T'other day i went to a small Island off Venezula to partake in a little diving.
I expected the weather to be warm, the beer to be cold and the sea to be as milk. Other benefits included the chance to behold a red footed booby.
I routed there via Amsterdam.
A long and tiresome flight interspersed by valium, cognac and attempting to lure the odd stewardess into the lavvies for a fumble.
The distended labias that they are lost my arseing luggage.
There was I on a sunkissed resort with the clothes i stood up in, which while good English broadcloth, were more suited to the chops of the channel than the balmy spanish main.
I was standing on the tarmac at 3 o fucking clock in the cunty morning being told that my luggage perhaps was in Ecuador - deep breath old chum, "in with anger - out with love" thats what my therapist sez. The dear young thing behind the desk shrugged and said "maybe still in Amsterdam" and perhaps better luck next time. Grrr
By breakfast time - I was in a fair old bate.
It was alleviated by the dive centre chappy saying that they would let me borrow any dive kit I wanted free of charge until mine showed up, showing me the shop to get some swimmers and ensuring that my upgrade to free Nitrox was assured. Oh and getting me a cup of rich loamy coffee.
Spot the difference.
Flag carrier - running only route from Europe to this island - literally not giving a flying fuck (sideways or anyways) about their customers.
Dive centre - oodles of them to chose from - bending over backwards to put a smile on my face.
Think about it - next time anything with the dead hand of state control says "sorry - we cant do that " to you.
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2 comments:
I wasn't aware that the red footed booby was to be found in those parts. Did you behold one? Or perhaps a caribbean tern?
Any sign of the yellow jack? the West Indies station is hellish, but spit and polish.
I did indeed behold a red footed booby, as well as Pelicans and flamingoes. Land Iguanas were spotted as well. Alas, there were no blue footed boobies, flightless cormorants or even marine iguanas.
No yellow jack, bu a mild dose of the strong fives and a touch of the marthambles. All handled with a slime draught and double grog.
It was all spit and polish. Though over-run with our colonial cousins, they regard the whole area as their "back yard". Cuba must grate awfully. I shall be reparing there forthwith.
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