OK, the cold war has been over for a long time now and so when one Russian (Victor) presents himself on my doorstep I should not have concerns about taped conversations or being observed by Interpol, again.....
Things as usual begin quite innocently, this was no exception....I went to pick up the laundry the other evening and didn't get home until day break, I could tell it was dawn as no-one paid any attention to my skimpy clothing: bikini (both pieces this time) under a loose, see through dress, with flat canvas boat shoes....perfect morning attire, but before.....
A couple of club members were partaking in a glass of fine home brew when I dropped in to collect weekly laundry from the pizza restaurant (where else would you collect laundry, after all I buy my alcohol at the petrol station and get shoes repaired down at the docks, this teraine is not conducive to stilettos and the local fisherman's got the best pair of pliers and is a deft hand at removing hooks so I guess it makes sense that he can remove the damaged heel end and put in a new one), anyway there I am collecting laundry and accept the invitation to join the party.
Well in between the laundry pick up and dawn we managed to write off a lot of vino, make our way across the road to the foreshore - this in itself is a fete as the current onslaught of Czech tourists are as driving savvy as Eskimo's are at sand castle building - on the other side there was music, there were lights and a few girating bodies one of which was Victor, the Russian, who's some where between 40 and 50 years of age, think of every cliche of Russian appearance and then imagine the opposite - you've got Victor - blonde; short (for this region anyway); average build, but with a definite Ruskie accent and lots of bling (which apparently he can well afford)....I'm fairly certain that the only half dozen words I spoke to Victor, in the 10 minutes we saw him were 'we should talk about business sometime' - I didn't know this was code for "come over for a quickie".
At about 2am the unexpected happened (as said I'm in minimal attire, equally due to lack of laundry and warm temperatures): the heavens opened and an onslaught of lightning & rain proceeded to entertain us, that's until the more sober of the party realised we were near water, surrounded by sand and seated on steel chairs - I'm guessing all conductive materials that are required for a mass people barbecue. Being a health conscious crew, we wanted to get out of harms way so we piled into the BeeMer (yes it's made of steel, but it's a moving target thus harder to hit, right) to go in search of the other club members in the old town. Well it was an open air cafe we took refuge (yes you can take refuge in open air...be patient), again the same sober wowsers insisted on pointing out the outdoor umbrellas on a rod of stainless steel (it would seem we could find said element faster than BHP's surveyors, I think the Chinese ought to be negotiating with our club rather Rio Tinto). The need to move due to health reasons was becoming the evenings theme and having found a few more folk to add to the impromptu party we proceeded over the bridge to a recently re-opened club where patrons were unaware of the deluge which had forced us into their midsts.
All must be well at the venue as the music and live feed from the local radio station didn't seem to present any short circuit issues in the minds of these fine publicans, the fact this renovated terrace now had a armoury of architecturally splendid steel piping surrounding its ancient stone walls didn't seem a reason for concern that it may conflict with the ongoing current creating flashes....so in the spirit of all things electric we proceeded to add friction to the dance floor and make puddles with our choice of liquid refreshment, I really do hope all the liquids were out of glasses, as we were all still quite wet it was hard to tell.....and there's only one version of 'pissed' that's acceptable.
Oh yeah.....Victor, he must have stopped smoking his particular blend (which he hides in the flower pots at home...it's not much of a hiding spot when everyone on the island knows), he managed to find my house the very next afternoon (no, I didn't give him these detail...well again everyone on the island knows about the foreign babe in the red house - damn, this must be another code - really need to work out the local speak).
Monday, July 13, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
It's a bird, it's a plane.....
