| 18 May, 2008 |
Jonola14 Productions |
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"Dancing: The vertical expression of a horizontal desire legalised by music" |
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Halkidiki 2003 - Week Two DAY 8 - Monday 22nd September The weather was glorious once more, and we spent the entire day on the sunbeds. Monday was the main change-over day, so out went Yoda and The Mouth, and the Sour-Faced Mullet and in came "ancient or Japanese" according to Mark, "or both". However, there were two eligible females also noted, but the general conclusion from everybody was that they were lesbians. We dined in town for a change and ended up having a beer in the Blue Cafe (surprise). "Eyes right" I said, followed by "drink up and we'll stalk them!" Two brunettes had ambled by, unaware of our watching eyes. They must have known something was up, as it were, because by the time we had got out the bar, they had vanished. Not disheartened, we went into a different bar and before long Mark was off chatting to a couple of eligibles, so we stayed a while with them. Things were just getting interesting when two guys they had met earlier very kindly invited themselves over and, without introducing themselves, took over by talking about themselves. Not to be outdone, Mark and I spoke in French a while, remarking that one of them looked like a cross between Phil Tufnell and the one from Hollyoaks that got butt-f*cked by the footballer. We then didn't give them the satisfaction of having to get rid of us, we upped and left. Back to the hotel bar we went, after unsuccessfully trying to get a kebab, and a conversation with Ian (who refused to wear suncream and who comes on holiday to get 'drunk and burnt') ensued. DAY 9 - Tuesday 23rd September Today was the hottest so far, so we made the most of it and lazed by the pool, reading and sleeping. Darryl and Emma turned up and we messed around in the pool with a frizbee and a flat volleyball before meeting the two girls that may be lesbians. Chat followed, we made sure that we happened to mention the fact that we are not a couple, although we are still not sure about them. Everybody piled into the 8pm courtesy bus, but there was no room for Laura and Laura (for those were their names) who pitched up two minutes too late. "That's your evening ruined then lads" Darryl offered, as if we didn't already have a contingency plan. We had a beer with Darryl and Emma, then arranged to meet up later, perhaps for Karaoke which was advertised on one of the lamp-posts in the main square. We trudged on to the Italian restaurant and proceeded to order two meals of gigantic proportions, as well as noting Laura and Laura a few tables away. Without managing to finish the enormous quantities of food put before us, and wanting to leave room for beer, we headed to the Blue Cafe with the Lauras and met up with Darryl and Emma. As we walked back to grab the minibus to the hotel, we walked past a group of youngsters who were sniggering and laughing away. All we caught from their conversation was a plea from a giggling teenage girl to "don't make me laugh, I'm wearing white trousers". Nice. DAY 10 - Wednesday 24th September We were mid-sandwich when we were greeted with a "good morning, may we join you?" at breakfast. Down sat Laura and Laura and Gianni, the perverted, greasy, slime-ball waiter sidled across to our table. Gianni, so the girls told us, had made several sleazy comments over the past couple of days and was clearly jealous that Mark and I had befriended them. "Morning" he said, in his rolled Albanian accent. He was responded to with a couple of grunts and a death stare of two, and continued with "aaaaah, tired?". He didn't wait for a response and carried on with his questioning. "Aaaaah, too much drink? Or too much umm-hmmm?" and with that made a forward and back motion with his fists, implying rampant sex. Deathly silence. Stares of disbelief. Gianni cleared some plates and left, amongst much laughter. The rest of the day was spent poolside, whilst the girls went on a day trip. I read almost 400 pages of my book and Mark slept under the hot sun. We saw Darryl and Emma at the bar, arranged to meet for live music night in the Blue cafe and took the minibus into town, girls in tow. Lesse Steak House was our destination, but we won't be going there again as Mark's chicken had no sauce and my fillet steak was so leathery I might as well have eaten my shoes. Darryl and Emma met us again and we headed to the Blue cafe for the live music, which we soon discovered wasn't on, to my utter disgust. "Oh well" I thought, "at least I can keep one eye on the Spurs