Hey Fatty Boom Boom

Well it’s official. My 11 days in an all-inclusive paradise has resulted in me being the combined weight of Barry White and Demis Roussos. These guys may have been morbidly obese but at least they could hold a note. The only thing I can hold is several large chicken kebabs simultaneously. I swore an oath to myself that I would not become a stereotypical Englishman abroad at an all-inclusive establishment and eat my bodyweight every half an hour. So much for broken promises, I am eating like a condemned man who has been given the dubious request of having anything he wants for his last meal before being strapped to the Electric Chair and cooked himself. You see these US prison documentaries where the killer – who has normally murdered his whole family and some – always seem to have the same dietary requirements. It’s a variation on burgers, fries, fried chicken, steak, washed down with coke (personally, I would politely ask for a triple rum with the coke considering the circumstances) and an ice-cream dessert. For me the only thing that’s condemned is my waistline. I soon won’t be able to fit into any chair electric or otherwise if I don’t rein in my elephantine appetite. Roll on Friday when I return. It’s Slimfast, Ryvita biscuits and stomach crunches for the rest of the year.

BAYRAM

Last Tuesday was the first day of the Bayram Festival across Turkey, which lasts for nine days. My understanding from the locals is that in this period you sacrifice a lamb and other animals as a gift to the poor and disadvantaged. It’s a form of charity giving. I could not help reflecting on this national celebration whilst watching the England versus Poland match. Roy Hodgson would have been the “sacrificial lamb” for the British press if England did not win and qualify automatically for the 2014 World Cup. Finally, England played to their potential and really did not look in any trouble throughout the match. I thought Hodgson was brave and innovative in his team selections especially the picking of Andros Townsend. I suppose the manager is right to play down English prospects at next year’s tournament. But not me! The side have as much chance of winning the competition as any other European team. You first heard it here folks – England will win the World Cup (most probably beating Brazil 2-1 in the final). I am so confident that I am going to put a monkey on (£500) an England victory. Unlike those poor lambs giving their last rites during the Bayram Festival – my monkey will still be in very rude health with a World Cup winners medal draped around its neck come Sunday 13 July in the iconic and newly built Maracana stadium.

Disco - The End Of A Beautiful Affair

The 17 October 2013 may well go down in the annuals of night clubbing history. It’s the date I have decided to hang up my Jam shoes, put away my tailored-made Egyptian cotton disco shirt and retire my dance moves to the Bournemouth Retirement Home for Disco Dances. Before doing so I am determined have my dance moves (that I like to think have inspired a generation of like-minded clubbers)copyrighted. I don’t want some upstart in 20 years hence purloining my painstakingly choreographed moves (hours practised in front of mum’s mirror) for his or her own benefit. Why you say that specific date. Well to answer your question it is my last full day in Bodrum, Turkey. I think its fitting almost poetic that I dance my final night away on foreign soil as my innovated dance crazies have brought pleasure and enlightened many across the globe. I am returning to the biggest open club in Europe the Halikarnas Nightclub. My first time was less than auspicious. It was there I fell victim to two 50 something ladies from Germany. Hansel and Gretal as I now referred to them, wanted to perform acts on me which a porn actor would decline in the strongest terms. The universal question which has grappled, befuddled and stumped philosophers over a millennium is when are you too old for disco. Similar to sporting icons like Sachin Tendulkar, Maradonna and Muhammad Ali, I may have carried on a few more years than I should of possibly damaging my well-earned legacy in the process. I suppose you have inkling when the Gods of disco signal its time to moonwalk towards the exit, when you are smooching with a gorgeous woman who afterwards introduces you to her mother who is even younger than you are. Thanks Charlotte and mother Debra for showing me a great time. Moreover, it knocks your confidence when the Turkish locals keep referring to you not as Lewis Hamilton but as the Formula One’s dad. Its time to take up other pursuits befitting my age - lawn bowling and croquet should be right up my street.

Turks Love Their Football

My aim last Friday was to watch the England match at 10pm Turkish time and then stroll down Bar Street in Gumbet, dancing the night away in celebration of an England thrashing of Montenegro. I readied myself to venture down Bar Street until I located a suitable Irish theme pub to view the match. There must be an Irish theme pub in every street in every part of the globe. If there was a nuclear holocaust the only thing that would survive would be cockroaches and Irish theme pubs. However, what curtailed my plans was the hotel’s animation team. All were fervent supporters of the Turkish team. They persuaded me that the England match was a forgone conclusion with England easily routing the opposition. The more pulsating affair would be the Turkish match between Estonia. Convinced, I stayed at the hotel hoping they were right. It was not just the animation team, managers, bar staff, front desk receptionists, cooks, waiters, anybody that wasn’t working in those two hours were crammed into the hotel conference suite to watch Turkey’s crucial world cup qualifier. The problem I had was the commentary which was not surprisingly in Turkish. In reality the pictures along with the facial and body contortions, the screams of delight and anguish from the hotel’s employees was enough to give you a good gage if Turkey was doing well or not. The place erupted when the second goal went in to secure a two nil victory for Turkey. A beautiful woman who vaguely resembled actress Sophia Loren was unable to contain her emotions and gave me a big kiss on the cheek. That was the best result of the night for me! The animation team and I celebrated the win feasting on Turkish Delight and Efes (the local beer). I was delighted for my Turkish brethren, which was made even sweeter when I knew that England swept away Montenegro as rightly predicted. Looking forward to watching both teams at next year’s World Cup.