There I was driving into town, to have the BeeMer washed and replenish my caffeine levels. At a snails pace I'm manouvering the more than narrow, serpentine roads on the island (there's also persistent on-coming traffic created by tourists who insist on raiding this piece of paradise with vehicles almost as big as mine and so this becomes a too close for comfort experience, my shoulder muscles tense; eyes bulge; little silent prayers are whispered as we defy space and driving skills) but I'm still thinking what a fabbo day I've had - there was sun and sea and I'll be getting ready to go to dinner soon....I'm on the home stretch, just before I hit the bridge and make it into the old town, well guess what lands on my windscreen? no, not another low flying insect (and what on earth do they eat to create that mustard yellow streak)....a man - a real life, full grown male.
I saw him, he saw me, I made eye contact, he took another look.....then as I got real close he falls onto the windscreen - glass is smashed, his nose is smashed, there's blood, I'm resisting the urge to turn on the wipers, there's a bit of wimpering, there's hyperventilating (that would be me). Ambulance is called, the locals all come out for a look (no-one's interested in getting involved, but all want to know what's going on and of course there'll be at least a dozen versions of who hit who and how); ice pack arrives from somewhere; his head is bent back to ease the blood flow, mine is between my knees (don't really have an excuse for it, but I only know one brace position even if I am a little late implementing it), the broken nose belongs to Mario a local who tells me he slipped when he saw me - not like that's news, there's been a few who have broken more than their noses in my presence.
The club members all converged and took over looking after one of their own, new windscreen had been ordered before the scene was cleared; BeeMer was moved into a drive way allowing two way traffic to share the single lane again; S series guy cancelled the next two appointments and started making his way to the island, he also contacted the local police (wonder if they're keeping a record of this families vehicular challenges....never fear, this can also be taken care of).
The current take on the event is that men are falling out of the sky for Romy....technically this may be true, but I'd prefer they didn't arrive as damaged goods.
Had to make my way to the insurance assessor with GQ model.....S series guy insisted I have company (he'd be wiser to give Boris this chore)....riotous fun filling out the form when explaining the face planting incident and then the sketch that needed to go with this - we couldn't resist putting a few of the bugs with names and addresses as witnesses.
I saw him, he saw me, I made eye contact, he took another look.....then as I got real close he falls onto the windscreen - glass is smashed, his nose is smashed, there's blood, I'm resisting the urge to turn on the wipers, there's a bit of wimpering, there's hyperventilating (that would be me). Ambulance is called, the locals all come out for a look (no-one's interested in getting involved, but all want to know what's going on and of course there'll be at least a dozen versions of who hit who and how); ice pack arrives from somewhere; his head is bent back to ease the blood flow, mine is between my knees (don't really have an excuse for it, but I only know one brace position even if I am a little late implementing it), the broken nose belongs to Mario a local who tells me he slipped when he saw me - not like that's news, there's been a few who have broken more than their noses in my presence.
The club members all converged and took over looking after one of their own, new windscreen had been ordered before the scene was cleared; BeeMer was moved into a drive way allowing two way traffic to share the single lane again; S series guy cancelled the next two appointments and started making his way to the island, he also contacted the local police (wonder if they're keeping a record of this families vehicular challenges....never fear, this can also be taken care of).
The current take on the event is that men are falling out of the sky for Romy....technically this may be true, but I'd prefer they didn't arrive as damaged goods.
Had to make my way to the insurance assessor with GQ model.....S series guy insisted I have company (he'd be wiser to give Boris this chore)....riotous fun filling out the form when explaining the face planting incident and then the sketch that needed to go with this - we couldn't resist putting a few of the bugs with names and addresses as witnesses.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Treading Water
Had the toughest day you can imagine....island paradise living can have it's down side....here goes: there I was a little lost for company, S series guy is out on location; all club members are with meaningful work or wife commitments. Then during one midnight phone call, S series guy, suggests his recently uni graduated nephew could keep me company for a day or two or whatever time frame I would like...."go for a coffee"; "take the boat island hopping"; "go dancing"......
