misadventures in the caribbean - part 2

cont...

after action packed, wobbly wobbly and bouncy bouncy 5 minute flight
we emerge from said micro light plane
slighty shaken but not stirred.
proceed to light fag within spitting distance of propellers and fuel tank

to soothe frayed nerves
get shouted at by fat local (KEEEEENYA)

get in cab. lady v's luggage safely stowed on lap
30 minute journey on dirt roads
punctuated with a constant refrain from tot a:
"this wasn't built when i was last here!!"
arrive at delectable blue bungalows (the blue iguana)

postcard picture perfect caribbean beach.
more inane grinning.
proceed to strip to bare essentials (aka tits out friday) and plunge
into crystal clear turquoise waters
under blazing midday sun


proceed to fry like korean fried chicken
prostrate on striped beach cushions



tot v has the first of 3 celebratory gin tonics
f abstains. natch. after the latest abortive attempt at hol detox.

tot a makes miraculous and speedy recovery
leading tot f to suspect it was all an attenion seeking ploy
lady v keeps snorting gin


five hours later return to bungalow
and examine damage done by third degree burns
in true englishman abroad fash(ion).
throbbling lightly
avail ourselves of communal and rustic shower facilities
admire tot a dimples on tot a pert, though somewhat reduced, ass


over dinner
tot a confesses that days at the beach are
not in fact 7 as expected (and promised)
but barely 3
tot f apoplectic with wrath (aka gotterdamerung rage)


lady v, in order to deal with sitch, downs buckets of gin
and bangs on about her nov(el)
tot f now
in silent gandhi like protest
refuses to wear flips on rock strewn road home



we all hop in same bed to watch pirated dvds.
tot a falls asleep withing 5 minutes. mouth open.
and is despatched to bed. and locked in room as punishment
lady v, supremely displeased
with the lack of strong or any female leads in said movie
and passes out
tot f sits alone still fuming and plotting revenge


day two
awake to a civilized breakfast
(at noon)
and engage in sparkling banter with our rotund french hostess annette
who bangs on about terrible sitch in burma
(so tot f wanders off to scavange fag ends in room)
annette introduces the trio to the concept of "sanky panky"
(local slang for rent boys)


sudden realization of mismatch of age and race between couples on beach
said hostess's younger and darker boyfriend
appears only to be dispatched on errand. rightly so (KEEENYA)

befriend pack of local strays (dogs)



and resume stripping to bare essentials
laughing in the face of imminent blistering
lady v, taking a small nap, is wrenched from the arms of morpheus
by sensation of rough tongue against nip
tells flavia to fuk off
opens eyes to see flea-ridden stray dog suckling.
proceeds to order that whole bar be brought to her IMMEDIATELY
to recover from the devastating yet oddly sensuous experience.

fkj goes krause
flicking through tourist literatures and brochures
plans extensive and exerting physical activity
to be crammed in last remaining two days
tot a moves sun lounger up the beach out of ear shot
tot v pretends to acquiesce in true world war two appeasement strategy (chamberlain)

after more communal showering
proceed for leisurely walk on beach for sundown snifter


are recommended a ponsy and pretentious eaterie (by french hostess) run by two fat gallic fags
against better judgement and after a few stiff ones in leopard-printed sanky panky hideout
we go to said shit hole restaurant
order copious amounts of food. tot f toys with single mollusc
as tot a and tot v devour entrees the size of houses
and lady v has a bed of bread topped with goat cheese (aka cheese sandwich)
during interminable wait between execrable servings
tot a dispatched to procure fags.
accidentally is perplexed by row of beautiful and underage GGIIRRLS
who raise eyebrows in flirtatious fashion (SANKY PANKY!)
assuming they are waitresses, politely inquires after some cigarettes
moment later, truth dawns, as he realizes they are not serving wenches but ladies of the nights
blushing furiously, tot at rushes back to his tots that by now are at their third martini and giggling.

the worst is yet to come however
the mango creme brulee is eventually served on a ceremonial (slash sacrificial) platter


with much pride and fanfair by fat french fag (it is our SPECCCIALTY, mais non?)
the trio dive voraciously into the pustular slop.
tot f retreats after one spoon when she realizes it is not bruleed
lady v, in an attempt to be polite, stops after two
tot a porks the rest.
five minutes later. a and v are doing the mango tango in the loo
as tot f puffs delicately on marlboro light.

lady v returns to table ashen faced but will give no further detail
as to what she found in the ladies loo
clearly the mango brulee left a tsunami of destruction in its wake.

more tragedy was to come.
in what will now be known as the watergate tot scandal.
after the devastatingly bad and pricey meal
we fortified our spirits with several rousing gins and vod pods
which left us gasping for air and water in the middle of the night.
lady v is shaken roughly awake by a fuming (and naked) tot f
who demands compensation for lady v's indiscriminate swigging of all the water



tot v, visibly shaken, turns the other way, rump in the air. and groans painfully.
appalled at lady v's lack of concern, or any attempt at atonement
tot f won't desist from demand that lady v accompany her for an epic walk along beach
at 530am, as penance.
lady v points out it is still dark. and puts ear plug holes back in.
three hours later a shame faced lady v presents f with a jug of chilled mountain spring water
tot a. emerges from bedroom and mildly enquires what all
the wailing was all about.
we explain. he counter accuses tot f of locking him in bedroom thereby
denying access to communal loo
and forcing him to relieve his exploding bladder
amongst tropical pot plants

tot f and v reconciled over shared amusement at the plight of the male amongst them.

third and final day

tot f renounces all aformentioned plans to
kite surf
ride horses on beach
trek to distant waterfall
scuba dive
do press ups
and stop eating ever again

in favour of getting her tits out on the beach AGAIN
the intrepid trio, however,
desperate for a change of scenery
stumble along to secluded cove
PLAYA BONITA
followed by pack of rapid hounds hankering for the lady v nip.

seven hours later, bronzed to within an inch of their lives,
much blackslapping self satisfaction at a job well done in the grilling department
they decide to seek light refreshment before showering
at local dive
three hours later
a new game is created, which tot f entitles "what would lady v do"
a rousing multiple choice quiz
in which our intrepid heroine is foisted in challenging historic situations
(French revolution, WW2 and the ice age)
and given a range of options.
aided with lashings of alcohol,
the game is a triumph,
rivalled only by age-old tot favourite shag marriage bridge

tot a, proceeds to whisk the fair lady v
off her stumpy bar stool
and teach her the bare essentials of the meringue.


rag doll style, lady v is dipped and ducked and dived
to the amusement of the bar staff.
tot f orders a scotch
which lady v proceeds to snort.
staggering home. we butcher cole porter's heaven
on our return
8pm
tot a is cornered by our polite and burmese-obsessed hostess
to discuss the latest developments in rangoon
while female tots waltz in the veranda.
sniggering.
after abortive attempt to watch film and communal showering.
tot a tucked in bed by 930pm
the others pile on single bed


decide to appropriate a nancy mitford cracker and make it our own
to fire at hateful women we don't like

"you look like the eldest and the ugliest of the bronte sisters"

we spend last remaining hours before sun rise
laughing at our own cleverness.

Signed,

lady v and frau krause