But I do.

Bert actually got up when I ask him to and before long we were downstairs having breakfast. We’d worked out how much we’d got left in sterling so the decision was made to fill up on breakfast so the next meal we’d need to eat would be just before we got to the airport.

Back in the room we packed up as quickly as we could and decided we’d walk to the local station and get the train to take us one stop down the line to Hull’s main station. Plans changed when we found a bus station on the same commercial complex as the hotel! This took us straight to the station in Hull.

As with our outbound journey our train tickets weren’t for the train we were about to catch but it didn’t matter. We’d paid full fair so it’s not as though we were travelling illegally and Laura had never had her tickets checked and neither did we on the way into Hull. The train pulled out the station and within seconds we heard the guard shout “tickets please!”

The guard pointed out that our tickets weren’t for travel on this train and Brad, doing all the talking as ordered by me, explained that we didn’t think it matter as we’d paid a fare anyway. We had two options. No.1. Pay a small fortune for two single tickets at full price into Manchester or No.2. get off at the next station, Brough.

An hour later, after I’d walked the length of the platform a few times, then the other platform, watched five trains come through the station, taken pictures and listened to camp classics we decided to take a walk into the town. Well actually I decided to go for a walk to small cafe/shop I could see just across from the station to go and get come drinks for us and Brad decided he’d come with. The cafe turned out to be a chinese take-away called the Station Supper Bar, worse still it was closed. This meant a walk into town which wasn’t too daunting as we were at a train station. Surely if you’re at a train station there has to be a small village or town centre nearby. Wrong! Fifteen minutes and four pubs later there was still no sign of a village centre and I was starting to think we’d been walking out of town rather than in. All we wanted was a newsagent we could get a bottle of coke, a chocolate bar and a newspaper.

Another fifteen minutes and finally we could see some shops on the horizon! Okay that’s not strictly true! First of all we couldn’t see the shops we could see the edge of a car park and secondly it wasn’t on the horizon. My pace increased slightly, if that was possible, as my excitement grew at the though of finally getting a coke and maybe a Mars bar! I was also excited about seeing civilisation which was just as well as that was all we got!

A florist, a bookies, a post office, a couple of estates, an architects and some nice benches and flower beds! No fucking newsagent! A Spar would have done. I’d even have paid the exorbitant prices in a Co-op by this point. Thankfully in the distance we spotted a bigger car park which could have been another set of shops and surely there must have been a newsagents there!

For once success was ours! There was more than a newsagent! There was a Morrisons! My distaste for Morrisons is on par with that of Kwik Save, Aldi, Lidl’s and buses but by this point I’d have drank the piss from a sweaty dog I was that thirsty! Two two-litre bottles of shite and a twix later we were heading back to the train station happy in the knowledge that I’d had a drink and some chocolate and a toy and the next train to come in would be ours! No eye candy on this trip just a guy being too loud on his phone and then coughing beer all of the seat but thankfully we soon pulled into Manchester Piccadilly.

Thanks to the delay at Brough we’d have to get the train straight to the airport to make sure we got there on time. Sitting upstairs in the departure lounge we bought coffees that we could refill as many times as wanted just in case we were delayed. As luck would have it we weren’t. Of course our luck wouldn’t hold out.

As we boarded the plane and grabbed the emergency exit seats I saw a familiar flash of black and green. The same fucking basketball team that was on the flight out was on our flight back. A million under-15′s trying to get into a plane made for four! I don’t so much mind the kids, although these ones were quite noisy, but it’s the useless parents and guardians who don’t keep them under control that’s more annoying. They seem to encourage it! I’m sure I heard one of the mothers say “yes darling, you run up and down the aisle as we take off and here’s €100, go get yourself a vodka and coke!”

Every five minutes or so the cabin crew would ask people to move down the plane and find a vacant seat so ignoring all the signs the kids took up the spare seats in the emergency exit rows. There are signs clearly stating that you have to be over eighteen to sit in these seats, which is an added bonus as far as I’m concerned, but the parents were ignoring this and telling kids to sit in the seats. And yes, there were ignoring them. How do I I? How can I be so sure that they’d seen the signs? Because Bert and I pointed it out to them! I desperately wanted to shout “told you so!” when the cabin crew moved them on!