Ok I thought, a bit of intellectual chatter with uni geek and he's bound to know how to apply sun-screen right. What turns up at my door is a GQ magazine model (six foot of course, perfect sun tanned olive skin, short black cropped hair, crooked smile, perfect white teeth, hazel eyes, defined chest with only a smattering of hair). Don't quite know what to do with him (well I do, but being the clear thinker that I am this was not an option), so off we go for a swim in the ocean keeping at least 3 meters of cool Adriatic water between us at all times, when it got all too hot (median temp was 30, but a lot hotter lying side by side at the waters edge) it was back to the pool at my place.....as the pool is only 3 meters wide that new rule was hard to keep, so I had to get out otherwise "Complications" with a capital Trouble.
So there I was sitting on the pools edge, having a glass of vino, while GQ model sips his beer, splashes (he's in his mid-twenties, they splash) around a little and asks whether I want to do anything else, now who's looking at who's chest.....like my mind wasn't exploding already!!!!! Deep breath, look away NOW - oh man, oh man..... I had to send this piece of delight home untouched - well physically, didn't get a wink of sleep all night with the thousand and one scenarious playing in my head, and you think it's easy being me - it took 10 tea bags to get rid of the dark circles under my eyes and several cold showers just to be able to deal with breakfast.
Not pretending to have titanic strength, thus currently I'm avoiding returning phone calls for a replay until I work out how to accidentally cut the fuel line on the speed boat when we go for the suggested midnight swim.
Ok I thought, a bit of intellectual chatter with uni geek and he's bound to know how to apply sun-screen right. What turns up at my door is a GQ magazine model (six foot of course, perfect sun tanned olive skin, short black cropped hair, crooked smile, perfect white teeth, hazel eyes, defined chest with only a smattering of hair). Don't quite know what to do with him (well I do, but being the clear thinker that I am this was not an option), so off we go for a swim in the ocean keeping at least 3 meters of cool Adriatic water between us at all times, when it got all too hot (median temp was 30, but a lot hotter lying side by side at the waters edge) it was back to the pool at my place.....as the pool is only 3 meters wide that new rule was hard to keep, so I had to get out otherwise "Complications" with a capital Trouble.
So there I was sitting on the pools edge, having a glass of vino, while GQ model sips his beer, splashes (he's in his mid-twenties, they splash) around a little and asks whether I want to do anything else, now who's looking at who's chest.....like my mind wasn't exploding already!!!!! Deep breath, look away NOW - oh man, oh man..... I had to send this piece of delight home untouched - well physically, didn't get a wink of sleep all night with the thousand and one scenarious playing in my head, and you think it's easy being me - it took 10 tea bags to get rid of the dark circles under my eyes and several cold showers just to be able to deal with breakfast.
Not pretending to have titanic strength, thus currently I'm avoiding returning phone calls for a replay until I work out how to accidentally cut the fuel line on the speed boat when we go for the suggested midnight swim.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Into the abyss
Ok, we all know I'm not into anything remotely like mountaineering and that I have a preference for high-heels... so when the
latest attraction (S series guy) decides to take me to his place, after some culinary delights at one of those hidden tourist free establishments that even the restauranteur wants to keep quiet about - perfect rendezvous for those royal and notorious, I did not expect to get a nose bleed on the descent to his quarters, usually this only occurs at the mention of 'mamma' or 'we're out of champers'
Well it's all worth it when we finally arrive - the main terrace is hanging over a small pebble beach with unobstructed view of several adjacent islands, but personally I think absailing would have been easier than the seated position (it may be a big Mercedes but that just means you drop faster, according to the Newton dude and his whole performance with an apple). Well there you have it one Duchess with both feet planted trying to break through the floor boards of said death trap...must say the view was spectacular and if I ever have a suicide wish this will be it - straight off the cliff into silk black waters highlighted by a silver moon and surrounded by dead animal skin and mahogany....what were Thelma & Louise thinking with the canyon thing and not taking a man with them, this is definitely a nicer way to go...must mention it to the movie directors for the remake.
