Saturday, September 23, 2017
Zante 2017 - Not part 4
Zante 2017 - FFS NOT PART 4
Note: lack of promised CIA funds to protect the guilty has lead to code names being used throughout this article.
Venue: Halfway House
Date: lunchtime, probably Thursday
Attendees: SK, DT, ST, MW, SG, Me, LR, TK
Security Level: Mild Gossip
Me: they made you dress as what?
SK: Leprechauns, it was very funny!
Me: it sounds like staff abuse to me, and vaguely racist.
SK: no, no, it wasn't racist, they made the Irish girl do it to! *mimes handing out leaflets* it was very, very funny (less conviction this time) I had a big head…
SG: I don't get it, how do you dress as a lesbian?
SK: *less sure now* no, not lesbian, leprechaun *mimes Irish jig, potcheen drinking and falling over*
DT: well short hair and DMs for a start…
SK: no, not les…
ST: …and dungarees, probably oil stained from their job in a garage…
SK: …bian *seeming rather unsure where conversation has gone*
SG: it just seems strange making you dress as lesbians, is it a gay bar?
SK: leprechaun, you know…*weak smile*
MW: fucking lesbians, what's wrong with just liking a bit of cock?
LR: why did you have a big head?
SK: *long, long pause, then quietly, pleading* you know Leprechaun…
TK: look at this video of SK teaching a mate to ski! *cue video of man falling arse over tit down ski slope*
SK: leprechaun…
And you're all moaning that I'm not doing a blog…
But look, you're here now, and we hit a bit of pregnant pause last time, so…
The Pikey Viking AKA Rag ‘n’ Bone Man, part two, and what a cunt he proves to be…
So, we’re all meeting at 19.00 sharp at the Contessina bar, as per. But boy, is it packed tonight, and we’re restricted to sitting in the NW corner of the bar, only just avoiding the ignominy of the pondy Pringles and Doritos display.
Luckily, there is an large gap on the west side so I go plonk myself down - right next to R’n’B man. Now, being a happy-go-lucky fella and generally, as I know you'll all agree, geniality personified, I say “hi” to the bloke and “how’s it going?”. I simply get grunted at, and have some beer drunkenly slopped over me. Fine, no bother. SG has summoned me away to the other side of the bar with the promise of a comfy chair and a good time, and I leave the troglodyte to his own musings…
So, now to the fun bit. Our seating plan ends up thus: I'm at the undesirable NW corner of the bar, with SG to my left, and DT to my right. Then running down the W side away from me are LR and MW, with a gap to our Viking god. So far, so meh. Unluckily for ST, she is last to arrive,and we all joke that as last down she has to take one for the team and suffer the wrath of our new friend. However, it soon becomes clear that this approach is not going to work…
Initially we’re all laughing at ST’s discomfort, but it soon becomes clear that there is a nasty edge to what's happening a few stools down. You know, ST is a strong girl doing and fantastic job for a major UK organisation, so she can most certainly handle herself, but she seems most uncomfortable. As do MW and LR. Where I'm sitting I can't quite hear what is going on, but all the girls look pretty pissed off.
As it's a fair list of misdemeanours I'll summarise:
He made sexual references to all three girls, regarding both looks and body shape.
He offered to show at least one of them his cock, while rubbing his groin suggestively.
He decided, without being asked, to join in our little “chink before drink” game, but being so drunk he ended up throwing his beer all over the bar and Sot.
A couple of minutes after the beer incident he decided it would be hilarious to whack ST on her arm as she was about to take a drink, covering her in wine. He just laughed and said “That's what I do when I'm out with me mates.”
Out with your mates? You're a 32 year old bloke on holiday with your mum and dad. Undoubtedly you don't have any mates and if you did I'm pretty certain stunts like that would have you sitting on your own again in quite short order, you complete and utter waste on DNA.
Of course we complained about his behaviour and weren't surprised to find out we weren't the first. As the week went on he got worse, causing an unfortunate older lady to spill her tea all over herself, being exceedingly rude to the bar staff and eventually earning himself a ban from the bar. Oh how we laughed when we found out he had already been barred from several other bar including Two Brothers and Drunk Moon, but most surprisingly Jolly Roger! He was actually banned from Jolly Roger 😳😳😳. I cannot even comprehend how awful his behaviour must have been for that to happen.
