Apex Plaza which is where the 800 bus stops. I power walked around the corner and as I tried to find my phone in my deep bag I tripped and landed on my hands and knees. Fuck I hissed. I did an Exorcist 360 of the head, made sure nobody saw me fall, wiped myself down and continued my journey.

I found the bus stop outside the Plaza. I sat upon a wall away from the bus stop and prayed for a number 800 to take me home. Or for somebody I may know to drive past and see me, and stop, and take me home. Alas none of the above happened. I thought about grabbing a taxi, but decided to give it another few minutes. Just in case the bus arrived.
Opposite where I sat was the Corn Exchange. Two drunken men were seated outside staring at us waiting for our buses and shouting abuse. I tried not to stare and instead thought about my recent trip to Athens with my friends Lou, Sue and Rachel. I was brought back to reality when a young man arrived and stood to my right. I was just thinking to myself how nice he looked in his suit when he started to make the most disgusting gurgling noises as he tried to clear his throat. He cared not for me perched beside him on the wall but continued to gurgle and spit green phlegm onto the pavement in front of me. I felt a gag but held it back. Bus after ruddy fecking bus stopped and moved on. Not one number 800 bus to be seen. By now it was gone 5.20 and I was seriously pissed off. A non-English woman had appeared to my left and kept catching my eye and grinning at me. A bus would stop and go and she would still be standing there, looking at me. I was beginning to feel a little worried when all of a sudden I saw the bus – on the other side of the ruddy road! I cursed and quickly grabbed my bag and legged it over the road. But I was too late, the bus moved on. The two drunken men sitting outside of the Corn Exchange were laughing. And the strange woman across the road was waving at me. I felt the urge to deck her. I decided this was no adventure, I was going to grab a taxi. But then the bus pulled up on the other side of the road, where I had been waiting! I sprinted over the road, passed the weirdo woman and onto the bus. Full of excitement a lady dribble popped out and caught me by surprise.

I had no change. I had no idea how much the journey would cost and I had no idea the driver was deaf and dumb. But he was. I tapped on his window and said I wanted a single to Henley on Thames. He said something back that I could not decipher. I said again I would like a single ticket to HENLEY ON THAMES. He answered something I could not decipher. I started to ask again but he pointed to a price and I understood this to be £4.70. I paid and sat as close to the door as possible.

I felt her eyes upon me as I walked to my seat. She had short red hair and bulbous eyes that did not move from me. The bus started to move and still she stared at me. Clearly she was a nutter. And she was on my ruddy bus. This was not a good start to my journey. I noticed whenever somebody got on or off the bus she would say hello or goodbye. But would then return to stare at me in a very sinister way. I slowed pulled out my packet of mints and placed one in my mouth. I could not outstare her so instead started to play candy crush.

The bus pulled out and I had hoped for a quick sprint down the Henley Road and then home. But no, it turned towards Caversham and stopped every 5 minutes. That woman was still looking at me and the stop start motion of the bus was beginning to make me queasy again. It reminded me a little of Carolyn’s driving. As the bus drove through Caversham and past the Standard Tandoori I stared out of my window and was amazed to see me old mate Sarah Caffrey in a car just driving out of her road. I slapped my hand on the window of the bus hoping she would see me and mouthed GET ME OFF!! But she did not see me. I thought about jumping off at the next stop in the hope she would be behind us and she could drive me home, but I didn’t risk it. I continued candy crush. The nutter had moved her gaze elsewhere and I began to relax a little. Near Binfield Heath she got off. As she walked passed my window I gave her my most horrid glare and then urged the driver to legit!

A short haired man in a track suit and stinking of Joop sat next door to me. My nostrils moved as I tried not to sneeze. I held it in, but then suddenly the sneeze appeared and I lost my mint onto the floor. The man next to me grinned as I kicked the mint under the seat in front of me. I returned to my phone and ignored him.