Now as the decerning diva that I am, I thought we'd get down to the real reason we were there - as though the hot-tub didn't give it away - when onto romantic scene the toothless caretaker neighbour, Boris, with bad breath or foot odour (don't want to consider it could be both), smile emitting from a red glowing, untended stubbled, head that looks like it's planted itself against the cliff face a few times in the past, but alas, he is carrying a clear liquid and has dropped in to toast some 'Saints' day...well, thinking it could be CoCo's birthday, I proceed to raise glasses with Boris and S series guy, at this stage it would have been a good idea to remove sandals but nooooo .... wasn't concerned and the lights of the island opposite were dazzling me into a sense of carefree-ness.
Hours later, after extracting myself from jacuzzi, I peeled each sandal strap from my water logged feet, the indentation would have made a road worthy Michelin tyre look bald. Giving out a huge yelp as the blood flowed back through the veins and into compressed toes. There may have been a little haste in getting on with the evening once Boris had departed with his jet fuel concoction.
latest attraction (S series guy) decides to take me to his place, after some culinary delights at one of those hidden tourist free establishments that even the restauranteur wants to keep quiet about - perfect rendezvous for those royal and notorious, I did not expect to get a nose bleed on the descent to his quarters, usually this only occurs at the mention of 'mamma' or 'we're out of champers'
Well it's all worth it when we finally arrive - the main terrace is hanging over a small pebble beach with unobstructed view of several adjacent islands, but personally I think absailing would have been easier than the seated position (it may be a big Mercedes but that just means you drop faster, according to the Newton dude and his whole performance with an apple). Well there you have it one Duchess with both feet planted trying to break through the floor boards of said death trap...must say the view was spectacular and if I ever have a suicide wish this will be it - straight off the cliff into silk black waters highlighted by a silver moon and surrounded by dead animal skin and mahogany....what were Thelma & Louise thinking with the canyon thing and not taking a man with them, this is definitely a nicer way to go...must mention it to the movie directors for the remake.
Now as the decerning diva that I am, I thought we'd get down to the real reason we were there - as though the hot-tub didn't give it away - when onto romantic scene the toothless caretaker neighbour, Boris, with bad breath or foot odour (don't want to consider it could be both), smile emitting from a red glowing, untended stubbled, head that looks like it's planted itself against the cliff face a few times in the past, but alas, he is carrying a clear liquid and has dropped in to toast some 'Saints' day...well, thinking it could be CoCo's birthday, I proceed to raise glasses with Boris and S series guy, at this stage it would have been a good idea to remove sandals but nooooo .... wasn't concerned and the lights of the island opposite were dazzling me into a sense of carefree-ness.
Hours later, after extracting myself from jacuzzi, I peeled each sandal strap from my water logged feet, the indentation would have made a road worthy Michelin tyre look bald. Giving out a huge yelp as the blood flowed back through the veins and into compressed toes. There may have been a little haste in getting on with the evening once Boris had departed with his jet fuel concoction.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Family feast
Made a quick pit stop to visit relatives ( it was Easter time and that means copious quantities of home made food including cake and more cake) but really, thank goodness for living aunts and uncles, unfortunately had to visit a few dead ones in the local crematorium to appease the breathing, oh well what's a couple of posies and pretending to talk with the dead - John Edwards does it all the time and I got the best cuts of roast for my troubles.
Met my maternal grandmother, was having a great time with her even though I had to re-introduce myself every time I left the
room.....poor babe is losing it big time, and with the regular indulgence of champers I was ducking into the lav on a regular basis, so this became an hourly event, her consistent comment of "yes dear, why didn't anyone tell me you were coming" was only bettered when I told her I was her granddaughter Romy, she was stupified to see me so big for a six year old and advised that I'd better watch my diet as big bones were common in our family - now she tells me.
