Woke up after dreaming of my
grandfather. Strange as i haven't ever dreamt of him & he’s been dead 21
years, but there he was, Gramps, clear as a bell. We were sitting on the kerb
opposite the All England Tennis Championships (naturally it was a dream after
all) talking man to man.
Odd really as all the male role models in my life i’ve
never been able to talk to as a grown up. I’m not one for dreaming, but i
remembered it. Crystal clear. Unusual for me yet Comforting, though my
recently departed Nan was nowhere to be seen. I’m pretty sure they are together
now. #soulmates.
Feeling better today, though took me
ages to wake up. I think the non diet coke is helping and certainly the
lingering mutant man cold is abating. I’m starting to crack ridiculous jokes
again so i must be feeling better.
Woke to sad news my ex girlfriends
grandmother had passed away. God bless her, a lovely lady and had the St
Francis of Assisi prayer on her wall, which was a big favourite of mine. God bless you Connie. Another of the old school gone, it is my generation's responsibility to maintain their values i reckon, with a few of our own chucked in of course.
Wrote my blog (took me ages) and then
embarked on a 10k run at 11am in fierce heat. I sweated more than Russel Brand
at a Spice Girls party, but i felt OK, pretty strong and was delighted to be
out. I listened to Elvis all the way and shuddered that i have put myself up to
sing 3 of his songs with a live band at my impending 40th birthday
party. Ever had a thought that sounds great in your head? Only to discover
reality is something different?
During my run i also decided to do
the Dubai Marathon in January. I’m always better when disciplined by something
to work for, Dubai is easy entrance, hot, just after new year, so will give me
a good training incentive over the Autumn and winter, plus i want to see if i
can get near 3 hours 30. It was the reason for starting this blog and i know i
didn’t train smart so consequently missed the time on the London. This gives
another chance and i’m hoping it may rub off in other areas of my life. Plus of
course if gives me an opportunity to nonce around in my speedos on a beach
again.
Then it was time to catch some serious
rays again, this time by a different pool. The resort has 4 pools and is bigger
than Simon Cowell’s ego. It’s dam hot today, weighing in at a hefty 35 degrees,
so i was moist all day.
This pool had far more English, you
could tell because every man was wearing Velcro sandals. Only really popular
with English. Eastern European men like to go for the tight budgie smuggler no
matter how fat and the Lebanese favour a pair of shorts but pulled up really
high over their large hairy bellies. Obviously the middle eastern are very
hairy. Maybe that's why the women cover up, though they would have had a field
day in Jazz mags from the 70’s, when it was a thrill to see a bush that went
all the way to the belly button. How times have changed, if you saw one of
those now you would either run a mile or b)report them for steroid abuse. A
Brazilian or clean as a whistle is all the rage now.
My main task of the day was to blow
up a beach ball for the kids. This proved to be quite an effort. With the
smallest nozzle in the world my mouth and face felt like i’d been chowing down
on someone for an hour. I swear my mouth froze and i had locked jaw. I kept
thinking ‘would Jason Bourne have this problem’. The resounding answer was no,
as x5 10 year olds looked on at me like i was some kind of failure of a man.
Thank god i did it eventually, rewarding myself with a 4 hour lie down in the
sun. I am turning the colour of a coffee table so i’m heading in the right
direction.
A tan covers a multitude of things/ailments.
You maybe the most unhealthy person in the world, but if you have a deep tan,
everyone says ‘don’t you look well and healthy’. What like i looked like shit
before? I'm turning into the kind of deep tan only the South Welsh can do. My aim is to look like Tom Jones in his pomp.
Actually one of the funniest things I've seen was a picture from his autobiography, from the 70's. It was a pic of him and all his old welsh grannies and family, all dressed old school welsh, apart from Tom, it was by his pool in Bell end, sorry Bel Air and he was dressed in a pair of pink hot pants, hairy chest, medallion, holding a massive steak for the BBQ. Yes. No better exponent of the the 'man camp' look, sported by blokes in the 70's.
Another fine exponent of this from that era was the Roger Mooreosaraus, from Live and Let die. A safari suit with a polo neck a particular favourite. Also Lewis Collins from the Professionals.
All of these had a certain amount of machismo, faint ridiculousness and a hint of bender. 'Man Camp', it clearly left a mark and i try so desperately hard to uphold that tradition every day. I guess that's why i get called 'queer' quite alot, usually from massive breasted men with short hair, earrings and in the company of other men. Mmmm, ironic huh?
A man must be totally comfortable with his masculinity and sexual prowess in order to like just a little queer. I reckon I'm down with that.
Rest of day was spent munching on vast amounts of grilled meat, fish, the most mazing salads. That is one thing i love about Turkey, the colour. From the salads, blue sky, green mountains, turquoise sea, flowers in bloom the south coast is a spectacularly colourful environment. I think it's good for the soul.
The young un injured her knee today so the evening was spent at one of the resorts 7 restaurants. The main buffet one is immense.
I enjoyed watching a Lebanese family on the next table and the father, who was an enormous man, munched his way through x8 courses. Bread 1st, then fish and salad, then grilled meat (all piled up like a small volcano), then it was meat,veg,potatoes, then pasta, then pizza, then massive pile of Turkish pastries and finally just to top it off a nice and light creme caramel. Perfect.
He didn't talk to his family, his commitment to the grub was impressive. His pants were hanging out of his shorts, hairy fat back poking through the sides of his vest. He was an impressive beast. The sort of man my Nan would have described him as 'enjoying his food'. Good on him, i liked him.
Then Dr Evans prescribed lots of icing to young un's injury and Friday Night Lights, my lovely friend Fleur gave me the box set to make up for my Post Olympic gloom. I hadn't watched it until now, but fuck my old boots. How good is it? The Pilot immediately drew me in, the characters were crystal clear and it was high quality drama. Fabulous.
Trouble is my addictive nature took over and i just wanted more and more. There are 22 episodes and i was already what i would do after these had finished? What if i finish them before the holiday's over? How can i get hold of series 2?
i did 4 episodes back to back until 3 in the morning and had to physically stop myself from watching more. Highly addictive viewing and pure class.
So that's day 3 over. Nice to be away, I'm aware some people are having a tough time back home. So reading someones holiday blog just makes you hate me. It's that old thing of getting a text message from a friend of them on a lovely beach and you just think 'c**t', What are they trying to do to me? rub it in? bastard, i hope it rains'. At least that's what i think when i get one anyway.
I know Paralympics starts and I'm missing the whole Olympic buzz, not much of it in Letoonia resort, however one thing's for certain it does bring the whole nationality thing together. The Olympics and paralympics makes you feel like one world but one thing will always remain constant. Russian women are total miserable horrible fucking bitches and i hate them. Sorry world but thems the facts.
Oh and PS, full moon. I stared out late at night, looked up and thought of the recently departed Neil; Armstrong. What must he have done on nights like these? Sat on his porch, stared up and said 'i've been there'. Incredible really.
bye for now readers
xx
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