I’ll open with a word of warning: next time you’re in one of Britain’s largest international airports, engage that little filter which stops all the midnight garb being projectiled word-vommed at the omnipresent ears of armed security men. If you loudly say, upon seeing that your suitcase for one week weighs a mighty 17kg, “I’ve no idea what’s in there,” don’t be surprised if your entire luggage is swabbed for class A drugs, and you are then frisked within an inch of your existence by a woman who sees no issue with whispering, “I’m just going to have a go at your waistband” in your ear at 3am. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. But we’ll sashay swiftly along to my Definitive List Of Things So Abnormal, You Must Be In Greece.
ONE. Slightly harrowed looking Y-registration driver reversing back over the traffic line upon realizing he’d jumped a red light.
TWO. 3 very pale English girls becoming stranded in the central traffic island of a dual carriageway holding €130 of eggs, ice cream, tzatziki and vodka.
THREE. Kittens smaller than a Converse Allstar being allowed to be a thing… they also happen to favour aforementioned sensible footwear as ideal sleeping place. Causing all 10 ovaries present to spontaneously biodegrade.
FOUR. Putting aforementioned kitty on a scrambley egg becoming a genuine possibility.
FIVE. Taxi drivers having basil stuffed into their air vents as a cheap alternative for air freshener/ convenient snacks. Same taxi driver making genuine attempt on 5 young ladies lives, following up with, “shh. Is ok,” accompanied by a gentle stroke of the right knee. Fight over the front seat is never quite the same again.
SIX. Driver squeezing enough people into the back of one car that they are pulled over for the illegal shipment of T-Rexs.
SEVEN. An attempt being made on Tiny Kitty’s tiny life by Belle forgetting self and trying to speak with a 4 minute old mouthful of water.
EIGHT. Nutella not only becoming a legitimate meal, but a entire jar being devoured by 5 people in under 10 minutes.
NINE. Ordering an Amstel beer and be given a quadruple Absynth. To be consumed on an empty stomach.
TEN. A night in Kavos, home of the shorts so short they’re embarrassed by the length of a cocktail stirrer, seeming like a good idea. Yes, i have gone full circle. No, i do not learn from my mistakes. (See first ever blog ever for clarity.)
ELEVEN. There being a genuine possibility of meeting a man who wears Yugoslavian military headgear not for fancy dress, but as a daily essential. He may or may not tell you that your “face balcony” is very beautiful.
TWELVE. The true and painful reality of existence being demonstrated by the four day old water finally being propelled from one’s ear as you are rugby tackled into a yet larger body of water, which in turn starts the process all over again.
THIRTEEN. There being a serious risk that a girl will Cotton Eye Joe you with such force that you experience unassisted flight, and tear a ligament in your foot.
FOURTEEN. It being acceptable to ignore aforementioned torn ligament, and tap dance with or without shoes in the street. Prior knowledge of tap dancing is very much optional.
FIFTEEN. The overwhelming presence of Italian men forcing one to resort to such rejection lines as, “nous sons Lesbianonos,” “gelato Roma Roma,” and my personal favourite, “no prostituto.”
SIXTEEN. A ‘fake’ email informing you that your flight has been delayed by 12 hours is established as being very very real upon arrival at worlds smallest airport.
SEVENTEEN. One man can spend €80 at abovesaid airport without even buying an aeroplane.
Oh, and a huuge huge Thank You to Mr and Mrs Smith for allowing us to fill your beautiful home with sand, cat nip and our broken dignities. You are the bravest people I have the pleasure of knowing.
Hope you’re all chillin’ out, relaxin and/or maxin’ all cool.
In a bit,
B xx
Sunsets And Suspicious Parents. 