Gran's also a great cover, her champagne glass was depleting as quickly as mine, (a slight of hand was become a new skill - well you remember the broken thumb - it needed a bit of physiotheraphy and you know that I wouldn't want to go against doc's instructions)????????? Gran and I were on the same wave-length by the second bottle of champagne and she was also convinced that every relo on the planet had visited.....well if I have to make an introduction each time I leave her eye-sight I may as well tell her I'm another cousin; niece; the nephew who went off to Canada and was never heard from again and broke his mothers heart.
Apparently I'm not the only cause for the drinks cabinet to be locked, Gran has taken to having a little 'rakia' shot or two or three in the afternoon after she's been given her multitude of medicines, personally was hoping to join the old girl thinking she'll be up for a game of "do you remember this cocktail..." he he he, I could always blame it on 'the bitch who stole uncle Miko from aunty Vera.
Met my maternal grandmother, was having a great time with her even though I had to re-introduce myself every time I left the
room.....poor babe is losing it big time, and with the regular indulgence of champers I was ducking into the lav on a regular basis, so this became an hourly event, her consistent comment of "yes dear, why didn't anyone tell me you were coming" was only bettered when I told her I was her granddaughter Romy, she was stupified to see me so big for a six year old and advised that I'd better watch my diet as big bones were common in our family - now she tells me.
Gran's also a great cover, her champagne glass was depleting as quickly as mine, (a slight of hand was become a new skill - well you remember the broken thumb - it needed a bit of physiotheraphy and you know that I wouldn't want to go against doc's instructions)????????? Gran and I were on the same wave-length by the second bottle of champagne and she was also convinced that every relo on the planet had visited.....well if I have to make an introduction each time I leave her eye-sight I may as well tell her I'm another cousin; niece; the nephew who went off to Canada and was never heard from again and broke his mothers heart.
Apparently I'm not the only cause for the drinks cabinet to be locked, Gran has taken to having a little 'rakia' shot or two or three in the afternoon after she's been given her multitude of medicines, personally was hoping to join the old girl thinking she'll be up for a game of "do you remember this cocktail..." he he he, I could always blame it on 'the bitch who stole uncle Miko from aunty Vera.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
And Duchess makes Seven
Forced out of bed by a persistent blazing sun after having forgotten to close drapes....didn't really notice them at 3am when I made it home, just damn glad I didn't use the side door where the pool is - well with the full moon illuminating the water and my penchant for all things shiny there would have gone another perfectly good crochet bikini - the sort that's intolerant to moisture and yes I know bikini wearing is a little obscene at this tender hour...well before day break is always regarded as inappropriate home arriving time and thus the bikini maybe a little crass so next time I'lI wait for the rising sun and pretend to be a wake-boarding freak...well we all know how hind-sight works, however, I arrived straight from the beach and my new friends are all men and they didn't seem to mind my lack of attire. Its Monday or Wednesday or some such recurring event and no-one on the island takes these days seriously, tried explaining the Friday or Saturday phenomenum of party night in other parts of the world, and was basically met with blank non-comprehending stares and questions of why the other 5 nights were deemed unworthy of caraf refilling ceremonies - couldn't quite come up with a decent explanation so we all agreed I should convert now to the islands concept of entertainment 7 nights a week, wooahoo.
As I found myself with pleasant company, as mentioned all male, all post puberty and none seem to have had any bodily parts (namely hips) replaced with titanium, coupled with my ability to maintain vino quota and a general lack of interest in their nuptual commitments - got me voted into the all boys team. So this Saturday I'm spending in the company of six guys at a function held at a restaurant owned by Don who's 6 foot tall (well they're all within this vicinity, infact I think the whole country is inhabited by amazonians, thus anyone below 5 foot 6 inches is encouraged to join the circus), fashionably bald, lean, tanned, dropped by at 2am after excusing himself from the marital bed by professing to assist his mates with much needed tobacco, a plausible excuse with the prevalence of this habit in these waters and can you imagine how tall they'd grown without growth stunting nicotine .... why the haste, well, truth be told he actually heard there was a new club member wearing a bikini.