This left two empty seats behind us which soon filled by a very snobby old bitch (very much like myself) who wasn’t at all happy that she was travelling with Ryanair. My consolation, and yes I am that bitter was that her husband had no choice but to put their bags in the only available locker space, one at the front and one at the back, which meant they’d be last off. To make matters worse she put her jacket on the back of Bert’s chair. This usually wouldn’t be a problem but she was very snooty and made no attempt to ask if he minded, which he did! So he put his back constantly wiping his dandruff on her collar and any creatures living in his hair. To be honest I think he came off worse with the bugs off her collar now in his hair.

Now, as most of you know I have a small passion for planes which has lead to me knowing a little bit about the process of landing. Not only that but coming into Shannon so many times gives you an idea of where you should be at what point. As the pilot announced “seats for landing” I knew we were too high and going too fast. What made things worse was that Bert knew it as well.

Once we’d bounced down the runaway the pilot finally managed to stop just short of the end, something that never happens at Shannon (well not to us!) and had to do a u-turn to head back to the taxi-way. This is the second time we’d bounced down the runway (the first time he managed to turn into the taxi way miles away from the end of the runway thankfully!) and just like then as we got off the landing gear was surround by official looking people all rubbing their head or holding their chin in their hands and going “hmmmm!”

A short walk to the car, an hours drive to Claregalway and we were soon in bed at the Dugggans who’d offered us a bed rather than go home and go back the next day to collect the animals. I slept well that night. Thankful to be home but filled with some great memories.

All in all I’d say we had a very successful trip. Of course I’m ignoring all the hiccups as in the grand scheme of things they just made the trip an adventure. Many thanks to Row for a wonderful Friday night, Laura and to everyone else for a wonderful Saturday night and Brad for a wonderful Sunday. I met some great people on the trip. I also ate too much, drank too much, was filmed too much, smoked too much, walked too much but all of it was very very much worth it.

Hopefully I’ll see you soon!

From various users:

- My pee bubbles bonded together to form the shape of an angelfish.

– 10 minutes later and this boy is still wiping cum out of his eye

– My dad ate my dinner. Now I have no dinner.

– Want to update my blog but anything more than 140 characters seems so 2008!

– When I find out who in my house took money out of my wallet, I’ll be breaking some faces.

– I have a secret dream that I’ll be walking round Rockefeller Plaza, bump into her and impress her with my wit and charm.

– Full of lovins

Walking into the surgery it was quite obvious someone else was paying although how work could afford this was beyond me given that their budget was cut by £3.5million in April. I wasn’t about to start complaining even though it took the receptionist a good ten minutes to actually to see to me because she was on the phone. To be fair when she hung up she apologised and by the tone of her voice whilst on the phone she was dealing with someone as annoying as me when I’m talking to a doctors reception on the phone. Mind you most doctors receptionist should be employed as bodyguards as fuck all gets past them!

In the glass waiting room filled with pine furniture I had the pick of a multitude of magazines, all new, all current and up-to-date and all in perfect condition. Sadly there wasn’t any Take-A-Breaks or Heat, it was all intellectual rubbish that I have trouble reading unless it’s out loud and with a ruler. Thankfully before I had to try and make my mind up Dr. Willseeyounow came through and very gently called me into his room. I’m not used to this kind service. At my doctors in Wales, if you were lucky enough to get an appointment, after you’d spent an hour flicking through a Woman’s Own from 1982, the only magazine available, you’d hear a faint crackle from the tannoy, some feedback, a hiss and then nothing. Five minutes later an irate doctor would storm out and shout your name and ask why you hadn’t come in when he’d called you over the tannoy!

Sat in the doctors office, a room bigger than the Albert Hall, with every conceivable diagnosis machine inside, he asked me all about the attack, how it happened and why I personally thought it had happened. After his examination of my injuries he suggested I had counselling, which I turned down. I know why he offered it but I really don’t feel there is any need. Yes it was horrible at the time and I’d rather not have gone through but I know it wasn’t aimed at me. They never are which makes it that little bit more acceptable.

He asked me if I felt okay to return to work and I explained that I’d had the Friday off and then the weekend plus Monday so felt fine and happy to go back. He said he’d rather I had a bit more time off so signed me off Friday!