game", and then found out that Newcastle were on instead. So we left and played draughts in a bar we hadn't been in before. Laura and Laura clearly got bored, Emma thrashed me (at draughts) and it got a bit cold so we caught the minibus back to the hotel. The Lauras invited us to their room for tea and biscuits, so we went after a beer in the bar, and caught them about to turn the light out, thinking we weren't coming. We then out-stayed our welcome and wandered back to our room. DAY 11 - Thursday 25th September I woke at 6.45am after a massive five hours sleep, my stomach still dicky from the Chinese meal on Saturday, and thought about our Sunshine Cruise scheduled for the day. We met Darryl and Emma at the bus stop and journeyed to the dock where our galleon awaited us. The rep had talked up the event by repeatedly telling us that the captain was "absolutely crazy", "a complete nutter" (nooter) and "will have you in stitches the whole day long". I was somewhat dubious, Mark slightly sceptical and Darryl downright cynical! However, we managed to settle ourselves in the best spot on the ship. A fairly secluded area directly in front of the wheel-house, a level up from where the others were milling around tables and chairs, and with a view of both sides. It was like an executive lounge, and we were the VIPs. Two nights before, during one of our visits to the Blue Cafe, we had discussed the Sunshine Cruise and the table of events lined up for the day. "Apparently", Darryl said, in between sips of his Mythos lager, "we have to swim to shore at the first stop". "Brilliant", I sarcastically replied, "I'm not the strongest of swimmers, surely there's a boat to shore?" "I think there is, but you've got to swim mate, you've just got to do it." "The only way I'd get to shore is with a pair of armbands" I joked, envisaging the scenario. They laughed, so I continued "you know, and not those poncy ones either, I mean proper armbands with Mickey Mouse on". We chuckled and did some bad pirate impressions, me sounding more like a Devonian farmer. It was hot today, but the wind on the upper deck where we were sitting was quite cold, as we rocked towards our first stop on the Sithonian peninsula. The captain got on the microphone with an annoying trio of 'bing bong's and then ran around his ship molesting the women, stripping them (to get them ready for swimming) and threatening them with his pistole. Emma was molested - the captain lifting her t-shirt off before turning on Mark who feigned the same motion. The English guide announced that the diving board was ready; for those that wanted to swim but not dive, there were some steps into the water and that for those who wanted to take the boat, it was ready for boarding. "I think I'll get the boat then" I said, as I eyed up the 50 yard distance to shore. "Remember the other night when you said you'd only swim ashore if you had some Mickey Mouse armbands?" Emma threw in. "Yeeeees" "well..." and with that she slid a carrier bag across the table to me. Inside were some Mickey Mouse armbands. Chuffed, yet slightly apprehensive of the swim, we quickly blew them up, put them on and photographed it. Then, in front of 150 or so people, I jumped off the side of the boat and headed for shore, wondering if the fifty metre patch I had obtained years before would actually mean anything. I made it, amongst some funny looks, but I was back on dry land. We retrieved our bags from the speedboat ferrying people ashore and lay on the beach. "Where's all the stupid men?" the captain yelled, ambling along the beach. "And all the sexy ladies?" We all rose, split into teams by gender and prepared ourselves, banter and all, for the volleyball match. The captain was on the ladies team and had a well-deserved reputation for cheating and always winning. Again he cheated, and again they won, but there was retribution. We had endured the doubling of women's team points, we had been through the dodgy decisions behind "it was out" and we had let go the clear carrying of the ball. Now it was our turn. The big lad at the front shouted "NOW!" as the women's team hit the match-winning shot, and half-a-dozen members of our side grabbed the captain, dumped him in the sea and removed his shorts. People ran to get cameras, others simply stared, the rest laughed and wondered what he would do. For about ten minutes the captain pleaded with the men who had his shorts, he asked the women for something to cover himself up with, to no avail, and he was then rescued. Lesson taught methinks. Back aboard the boat, we took our executive positions again and soaked up the sun. A questionable lunch ensued, followed by a lot of