I am returning to the UK for a short trip to celebrate my lovely friend Hazel's birthday hence the sporadic posts over the last few days!!! My UK posts will be lumped together so you may get several days' worth of whitterings in one post.
I am sat in Paphos Airport departure lounge awaiting my flight to Bristol. I am people watching...
...it is warm and relatively quiet in the coffee bar where I have one eye on the electronic information board and the other on a couple sat next to me. They look like candidates for Love Island - she is feeding the guy sat opposite her with nuts so I have come to the conclusion that he has lost the use of his hands poor chap. She has such over-plumped lips that the possibility of consuming a small nut is nil and I am worried that if she were ever to be involved in an emergency stop she would be permanently suctioned to the windscreen. Said plumping has seemingly travelled down to her arse which is struggling to be contained in her stretchy velour "Juicy Couture" track suit which on closer inspection does not appear to be the real thing so may be more like "Joosie Curture".
They could be English but speak in such a "street" accent is is hard to tell - I think I have made out "Awwwww babe it's like mega innit?" but I could be wrong!!! God help us she is now struggling to 'sip' a glass of wine because her pneumatic lips seem to make it impossible for her to feel the rim of the glass. Her Babe opposite is in a mood and finishes the end of each of his sentences with "End OF!!!" I have this awful feeling I will be sat next to them on the flight - that will be just my luck Babe - innit?? This could only be topped by having to spend the flight sat near a small child and my worst fears were realised when we boarded and I shared my wonderful and unexpected extra leg-room row with a couple and a rugrat - this could only mean four and a half hours of utter purgatory.
The parents were clearly in the early stages of wedded and family bliss with a new baby as the mum mentioned she already had older children. The dad was no spring chicken nor a good looker and he spoke to mum as if she were somewhat mentally challenged. Baby had about a million names: Ruby Rose Amber Jade Coochy Coo or similar and was ginger - nuff said!!!
I christened Dad "Mr Mansplain" because he insisted in spelling everything out to his wife even when such explanation was unnecessary. I began to wonder if they had met on the internet and he had used an ancient photograph of himself as now he was relying on Grecian 2000 or that dodgy matt black hair-dye that Cypriot ladies favour because his mullet sat on his head like a helmet and Mum had clearly used what was left over - maybe she had committed herself online before seeing him in the flesh and now it was too late (either that or he was loaded!!!). No greater love has a woman than to share the dregs of a Cypriot Black hair-dye with her man!!
My cup ranneth over when he changed from his seat to sit next to me so that Mum could keep Ruby Rose Floppsy Mopsy Cottontail amused by looking out of the window and then I realised that he had already heard me speak so I couldn't pass myself off as Ukranian and he was probably fluent in that anyway if he had been a regular internet dating site visitor as I suspected.
When Mr Mansplain settled down beside me I saw, to my amusement, that he was wearing something akin to an Elvis quiff wig - the tell tale sign being the wispy grey threads of hair poking out of the bottom.
We were informed that there was little to no food on board, which I already knew because Angela had told me when we met going through the departures gate - apparently we should have received a text in advance which would have given me the opportunity to grab something in departures. No knowing when I would be eating again my only option was an attractive sounding chicken pesto focaccia which was, in reality, about as appetising as eating four Jacobs cream crackers in one go without a drink. This bagel sized challenge was to keep me occupied for at least half of the flight and I think I actually expended more calories than I consumed trying to munch my way through this little delicacy!
I settled down with my magazine for the remaining half of the journey, an ageing copy of Woman and Home which cost me a small fortune at the airport. Mr Mansplain kept reading over my shoulder although I think the two page spread on women and their vibrators might well have been a step too far although he seemed pretty interested in the piece about Kittenfishing - which is when someone internet dates and uses a much younger photograph to catch their match. Old Mr Mansplain knew all about that little item - maybe he even wrote it!!! Anyway I was to learn that Elvis Mansplain was 60 and his wife was in her 30s and they would be moving to Cyprus in about six weeks' time. To be fair their baby, Pugh Pugh Barley McGrew Cuthbert Dibble Grub was actually pretty quiet throughout the flight but that was down to Mum taking full responsibility for keeping her amused and in so doing keeping me happy.