So, now I shall fill my days with tweaking with my blog and playing WoW. Unless you can come up with any other suggestions!

I couldn’t tell you what time I actually got into bed after getting pissed but as per usual I woke up at 6am. The hangover hadn’t kicked in by that point, as I found when I got out of bed to go to the toilet. Getting there wasn’t the usual bleary eyed journey as though I was partially sighted but instead I used the wall and dresser as walking aids and then stood hanging on to the wardrobe until door came past so I could hope in and use the toilet.

Ablutions over with, another glass of water drank and one on the bedside table I went back to sleep. I woke again about 7.30am, took a look out the window and went back to bed again. At 9am I woke up again and that was it, I was wide awake. Thank God for the in-room comfort cooling system as the sun was shining through our window and heating the room up. Suddenly there was strange noise coming from outside. My first thought was that someone was dangling a cat out of a window or possibly it was stuck in the lift but after a long look out the window I discovered it was piper playing the bagpipes!

I could have quite easily killed him but instead I put the telly on, lay on the bed and drank my water.

I felt like death. No, I felt worse than death. If I moved I could feel my brain lolling as through my eyes were about to fall out. My mouth tasted like the pissed bride from the night before had broke into our room and puked in to my mouth and then invited all her friends to shit in to it and then empty the hotel ashtrays down my throat!

Apart from popping out for a few ciggies here and there and getting a drinks from the bar we basically spent most of the morning and early afternoon in the room. During my trips out, taken very slowly, I saw loads of men in kilts which is obviously why the piper was there.

Around 3pm we went down to use the hotel spa and I thoroughly enjoyed forty seconds in the sauna, a minute in the steam room, a couple of minutes in the Jacuzzi and then five minutes in the pool. I’d have loved to have stayed more but my head wasn’t really up to. As I got dressed I saw a text on my phone from Laura and Vicki saying that they were on their way so I went outside to wait for them. Once they’d arrived the three of us sat in the bar and enjoyed cokes all round which was fine by me as I couldn’t have taken anything stronger!

One thing I’ve always thought should be exceeded and not just met are my own personal customer service standards. I’m not one of those that believes the customer is always right but the customers opinions should always be valued and listened to. Now although the customer service hadn’t been bad during our stay the fact that the bed hadn’t been made properly and the awkwardness over the evening meal made me wonder just what would happen when I took my drink back because there was bright red lipstick (not my shade) on the glass.

The girl that had initially served me, as nice as she was, didn’t have the kindest face. She looked the type that worked her staff to the bone, hated the customers and hated the job even more. Thankfully a guy behind the bar saw me before she did and offered his services. I explained about the glass and he instantly apologised and began pouring another drink. He gave me a story about how it had been happening a lot recently and he’d got concerns that the glass washer was faulty. He also pointed out that I didn’t need to hear any of this and apologised again for the dirty glass. Brad had joined us by this point so I order his drink and when I offered to pay the barman winked and said it was on the house as compensation for the dirty glass.

All in all I was very impressed with the service but it was made all the better by the fact that the barman was gorgeous with the cutest smile! At 9.5 he was probably the second highest scoring piece of eye-candy I’d seen all weekend.

We had something to eat, which was lovely, and as Laura and Vicki left we headed back to our room for a lie down before our meal.

In the restaurant everything was laid out in a self-service buffet but was absolutely fantastic. I don’t have a lot of confidence in self-service hotel food but I think this stems from European holidays where there food was always vile and congealed. This was totally different. There was so much to choose from and all of it was stunning. Once done with we headed back to the room with drinks and enjoyed the night out there.

I know this a short entry compared to the other entries about the trip but this was literally all we did on Sunday.

Five minutes later I’m sat in the car and he comes out, locks the front door, opens it and goes back in. A further five minutes pass and he comes out but this time goes back in without locking the door. Finally at anytime between 8.15-8.30pm he comes and gets in the car and I being to pull out the drive. “Oh hang on, I haven’t changed my glasses!” he says and we have one more visit inside.

Being in a hotel and not at home does not change this.

“Are you nearly ready baby?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’ve just got to put my shoes on,” he replies.