Fortunately his appearances during our stay were rather limited and didn't prevent the usual shenanigans of Raki, Ouzo and Baby Guinness shots from the lovely Sot, stories of derring-do in Austria and whether it was a wet or dry summer for all our favourite Greek boys (😂😂😂) being discussed in far too much detail but that, of course would all appear in a blog, which of course I'm not doing. And so, till next time…
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
Zante 2017 - Not part 3
Zante 2017 -not part 3
It should be noted that due to a huge influx of Russian bodybuilders and their husbands, names have been changed to keep the KGB, and the hairy behemoths, off our trail.
Location: south side of the bar, Contessina Hotel
Date: recently
Alcohol consumption: high
LR: That blog was much better, you almost said something funny
Me: What? I haven't done a blog, just an additional explanation why I'm not doing one.
MW: it was much funnier than the first blog, that's coz we were in it.
Me: seriously you lot, what the fuck? I haven't done a blog because none of you have done anything funny. Just because you fell down a drain and now can't feel your leg below the knee isn't funny, it's a medical emergency!
LR, MW, SG, ST & DT: whispers of “fully stacked it”, “trimalleolar ankle fracture ” and “surgery may be required” echo round bar, accompanied by much childish sniggering.
Me: are you all like 5?
MW: Oh stop being a miserable dickhead and just do another blog about how funny we are.
Me: I’M NOT DOING ANOTHER FUCKING BLOG!!!
SG: Yeah, and don't forgot the story about Sot’s mountain relatives being inbred with two dicks and big heads, comedy gold right there
Me: 😭😭😭😭😭
And as I have now firmly established in your minds that I am definitely NOT doing a blog I, can take the time to mention two of my favourite holiday subjects, shitty tattoos and stereotypical boorish Brits abroad. And this is a corker featuring one complete cockwomble who sits neatly in between the overlapping circles of that particular Venn diagram…
When I first saw him at the bar my first thought was that he was a Pikey Viking, but MW described him much, much better: Rag ‘n’ Bone Man.
Let's start with the tattoos. He has them all over including my all time favourite, tribal tattoos, both on arms and legs. Unless you are a fucking Maori why do you need tribal tattoos? For fuck’s sake…
There's so much more I could say about his various hopeless blotches of ink, but the one that takes the biscuit if not the whole chocolate coated selection box is the one that covers the whole of his back: a tattoo of Old Trafford evidently done with a John Bull printing outfit No.8 and a pack of child’s crayons.
Actually I only assume it's Old Trafford from the wonky legend “Manchester United” scrawled inexpertly above it. If I'm honest it looks more like Stamford Bridge to me. But this isn't even the worst of it as accompanying it are pictures of two MU legends that even Court Artist Julia Quenzler would be embarrassed by. Or, indeed, Emanuel Santos.
Honestly, the more I look at these things, the more I'm convinced that whoever committed these heinous crimes against body art was most definitely a Liverpool fan. As if the stadium drawing being so wonky it looks more like Le Dovre’s The Crabble than OT isn't bad enough, the legends pictures are just, well, laughable.
So I give you on the right shoulder, weighing in at approximately 350lbs, Cantona. I know it's supposed to be him coz it says so below the scrawl, but I promise you that the tattoo supposedly of Cantona, in his iconic hands-on-hips, 3/4 head shot pose is most certainly Desperate Dan. This could be the cause of the weight gain.
And so on to the left shoulder, weighing in with both feet at once, and a left hook for good measure we have Keane. Again, it says so, and this time it most definitely is Keane. Unfortunately for our Viking warrior the picture is without question of Robbie Keane, not Roy. I am barely able to contain my laughter as this dawns on me. I think a bit a wee might have come out.
Now, if you have been paying attention, I mentioned earlier that this man encompassed two of my favourite holiday gripes, only one of which I have illustrated here. Alas, due to the fact I'm not doing a blog, his further crimes against humanity will have to go untold, but thems the rules. Shame really, as that one would have been a corker…
Sunday, September 17, 2017
Zante 2017 - Not part 2
Zante 2017 - not part 2
So, this happened ( please remember that due North Korean spies insinuating themselves into westerners’ email accounts, real names have been redacted by MI5):
MW: such a shame you're only doing one blog while you're here.
Me: I didn't do a blog, I did a blog explaining why I'm not doing a blog
MW: yeah but that blog wasn't very funny.
Me: it wasn't a blog…
MW: they're really only funny when you talk about us lot anyway, who wants to read about half naked girls at Gatwick and rude Irishman on the plane?
