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Shit or strawberries

Holiday fun in Gran Canaria continues…woke up on the sofa in my swimming costume with vague memories of Tony snoring in the night and randomly grabbing my costume from the balcony not thinking it was right to lay unclothed on another person’s sofa. I woke up with one of the boob pads under my pit.

Our morning greeting went like this, ‘why are you in your costume’? ‘You were snoring’. ‘Doesn’t answer my question’.

We get dressed and go to book another massage. We were going to book to go to the Fish Spa to have our feet nibbled but Tony said let’s save money and just use the ped egg.

As we walk, Tony reckons his cheap shorts are so hot his sperm count is lowering with every step.

We had a massage, 2.5 hours. I had the same little bloke as a few days ago and I watched as his feet slayed out trying to massage me like he was pushing a car up hill. At the end of it, this time it felt like there were warm pickles pressed into my eyes and head. I preferred being bashed on the forehead with his balls.

When you are massaged that long basically it opens a direct line to god. You become so chilled. I joke. ‘I spoke to God Tony’. ‘Did you, want did he say’? ‘Open an espadrille shop and never leave this island’.

We were told to take it easy, to drink lots of water and chill. I plan to go back, do some diaphragmatic breathing and meditate. Though actually back at the apartment, I ate crisps. Apparently, ‘a lot of crisps’. The walk back was hard, couldn’t keep my flip flops on with all that patchouli oil. They stuck to my feet so not a lot of flop going on.

After a siesta we go out for beer. ‘Honey, incoming, you’re 12 o’clock’, I say to Tony as more street performers come over for money. ‘Is it alright to say we paid them yesterday’? He says. ‘Just avoid eye contact, look at your shoes or phone now’, I tell him.

‘No’, I say assertively, waving off a lady approaching us from the front, who unfortunately is the waitress and looks somewhat annoyed/bewildered.

It’s cold. I say, ‘that’s it, I am bloody freezing, I’m going to have to get a jumper. I’m going to the shop’. Once there, I have to think long and hard about just how cold I am and how much I need the jumper, when the only one suitable is a zip up hoodie that says ‘me baby’. I decide I’ll risk a further bout of pneumonia. I head back to our table.

‘Did you get a jumper’. ‘No, I could only find one that said, me baby’. ‘Jeez, how cold would you need to be before wearing that’. ‘Exactly’.

Someone else comes over and hangs about. ‘Have they gone’? Tony asks speaking to his phone. ‘No, they are still in the area where they could claim potential payment’, I say from my vantage point looking at my sandals.

I moan, ‘oh bloody hell, now there’s an old guy coming over selling stuff…I’m about to feel like I’ve pushed a baby bird out of it’s nest when I say no…and look he’s followed by that old skinny guy in flairs. I’m gonna have to give him something he’s been walking since 1973’. ‘He’s going to think those TV screens are the devils work’. ‘Brilliant, now there’s someone with a crutch followed by someone in a mobility scooter, oh no, his reversing our way. Let’s get the bill’.

Yer, getting the bill is never quick here. Basically, you need to grab someone’s throat and shake them to get it, or ask them for the menu, your drinks, an ash tray, your food (inc desserts) and the bill all at once if you want it in a timely fashion.

We are both trying to make contact with the waitress non too subtle, basically standing up and doing full body twists looking for her. I’m starting to mentally answer the question Tony had about how cold would you need to be before buying the ‘me baby’ hoodie. It’s about now.

Still waiting for our bill. Tony asks, ‘you made eye contact yet’? ‘No, you’. ‘No, I thought you had’. ‘Why’s it my responsibility’? ‘It’s not’. ‘Right well get eye contacting’. ‘With whom, there is no-one here. There’s 5 members of staff but they’ve all gone. I’d bloody sack the lot’.

‘Quick, get the bill’, Tony says holding his breath. ‘What’s the matter’? ‘Someone is pumping raw sewage and it smells like rancid fish tank when your fish are dead’. I have no sense of smell so I can’t smell it. ‘What like when you’ve left them a few days and don’t know they’re dead’. ‘Er no, you don’t do that’. ‘Well I did I had a lot of responsibilities as a kid’. ‘I don’t need to know about that now, I need to get away from the smell of shit. It’s like I have my nose stuck on a cow’s arse’.