“Okay, will you ring reception and book a taxi? I’m just going to nip out and have a cigarette, I’ll see you downstairs in a few minutes.”

“Yeah, I’ll do it right now.”

As I walk out the room I hear him on the phone to reception asking them to book us a taxi and as I bypass the various people milling around the corridors in wedding outfits and a pissed mother-of-the-groom I keep my fingers crossed that the reception will actually a book a taxi and Bert really did just have his shoes to put on. Two cigarettes later, after I’d been staring at the taxi Bert finally turned up.

The taxi ride to the restaurant was short and as we pulled up outside Ask everyone else was also just arriving.

The eight of us – Laura, Rob, Diana, Milly, Tracey, Vicki, Brad and me – sat down at our table and the problem of choosing what to eat began. I’ve never been a big fan of tomatoes and in my younger years was actually allergic to them. I blame my mother, so did the doctor, as tinned tomatoes were her craving during pregnancy and she overdosed on them.

Being in an Italian restaurant and not liking tomatoes meant the menu was quite limited. Thankfully just because I don’t like them doesn’t mean I won’t eat them, I just don’t like huge amounts so the menu wasn’t that limited. As it was I chose a dish that didn’t have tomatoes. It was small but beautiful – just like me – and I could have quite easily eaten it twice.

The next day Laura suggested the reason I got so drunk was because my portion was small and there wasn’t enough food in my stomach to soak up the alcohol. This may be partially true but the main reason would be that I’m a light-weight and cannot take my drink.

The dinner conversation turned to poo, wank socks and tissues, pissing in teapots and Pringles, much to the disgust of the people behind us who seemed to finish eating quite quickly and escape into the night. Pringles became the buzz word of the night and was shouted in varying places and tones followed by anything from willies, boobies, poo and mother-fucker, all in a tourette stylee.

Once the bill was sorted, a story I’m not going into, we moved onto the first bar a place called the Quay Side. It was, I thought, a very contemporary place with high backed stools at the bar and nice small tables around the place and quiet music so we could really talk and get to know each other. We toasted a glass to Kelly who initially was going to try and come over but didn’t in the end so she could spend her holiday time with the mister, and who could blame her? He’s obviously a wonderful man from the way she talks about him in blog and in person. We heart Mister – Send Kelly! The whole getting to know you thing didn’t really happen but instead we laughed, joked, drank and had a great time but as we left I realised I was still non the wiser as to who the new bloggers I was meeting were really.

Obviously I’d met Laura before during her mammoth travelling in May for the Berlin blog meet – a week at ours, then Berlin then a final week back at ours. I’d met Rob in Berlin as well and the entire time there I’d not once called him Bob, the second I see him outside the restaurant I shake his hand and say “Hi Bob, good to see you again,” and instantly apologised for calling him Bob. I’d also met Diana in Berlin and me and her sat and enjoyed a wine or four together in the restaurant and then in this bar. I’d met Vicki when her and Laura came to meet us at the station but the conversation went as far as grabbing a burger and where we were going that evening so she was just as much as stranger as the others. Obviously I knew bits about them from reading blogs but essentially they were, as I said, strangers.

During the walk to the next bar, a place called Zillis, I talked to each one, trying to make sure I got to know them all a little better and this carried on in the next bar. We sat outside as the night was warm and so the smokers, in the majority for once, could smoke. A half-pint glass of wine was thrust into my hand by Brad. I’d have complained about it being a half pint but he was too busy complaining about how the Amstel he’d ordered and they’d given him was not Amstel but some piss-poor replica or water-down rubbish.

Now, it’s from this point that my memory starts to become hazy. I’d like to say this is due to swine flu or SARS as that way I’d have a proper real forgivable excuse for forgetting a fair old amount but in reality I got trollied.

I know Vicki disappeared and came back a few minutes later with some fluffy light-up bunny ears for me which I wore all night, in fact when we moved on to a bar called William Wilberforce the DJ dedicated the first song we heard to “the man with the bunny ears.”

When I say DJ I’m actually using the term very loosely. I get very pissed off when people call themselves DJ’s when all the actually do is either play some MP3′s through a laptop or stick on a CD or two. Some of us were real DJ’s back in the day when you mixed music properly! Bastards!