Then there's Marko, yes 6 foot plus, former yachting champ (self explanatory physical attributes), who currently is wearing a plaster cast due to torn archilles , this disability wasn't a problem the other night, apart from manouvering down the spiral staircase, hey not my doing to put the bedroom on the 3rd floor, and he did manage to make it upstairs unassisted.
Matte, who is border line circus material (due to height limitations), but he redeems himself with knowledge in all local obscure things: eg. hidden restaurants that are accessible only by boat and not a Russian tourist in sight; all things bizaar or impossible to obtain are Matte's forte, being the local tourist information agent the freebies are also most welcome.
Number four in the Duchess's new troupe is Kane, the court jester with better clothes and physique, the epitomy of mediterranean handsomeness - tall, of course; dark with just a hint of grey; shoulders that take a full arm span (yes, I actually did this behind his back - wanted to make sure I wasn't imagining things and I'm sure this isn't the last "behind his back" stunt).
The quietest of the team is Mick, fairer than the others, not quite blonde, not circus material; speaks quietly so I have to lean in real close to hear him (I'm thinking dark horse...hmmmm).
Finally there's Peter, shadow creating height; I couldn't jump high enough to see width of shoulder span but I'm guessing size 15 shoes and hands that would dwarf a basketball...well we hope we're not going to be disappointed don't we.
Then there's some of you who may be wondering where's S series guy - gone to make some commercial decisions, I'm sure if it's important I'll get to read about it in tomorrows tabloid or a future court report.
As I found myself with pleasant company, as mentioned all male, all post puberty and none seem to have had any bodily parts (namely hips) replaced with titanium, coupled with my ability to maintain vino quota and a general lack of interest in their nuptual commitments - got me voted into the all boys team. So this Saturday I'm spending in the company of six guys at a function held at a restaurant owned by Don who's 6 foot tall (well they're all within this vicinity, infact I think the whole country is inhabited by amazonians, thus anyone below 5 foot 6 inches is encouraged to join the circus), fashionably bald, lean, tanned, dropped by at 2am after excusing himself from the marital bed by professing to assist his mates with much needed tobacco, a plausible excuse with the prevalence of this habit in these waters and can you imagine how tall they'd grown without growth stunting nicotine .... why the haste, well, truth be told he actually heard there was a new club member wearing a bikini.
Then there's Marko, yes 6 foot plus, former yachting champ (self explanatory physical attributes), who currently is wearing a plaster cast due to torn archilles , this disability wasn't a problem the other night, apart from manouvering down the spiral staircase, hey not my doing to put the bedroom on the 3rd floor, and he did manage to make it upstairs unassisted.
Matte, who is border line circus material (due to height limitations), but he redeems himself with knowledge in all local obscure things: eg. hidden restaurants that are accessible only by boat and not a Russian tourist in sight; all things bizaar or impossible to obtain are Matte's forte, being the local tourist information agent the freebies are also most welcome.
Number four in the Duchess's new troupe is Kane, the court jester with better clothes and physique, the epitomy of mediterranean handsomeness - tall, of course; dark with just a hint of grey; shoulders that take a full arm span (yes, I actually did this behind his back - wanted to make sure I wasn't imagining things and I'm sure this isn't the last "behind his back" stunt).
The quietest of the team is Mick, fairer than the others, not quite blonde, not circus material; speaks quietly so I have to lean in real close to hear him (I'm thinking dark horse...hmmmm).
Finally there's Peter, shadow creating height; I couldn't jump high enough to see width of shoulder span but I'm guessing size 15 shoes and hands that would dwarf a basketball...well we hope we're not going to be disappointed don't we.