I am in hysterics. Eventually the waitress comes over and says, ‘do you want a coffee’? ‘Do we want a coffee…er, no I think we are ok thanks. It’s been a lovely meal, great, thank you. Muchas Gracias. Enjoy your day’, Tony says paying. ‘I love it, you have been moaning about her all that time and then you are so polite’. ‘What am I supposed to say, no I don’t want coffee it stinks of shit here’!

We go to the shops and I have a fit of giggles about the shit which Tony is still moaning about. I am literally crying at the veg. My laughter reaches uncontrollable levels when they play the Spanish teletubbies, immediately followed by Bryan Adams, everything I do. I am literally wiping tears away from my face, saying, ‘what self respecting DJ does that’. ‘Shut up, stop laughing, everyone is looking at us’, I’m reprimanded.

We go to the shop that sells two things. Sweets or fags, which we just find hilarious. Kinder egg or 20 Marlboro?

We walk home and Tony’s sandal starts making a fart noise. It must be from our oily feet. I find this a lot more hilarious than it actually needs to be.

We get in the lift. ‘Jeez, how much perfume did that woman who just got out have on. It smells like strawberries. It’s so strong. Great, you go from shit to strawberries in 60 seconds. It’s giving me a headache’. I am literally crying.

We go out to sit on the veranda. The second I sit on my wicker chair, the seat makes a straining nose before separating from the wicker back as the two back legs buckle in. ‘Jeez, you’ve just broken the chair you fat cow’. ‘Well you broke the coffee machine you skinny bastard’. Once again, I am just dying as I get a new chair. ‘Can we talk about politics or something I am about to have an asthma attack laughing’!

‘Are you having a nice time, you haven’t said you are’? I ask wiping tears from my face. ‘Don’t be so needy’, is the response.

Tony starts reading out one of those survey things called, 1’2 things your man does to show he loves you’. ‘Number 1, he loves you showing affection’, pissing myself I say, ‘er, you tell me I’m needy’. He continues, ‘number 2, he holds your hand for no reason’. ‘No, you only hold it coz you need help walking’! ‘Brilliant. Screw this, let’s have dinner’. We make dinner. The picture shows the scene we cook in. Excited I use the only function I have on my Smart watch to time the spaghetti only to find the symbol that looks like an alarm is actually just the volume button for when your phone rings!

We watch TV stretched out on the sofa. I put my pillow on his buttocks saying, ‘they’re the best buttocks on the island’, biting one. ‘Owe’. ‘That didn’t hurt, it was all pocket’.

I fell asleep in those bad boys watching a film that went on far too long. Basically, there were some bad men on horses, looking for other bad men not on horses. Some prostitutes were involved. Some money was involved. I kept waking up and thinking, jeez it’s still on!

At the end of the movie I say, ‘that was a long film wasn’t it’. ‘Er, most people can watch a two hour film. It was only long because you kept asking every 2 minutes how long it had left and stop farting’. ‘I’m not, it’s my feet on the sofa look’. ‘It’s your bleeding clowns feet’.

I get up sulking. ‘What’s it doing’? ‘I’m clearing these pepper seeds off the kitchen surface so we can have a coffee in the morning’. ‘You mean so I can make you a coffee in the morning’. ‘Er, I’ll be sleeping there (points to bed), so if you’re so inclined you want to make a coffee in the morning that’s up to you (shit, I hope he makes me a coffee in the morning)!

We go to bed. I make it quite well known I am still annoyed with him by swishing my hair and reluctantly offering up my lips for a kiss. ‘It’s annoyed ain’t it’ (hah, it worked). ‘Nope, I’m not’ (so am).

I turn over to switch off the light saying a short, ‘night’, before, I switch the main lights on by mistake, then off again, then on, ‘bloody hell’, he moans, the wardrobe lights come on, then Spanish music starts blaring out (oh it seems that can be played out on the veranda too). ‘What the hell are you doing’? ‘I’m having a personal Spanish disco in bed, what do you think I am doing, I am trying to switch the lights off…you wouldn’t have any light in your life if it weren’t for me’. ‘Is this some profound shit or are you still talking about the lights’? ‘Just go to sleep’, I say. ‘You go to sleep’, he replies. ‘I can’t sleep because you keep talking’. ‘Well I can’t sleep because you keep flashing the bloody lights’.

I eventually get the lights off and shove my ear plugs in so far I think they’re in Tenerife! I know within half an hour I’ll be in my swimming costume again on the sofa with his bloody snoring!

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