Crow in Cro(w)atia
I thought I'd indulge my fucking enormous, bloated ego creative side and write up my lone holiday as a short little retrospective whilst jerking off in the mirror to my own dragged-up, makeup-slathered reflection. I'll try to keep it entertaining. Monday's events are in the reply. If people think it's any good I'll add the other days.
(LongJohnBaldry, Tue 5 May 2009, 19:27, 5 replies, latest was 16 years ago)

Crow in Cro(w)atia, pt.1
Monday
Most of Monday is spent in England. I wake up and must rush to Oxford Street to buy some shoes. I thought my old ones might last the week (providing I can find a source of superglue in Croatia to stick the heels back on occasionally), but they've given up the ghost after a weekend of drinking.

The chap in the shop tries to convince me that the shoes I'm buying are designed to last for five or six years. I don't tell him that the previous pair of shoes I bought from them lasted five or six months. For some reason I have a habit of wearing out shoes very quickly - I don't know why, I can't be the only person that has a long walk into work. Perhaps I just need to find a different way of walking. I consider the cost of the shoes against the time and effort it would require to learn to walk on my hands and resolve to bite the bullet and buy shoes.

I haven't had breakfast, so I pop into a supermarket and buy a sandwich on the way back home, just to keep me sated whilst I pack.

On the way to Gatwick, I buy another sandwich to keep me going. Through a certain interweb-based holiday-deal website I've managed to get a nice flight with BA, so I'm holding out for something substantial to eat.

After much loitering in the terminal at Gatwick, I board my flight. I receive my meal: another sandwich. Christ, I'm hungry. But at least they give me some wine.

Two and a half hours later, my 'plane touches down in Dubrovnik. I emerge from the airport looking somewhat confused. A rather hirsute, very mediterranean-looking man says,
"Taxi?"
Yes, I think, I am looking for a taxi.
"Taxi?"
I say back to him. He points to a group of men loitering outside cars with "Taxi" signs on the top and beckons to one of the men.
I had spent part of the flight thumbing through my Croatian phrasebook, trying to work out how to ask for a taxi to my hotel, and how much it will cost. I want to try out my newly-learnt phrases, but my brain hasn't even manage to drag the clutch up before the driver asks me, in English, where I want to go.

I'm obviously low on sugar because, whilst the logical part of my brain is telling me,
"It's ok, he's got a taxi sign on his roof and proper meter and everything,"
Another part of my brain is trying to suggest,
"You didn't think this through, did you? You just jumped at the first opportunity to get into a taxi -how do you know these people are actually a taxi service? Did the guy take your bag and put it in the boot out of politeness, or is he just going to take the fare at the end, and drive off with my possessions as soon as I step out of the car to retrieve them? You never know...right, time to formulate a plan: tell him that you have to go and get your bag out of the boot first because your wallet's in there...no, wait, then he'll just drive off with your bag anyway, thinking he's got your wallet as well..."
By this stage, I am fed up with having to pay attention to my brain. It's causing me to miss the beautiful night-time view of the Croatian coast and it really isn't doing me any good at all.

Eventually, we arrive outside the hotel. The driver does not try to steal my bag. He does not try to kill me and drop my body into the Adriatic sea. He does not press a button which lowers restraints into place so that he can rape me. He turns the car around to park as close to the hotel as possible, takes my fare, gives me his card in case I wish to use him again, and then gets out of the taxi to retrieve my bag from the boot for me. My brain really can be an arse when it's underfed.

The hotel staff are expecting me and I get a warm, friendly welcome. I'm knackered, so I drop all my guff in my room and wander down to the bar. I have a beer on the verandah and then take a short walk up the hill before I retire to my bed. Tomorrow, I will head out and see the sights of Dubrovnik.

Alas, first, I must switch my bloody brain off before it will let me sleep.
"Ooh, are you sure you want to leave that window ajar? What if somebody climbed in through the window and pinched your stuff before smashing the telly over your head, leaving the cleaners to find you as a crumpled, bloody mess under the bedclothes?"
Fuck off, brain...
(LongJohnBaldry, Tue 5 May 2009, 19:28, Reply)

I'd like to hear more.
Good stuff.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Tue 5 May 2009, 20:00, Reply)

This is great
I look forward to part 2!
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Tue 5 May 2009, 20:02, Reply)

I know for a fact that
you are actually in your flat in Elephant and Castle jacking off to Nazi Pirate porn and smothering yourself in Crunchy Sun Pat. You dirty pervert.
(The Oscillating Gibbon is eating curried squid, Tue 5 May 2009, 21:20, Reply)

Well, it takes me a while to type these things.
I need to take a break, and I need to do something to relieve the tension in my wrist muscles...
(LongJohnBaldry, Tue 5 May 2009, 23:35, Reply)