Much more drinking followed and I remember at one point drinking something that looking like baby sick but tasted like Baileys. It turned out to be Banana flavoured vodka or something like that. it was horrible but I was past it so drank it.

Dancing followed to various camp classics such as Tragedy by Steps, Chain Reaction by Diana Ross and Reach for the Stars by S Club 7. Apparently someone has a video of me dancing and when you see the size of me you’ll realise when the camera is a bit shaky. The drinking, singing and dancing continued until it was time to move onto the next place. I didn’t realise it but by this point we were already one member down.

Heading to the next place Milly and I decided to make it a goal to get as many pictures with cute guys and girls as we could. Actually I think I made it my mission and Milly, bless her, joined it. This had actually been going on most of the night but now, as we walked, we became more determined to get even more pictures.
Sadly as we walked the fresh air hit me and my intoxication became worse. I remember almost falling in some ruins of something but it might have just been some road works. The state I was in was not good and in the end the decision was made that Brad and I should head back to the hotel. I honestly couldn’t tell you who made the decision but Brad didn’t seem to mind so we went and queued for a taxi. After thirty-odd minutes of waiting it arrived and I made sure the driver was told to drive slowly and carefully or I’d vomit in his cab. He was happy with this for some reason but I did assure him I would get plenty of notice if I was going to puke. I then proceeded to give him a lecture on being a taxi driver in Galway and how unfair it was on all the real taxi drivers as they were allowing anyone to be a driver!

Finally back at the hotel we stumbled into the lift and pushed the button for the fourth floor. We stopped at the first floor and in came a bride being held up by two bridesmaids and a man who just stood there laughing at her. So did we. For some reason the bride took a bite out of one of her bridesmaids as the lift filled with the shrill of “Michelle dernt beyte meh!” in the strangest accent I’d ever heard. As the doors opened the bride let go of her supports and she fell out the lift flat on her face, leaving a shoe behind. As the doors started to close Prince Charming (Brad) threw out the shoe to the pissed up Cinderella on the floor and the pair of us started laughing.

As we got in to the hotel room I turned to Brad and said “Now I’m not that bad am I?” Before he could answer I’d collapsed on the bed and demanded he got me a drink of water. With the window open and the

comfort cooling

system running I drifted off to sleep with the thoughts that I’d had a fantastic time, met some wonderful people, made some great friends and drank far too much.

So, here I am, in glorious Technicolor, pissed and waiting for the taxi. Apparently there is a video of me dancing but I don’t have it, haven’t seen it (don’t want to!) and know nothing about it. Brad took this one. The shame!

http://www.vimeo.com/6237869

Coming soon… the morning after!

P.S. All the pictures are clickable for a bigger version.

Waking up in one the most comfortable beds in the world is not something I like to do when I have plans. This is what happened on the Saturday morning after our Friday night in Manchester with the lovely RowTheBoat. Because we had plans it meant we had no choice but to get up and I really could have just lay there for hours. I hate our bed at home now. Mind you I did before but now my hatred has fuel!

Once awake and polished Row passed the coffees round and then offered to take us to the train station. Rather than suffer the indignity of a bus we I jumped at the chance, stopping in Didsbury first to get some personal items from Boots The Chemist (are they still called that or is it just Boots these days?) and activate our new Halifax Visa Electron cards at the nearest Branch.

I hate Ryanair with a passion but lets face it with Bert out of work and me having a demanding social life sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and fly cattle class. Ryanair know that no matter how many add-ons to the pricing structure they make you’ll still fork out the thruppence-halfpenny to fly with them as it’s better than paying the £200 per person per journey with British Airways or the three camels and your first-born to fly with Ethiad or Emirates. So everyone, including us, does all they can to bring the already Lidl value Ryanair fare down to a figure even a pikey would pay. To this end we got UK registered Electron cards as it’s the only credit/debit card you can use on the Ryanair website where they don’t charge you a million pound fee for using it. Electron cards are not available in Ireland so we got one from a UK Halifax and had them sent to my parents address, lying on the form that we were living there.

