Well I'm back in clammy Croydon having survived two weeks of searing heat, angry wasps, peanut butter poo and stifling transport, squashed up against hairy Europeans smelling of fags and pizza. It was like a home from home!
It was a fantastic holiday filled with new experiences. It's not everyone who can claim to have spent an afternoon on a nudist beach discussing DFS sofas with an old queen from Blackpool. What made this scene so memorable was the fact that he spent the whole conversation flapping his balls around in the sea breeze and I couldn't help but notice that his genitals bore a striking to resemblance to Father Christmas with a stinking cold.
As you might expect I had some typical mishaps during the fortnight. The most painful happened late in the first week. We'd had a lovely day on the beach and I'd spent a lot of time languishing in the shallows to cool down. I decided to leave early because I wanted to pick up some shopping on the way back to the apartment. I'd pretty much dried off in the sun so just wandered back into town for a browse.
After about half an hour I started to feel a bit of chaffing between my legs. Damn I thought. My shorts must must have been a bit damp. Too late to do anything about it, I went about my business and as the pain got worse I started to walk like I'd shit my pants. The more I tried not to look like my nappy was full the more awkward my gait became and no matter what I did, the pain at the top of my thighs was getting worse and starting to make my eyes water.
I waddled slowly back to the apartment and eased into the bathroom to check out the damage. As I pulled down my swim shorts I discovered I'd been walking around town with a couple of pounds of wet gravel from the beach trapped in the pant lining of my shorts!
As if in slow motion and due to the excess weight, my shorts dropped to the floor and a substantial amount of Megali Amos beach scattered all over our lovely clean marble floor. We were still standing on stray bits of crunchy beach a week later. I went through a tube of Savlon over the next couple of days and spent most of the time in a sarong so as not to aggravate the red welts between my legs.
We were holidaying on Skiathos, which is one of my favourite Greek islands. They filmed Mama Mia there last year and the movie was showing at the open air cinema there. We just had to go and see it. It was a magical night. Singing and dancing along to an ABBA movie under the stars probably scores rather high on the Camp-o-meter. Ghostly sea birds soared overhead as we all got on the floor for the reprise of Dancing Queen at the end. One of mates got a bit carried away and knocked over our table, spilling a full glass of Ouzo over my brand new trainers. I've washed them 3 times since but there's still a whiff of aniseed under my bed.
I don't know if I've mentioned before but Mr T seems to have developed a fetish for people with disabilities. Over the last couple of years we've seen him getting off with what could pass for the British Paralymic Squad. This strange obsession continued on holiday as we were introduced to his latest Greek flame. The holiday romance this year was with a deaf mute called George.
Mama Mia!
No comments:
Post a Comment