This journey was taking forever. We eventually drove through Shiplake and finally the Reading Road. As we approached the Tesco roundabout I heard a little buzzer and then a sign to say the bus was stopping. And the bus did stop. I stood up and asked the driver if the bus stopped further along the reading road. He grunted in a deaf kind of way. I sat again and an old man asked me if he should press the buzzer. Having no idea what he was talking about I said yes. The bus travelled another 100 yards and then stopped. All eyes were upon me. I had no choice but to get off the bus even though it was a good walk back to my house. I thanked the driver. And the old man. I disembarked.

It was 6.15pm. I had been on buses for over 2 hours. I’d eaten a whole packet of extra strong mints. My head ached and I the smell of cheese and onion was embedded in my nostrils. I tried hard not to grab my front bottom as the urge to pee my pants was strong.
At 6.28 I put the key in the keyhole. Misty my faithful yet crusty cat came to greet me. With her tail in the air she rubbed her bottom along my ankles and purred loudly. I kicked her off and found the girls in the kitchen. They were high on chocolate and dancing on chairs. I fell onto the sofa and thanked the almighty I had made it home. In one piece.

As I sipped my claret I relayed my traumatic journey home to Carolyn. She scoffed at my dilemma and suggested I was a ponce. Misty once again found me and jumped onto my belly. My stroking her helped me to unwind a little and before long I was on my second glass having forgotten my journey.

After an evening of stroking my pussy and drinking wine I decided to hit the deck. I was shattered. I was traumatised. I felt violated and a little cruel about giggling at the Indian bottle opener. I felt the need to sneeze and itched my nostril. It was then I realised I had cat shit on my hands.

Misty you little fucker!!

Ass over Tit

By 10am today I had fallen off my treadmill, retched, been farted on by misty my faithful yet crusty cat and discovered a cup cake factory in full swing in my kitchen.  I only went downstairs for a cuppa Earl and some toast.

Having been recently diagnosed with osteoporosis I have been instructed by the Doc to take  calcium tablets the size of a small rat, 4 times a ruddy day and do daily weight bearing exercises.  So after trying to swallow my tablet and retching so  violently I lady trickled – upon my treadmill I mount.  But  I’m a woman of poor balance and find this method of exercise quite annoying and somewhat boring.  And when my cats decide to jump across said ruddy treadmill on their way to the garden to frighten a poor little bird, I tend to fall ass over tit.  When I try and change channels with the remote, I fall ass over tit, when I scream at the children for questioning me over and over and over again as to why I’m walking on the damn machine, I fall ass over tit  and when I try and sip my water, I fall ass over tit.  And yes perhaps I should pause my machine to do these things, but I have no ruddy pause button.

So as I power walk daily, watching my crap morning TV all I can think of to keep me going is ……………….a bucket of claret and a ridiculously high fat dinner.  Rock on.

Link

The hire car was not safe to drive and we didn’t want to get a taxi all the way back to Perigeaux to collect another one from the AVIS office. We called Mum and she sent ENO to pick us up. Eno is Mum’s companion. He is Danish, he likes to drink red wine, smoke B&H and talk very loudly, and very rudely. His Gold car pulled up and Eno got out of the car, walked into the house and told us to get in. We followed him like lost little ducklings. We had to fit 3 suitcases, a double pram, the twins, and us three into his car. As we drove out of Kate’s hamlet, with the double pram sticking out of the boot, a suitcase in the back seat in between me and Carolyn, a twin on our knees and Jolyon in the front, I wondered if this was a good idea. Eno had clearly been drinking. The journey was long and bumpy; we were driving through the dog end of France with its winding roads and empty villages. Eno was driving too fast. The radio was playing Brown Girl in the Ring, and I really wanted to get out and walk. Every half hour Eno would announce the exact amount of Kilometres we had to go before arriving at Mum’s house. 2 hours later we arrived, shaken, car sick, but alive. Mum opened the door and we could smell the mince and garlic bubbling in the pan. Jolyon poured himself a drink whilst we all went up to bed. It had been a long day and we were shattered. As I fell into a deep sleep, I could hear Jolyon, Mum and Eno drinking and laughing in the kitchen. It was a good sound. I was delightfully comfortable in our big French bed and just as sleep came my way Vivien started crying, followed by Ruby. And then Eno’s voice got louder and louder from below and my Mother started speaking with a lisp (this happens after a few bottles). And just as I thought it couldn’t get any louder, I heard Jolyon bang the toilet door shut and hum Jerusalem as he sat on his throne for 26 minutes.

