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Anecdotes from an Anorak

Coach Tour

 

Round the Carlos V Hotel pool, palm trees, dusky Sardinian beauties, male and female, sun and reflections of blue waters.  “Thyroid trouble” came the loud words from a group of worldly and plump northern ladies, standing large bosom deep in the pool. “….she wasn’t quite right, so she had tablets which gave her a low reading”. “It is a problem” said another women “The doctor recommended an operation” said the first “but it was no good, she still had to take the tablets – they always do – it changed her reading to high.”  Another woman said “Shame to go through all that and you’re no better off.”  Then a dusky swimmer splashed past and the ladies watched, momentarily silenced

 

Alghero

 

Table 50 was our restaurant placement.  We were lucky to beat the ‘hoi poloi’ to the table in the bay window with the panoramic views over the Alghero coastline.  We sat with Mr & Mrs Sheffield, Mr & Mrs Billericay and Mr & Mrs Southampton. Mr Sheffield was in adult training and Mrs Sheffield was in something equally important.  This of course couldn’t compare with the Billericays, who considered themselves the most important on Table 50.  Mrs Billericay spoke through pursed lips and ate with a similar expression.  Her husband took immediate charge of checking that the order was correct each evening by a quick head count and comparison to the waiter’s summary. How could the order be wrong on one evening, especially when he went to the trouble of cross-referencing the dish with the person choosing it.   Needless to say, this event started a discussion in local plummy tones between husband and wife. 

 

On the table to our right were Mr and Mrs Southampton, down to earth people who ran their own business in the New Forest area until Maggie’s government caused their financial arrangements to collapse.  They lost everything.  He was a portly, but fit looking. Gentleman – a cross between Les Dawson and Jack Duckworth from Coronation Street, with a tooth missing at the front – the gap through which he lisped conversation enthusiastically.  His wife was the brains behind the couple, supporting with a sprinkling of motivation over their relationship, as is usual in a marriage.  Nothing was ever ‘quite right’ for her and she constantly was striving for something better.  She was proud of her experiences as an au pair to an Italian family in Sicily and could converse in the language to a level that impressed the others on the tour, even if she did make up some words along the way.

 

Italian life

 

Sun drenched town square, colourful umbrellas, the ambience of Italian life.  The four big bosomed ladies, sporting flowery sun hats bought from the QS store back home, were tasting the drinks delivered to their table by the smart Italian waiter.  Two iced teas and two Merta liqueurs, not exactly what they’d ordered.  What they actually wanted was four cups of tea – 2 with milk.  With trepidation they tasted their purchases.  The iced tea with lemon wasn’t bad, but the milky looking Merta was another story.  “Tastes like Gaviscon,” said one.  “Don’t like the taste of their milk much,” said another, “tastes off”.  Keeping one eye looking out for the café’s toilet, the drink finally disappeared without mishap.  The courier later explained that Merta is a local speciality.  I expect that made the ladies feel much better.

 

“How did you get yours?”  “It was recommended”.  “Sorry, I thought it was due to an accident.”  The group of middle-aged Geordie men were pulling their skin and pointing to their tums.  The best operation scar was the heart by pass I think they all agreed, with the kidney stone getting a deserved second prize.

 

Sea Anemones

 

Sardinian Sun, clear azure seas lapping against rocks concealing an abundance of colourful aquatic life.  Two holidaymakers from England wearing baseball caps and loaded with an assortment of vividly coloured bags and holdalls arrive to pitch their claim to a piece of picturesque coastline.  The couple mark their territory with similarly vivid towels interspersed with discarded T-shirts, sandals and plastic bottles of ‘aqua-minerale’.  The hot breeze started to pick up, causing the size of the waves to increase, but this did not deter the intrepid explorers.  She decided to cool off by snorkelling in the deeper of the rock pools.  Discovering colourful fish, sea anemones, it was like a new subterranean world.  He, meanwhile, sipped some refreshingly cool water and promptly fell asleep.

 

She finished her snorkelling, decided to dry off and do some painting of the beautiful scenery. 

 

Real Heaven

 

The rocky beach was quite popular with the local Sardinians and it got a little busier as the afternoon wore on.  Locals were spreading their towels on the rocky shore ready for the afternoon siesta.

 

He still snored a few feet away.  It was hot and in his dreams was aware of the sounds of the sea and pebbles. 

 

Sometime later he awoke with a snuffle. A dusky, dark eyed, long haired, shapely maiden, wearing only the briefest of bikini bottoms came into focus.  He thought he had died and gone to heaven!  Rubbing his eyes he looked around.  It was real – and so was his wife’s look of displeasure!