“Just complete the form, photocopy your passport, send it all in and your account will be opened and you’ll get your card!” said the application form! Seven to ten working days later our cards arrived at my parents and my mother forwarded them on to us. Brad rang the ‘activation line’ on a sticker stuck to the front of the card only to be told that we have to go into a branch with our I.D. Great! So we get the cards and can’t use them! Bastards!

“But we’re living travelling around the Ireland at the moment!” cries Bert, hoping his tears will convince the guy to activate the cards.
“Oh well,” he says, not really caring, “see you in a branch!”

So after a few more calls back and forth to the Halifax we’re assured that when we got into any branch with just our passports we can activate the cards and the accounts and have access to the £160 that is currently sitting in there doing nothing.

The girl in the Didsbury branch was lovely and had the kindest way of telling us there wasn’t a hope in hell of these cards being activated without a utility bill.

“A utility bill for a house we don’t live at in a country we don’t live in?” I nearly shouted. Instead I just seethed a little showing her how upset and gay I’d become if she didn’t activate them there and then and Bert whimpered a little knowing that once I’d finished telling her how fucking shite the Halifax is he’d suffer the mood and shouting and swearing for the rest of the day.

Either the smoke beginning to come from my ears or the look of utter horrow from Bert took effect on her and seconds later she handed our cards back and smilingly told us they were activated. In my head I knew that the second we got to the ATM they would be swallowed and we’d be arrested for falsifying our address details. That didn’t happen. Instead we took out the money peacefully and went for breakfast with Row into a cafe I could have sat in all day. Of course that couldn’t really happen as we had a train to catch.

Row delivered us to the train station in plenty of time for our train. Four hours early in fact, but this was at our choice not hers. We could check into the hotel in Hull from 2pm onwards but the train we’d booked on wouldn’t get into to Hull until around 5ish. Bert suggested we get an early train and Laura had said her ticket never got checked whenever she used it so to hell with it we’d just use a earlier one and enjoy the benefits of the hotel spa before meeting the other misfits in town.

We’d pre-booked our tickets about four years earlier to get them nice and cheap but all the damn machines that actually gave you the tickets had decided they didn’t like my credit card we’d booked with.

“Is it an Egg card because the machines don’t like them?” shouted a Virgin customer services guy. He worked for Virgin, he might not have actually been a virgin. Well he was at one point. Enough!
“No, it’s a Halifax card,” I replied.
“Is it Egg?”
“No it’s a Halifax Ireland Visa!”
“They don’t like Egg cards.”

Eventually the man that was actually trying to help and not the one shouting about farm produce took to his desk and printed our tickets out manually.

“Now, you must travel on the train you’re booked on, don’t go earlier ones as you’ll pay a fortune if you’re stopped.”
“Yes sir, thank you sir, of course sir, we’re good boys sir,” we said as we backed away and headed for the train sat at the platform. The train we weren’t supposed to be getting on. As we stepped on to platform 1 the whistle blew and we missed it anyway.

We sat in the station cafe for an hour until the next train, again not our scheduled service, arrived and we jumped on. Sure enough no one checked out tickets and while Bert read his Memoirs of a Geisha, I listened to various camp classics, took pictures and stared at the eye candy sat a few seats away. I’m sure he was quite concerned by my drooling but he never moved or said anything and stayed with us all the way to Hull.

Hull train station is like a mixture of something from Miss Marple and Grand Central station. It’s respectfully old and looked after but also tiled with echoey high ceilings. Laura and Vicki came to meet us and once the group hugs had finished and the passers by had stopped trying to figure out who was with who we grabbed a burger from McDogfoods and then went our separate ways. The girls to drink booze with the reprobates we were meeting later and us to our hotel.

Ever the one for forward planning (if you believe that you’ll believe anything) Brad had booked and paid for an evening meal in the hotel but part of the package stated we had to use on the first night. Well that was pointless as on our first night we were heading into Hull to get trollied so before we left Ireland he rang the hotel group and asked if we could change it for the Sunday. The agent said yes and just to talk to reception about it when we arrived.

“Orrr nurrr, we can’t do that!” said the Hitler-esque (fablous party-planner!) receptionist.
“But I was told on the phone I could!” said Brad.
“Nurr, we’re not allowed.”
“Well I don’t want it tonight, we have plans.”
“But she turld you on the fern that you could change it?”
“Yes.”
“Well as she turld you on the fern that you can change it I’ll change it.”