people watching. The Drunk - a guy with badly sunburned legs, an Indiana Jones style hat strapped to his back and an obvious drinking problem, went to the bar for the umpteenth time and staggered back to his chair, before passing out towards the end of the trip and allowing an excellent photographic opportunity..... There was also the Assassin. This guy didn't move from the same position all day, the same expression on his face (accentuated by his shiny dark glasses) and a look of 'I've been watching you' as he stared in our direction once more. Boris was also there. A young kid of around 14 with a distinct resemblance to Boris Johnson from Have I Got News For You with larger than average build, rosy cheeks and foppish hair. And, of course, there was the Viking. We had first noticed the Viking when he strode along the beach, his long plaited beard dangling down to his navel, swinging as he paced along the sand. He had long dark hair too, flailing behind him in the sea breeze. Standing at over six feet, he was quite a sight and you could well imagine him wearing a spikey helmet, wielding a curved sabre, raping and pillaging before hoisting the skull and cross-bones and sleeping it off in the crow's nest. He was incredibly difficult to photograph and very wary of people staring at him, so when I waved my digital camera in his direction, I was met with a piercing stare and felt that I might soon get garotted. Eventually, though, while we headed home-bound, I snapped him. Hair everywhere. We stopped at Turtle Island - an animal sanctuary or something, off the Sithonian Peninsula and not far from Pethkahori. The diving board come plank was again set up, and most people dived into the sea only to discover that there were more than two dozen jellyfish floating around a few yards away. I, however, resisted the temptation to don the Mickey Mouse armbands once more, and decided instead to stay on board with Darryl and watch the jellyfish get closer and closer. "It's Turtle Island, not Dirty Island" the increasingly irritating captain announced over the microphone for the 947th time that afternoon. So back we headed, which was good because we'd all had enough of the sea and our 'nutter' captain was become annoying, tiresome and more and more unfunny. There was still time, though, for Mark and Emma to have their photos taken at the helm. Back to the coaches we trudged, looking forward to a beer and a good evening out - all except the Drunk who was nowhere to be found and assumed to be bobbing around the Aegean somewhere. When we got back to the hotel, we saw the Lauras who told us of the Gianni events of the day - he had sung 'Who Let The Dogs Out' when they appeared in the morning, and stared at Laura K's ample naked breasts from close range, claiming he was reading her book. Our conclusion was that he is a perverted tosser who shall regret his persistent leachery. The evening arrived and we met the Lauras at the bar before heading townwards. 'The Garden' was our chosen restaurant and very good it was too, although Laura K's fear of the stray cats and kittens distracted her from her meal. We drank cocktails in the Sunshine Lounge - mine being the 'Sunshine Surprise' and having secret ingredients (in stark contrast to the 'Top Secret' whose ingredients were given in ironic full detail), and headed to Love Street for some good old Amstels. After telling a few stories, the Lauras insisted we grab the night bus back to the hotel where I was accosted at the bar and Mark went to the Lauras room to drink some more. Eventually I managed to break away and join them, the highlight being the proposed balcony dash (jumping across the barriers between all the room's balconies) but this was shelved when Laura K announced she was going to do it, rather too loudly. When we left the Lauras, we walked through the bar, were given pulling tips by Bill the barman and told about the sexual practices of Ian and Ginny. DAY 12 - Friday 26th September Today was the day we had planned to go with the Lauras to the beach at Kallithea, a fairly quiet and remote beach 15km from Hanioti. Today was a day we envisaged away from the heat of being pool-side, away from leacherous Gianni and the piercing noise-making of Shriek (which was always closely followed by a sharp "BILLY"). Today was to be a day away from familiar faces and away from familiar surroundings. Today it was cloudy and we hardly saw the sun. However, the taxi journeys were interesting. It would appear that neither road markings nor traffic lights have any significance here, as we clearly drove through sets of red, ventured onto the grassy verge and overtook where forbidden. Accustomed to