 

Miniature Tigers

 

Dined with Mr & Mrs Witney, Mr & Mrs Yorkshire and Mr & Mrs Billericay after taking the ferry back to the mainland Italy.  When we arrived at the hotel Mrs Witney took great delight in telling us we had made our way to the wrong room, 804 instead of 805.  This started the conversation at dinner.  “Was your room comfortable?” she asked.  She spoke in a similar ‘plummy’ fashion to Mrs Billericay, but pulled down the corners of her mouth as she did so, causing the ligaments in the side of her neck to protrude.  We replied that our room was OK and apologised for the confusion.  Mr Witney, already in our bad books for referring to a collection to tip the hotel waiting staff as a paupers box, proceeded to tell a little of his life story in Witney.  At first I thought he said he was in ‘banking’, he looked the type, wearing his gold rimmed glasses, but it turned out he was in ‘blankets’.

 

Mr & Mrs Yorkshire, being Northerners, were the most genuine down to earth couple and we warmed to their conversation.  They also liked cats, much to the disgust of the Witneys. Mrs Whitney asked “Is it true cats don’t do it in their own back garden?”, as we took a mouthful of our main course.  Mr Yorkshire replied an emphatic ‘no’.  She then said that the cats scoop the fish out of her pond.  He, trying to steer the conversation towards the more endearing quality of cats said “Yes they are just like miniature tigers…we have 2 cats, one is friendly and docile, the other one can be a bit vicious.”  Whilst we took another mouthful of food he described to us how his cat clings to his arm with all fours and he can literally lift it off the ground, its claws drawing blood in the process and leaving lacerations all up his arm.  We all in unison took another sip of wine to refresh our palate.

 

Labortoire Garnier

 

Crossing into Switzerland today and the crossword puzzles and the cross-stitch began to appear.  The highlight of the journey was a smelly problem with the coach toilet. 

 

Despite being asked to only use the toilet in an emergency, it was funny how those who did use it regularly, like King George VI and Mr & Mrs Billericay, seemed to complain about the odour most.

 

The driver told the old story of someone who accidentally tripped a coach’s sewage disposal lever in an autostrada tunnel covering its rear window and the following cars with a slipstream of blue chemicals. Apparently, a couple  proudly driving a big German sports convertible had lucky avoided the atomised toxic cocktail by seconds!

 

King George’s visits to the ‘labortoire garnier’ twice more prompted further discussion before arriving in Basle for dinner.  It was rumoured he had been seen lurking behind waste bins waiting for an opportunity to relieve himself.  His wife seems so nice – sorry – pleasant – the driver says we mustn’t use ‘nice’ because it doesn’t describe anything.  She used to be quite active, even tried parascending.  She now has a bad leg and walks awkwardly with a stick, with a gait similar to that of a sailor at sea.

 

Dinner in Basle

 

We had only 10 minutes to disembark from the coach, get our room key and sit down to dinner.  We sat by an open window overlooking the Rhine with tourists thronging the river bank bars outside the hotels grand dining room.  We were soon joined by Mr & Mrs Sheffield, the teacher and his wife, Mr & Mrs Billericay and lo and behold, King George.  Luckily his wife sat opposite at the end of the table so he was out of view the majority of the time.

 

 We all discussed the 12 hour journey from Tuscany to Switzerland, the motorway traffic jams and the price of drinks on the menu.  Rooms were also compared with some confusion over which was the back or front of the hotel.  We were at the front of the hotel overlooking a back street.  The ‘others’ were at the back with commanding views of the Rhine.  Much to our delight the Billericays had the same view as us and were kept awake by the revelries in a local bier Keller.

 

Peanut Gallery

 

Early breakfast with Mr and Mrs Southampton, I also struck up a short conversation with the ‘youngster’ of the coach, Ms Prim, long fingers, dark hair and long floral print dresses.  She may even have hailed from West Dorset, who knows.  She said that she had been partying the evening before, although she didn’t say with whom.  She also said she was kept awake with the humid heat and noise from the street below her room.  I surmise that she is travelling with her mother or great aunt, who normally takes over any conversation with the pair.  The coach loaded, we left Basle at 8 am prompt. 

 

Mr and Mrs Southampton started a collection for our driver, Paul.  No sooner than it had left the ‘Peanut Gallery’ at the rear of the coach than there was consternation amongst the passengers.

 

Each couple donated what they could in whatever currency.  Even the Billericays donated and passed the carrier bag containing the collection on to the next row.  Suddenly up jumped Mr Billericay breaking the sounds of clinking coins and the rustle of bank notes.  He swayed with the coach’s movement and tripped in his suede trainer style shoes in the direction of the sound of money.  There were some loud whispers and he took his donation back out of the bag, following which he proudly went back to his seat, waving his bank notes to his wife.  Shortly afterwards the collection was abandoned and the bag returned to the Peanut Gallery.

 

Coach Tour - Sardinia

Carlos V Hotel