Please God let us all sleep! Only tomorrow and then we go home.

Leaving the garage – on route to Excideuil

Jolyon sems to be constantly arguing with the sat nav and we end up near Paris!  We had just spent 450 Euros on getting the car fixed and we were still going around in circles. Both babies were now wide awake. Carolyn felt sick and faint. Jolyon was screaming at the sat nav and insisted we turn it off and follow our nose. I needed a drink.

Due to Carolyn feeling faint and wanting to vomit. The children shitting and vomming in the back, and my car sickness, it was down to Jolyon to continue the long drive to Perigeaux and beyond. His dismay at this (as he could not stop at the various wineries and sample their goods) was thwarted by my offering of an extra strong mint.

We slowly wobbled (the car steering was fu*&ed) through SW France. Destination:Excideuil – Mothers 70th Birthday Bash.

Unfortunately Carolyn’s health deteriorated on route. The girls followed through and Jolyon became sick of my extra strong mints.

Were we ever to arrive in time for the party? Did that last sign really say Spain? Did Jolyon just cough?

Center Parcs – Tarzan, Piss and Tattooed Grannies

I slept soundly and felt very refreshed. Carolyn had not. Nor had the kids. Today we were going swimming. I dug out my old costume and put my panties over my costume so as not to forget them. Carolyn was still feeling quite ill. The girls were arguing over some crappy Peppa Pig toy and I just wanted to get the fuck out of here. I herded the girls outside and mounted the rickshaw. I fell off. I remounted and off we went. Carolyn rode her own mountain bike. I was a little jealous as I looked and felt a prize prat wobbling through the forest with my ginger ninjas screaming Giddy Up from the back. I ignored the smiles from passing parents and instead picked up pace and headed to the Dome of Stench!

It was busy, kids all over the place, frantic mothers rushing around looking for changing rooms. Fathers wishing they were anywhere but here. Wet floors, humid, chlorine smelling with a hint of cheap perfume. We entered the changing rooms and found somewhere to get changed. We could barely move, we had packed enough bags for a trip around Europe! Our ‘family changing room’ was a hot little shit hole in a cluster of shit holes within a dome full of shits. I so wanted to get the hell out. The girls were crying. Carolyn wanted to puke, and I was having a hot flush. I removed my outer layer and announced I was ready. I walked with my head held high, holding in my stomach, clutching the girls, as we made our way towards the pool. We walked passed a mirror and it was then I realised I was still wearing my panties over my costume! Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

I held in my tummy and waded into the pool of piss. Children were splashing around me, I pushed passed them to try and get to the deep end. There was no deep end. I swam around the mayhem when an almighty loud Tarzan call came over the loudspeakers. I swallowed a mouthful of warm water as suddenly the pool was full of ferocious waves. I was hit by a tidal wave so strong it pushed me into the shallower end. I wiped away the snot and pulled my costume out of my bottom and swam towards a small cave. Some stairs took me to a hidden hot tub outside. I swam out of the tub and followed an elderly granny into the outside pool, the current suddenly grabbed my ankles and before I could cry ruddy flipping hell I was being dragged down the white water rapids that circle the plaza. I screamed as I was plunged into waters so violent I thought I would drown. Just as I thought it could not get any worse I was thrust down a 20 foot slide and landed with my legs wrapped around the head of the poor granny I had seen earlier. Dear God in Heaven. I apologised profusely. She struggled to get out, I watched and noticed the rose tattoo on her arm. Mmmmmmm I felt no remorse at all after seeing that. Granny’s should not have tattoos! No ruddy way!

