Posts Tagged ‘Vacations’

Bonnie Charlie’s noo awa
Safely o’er the friendly main;
He’rts will a’most break in twa
Should he no’ come back again.
Will ye no’ come back again?
Will ye no’ come back again?
Better lo’ed ye canna be
Will ye no’ come back again?
No I bloody won’t, if I want plug holes full of pubic hair
I’ll holiday in France, ok it won’t be ginger but where I come from that’s not a big selling 

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We are on holiday in Spain at the moment. Here is my bulletin from last week.

Since the maintenance man unblocked the toilet (probably caused by the paella, chips, sausages, black pudding, egg, chips and leg of lamb  I had at The Old EDL and Trumpet the night before) everything has been tickety boo!

“Give it five minutes before you go in there mate,” I said. But he was in a hurry. Didn’t carry a gas mask. His pet canary saved his life. Shame the fumes from my evacuation killed it. The Birdman of Torremelinos I call him now.

Shirley’s sister Doreen administered first aid. “You’ve pulled sweetheart,” were her words as she dragged him towards her room.  She’ll have to pay for the new wardrobe though. And his counselling. He had no chance. Must be like making love in a tumble dryer.

We went on a boat trip to admire the crystal blue waters of the Mediterranean. I’ve never had sea legs. Life’s about Terra Firma for me.

Family legend has it that an On The Pot did serve as a Tar under Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar.  Horatio On The Pot came to a sticky end. Not in the heat of battle, but sneaking a crafty snifter from the barrel of brandy that Nelson was pickled in.   They say his dysentery was the inspiration behind pebble dashing. At least he left his mark. In several places.

We’ve met a lovely couple. Brian and Sandra. They are from Basildon. The posh part. He sells double glazing and what he doesn’t know about  glazing isn’t worth knowing about. I know because he told me. Often. Very often.

Sandra drinks heavily. Her and Shirley have formed a bond. Occasionally I can make out the words “Boring Twats,” from the pair of them.

All this whilst Brian advises me on developments in toughened safety glass. Give me strength. How long can a man sit in a restaurant toilet for? 4 hours last night………… At least the waiter passed a San Brobat Blue under the toilet door now and again.


Laters and Lids Down Gentlemen

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