Me: well the current read count is 12, but they didn't come to read a blog, they came to read about me not doing a blog.
MW: we’re much funnier than that shit..
Me: *looks at four really drunk people collapsed in fits of laughter as Sot the Barman demonstrates Teabagging*
Me: no, no you're not.
MW: fuck off we aren't, we’re bloody hysterical - there was that shit with the shoes and everything!!
Me: you want me to tell people Scott got drunk and lost his shoes and sunglasses? How is that funny?
*pause as we're interrupted by gales of laughter as Sot is now demonstrating Motorboating*
Me: I've been here two days and I haven't laughed once.
MW: *Pulling Joey face along with handbag expression*. Oh piss off Dartford, you're just no fucking fun anymore.
And that, ladies and gentlemen of the audience, is why I'm STILL not doing a blog this year…
However while I'm on there was this one thing…
Changes at the hotel are afoot with major restructuring due over the winter. This has led to the nice, comfy tall seats around the bar being replaced with some horrible temporary tin ones, more uncomfortable then a cricket ball in the nadgers. Seriously, unless your arse is skinnier than that of a particularly skinny child, you're going to be in trouble. They've also conveniently cut a slot in the top of the seat, ostensibly to let water drain off if it rains, but much more likely, in actual fact, to snag your bollocks as you stand up. Fucking shite.
And as if this testicular inconvenience isn't bad enough, there's the thought that our favourite bar in the universe is going to be changed 😳😳😳. Info is scant but worries are high…
Perhaps as I'm already here I should mention a couple of changes for the better. Firstly, jelly-armed Andy (AKA one-armed Andy AKA the shit evening barman,) has quit to try his hand (see what I did there? No?) at running a bar in Laganas. Don't worry if you've already ordered a beer from him, you should get it by the end of September (with the lid still on…)
This has meant the introduction of Stathis, a rather good looking young man it must be said, whose ability to open a beer bottle or uncork some wine has led to a much improved experience in the evening than previously, where you pretty much had to serve yourself if Sot was busy…or drunk…or missing in action.
The best change however is to the lunchtime bar. The loathsome, arrogant, bell-end of a barman “9” (seriously, what a cunt) has been replaced by lovely Nikos from reception. This doesn't mean Nikos isn't still doing some reception, he is. But when they worked out he was now actually working 27 hours a day they decided something had to give. So, and you'll have to try and keep up with me here, we now have this. A new nighttime Nikos, who replaces old nighttime Nikos once old Nighttime Nikos has finished his, sort of, early evening shift. Then we get new nighttime Nikos for the night, unless it's Nikki. It's usually still Nikki when we get up in the morning. All clear? Ok…
One other advantage of having Nikos (old nighttime Nikos, not new…) at the bar rather that the fuckwit “9”, is that you're now guaranteed to get the correct change…
One other change from last year has been the rehabilitation of Boring Barry, or BB to his friends. His sobriquet was earned when MW asked him one evening where he’d been for dinner. His reply was so long and convoluted we saw both sunset and sunrise before he’d finished, touching at all points from when he was born, his first wife, holidays where he had met diamond geezers and all points in between. I'm pretty sure it ended with him saying he'd just had a sandwich at the bar but we were all catatonic by that point so I can't really remember. However, once we got to know him he turned out to be a very amusing raconteur, and his nickname was was suitably amended. Which was lucky as the following conversation ensued:
BB: so why do you lot call me BB then?
MW: coz it stands for Basildon Barry.
BB: *makes index finger and thumb gun shaped gesture towards us*
BB: that is correctamundo
Seriously, you've got to love this man.
All has not been sweetness and light around the bar though. Firstly, BB’s incorrectly earned crown of class buffoon can, without question, now be passed to an individual we shall, for reasons noted above, refer to as Dai Davies. Make no mistake, this utter dullard could bore for Wales with his one topic of conversation - Rugby. I made the mistake of asking him who his footer team was (yes, I know, utterly dull in itself but we were all watching a Champions League game at the time). “No, you see,” he replied “I follows a real man’s game you see, rugby that is, you see.” At this point I realised I made a massive rookie error and excused myself for a piss (actually all I did was move to the other side of the bar). When I looked back his way later, to my horror he had the nephew in deep conversation. With odd snatches overheard including “funny shaped balls”, “hooker” and “leather, with bigger studs” it was hard to tell if he was still talking about rugby or a night in Thai brothel some time in 1975…
Realising it was unfair on nephew letting him take this one for the team, I vowed to apologise to him in the morning and went to bed. I can only assume the reason DT stayed up with DD till 3.15 was so he could consume enough Jameson’s to not remember the whole sorry incident.
