The continuing diaries of an Englishman abroad visiting such exotic places as Spain, USA, Malta and heaven knows where. Tagging along are his wife Pauline and daughter Emma.

Everything you are about to read is based on true events and real people. It may have been embellished beyond recognition for a cheap laugh but everything happened to a greater or lesser degree. Apart from the bits I made up. OK, and apart from the jokes. And apart from the fantasy sequences. But all the characters are real, believe me.


Exciting isn't it?


Sunday, 15 January 2012

Cyprus 2000 - Day 2


We’re in Paphos, Cyprus, staying in self-catering apartments in what they call a hotel/apartment complex which basically means that not only do you have your own kitchen and bedrooms but also have many of the facilities offered by a hotel. The best thing is not having to get up at the crack of 8 or 9 am to go down for breakfast, we can take our time and do what we want when we want. Pauline’s already gone through her list of complaints with the receptionist – so no change there then and because of this I’m feeling at home already. Victor, our poofy rep. on drugs has arranged a get-together at the very civilised hour of 11.30 am. When we got there we sat down with about six or seven other couples/families who arrived at the same time as us. Victor performed his welcome speech and we were all finished within half an hour. I couldn’t help noticing the bloke at the next table to me had a ‘CFC’ tattoo on his upper arm That’s the insignia of the world’s worst soccer hooligans isn’t it? Won’t be making eye contact with him for the rest of the holiday that’s for sure. There’s also a middle-aged woman with some sort of tattoo covering most of her right shoulder and shoulder blade. Couldn’t make out what it was supposed to be though, it just looked like someone had been sick down her back. She wasn’t with the ‘CFC’ tattooed man so God knows what kind of people we’re mixing with.

I spent so much time concentrating on trying to figure out what the woman’s tattoo was that I didn’t listen to a word that Victor said. Consequently, whenever Pauline wanted to discuss the points that he’d raised I was on shaky ground. All I could do was um and ah and finally agree with whatever she said.

There’s a notice on the wall of our bathroom. It says :

IN ORDER TO AVOID BLOCKAGES YOU ARE KINDLY REQUESTED
NOT TO PUT ANYTHING DOWN THE TOILET
PLEASE USE THE BIN PROVIDED

Ever tried to poo into a pedal bin? It’s not easy. The art is getting your foot on the pedal and keeping it there, if it slips off…… oh calamity! I’m glad the maid comes in once a day to change the bin liner.

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