Center Parcs – the arrival

We were sandwiched between two trucks of toddlers. I noticed a small girl in the back seat of her car looking at me shyly. I stared her out and sucked hard at my mint. At last we were waved through by a thin ugly little man in a CP uniform. Thank God I shouted as we slowly drove into a dark forrest. I was about to water the garden when we had to pull in again as a blonde CP attendant tapped at my window and welcomed us to CP. I forced a smile and then she was gone. She returned with our keys and a map showing our lodge. Pine 405. We were to drive to our lodge, unpack, and then take the car to the main car park. Easy.

40 ruddy minutes later we are still searching. We found Pine 404, we found Pine 403, 402, and 406 but where the ruddy hell was Pine 405? This was a joke. We drove round and around the Parc narrowly missing sweaty faced families on their bikes and jogging Mothers pushing prams. I was now about to wet my panties. The girls were hungry and having tantrums. Carolyn wanted to go home. I sucked hard and then Carolyn hit the breaks and I got out. I walked along the road, hissing at the families, dodging bikes and buses and was about to tarzan scream in the face of a midget Chinese lady who gave me a funny look when I found it. Pine 405. We had arrived. Thank Fuck

We parked up and unloaded the girls. They were screaming. Carolyn’s face was florid with rage as I grasped my front bottom and dashed down the path to our lodge. I turned the key. I turned it again. It opened. As I sat on my throne I could hear the commotion outside. For a moment I just wanted to stay here, locked in the toilet. Carolyn screamed my name and I ran back towards the noise and noticed a duck eating a frog. Grotesque little fucker! Did ducks eat meat? I grabbed Ruby and we all headed back to the lodge.

The next 30 minutes was spent unloading the ‘stuff’. Cotbed. Buckets. Spades. Clothes. Food. more food. more clothes. And so on. I walked up and down that bloody path until we were finally in. We arrived at 2pm, it was now 3.30pm. The accommodation was fabulous but we needed to eat and get our bearings. It was time to check out the Parc. And I needed a large, chilled snifter!

Center Parcs – Here We Come

I’ve been up since 5am, it is now 9.30 and still we pack. Our plan is to feed the girls their lunch and then leave. They should sleep in the car. Mother is over from France to house sit and feed cats, in between the clicking of her knitting needles, the nibbling of her Rich Tea biscuits and slurping of Tea. The girls scream in excitement. Carolyn is screaming at the girls. Mother knits. Misty my faithful crusty cat sits on top of the fridge watching the chaos below. I have a bad feeling about this. I wish I was going to ruddy Egypt!

Carolyn’s stop start driving was about to make me puke all over her. My fists were clenched and I sucked furiously on my 3rd xtra strong mint. This journey was long and painful. Thankfully the girls had stopped singing twinkle twinkle and fallen asleep. As we approached Stonehenge we both stared in amazement as the car veered off into the bush. My mint hit the back of my mouth and I choked loudly as I cursed Carolyn for her bad driving. Ten minutes later we arrive and line up behind a ‘family car’ carrying what looks like immigrants and their bikes. I feel sick. The queue into the parc is forever. The girls are awake. Carolyn is still not talking to me and I need a piss.

The road is long…………

Goodbye Cransac. It’s been fun!?

Tuesday 7th August – Goodbye Cransac  

Jolyon ordered a coffee and croissant and ate hastily in front of me. I watched my little brother as he was patted on the back by the locals – all of them quite clearly amazed that he was still alive after the Pastis drinking competition (Fred the alcoholic had still not been seen). Jolyon consumed the adoration with glee and his head became a medicine ball of proudness. I called him a dick and asked if he was ready to leave. He was, apart from something of importance he needed to collect from Jesse. I did not question this. For the first time since our arrival we all felt reasonably OK. Our heads were quite clear and I had no reason to vomit or retch. Jesse came and sat down with us. Our flight was late afternoon so Jesse would pick us up from the apartment at 2pm – he would also give Jolyon the ‘package’. Coco came over to our table and started chatting to me. I nodded and grinned.