So, it was that easy! Why she couldn’t have just done it straight off is beyond me!

We were given our room cards and off we went. I hate ‘room cards,’ I’d much rather go back to the days of keys and key-rings the size and weight of a doorstop with the name of the hotel on so that you could wave it about and let people know which hotel you were in. Of course this kind of thing was only worth doing if you were staying in the Hilton or suchlike but even than some random skank would get a gander at your room number and while you were waving your key about talking about how wonderful the mini-bar is he’d be stealing your jewellery and mini-soaps and showercap!

The room was not like the picture, but they never are. We didn’t have a jacuzzi bath that we’d hoped for, or an iPod dock that the website hinted at. In fact, our bed hadn’t even been made properly but to be fair it was a nice enough room and clean. The brochure said our room came with ‘in-room comfort cooling’ which turned to be an opened window and a fan. We did have a big flat-screen TV through which made me annoyed that we’d only bought rucksacks! How the hell was I going to get that into it!

We relaxed on the bed for a while and then the usual “going out” routine took place. Bert had a shower and I ironed all the clothes. We rang reception to books us a taxi to the restaurant and our night out was about to begin.

Coming soon – The night out… the video of me pissed and my own little musical tribute to the night.

Then I got to work.

I was informed that Beej had been a tad ‘problematic’ while out on the bus. You remember him? Beej is the one who beats up the staff and rips their clothes. Beej is the one who started targeting me so I had a week or two away from him. That week or two actually turned into nearly seven weeks!

So, he’d been a bit ‘naughty’ while on the bus and was currently being kept in a lounge in a different unit while the plumber finishes off in his place.

An hour or so later the plumber was gone so it was time to take Beej back. Unfortunately he was naked. More clothes were given, which he tore straight away, so another set was then given which this time he kept on. Until he got outside. By this time it was too late to head back so we carried on to his apartment.

He was given another set of clothes and offered a walk but within seconds he was naked which is his way of saying, and I believe it’s universally known, that he didn’t want to go for a walk and would much rather stay inside, drink tea and do jigsaws.

Jigsaw one went out the window. As did the tea cup and his clothes. Jigsaw two went out about an hour later followed by another cup and his shoes and a towel.

It was quite obvious he still wasn’t in the best of mood but I can’t ignore him. I’m paid to help him and look after his needs so I couldn’t just shut myself away in the kitchen. He had to have a drink and his dinner.

You must have an idea of what’s coming by now? Yes?

His dinner was left on the radiator and I shouted from the kitchen that it was there. I went and fetch the only plastic cup left, that he’d once again chucked outside and then went to ask him if he wanted another drink. My mistake was not looking through the peep hole to see where he was.

I flung open the door and began to say “would you like a cup…” That’s as far as I got. Before I knew his big hands hand hold of my arms and he began throwing me into wall. I didn’t realise my head made such a hollow empty sound, which is quite worrying.

He paused for a second and I could see he was obviously confused as to why my tee hadn’t ripped. I pressed my alarm as his hands grabbed the sleeves of my tee and the process of banging my head on the wall began again only this time it was on the door frame and on the wall.

I pushed against his chest, which confused him and made him look down, as we’d been trained, and this gave me the chance to step back and head for the kitchen. Just as got to the door his hands came down and made contact with the neck of my shirt and within a millisecond it was shredded.

I slammed the kitchen door shut and leant against it and began to giggle. I told myself off for giggling. Literally out loud I said “you’ve just pushed the alarm and you’re laughing! They won’t find it funny!” As one of the staff came running in … five or so minutes after I’d pushed the alarm – how helpful! … he put his hand on my back and said “are you okay?” at which point I burst into tears and started spouting off about how I was sick of the place, sick of Beej and sick of getting injured! He understood. Thank fuck!

A few minutes later my manager turned up – one of the good ones – gave me an ice pack and took me to another unit where me and her sat down and talked. She examined my head which has a lovely red mark on it and I got some pain killers for the amazing headache I had coming. She sent me home and told me to call in sick if need be tomorrow. I will be.

I love my job.

