The weather over the past few days has been a bit grim to say the least but today the sun is shining and I would imagine the beach is full. Ah, mad Malia, sun, sea, and celibacy - well for some. Nobody every says celibacy do they, but for old timers sitting in Galaxy Bar in the middle of Malia, it has come to this, spending the afternoon watching young, scantily clad, nimphets pass by on their way to the beach.
A couple of days ago we walked down the mountain from Vrahassi to Neapolis and from there caught a bus to Malia. The day was inclement so we did our shopping and took the bus back to the Vrahassi Tunnel then legged it back up the mountain.
This is what I wrote when I got home. (Obviously not in a serious mood)
Death on the Happy Train
The soft perspex windows are down,
looking like shower curtains from Bates’ Hotel, or the cover you throw over
your garden table in the winter. The
train has got its hat on – hip, hip, hip, hooray!
Carriages are full of people who don’t
want to sit on the beach freezing their bollocks off under a cloudy sky, when you’re wet you’re wet or not. They
are the sort of people who wear socks with their sandals, the sort who still
read newspapers at breakfast time, carry their own cushion everywhere, and eat
egg sandwiches. And in between, squashed on a bench with his doting
grandparents, a 13 year old boy stares into his lonely flies, for want of a
computer screen. ‘This is fun,’ says Grandma nudging him. He’s about as
interested as a train spotter at a bus convention. She nudges him again, ‘Come
on, you might enjoy it.’
Behind them there’s a Burger-mister
from Germany. He takes up a whole bench ‘cos he’s probably so full of
shisenhausen burgers. His tiny wife has to sit behind him. There’s a hint of
lederhosen under his Bergerhause, non-iron, walking trousers. Around his neck,
sitting on the ledge of his stomach, is a zoom lensed Pentax ready for those
long distance wild game shots, probably of the nudist beach. The tent-flap
plastic impairing his vision must frustrate him; then again it probably excites
him. She is blond.
In the first carriage, two carriages in
front of the boy with no I-pad, and no idea, there’s a young couple. They’re
probably on honeymoon and don’t know what to do. Don’t they know they should be
right at this moment, humping the bed springs out of the mattress, covering
each other in trifle, or other some such sloppy cream, at least a dollop of
Greek yoghurt, and singing Yo Ho and Up
She Rises? What on earth are they doing on the Happy Train? Oh…
Off they go!
Nobody sees the dead man on the back
seat. He’s probably died of boredom, poor old bugger, waiting for the thrill of
a lifetime.
And if I don’t get a move on I might go
the same way, there’s only so much lazing about you can do. And by the way, the
above piece is totally fictitious; though it was freeze your dooda’s off
weather in Malia the other day. Not so today, and I'm sure for the rest of the summer.
And if you are reading this, Jackie
from the little bar in Malia where the bus stops for Agios Nikolaos, thank you
for your kind words, and the lovely cup of tea. Hope to see you again soon.
Love and Hugs
Jane x
And no I'm not drunk, just happy!
And no I'm not drunk, just happy!