We moved outside as the sun was out and took a last look at our surroundings. We agreed that this town was the strangest place we had set foot in. The people, albeit very nice, were clearly missing a brain cell. Most did not work and spent their days in the bar or buying scratch cards. Jolyon sat back and blew out a long cloud of smoke. Then he asked me to ‘trot’ to the newsagent and buy 10 scratch cards – I told him to bugger off and opened up my Ipad. As I wrote some of my thoughts down his grubby ET-like finger suddenly started poking at my screen as he questioned what I was doing and how it worked. In a matter of seconds he had managed to lose everything I had written. I snapped shut my Ipad just missing his finger and announced I was off back to the apartment to check we had packed everything.

The apartment revolted me more than I had ever been revolted before. Jolyon’s dirty smelly sheets adorned the floor. On the table there were piles of loose change, used scratch cards, a line of urine smelling 50 Euro notes and two large cheeses! I wrapped each cheese in a plastic bag and shoved them into his man bag. In the bathroom all his ‘man-stuff’ remained. I.e. his miniature toothpaste, miniature tooth brush, miniature shampoo, conditioner and soap. All stuff he had purchased at the airport. The sink was full of white liquid and whiskers. Without realising it I had stood on the soggy stinking shower towel on the floor. I had no shoes on. I wanted to pinch him.

Jolyon returned as I was just getting into the gymnastics. Jesse arrived on time and gave Jolyon a plastic bag. It contained a clean pair of boxers and trousers which had been washed and beautifully ironed by Coco. He threw them into his man bag on top of the cheese. I smirked.

Jesse got the car and parked outside. I was relieved to see it was his own car. We threw in our belongings and I was kicked to the back seat. We drove 50 yards and then stopped outside the bar so we could wave goodbye to everyone. Fred was there at last and he came out to kiss us goodbye and pat Jolyon on the shoulder. The cough mixture lady waved and then started to cough so violently I thought we may have to call the paramedics. I saw Loola the gypsy swaying from side to side as he walked out of the bar and headed to work in the park. And the man-woman in the oily overalls was managing to smoke and eat her lunch at the same time. Coco rushed over and kissed us all 3 times and said something. I grinned and nodded. And then we set off to the airport.

We arrived and jumped out. The plan was to check in and then have a last snifter with Jesse at the bar. I dragged my heavy bag with all the wine to the check in – Jolyon completely oblivious to the fact I could barely carry it. Jolyon waiting outside the terminal smoking and chatting to Jesse. I prayed my case would go through. It did. The camp French man told me I should hurry up to the departure terminal as the flight was ready to leave. I rushed out to Jolyon and told him we needed to go through now. He was astonished and amazed and utterly distraught that we could not have a final snifter.

We made it through and into the departure lounge. We had to wait 40 minutes for our flight which infuriated Jolyon.

The flight was quick.  We managed to consume two glasses of red and then sleep for the journey.  Before I could say tie me to the side of a pig and roll me in the mud, we had arrived.

As I slowly walked to the baggage reclaim, Jolyon sprinted pasted me like John Cleese on route to a smoking area and to meet Gilal our driver.  Once again I was left to pick up the luggage and carry it back to the car.

I dragged my heavy case along the long corridors and thru passport control, out the door and onto the road where I found Jolyon and Gilal . The sweat was dripping down my cheeks as Jolyon made a menopausal joke. I told him to fuck off and gave my bag to him.