Flight done, car hire sorted, Angela and Richard dropped off, successful arrival at Hazel's. BOMBA!!
I am sat in Paphos Airport departure lounge awaiting my flight to Bristol. I am people watching...
...it is warm and relatively quiet in the coffee bar where I have one eye on the electronic information board and the other on a couple sat next to me. They look like candidates for Love Island - she is feeding the guy sat opposite her with nuts so I have come to the conclusion that he has lost the use of his hands poor chap. She has such over-plumped lips that the possibility of consuming a small nut is nil and I am worried that if she were ever to be involved in an emergency stop she would be permanently suctioned to the windscreen. Said plumping has seemingly travelled down to her arse which is struggling to be contained in her stretchy velour "Juicy Couture" track suit which on closer inspection does not appear to be the real thing so may be more like "Joosie Curture".
They could be English but speak in such a "street" accent is is hard to tell - I think I have made out "Awwwww babe it's like mega innit?" but I could be wrong!!! God help us she is now struggling to 'sip' a glass of wine because her pneumatic lips seem to make it impossible for her to feel the rim of the glass. Her Babe opposite is in a mood and finishes the end of each of his sentences with "End OF!!!" I have this awful feeling I will be sat next to them on the flight - that will be just my luck Babe - innit?? This could only be topped by having to spend the flight sat near a small child and my worst fears were realised when we boarded and I shared my wonderful and unexpected extra leg-room row with a couple and a rugrat - this could only mean four and a half hours of utter purgatory.
The parents were clearly in the early stages of wedded and family bliss with a new baby as the mum mentioned she already had older children. The dad was no spring chicken nor a good looker and he spoke to mum as if she were somewhat mentally challenged. Baby had about a million names: Ruby Rose Amber Jade Coochy Coo or similar and was ginger - nuff said!!!
I christened Dad "Mr Mansplain" because he insisted in spelling everything out to his wife even when such explanation was unnecessary. I began to wonder if they had met on the internet and he had used an ancient photograph of himself as now he was relying on Grecian 2000 or that dodgy matt black hair-dye that Cypriot ladies favour because his mullet sat on his head like a helmet and Mum had clearly used what was left over - maybe she had committed herself online before seeing him in the flesh and now it was too late (either that or he was loaded!!!). No greater love has a woman than to share the dregs of a Cypriot Black hair-dye with her man!!
My cup ranneth over when he changed from his seat to sit next to me so that Mum could keep Ruby Rose Floppsy Mopsy Cottontail amused by looking out of the window and then I realised that he had already heard me speak so I couldn't pass myself off as Ukranian and he was probably fluent in that anyway if he had been a regular internet dating site visitor as I suspected.
When Mr Mansplain settled down beside me I saw, to my amusement, that he was wearing something akin to an Elvis quiff wig - the tell tale sign being the wispy grey threads of hair poking out of the bottom.
We were informed that there was little to no food on board, which I already knew because Angela had told me when we met going through the departures gate - apparently we should have received a text in advance which would have given me the opportunity to grab something in departures. No knowing when I would be eating again my only option was an attractive sounding chicken pesto focaccia which was, in reality, about as appetising as eating four Jacobs cream crackers in one go without a drink. This bagel sized challenge was to keep me occupied for at least half of the flight and I think I actually expended more calories than I consumed trying to munch my way through this little delicacy!
I settled down with my magazine for the remaining half of the journey, an ageing copy of Woman and Home which cost me a small fortune at the airport. Mr Mansplain kept reading over my shoulder although I think the two page spread on women and their vibrators might well have been a step too far although he seemed pretty interested in the piece about Kittenfishing - which is when someone internet dates and uses a much younger photograph to catch their match. Old Mr Mansplain knew all about that little item - maybe he even wrote it!!! Anyway I was to learn that Elvis Mansplain was 60 and his wife was in her 30s and they would be moving to Cyprus in about six weeks' time. To be fair their baby, Pugh Pugh Barley McGrew Cuthbert Dibble Grub was actually pretty quiet throughout the flight but that was down to Mum taking full responsibility for keeping her amused and in so doing keeping me happy.
Flight done, car hire sorted, Angela and Richard dropped off, successful arrival at Hazel's. BOMBA!!
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