the persistently irritating bleep of his taxi radio, the driver casually sipped coffee through a straw as he blasted his way through the traffic, through the red lights, up the verges and overtaking lorries on blind corners where road markings and commen sense said otherwise. At last we located the beach, glared in frustration at the sky and lay down anyway. Not wanting to read like the other three, I took a stroll along the beach and headed for the rocky outcrop about a hundred yards along. I found a flat rock overlooking the sea, away from any road noise, kids or Germans, and sat on it, looking out across the waters and staring at the rocks. I thought about a few things - work, football, school, women, music - and eventually swanned back, shocked to find out that I had been reflecting for two whole hours. There was not a lot to do, so it was decided that one of us had to be buried in the sand. Guess who..... Correct..... I looked on as Mark and the Lauras scrabbled away at the sand, clearing a trench where I soon lay. They piled the sand on me, took a few photographs, and I had just enough time to wash off in the sea when the rain started. We dashed back to a nearby hotel where a taxi was summoned and before long we were streaming through traffic like shot through a gun, including a manoeuvre where we took about eight cars in one go..... Thankfully we arrived back in one piece, had a brief swim and got ready to go out. Not being able to decide, once more, on where to go for food, we ended up at the busy Italian restaurant for a pizza each, although the Lauras somehow managed chips and a salad too, putting to shame the quantities Mark and I had consumed. For somewhere different to drink, we went off into a side street, got greeted by a northern English girl and went into the bar. The music was loud, there was barely anyone there and we contemplated the day's events. The northern girl came over, took our orders for drinks and went off to pour them. We discussed the hair-raising taxi rides and the cloudy weather. "Let's pray for sun tomorrow" Laura G suggested, and proceeded to persuade us to link hands, close our eyes, get in touch with our souls and pray to God for sun. The candles flickered, a gentle breeze blew and we sent our telepathic messages to the God of Sun. "Errr, what are you doing?" we heard, as our prayer was interrupted and the waitress took a step back and rattled the glasses on her tray. We laughed heartily and were a tad embarrassed, but we did get her to photograph the scene when we re-enacted it and she said she'd buy us all a drink if it turned out nice tomorrow. Next stop was the Sunshine cocktails bar. Here, Laura G and I had an in-depth conversation about relationships and debated the 'all men are bastards' claim, whilst Mark and Laura G watched the world go by, taking the mickey out of anybody and everybody in the search for good looking people. The search proved fruitless (aside from present company!), although much amusement was had, and after some more photos we headed back to the hotel. DAY 13 - Saturday 27th September We saw Darryl and Emma at breakfast and they told us of a conversation they had with Gianni, whereby when Gianni yawned, Darryl asked if he had had too much drink, or too much umm-hmmmm, as Gianni had done to us on Wednesday morning. Darryl then enquired as to whether Gianni had a girlfriend - no - boyfriend? Not impressed, Gianni stormed off. The weather wasn't brilliant today, although Mark did sleep on the sun lounger for most of the day. Darryl and Emma, Mark and I splashed around in the pool with the frizbee and flat volleyball, being as noisy as possible. After having a competition to see if we could injure each other with the frizbee, we tired and I went off to watch the football. We went to Kassandra roof-garden restaurant for dinner, where the Lauras ordered mega quantities of food once more. Several beers, much banter and a good feed later, we headed off to do some karaoke where we met Darryl, Emma, Ian and Ginny. Ian had requested Wie Wam Bam and volunteered himself and Emma to sing it. However, when the time came, he bottled it, Darryl refused to take his place and I was roped into getting up to take part. I hoped that I might recognize the song once it got going, but sadly not, so I was stood like a lemon next to Emma, smiling at her not really knowing it either. We didn't have much time before the last bus, so I squeezed in a rendition of Your Song, downed my pint and we hurried for the minibus. When we went back to the girls' room afterwards, there was a knock at the door, it was one of the hotel staff claiming there had been a complaint about the