As we drove out of Standsted and headed home I took out a mint and sucked hard. Gilal was still fasting and was so thin I thought he would faint at the wheel. I gently tapped on Jolyon’s shoulder and said that I thought Jesse had really enjoyed our company and that I hoped and prayed his operation would be ok. Jolyon’s response was a grunt and a snore and a wheeze and sneeze so foul I thought he had sprayed the dashboard.

I sat back and fell into sleep until Henley Bridge.  I waved at Midge and Graham as we drove passed the Angel on the Bridge, they did not see me. 

As I walked through the door I could hear the children screaming.  Home Sweet Home.  I love Henley!

Fini

 

Bunting, Piss and the moustached French Lady

Monday 6th August – Bunting, Piss and the moustached French lady

I walked into a nightmare!

The shutter was half open and I had to crawl into the apartment. As I slowly straightened myself I was first hit by the smell. The appalling odour pervading the room reminded me of the shit hole they call a toilet at Jesse’s bar. I gagged for a second and then I saw it, the BUNTING, Euros and Sterling notes hanging from every corner of the apartment. Soggy urine drenched notes which Jolyon was drying off. Why Jolyon had decided to bring over £800 pounds for a 3 day trip I will never know. But right now, it was all hanging around me like Christmas Day.

Jolyon was still in his pit he called a bed. I had to rush to the toilet as my stomach was about to explode. When I returned he was beginning to wake. For a brief second I felt relief knowing he was alive. Then utter disgust! I stood staring at him as his eyes slowly opened. He smacked his lips and surveyed the room. He had woken when I had left to go wine tasting and removed the urine sodden notes from his wallet and hung them around the apartment. He had then resumed his sleep. I kicked him and he sat up. He could not remember anything about last night. He refused to believe he had pissed in the shower but was thoroughly delighted to hear he had beaten Fred the alcoholic in the drinking competition. Unfortunately he also had a rather sicky stomach and before I could say anymore he rushed past me and slammed the toilet door. I heard him groan and then flick the pages of his Classic Car magazine. 15 minutes later he came out grumbling there was no toilet paper and something about a gravy pot. I shuddered and carried my wine into my room.

I lay on the bed and noticed a couple of soggy stinking Euros hanging from my window. I jumped up and pulled them down. I threw them at Jolyon and then washed my hands. I washed them again. And one more time to be safe. I walked into the sitting room and sprayed it with Joe Malone. Two flies fell to the floor. I grabbed my iPad, my mints and told Jolyon we should go pay the bar bill. He said he felt sick but would meet me at the bar after he had showered.

I walked slowly up the road to the bar. I felt rotten. Fred the alcoholic had still not surfaced. Loola the gypsy was at the bar reading a paper and the cough mixture lady was arguing with a small fat woman who had a moustache and dressed like a man. She was smoking Gitanes and the smell made me faint. I moved to a table at the end of the bar and ordered a diet coke. Coco came over and said something. I nodded my head and grinned. I sipped my drink and noticed the man-woman smoking the Gitanes staring at me. I looked up and she gave me a wide grin. Her teeth were black and jagged and I saw bits of food festering in the gaps. I turned away.  I like a lady, but she was something else!!

In Cransac everybody kisses you three times. I did not want this woman coming anywhere near me. The third kiss was the worst. I felt her bristles. She had hairy nostrils and her blue overalls were covered in car oil. She moved back to her table and lit up another Gitanes. I opened up my ipad and felt violated.

I saw his head first, looking out of the shutters like a monkey surveying the land before coming out. He crawled out, closed the shutter and marched towards the bar. I looked at him and was suddenly taken back 30 years to when he was a little boy practising to be a magician. With his top hat, his plastic chicken and wand, he used to run thru the house naked, pouncing on guests like Cato. I hummed the Dad’s Army tune to myself as he approached and could see he was not feeling good.

I suggested we eat something. We both felt sick and had runny bottoms. Jolyon seemed a little pale in colour. He ordered a glass of wine and his colour returned. I also ordered a glass of wine and nearly puked. Only one sleep to go and then home.