Then there's some of you who may be wondering where's S series guy - gone to make some commercial decisions, I'm sure if it's important I'll get to read about it in tomorrows tabloid or a future court report.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Deja Vu
A month or so ago I had Daddy in town....aaahhhhaaaaa....(this basically means no sex for weeeeeeeeks, well 2 ok), he's here for 2 days and has a turn (problem heart, but don't worrry the old war horse will out live us all, this is the same man who managed to destroy a mega four wheel drive vehicle (F150 to those knowledgable in ecologically unfiendly vices) by running it off the road - being thrown through the back window, landing in the overturned tray, be buried, dig his way out and summon help at 4am and then the following day yours truly making a visit, with a not insubstantial cash component in hand, to local constabulary......due to potential alcohol related technicalities.
Anyway, the old man was not feeling well for days, but won't hear about seeing a medical practitioner...well if he won't go to a clinician then I'm off to one....... whilst I'm having my nails done I receive a call saying "grandad" wants to be taken into hospital - aaaaahhhaaaa, this must be serious, my nails haven't had their top-coat yet, bugger....was hoping for a bikini-wax as well, but now that'll have to wait, won't it.....not a prob there's very little disrobing to be done anyway.
Hours later visiting newly constructed hospital and after all manner of test - think there was even a gynaecological examination listed, well we are foreigners with travel insurance, we're all good to go home with a good stash of happy pills (I'm sure Dad doesn't need them all).
Well it's a few hours later, there's a little deja vu - we're back in the same said hospital with man-child (visiting son) having written off a 3 day old car and causing the event of the year in this sleepy hollow kind of town, as the Audi is the biggest thing to come off the motor way since a bridal party tried getting a stretch limo down these same goat tracks - apparently getting bogged and creating the first traffic-jam in the towns history. I would not be surprised that this little mishap makes it into local folklore ..... marking the day the crazy foreigners invaded but were defeated by crater sized pot-holes.
Our Country Club (aka the hospital), could be adding a new wing dedicated to the Duchess foundation with this many donations - cash only due to our lack of local socialist system standing-(oh bugger, another insurance company that's going to love us), however, as Premier club members we were entitled and received undivided attention from the local law enforcement team (both of them came out for this event) they were interested in man-childs well being, that is until the blood report verified lack of substance abuse, then without further incriminating evidence requiring shredding and thus eliminating need to exchange further currencies in any denomination we could leave to tend to man-child's heavily bruised ego. Good thing I like train travel.
Anyway, the old man was not feeling well for days, but won't hear about seeing a medical practitioner...well if he won't go to a clinician then I'm off to one....... whilst I'm having my nails done I receive a call saying "grandad" wants to be taken into hospital - aaaaahhhaaaa, this must be serious, my nails haven't had their top-coat yet, bugger....was hoping for a bikini-wax as well, but now that'll have to wait, won't it.....not a prob there's very little disrobing to be done anyway.
Hours later visiting newly constructed hospital and after all manner of test - think there was even a gynaecological examination listed, well we are foreigners with travel insurance, we're all good to go home with a good stash of happy pills (I'm sure Dad doesn't need them all).
Well it's a few hours later, there's a little deja vu - we're back in the same said hospital with man-child (visiting son) having written off a 3 day old car and causing the event of the year in this sleepy hollow kind of town, as the Audi is the biggest thing to come off the motor way since a bridal party tried getting a stretch limo down these same goat tracks - apparently getting bogged and creating the first traffic-jam in the towns history. I would not be surprised that this little mishap makes it into local folklore ..... marking the day the crazy foreigners invaded but were defeated by crater sized pot-holes.
Our Country Club (aka the hospital), could be adding a new wing dedicated to the Duchess foundation with this many donations - cash only due to our lack of local socialist system standing-(oh bugger, another insurance company that's going to love us), however, as Premier club members we were entitled and received undivided attention from the local law enforcement team (both of them came out for this event) they were interested in man-childs well being, that is until the blood report verified lack of substance abuse, then without further incriminating evidence requiring shredding and thus eliminating need to exchange further currencies in any denomination we could leave to tend to man-child's heavily bruised ego. Good thing I like train travel.
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