noise we were making. A tad peeved by this, we reduced our conversation level to a mere whisper, then there was a tapping at the wall. By the end of the night, Mark and Laura K were writing messages to each other to minimise noise levels, whilst Laura G and I whispered on the balcony. After this, Mark and I went down to the bar where Darryl, Emma, Ian and Ginny were finishing their drinks. As has come to be standard over the past week or so, we reported in. The Hotel Hilltop El Dorado soap opera of 'are they, will they, have they, won't they' scandals has certainly developed and provided much entertainment for our fellow guests. We relayed the evenings events, answered questions, gave opinions, autographed books - that sort of thing - until the followers had had their fill and retired to bed. DAY 14 - Sunday 28th September "We're being discussed" Mark said when he and I were at breakfast this morning. "And now they're recruiting others" he added, and before we could say "fancy another egg on toast old bean?", the father of Shriek had come over, leant forward on our table with his fists and tried to intimidate us with his sad, fake, large 'gold' necklaces which made him look like a pathetic version of BA Baracas. "Are you the guys that go to see the girls in 24?" he growled, as his fat, bulbous wife waddled over with Shriek and hid behind him. "I suppose" "Can you keep the noise at night down a bit? The doors shutting and your talking keeps us awake". This would have been fine. His semi-assertive request would have been far more warmly responded to if his beached whale wife hadn't exaggerated BA's point with "yeah, it's been keeping us awake for three nights now, and we've got this little one who can't sleep, we're absolutely shattered". Thankfully, Mark hadn't really woken up yet and I told myself to calm down as I felt the heat of rage swell up inside me. Otherwise they would have had a swift response along the lines of "first of all you interrupt our breakfast, trying to intimidate us with BA here's tanned fists and sad jewellery and then you have the audacity to tell US to quieten down when it's YOUR child that noisily plays with its toys and irritates the hell out of everyone, and it's YOUR child that knows it can ignore its parents when they tell it to shut up because they won't do anything about it. Fair enough, we go back to their room for a drink on the balcony, but it's not late - it's only 1am, there's no music and we don't stay long". Now, of course, we are going to make as much noise as possible during Greek night and Darryl is going to engineer a decapitating frizbee accident for Shriek. War. There were a lot more people at Greek night than last week and we sit with the Lauras and immediately start taking the mickey out of everybody else there. Lots of silly photos and lots of Amstel later, I find myself on the dance floor with Lynn (a middle-aged woman who befriended us during one of several early evening drinks at the bar) forcing her to do air guitar in front of everyone there. Splendid. The rep turned up and had a dance, we went to the bar again and people began retiring to bed. Far too drunk to talk, I staggered upstairs leaving Mark to slur at people still drinking at the bar. DAY 15 - Monday 29th September Blatantly still drunk, I started the day with a ten minute conversation with myself. Breakfast beckoned and we sat with the Lauras, Darryl and Emma by the pool to wait for the coach. So, when it arrived, we settled down, said our farewells to Darryl and Emma and got on our way. Emma decided to firstly lift up her skirt thing to reveal her rear end (bikini'd up though) as we set off, and then chased after the coach, flailing her waving arms as we disappeared into the distance. The journey back was uneventful, aside from the hour long queue to check-in which we spent abusing the Lauras and staring at the lesbian monstrosity that we encountered upon arrival two weeks ago. Upon return to England, we caught the shuttle bus to the railway station where we intended to continue our journey in the company of the Lauras. Problem - trains to Watford necessitate travel into London then back out, and high cost. Options? Bus. So we said our goodbyes to the Lauras, got back on the shuttle bus to the airport and eventually caught the bus for Watford. The man at the train station had said it was a direct bus and should only take 45 minutes. Two hours later, we had endured the petulence of British youth, felt ashamed at the state of our country and arrived at the front door sensing that the post-holiday blues were about to get a whole lot worse. THE END
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