The flight was boring and uneventful. I’m ignoring the fact that we had a basketball team on-board – all under 15 – and a hen party.

So far every flight we’ve had this year has had a hen party on it! They’re always in pink cowboy hats and tee-shirts with names on such as “Shaggable Sue” and “Munchable Mandy” whereas it should have been “Syphilis Sue” and “Mannish Mandy.”

Both groups clapped as we landed which is something that has always got on my nerves. I think it goes back to vile package holidays and flying back to England surrounded by straw donkeys and sombreros.

Finally they let us off the plane and as we came through customs I realised that not once person had checked my passport. The only time my passport had been involved in the trip so far was when we put it in to check-in on-line! It’s just as well I’m not a terrorist.

Practically running out of the arrivals lounge, anything to get away from the hen party and/or basketball team, we were greeted by the big smiles of the gorgeous Row and massive hugs all round. Up one floor in the massive lift, into the car and out the car-park – or so we hoped! No one had one bothered to put signs up saying that the car-park exit was broken and we couldn’t pay there! As no one had put signs up Row just put the parking ticket in and then her credit card, neither of which were forth-coming in returning. When they finally did the card spat out and hit the floor and the machine gave out two tickets! So, leaving the car behind and watching other drivers reverse Row had to run off and find a pay-station. Thankfully minutes later we were heading off for Chez Boat!

We chatted for a while, drank coffee and met Row’s rather attractive lodger. A quick change of clothes and we headed off to Shimla Pinks in Manchester.

What we had was quite literally a banquet, in name and in presentation! The starter, brought out by very friendly staff, was more than just a starter! It was six starters in one and each one was just as tasty as the other. I’d be hard pushed to choose one I would call my favourite but the Joojeh Seekh Kebab and the Dum Saunfiya Paneer were out of this world!

Washed down with a lovely bottle of wine, well I thought it was as I chose it, the empty plates were soon removed and out main course brought out.

Five different dishes to choose from, not including the rice and naan bread and as with the starters each one was just as nice as the other. The Daal was out of this world! I’ve never been a big fan of Daal as I often think if it’s left too long it can turn into baby food but this was perfect and I could have eaten more and more of it.

More wine followed and then came the Mango Kulfi. I’ve been to restaurants in the past and on the menu it’ll have some form of fruit flavoured Kulfi but when it comes out you can tell it is just ice cream from a wholesaler and not the Kulfi you actually wanted. When this came out you could see straight away it was real Kulfi, and if looking wasn’t enough the taste said it all.

While Row and Brad had a liqueur coffee I ended my meal with a nice smooth glass of Hennessy XO. I was in heaven. Food, fine wines, fine Brandy and fabulous company! What more could a queen ask for?

Brad asked for the bill and in a hushed voice said “this can’t be right!” The bill only included the alcohol. Before he could raise his arm and question it Row pointed out that when she’d booked it she’d paid as well! God bless her! We paid for the drinks and then headed off to a bar called Mojo! Although they did various different beers and spirits and wines the bar was mainly, I guess due to the clientele, a cocktail bar. Of course this suited me down to the ground! I spent the night drinking Mojito’s and staring at the barman! Now he wasn’t the most attractive man, generally speaking, but there was something about him. I think it was probably his cocktail making skills! In the time it took for him to make seven Mojito’s I’d still be plucking and shredding the mint!

It wasn’t long before we were joined by friends of Row’s. A chap called John and two of his friends, who’s names I sadly forget. I say sadly because the tall one was rather gorgeous and spent some of his night with his arm around me! None of them seemed to understand how we’d met so, just like the Birmingham mini-blog meet and birthday bash, we left them to think we were swingers and wondering on which site you could meet two such good looking fellas as us!

A thousand drinks later we stumbled home… in a taxi. Coffee’s and more chatting later and we headed to bed. Row had kindly given up her bedroom for us and although I felt guilty when we first found out I have to admit to being a little pleased at having a bed to sleep in. As much as I’m sure Row’s floor would have been perfectly fine the bed was superior.

There ended our Friday, and although the day had been a bit shit and busy the night certainly made up for it.

Thanks again to Row for collecting us, keeping us and everything else she did. It was very much appreciated.

You’re a star. Mwah x