Day 130
Holiday - Day Two
Welcome to Hell.
I can now state with a high degree of certainty that if there’s an afterlife where deceased philanthropists and baby kittens go after they’ve shoved off their mortal coil, it’s the exact opposite of this fucking place.
Don't get me wrong, the island is beautiful, or at least it was before the bars, nightclubs, cheap gift shops and botulism café’s got here. It’s absolutely overrun with them.
I managed to get my usual five hours of sleep in about ten different stages. If it wasn’t a snoring wife that prevented my slumber, it was the screaming and shouting hoards of teenage stag and hen parties that went on throughout the night.
The wife’s snoring incidentally has taken on a European flavor. I think it must be something to do with the climate because her usual adenoidal grunt now has a little “Olé” at the end of it.
So, 9.00am on holiday can only mean one thing…an enormous cooked breakfast.
Rather than eating the regurgitated crap served by the hotel, we found a nice Spanish restaurant away from the main strip and persuaded them to cook for us.
After demolishing enough food to keep a small African family going for a couple of months I was ready for the day. This basically involved the onerous task of sitting in a beachfront bar all day and gently watching the World go by. Well, what this actually involves is playing the topless beach game.
The rules are very simple.
You get one point for spotting a topless sunbather with natural breasts and two points for finding one with implants. Of course, sometimes it’s difficult to distinguish between the two so you have to walk over and ask them if their tits are real.
An extra ten points can be achieved by getting an answer without receiving a smack in the mouth.
I was up to 417 points by mid-afternoon and only one black eye.
I've finally found a game that I'm good at!
Maybe I should write to an online poker company and see if they'll replace their freeroll tournaments with it. At least I'll be assured of getting a big pocket pair more regularly.
Another nice point of the day when sitting in a different beachfront bar with a couple of bottles of Rijoca was watching the current Mrs. Snowman turn from a pale skinned female into a boiled lobster.
She not only made the mistake of neglecting to put any sun block on her shoulders, but also of wearing her sunglasses and not putting any on her face. When she took them off later in the day she looked like a raccoon doing a Zorro impersonation. Her face was the color of a plum tomato apart from a perfectly positioned band of white skin across her eyes.
I suggested she purchase a veil for the remainder of the holiday.
She countered by suggesting I find the number of a local doctor to repair the broken nose I was about to get.
It's an image I shall remember for a long time; probably because I took a photo of it.
Another thing to remember about Mediterranean islands is that invariably the water supply isn’t the most hygienic in the World. As such it’s advisable to avoid drinking it unless you’re within twenty yards of a toilet at all times. You even have to use bottled water to rinse out your mouth after brushing your teeth.
The first thing I did yesterday after unpacking and checking out the Internet availability was to dive headlong for the bar and order myself a large bourbon…with ice.
Bad move.
The previous day I had a slight case of constipation.
Half an hour after finishing the drink was the exact opposite.
I felt a slight rumble in my stomach, which luckily I didn’t mistake for hunger pangs, and ran with clenched buttocks to the toilet.
Half an hour later I was still sat there. To the unfortunate individual sat in the next compartment it must have sounded like Donald Duck being chased by a buzz saw.
Even Mrs. Snowman had to agree that it was probably safer to stick to alcohol for the remainder of the holiday.
Sometimes she just asks for trouble.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $ Who cares, I’m on holiday
Welcome to Hell.
I can now state with a high degree of certainty that if there’s an afterlife where deceased philanthropists and baby kittens go after they’ve shoved off their mortal coil, it’s the exact opposite of this fucking place.
Don't get me wrong, the island is beautiful, or at least it was before the bars, nightclubs, cheap gift shops and botulism café’s got here. It’s absolutely overrun with them.
I managed to get my usual five hours of sleep in about ten different stages. If it wasn’t a snoring wife that prevented my slumber, it was the screaming and shouting hoards of teenage stag and hen parties that went on throughout the night.
The wife’s snoring incidentally has taken on a European flavor. I think it must be something to do with the climate because her usual adenoidal grunt now has a little “Olé” at the end of it.
So, 9.00am on holiday can only mean one thing…an enormous cooked breakfast.
Rather than eating the regurgitated crap served by the hotel, we found a nice Spanish restaurant away from the main strip and persuaded them to cook for us.
After demolishing enough food to keep a small African family going for a couple of months I was ready for the day. This basically involved the onerous task of sitting in a beachfront bar all day and gently watching the World go by. Well, what this actually involves is playing the topless beach game.
The rules are very simple.
You get one point for spotting a topless sunbather with natural breasts and two points for finding one with implants. Of course, sometimes it’s difficult to distinguish between the two so you have to walk over and ask them if their tits are real.
An extra ten points can be achieved by getting an answer without receiving a smack in the mouth.
I was up to 417 points by mid-afternoon and only one black eye.
I've finally found a game that I'm good at!
Maybe I should write to an online poker company and see if they'll replace their freeroll tournaments with it. At least I'll be assured of getting a big pocket pair more regularly.
Another nice point of the day when sitting in a different beachfront bar with a couple of bottles of Rijoca was watching the current Mrs. Snowman turn from a pale skinned female into a boiled lobster.
She not only made the mistake of neglecting to put any sun block on her shoulders, but also of wearing her sunglasses and not putting any on her face. When she took them off later in the day she looked like a raccoon doing a Zorro impersonation. Her face was the color of a plum tomato apart from a perfectly positioned band of white skin across her eyes.
I suggested she purchase a veil for the remainder of the holiday.
She countered by suggesting I find the number of a local doctor to repair the broken nose I was about to get.
It's an image I shall remember for a long time; probably because I took a photo of it.
Another thing to remember about Mediterranean islands is that invariably the water supply isn’t the most hygienic in the World. As such it’s advisable to avoid drinking it unless you’re within twenty yards of a toilet at all times. You even have to use bottled water to rinse out your mouth after brushing your teeth.
The first thing I did yesterday after unpacking and checking out the Internet availability was to dive headlong for the bar and order myself a large bourbon…with ice.
Bad move.
The previous day I had a slight case of constipation.
Half an hour after finishing the drink was the exact opposite.
I felt a slight rumble in my stomach, which luckily I didn’t mistake for hunger pangs, and ran with clenched buttocks to the toilet.
Half an hour later I was still sat there. To the unfortunate individual sat in the next compartment it must have sounded like Donald Duck being chased by a buzz saw.
Even Mrs. Snowman had to agree that it was probably safer to stick to alcohol for the remainder of the holiday.
Sometimes she just asks for trouble.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $ Who cares, I’m on holiday