With A Frisky Little Hand Down The Back Of Her Jeans…

Hi All

It seems like an age since I was last here and I can’t really blame it on ‘the holiday.’ Sure, that took up time, but I’ve been back for almost five days and I simply haven’t been able to get back into my groove …whatever that means? I have a proofed novel waiting for my attention and the best I can do is clean the house and replace the lounge curtains and curtain poles. I’m sure that must mean something but just what I have no idea.

The holiday was perfect and I have to say that although Spain is nice, and my brother’s house is beautiful, it was the company that made the holiday. We never stopped laughing and my ribs still hurt now! I guess it is a simple rule of life…put the right combination together and it works.

I was terrified of flying and Richard wasn’t much better. My fear came from the fact that the plane might explode in mid-air, Richards fear was of throwing up. Naturally, being the caring souls that we are we supplied him with plastic bags and advised him against eating carrots the night previously. Another mystery of life. Why does vomit always contain carrots even though you can’t remember eating any? Don’t answer that. I really don’t need to know the answer at this time of the morning.

Richard passed through every shade of green, white and grey on the plane and couldn’t speak, except to grimace and mumble, ‘Sit still you’re rocking the plane!’ Obviously we divulge into childish laughter, nothing else to do in the circumstances.

I must say I was a bit concerned when we arrived at the airport and I happened to glance out of the window and clock a plane waiting on the tarmac. I said to my cousin, jokingly, (I thought)  ‘Bloody hell, I hope that isn’t our plane, it’s tiny, and they haven’t washed it and the wings bend up at the ends.’ I don’t need to tell you that it WAS our plane.

Coming home was a bit of a blast. My hand luggage got beeped and the jolly little Spanish person (yes I’m joking…Lord, talk about losing a pound and finding a penny) grated something which I didn’t hear but Richard did and he snapped, ‘Fluids!’

‘Huh?’ I said, watching with childish amusement as my cousin was shepherded off towards a Spanish female official to be frisked.

‘FLUIDS!’ Richard yelled, panicking and grabbing my bag. ‘You’ve got fluids!’

‘Have I? No I haven’t. What are you talking about?’

‘Unzip your bag!’ Richard said, quieter this time, not wanting to draw attention. Meanwhile my cousin was having exploratory hands run up the inside of her legs…

I unzipped my bag and there, lying on the top of my delicately packed crap, was a bottle of spring water. Richard plucked it out and the lovely happy Spanish person (!) winged it into a bin where it landed with a thud.

‘Hey, that’s my water,’ I said with great indignation.’He’s binned my bloody water.’

Richard hissed, ‘shush,’ through his teeth…YES hissed, and grabbed me by the collar…YES grabbed me by the collar, and shoved me ahead of him still hissing, ‘You DON’T argue with customs, get going!’

Charming. What am I going to do with a bottle of spring water? Personally I can’t think of anything except drink it or add it to pancake/Yorkshire pudding batter to make it extra light and crispy.

My cousin was having a hand slipped down the back of her jeans as Richard pushed me past her, refusing to let me stop. But it wasn’t over yet…

As we were preparing to board, another lovely little Spanish person kindly caught my attention (pointed at me and jerked her finger, indicating that I should move out of the line) and made me ram my hand luggage in the stupid template thing that dictates the size. I don’t need to tell you that it wouldn’t fit in. My party had gone on ahead and I was all alone in a foreign country, with foreign people, speaking a foreign language – and they had stolen my spring water.

Suddenly my brother appeared…and made to come back through the system. The ratty official told him not to come any further and my brother had that look on his face that clearly said, ‘Piss off.’ My heart swelled. My brother had come back like a spawning salmon battling up-stream and here he was, leaping the hypothetical barrier, fighting off the lovely Spanish person and demanding I chuck out half of my bag contents and saying that he would put them in his bag.

Looking at it, if it hadn’t been for the bottle of absinthe that Richard bought and shoved in my bag, because his was full, and the Spanish chocolates (last time I support the Spanish economy) my bag would have passed the template tester thing.

But my brother was my hero. He’s been having Spanish lessons for some time now so I guess it does help having an inkling of what these lovely people are saying??!! Mind you, what he said didn’t sound too jolly. We obviously looked very suspicious? Can’t imagine why, although, my brother and Richard passed through without incident.

My cousin and I had a jolly, rip-roaring, snorting laugh on the plane about her having been frisked. She said it was a bit weird and it wouldn’t have been quite so weird had it been a man doing the frisking. I think she was joking.

We came back to chilly weather and Richard had to go to work the next day. When we settled down for the evening he told me he had fallen off his moped that morning, (see how he has to wait until he has my full attention?) on the way to work. He said, when he’d gone around the mini roundabout, the back wheel went from under him, the front wheel hit the kerb three times and then he ended up on the grass verge. He said, ‘As I lay there I thought, eff me, yesterday I was lying on Wayne’s roof top verandah, sipping Sangria in the sun, and today I’m lying on a wet muddy verge, being rained on, and with a moped on top of me…effing brilliant!’

I think he came off (not literally) slightly better than the bike. The bike has a smashed mud guard, a buckled wheel and grass implants. Richard has a badly bruised back and upper arm. I have put my foot down and banned him from riding the stupid thing through the autumn/winter months. The roads are wet and greasy and I fear for the little soul. I mean, what’s wrong with using Betsy Land Rover? Or the car? Mini moped can go and over-winter with BMW motorbike in the garage.

So… that’s the first blog sorted, now all I have to do is find the enthusiasm to third draft The Sleeping Field. WP_20131030_001

Take care my lovelies x






14 thoughts on “With A Frisky Little Hand Down The Back Of Her Jeans…

  1. Oh, what a carry on! You can laugh at it all now, hopefully. I never had any trouble wit my flights to nywhere excpt once, they x-ryed my luggage, it was a hair drier or somehing tha upset the works. Mosly though, all was o.k. Roll on next time, eh? Evelyn


    • I don’t know if I’ll find the courage to fly again Evelyn. I’d like to think I will because my brother’s place is there for the using and the heat certainly took some of the pain out of my neck. I hope you are OK? Been hearing you’ve been poorly? x


  2. This did make me laugh Gail, especially the bit about see the plane for the first time as this was my exact reaction when I first flew. You would not have liked the window seat I had where I could see the wing rippling as we glides through the air!


    • Ah but I DID have the window seat over the wing Liz on the way there and yes it is very scary when the wing goes down and the horizon goes up…but beautiful, so beautiful. If someone could actually guarantee the plane wasn’t going to crash I would love the flying bit…I think…hang on…let me think about that…er…


  3. This perked me up on an otherwise rotten day of illness! That’s the thing with foreign languages….everybody sounds like they are having an argument! It’s the same in Greek, although at least now I have the benefit of knowing that they are actually arguing most of the time!


  4. Well I’m glad you managed to enjoy your holiday – British customs stopped me when I was 8 months pregnant with Eldest Mudlet (hugely pregnant at that) and asked me what was the purpose of my visit to the UK was (I was an army wife at the time and stationed in Dortmund Germany).

    “To have my baby at home,” was my reply.
    “Can you verify this story?” was not the answer I was expecting from the grumpy male officer.

    A female officer who was watching the very clear signs of an active Eldest Mudlet through the material of my T-Shirt, gave him such a look and ever so meekly suggested he ask me to lift my T-shirt for verification.

    He didn’t so I didn’t but he did let me through at that point 😀


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