As for the other incident at the bar, well dear reader, that would be a topic for an entire separate blog, which, of course, I'm not doing this year, so must remain untold…
Until next time…(circa 2018)
Thursday, September 14, 2017
Zante 2017 - Not part 1
A conversation went thus:
Me: “No”
Lisa: “Why not?”
Me: “oh I don't know, just not feeling it”
Lisa: “Why not?”
Me: “well, you know. Third time here in three years, same people, same restaurants, same shit, no one is going to be bothered by reading all that again.”
Lisa: “Why not?”
Me: “it’ll just be the same old same old. Paedo Elvis still singing in the pool, one-armed Andy still unable to serve drinks, Ronnie still having no concept of Health and Safety as he abseils down a building. It just be a boring old rehash…”
Lisa: “but what about your adoring readers?”
Me: “ah, there's no true art if it's made for an audience, as someone sagely said”
Lisa: “seriously Ian, what the fuck are you on about?”
And that’s the reason I announce, with heavy heart, that there will be no holiday blog this year.
Soz to those who may miss it…
However…
…it may just be worth mentioning a couple of things…
…such as the two girls in micro bikinis we’ve just seen. Tiny tops and g-string bottoms and any modesty they ever had protected only by a handkerchief sized piece of voile wrapped around their waists. I know I shouldn't be surprised by this on a Greek holiday but we’re still at Gatwick fucking airport for Christ sake!
And while I'm here I might as well mention the complete and utter inability of some people to count to one. Go on, try! It's really simple, and you can even hold up a finger as an easy guide to how many one is. Let's give it a quick go…
…one (holds up finger…)
…there couldn't be easier, no?
So how come we are held up the departure gate by a woman who quite clearly has two (holds up extra finger…gosh that's different from one!!! Oh Lordy lord!!!) large pieces of hand luggage? She really is struggling to understand the check in girl telling her, by indicating with a number of fingers held aloft, that this is not, in fact, one piece of hand luggage. She’s let through eventually on the understanding that she must combine two into one to board the aircraft.
Despite frenetic efforts including, but not necessarily limited to, emptying the contents of said bags on floor and trying again, jumping up and down on one of the cases and even at one point praying to god for everything to suddenly magically fit into one case, the fact remains that, unlike in certain movies you may have seen, two into one definitely won't go. During this performance her boyfriend remains stoically impassive - cap pulled down, Beats on, tunes playing - as the act plays out beside him. As we're called forward for our Speedy Boarding™ slot - which really should be renamed by EasyJet to some simpler and more accurate such as, say, Boarding - the girl’s in the process of putting on as much clothing as is physically possible wear, although figuring out how to wear six pairs of shoes is currently eluding her, much as counting to one already had.
We are then given an half hour bus ride to the deepest, darkest corner of the airport in the magnificent Globus Industries 2700 - surely the King of public transport, with its industrial opulence brilliantly designed to carry surly passengers, and their piece of luggage, in as little comfort as is humanly possible. Oh, by the way, when I said we were given a bus ride I in fact meant we were eventually given one, once they had unjammed Mrs Two Bags after she became wedged in the bus door due to the surfeit of clothing she was wearing…
As we're here perhaps a mention should be made of Angry Irishman and Long Suffering Girlfriend (AKA AIM and LSG)? It's seems from his rant, which starts pretty much as soon as he's parked his arse on he plane, that EasyJet are, and I'm quoting here, “A bunch of lying, useless cunts”, “Always out to fucking get me” and “Flying on fucking holiday my arse, stick it in your fucking hole”. This is all due to the fact we have been delay by - according to his obviously non-functioning watch been “A fucking hour already you useless fucking arses”. The delay has, in fact only been twenty minutes but perhaps he's already set his watch forward to Greek time?
Once we're aloft said useless cabin crew attempt to placate him with two Heinekens and a Kopparberg keg, following the well known tradition of what to do to calm down an AIM. When he loudly announces he’s “Never flying with you shitty bunch of losers again” LSG makes him swap seats and the whole plane breathes a sigh of relief.
Not, unfortunately, to be continued…
