Coaching lesson

Ploggers, I have been on holiday.  But I have returned with tales of Ploggy goodness, with which to keep you entertained.

So Mr and Mrs Nunn, TheBloke (TM) and I went off to Portugal for a week.  It was lovely.  Sunny, good food, good company (apart from the people I travelled with), and generally nice to have a break away from work.

Now, many people seem to enjoy boasting about their holidays, but I find that rather dull.  Holidays are supposed to be good; that's why you go on them.  Surely it's much more interesting to hear about the bits that went wrong.  Like the time in Hong Kong where I had to do a mime for toilet roll, or the time in New Zealand where I was so spaced out on a sleeping pill I watched my own suitcase go round the carousel for about 20 minutes.  Or the time in Hong Kong where I accidentally spent an hour with a prostitute.

So...  introducing the Portugal half day tour from hell:

Now, I’m never a fan of organised tours at the best of times.  I don’t really like coach travel, I’m not (brace yourself) really that interested in history and I don’t like being frogmarched from “interesting” site to site.  To be honest, I’m happier in a nice restaurant or sitting in the sun with a book.

But, Mr and Mrs Nunn fancied doing a coach tour, and as they’d treated us to the holiday, we felt it was the least we could do.  So up we got at 8 am. and joined “Paradise Tours” for their half-day excursion to Crud-on-Mountain and Shitty-Old-Castle.  Still, only half a day, how bad could it be?

The first hour of the tour was probably the best.  This involved going to all the other hotels in the area to pick up more passengers.  I can honestly say this was the highlight of the tour.  And once this had finished, the tour guide got on board.

"Welcome to Purgatory - I mean Paradise Tours," he said.  We laughed politely, thinking it was a joke.  Little did we know.  "My name is JC.  Like Jesus but better.  Excuse me, madam, excuse me?"

A befuddled tourist looked up from a text message she was composing.  "Please to be turning off your mobile phone.  People have paid to listen to me, not to you.  And that goes for everybody.  Please to be turning off all of your mobile phones.  Not allowed today."

I thought he was joking.  He wasn't.

Our first stop was Shitty-Old-Castle.  He didn't tell us anything about the site, so I can't relay any historical nuggets.  We were allowed one hour at Shitty-Old-Castle, which did not include the entrance fee to the castle.  I spent twenty minutes of my hour's allowance queuing at Shitty-Old-Castle public toilets, which did not have toilet roll.  Here is a picture of me with Mr Nunn, enjoying the coach tour.

Back on the coach we got, for our onward journey to Crud-on-Mountain.  The next twenty minutes were taken up by JC explaining how lunch worked.

"You see, lunch is not included in tour price, but for very good price, I can get you meal in restaurant here."  He pointed at a shack, perched in the middle of nowhere.  "I need to know who want chicken and who want fish, and we go here at 1 p.m. after we have been up mountain."

"Isn't this supposed to be a half-day tour?" someone asked.

"Half day mean anytime so you back in hotel before dinner.  Who want chicken?  Those of you who aren't to be wanting lunch must wait for us outside for one hour."

We looked at the outside of the restaurant.  There was a petrol station and a goat.  This would keep TheBloke (TM) entertained for 30 minutes at the most.  But we had brought our own sandwiches so there was nothing we could do.

Onwards we went up the mountain.  We got to the top.  "OK, so we take hour for lunch but not yet.  Be back on coach in 20 minutes."

Unfortunately the non-English speakers didn't understand him, and some were still wandering around Crud-on-Mountain 30 minutes later (Christ only knows what they were doing, as the gift shop sold only things that a mental person would want, and it was cold as buggery outside).  As the straggling tourists were rounded up one by one, JC shouted at them, "You are disrespectful!  I don't give a crap!  I leave you behind!"

Finally, with everyone on board, we pulled away.  Or would have done if the coach hadn't chosen that exact moment to break down.

"New coach is on its way.  Nobody is allowed to get off coach!"

It was hot on the coach, and JC was eventually persuaded to open the doors.  "The doors are now open on the coach but you  may NOT get off!  Stay on coach!"

After an hour, he relented and allowed us to go to the snack bar.  After five minutes at the snack bar (which sold hot dogs, burgers, sandwiches, nothing you could call a meal), he came into said snack bar and started shouting at us again.  "Coach arriving in half an hour!  Do not order a meal!  You have enough time for a sandwich but no-one is allowed to order a meal."

We did make it back to the hotel, eventually.  I, for one, am not looking forward to any Second Coming by JC.

Orange you glad I met you?

As a non-traditional woman, working in a man's industry, and - to boot - as an atheist, people often ask me why I bothered getting married.  It was certainly never at the top of my to-do list, or of the things I desperately wanted to do with my life.

But I was asked, and, for better or for worse, I decided that yes, I guess I could do worse than spending the rest of my life with TheBloke (TM), besides which, he told me he had a diamond mine, and all South Africans do.  I haven't seen it yet, but I definitely believe him.  And so off to South Africa we toddled and had ourselves a wedding.

Lovely.

And sometimes, let's be honest, we all think, "Oh God, what have I done?"  These moments are usually limited to:

• Him kicking me in the night (he claims I'm on his side of the bed, and actually that I was kicking him, but he should have known my foot wanted to go there and got out of my way)
• Him stealing my shower gel, because he likes the way the tea tree and mint tingles his man parts
• Actually, that's about it.

And other moments, I just know I made the right decision.  Like today.  I got home from work.

"Guess what?" asked TheBloke (TM).

"What?" I - let's face it - predictably reply.

"At Liverpool Street today, I saw Belinda McOrange!"

"Hmm," I said.  I was fully aware that TheBloke (TM) had never met Belinda McOrange, so was unsure how he had identified her.  "How did you know it was her?"

"I recognised her from those school reunion photos," he said.  "I thought, 'Do I know that girl?' - then I realised I only knew her from those orange photos."

"Oh," I said.  "That's very impressive.  I find it hard even to recognise people I know quite well when I see them out of context.  Well done you.  How did she look?"

"Short," he said.  "Orange.  A bit chunky.  Not bad at blow jobs though."

I made the right decision.