Well I’ve got three days in Las Palmas, Gran Canaria before I pick up the ship for the seven day cruise. Of course my sons are teasing that I have chosen to “come out” on a gay cruise which they say is very brave of a man of my age. I have been getting texts and messages from them for the past week along those lines. I have sent both a message saying they are out of my will and I should have put them up for adoption on first sight. I got a reply saying that I was nothing but a temperamental old poof with no sense of humour.
Anyway, this means I have three days in El Fawlty Towers before embarkation. I just thought I would throw in that posh embarkation word.
The hotel is quite basic. And small. If I could swing a cat then I’d break my wrist before the cat got hurt.
It purportedly has three stars. I am not so sure this is true, as when I touched them one was made of shiny plastic and the other two were were painted on the wall.
This manager makes Basil Fawlty look like Rocco Forte. More about him when I get the chance.
This is the view from my window…not exactly a sea view but I pass the time of day counting the feral cats as they come and go. These are tough cats these Spanish ones. You make the typical click click noise to attract their attention and they, in total unison, give you the finger. Tough cats I tell you.
Every time I leave the hotel I get lost. Every single time I can’t find my way back. It is in a weird position really. About 100 yards one way and you are on the beach. Very nice with all the restaurants and bars. About four hundred yards the other way you are in the docks where all the boats and ships are. A little less salubrious especially at night.
I wandered around last night, just having a look, and when I realised I was lost I started to show people the card I had taken from the hotel reception. Because it’s not a big hotel no one knows it and the first couple didn’t recognise either hotel or street. I felt a little like the beggars who pester you on the tube in London passing you a hand scrawled note saying they have “six children two dogs and a Ferrari to keep and could you help them out with a little loose five pound note” .
I tried a single man out walking his dog ( or rather a man taking his dog out to poo in the middle of the pavement). He couldn’t help me either. It is at times like this you just wish you could speak another language. In this case Spanish ‘cos German wouldn’t be any good would it? Anyway, the next person I showed the card to was an average looking housewife type.
How wrong I was.
Now I like to think I am fairly worldly wise and, up to now, most of my encounters with hookers have been with the four inch heels, hot pants and low cut top type of working girl. NOT an average looking housewife type hooker who, I saw immediately – but still too late, was standing in a street full of stationary, average type housewife look a likes peering into every passing car.
The moral of the story here is, when working the docks – every night is dress down night!
Of course my problem was …..I had approached her offering a card with my hotel name and address on it.
Not a good thing to do.
She took a full two seconds to just nod, and start machine gunning me in Spanish about jiggery jiggery and bonkerty bonkerty. It took me a full two minutes,and a half nelson, to get my card back and run like stink. The only words that I could pick out from her screaming abuse at my back was that I am apparently a hiho deputy, or something similar.
I finally made it back to the hotel, hot, sweaty and hookerless for a good nights sleep.
I’m sailing on an Italian cruise line MSC. Apparently nothing to do with the Concordia.
Wandering through the port this morning I see an MSC ship. It appears that I’ve gone from “coming out on a gay cruise” to a week on a container ship. Oh I do hope this isn’t the boat! but knowing my luck………………………
On the way back to the hotel for a lunch of Salmonella and chips I noticed our company pension scheme is looking after my old colleagues….
More from Andys gay cruise adventures later .