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| Bliss - total bliss |
My kids chased butterflies on the beach yesterday while I lay back under a shady tree and watched - that is some idyllic shit right there. I felt all chuffed with myself - like "I am really building some quality childhood memories right there, I'm a fucking awesome mother". However, they'd forgotten about it by this morning, so that particular one will just be up to me to carry around for any special moments like when I'm dry retching in a toilet bowl after 3 cocktails and half a bottle of wine the night before, and I need to feel pure.
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| Vali, Cordi and their mother, name of "Strangely Brown" |
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| The cool cucumbers of air travel |
I mentioned before, that physically getting to this tiny little island off the north coat of Venezuela (more or less - 354 nautical miles - it's not like I can SUP over to the Venezuelan mainland for a mango or anything) is somewhat of a commitment. My fear of flying just gets worse and worse every time - I always try and stare out the flight crew now, just praying one of them hasn't got murder in their eyes under the massive smile plastered all over their faces, as they warmly greet and direct you to your tiny seat nailed in on all sides by other terrified people. In fact, I'm so scared of flying these days, that I'm thinking about just wearing a coffin as a dress every time I head for the skies. I guess that could make a few people uneasy though, and it might make flying economy rather uncomfy. The afternoon flight from Tel Aviv to London on British Airways was free from death, but not from death stares. The air hostesses are extra bitchy on these flights. I don't blame them, apparently any flights that go to and from Israel are known as a 'living hell' in the industry. Israelis can be
fucking pains in the arse demanding on occasion. When coupled with the nutjob religious dudes, the seat shuffling and demands for goods gets a bit intense. Religious guys are also known to totally disrupt flights because they've been seated next to a random woman (woman touching is against their belief system, and they really do shag their wives through a hole in the sheet by the way). I imagine that on flights out of Israel, the Tel Aviv ground staff are all over that shiz, but on flights into the country, most cats at the check-in desks in other countries just aren't switched onto what constitutes a kosher-type situation for the religious fruitloops. Usually I can see the pain in the airhostess's (?) eyes, and I try to be really considerate to make them like me and give me extra nuts, but when they take 3 hours to serve us and the kids have been screaming from hunger for over an hour and they have nothing left on offer but some beef stew (rank right?), well I'm joining the bitch brigade. Once we touched down in London, it was a night at an airport hotel in Slough (where
The Office was set for all the David Brent admirers out there), and up early and straight to Gatwick in the morning grey drizzle - time only for a scalding hot cappuccino as I sprinted to the waiting taxi with no shoes on - I accidentally packed them in my suitcase which had been taken away long before. What is it about hotels anyway? They make the shittest coffee.......hire a professional, dickwads.
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| Can't even get pissed on a plane anymore..... |
I was hoping to see Kate Moss on the plane from London to Barbados - it just seems like the kind of leg she'd take. Last time she took a plane ride on Easy Jet she got a bit pissy after downing the vodka from her duty free collection, talked a bit loud, called the pilot a 'basic bitch' and was met by the cops once she got off the plane. Seems a bit of an over reaction - it's not like she she was wearing a vest made out of a nail bomb. I love Mossy, she just really looks like she loves her life and doesn't give a shit. Good on her, plus I'm sure that pilot
was a basic bitch. There was no Kate this leg, only British bogans. Actually maybe they weren't - I'm never sure how to pick a British bogan, it must be an accent thing. In Australia it's a piece of piss to spot a boge. Just look for the standard marker - hear any use of the word 'youse' and immediately the jig is up.
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| Don't make me go on there....please... |
So, as mentioned I'm getting more and more anxious every flight I take, but what really drives my anxiety levels through the roof are the tiny propeller driven planes that you just sometimes can't avoid. The worst one I ever took was over a giant expanse of the untouched Costa Rican jungle in 2008 (there'd be no rescue, let's put it that way). The pilots were actually reading a "How To Fly A Plane" manual, and when we finally landed I noticed a a graveyard at the end of the runway. I'm totally serious. Don't they understand the first rule of plane travel? Never associate it with death (the coffin dress would never make it on board).
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| Soooooommmeeeewheeeeeerrreeee...... |
As we took off in our 14 seater plane, the pilots said (there is no cockpit by the way - the pilots just sit in the giant metal death trap with the rest of us) - "You all better be buckling de seatbelts - dere be a big storm over Bequia, and we got three stops ta make on de way". Every year I dread this leg - every single year. And this time it was windy, really fucking windy. Some thick dames behind me were actually praying to God the entire trip - "Sweet Jesus, bring us safely down oh Lord" and that sort of thing. Every time we managed not to tip over while landing on runways that were right on the edge of the sea, they would sing out "Hallelujah" "Praise Jesus. Praise God Almighty. Praise his blessed name". It was disconcerting. I wished I'd drugged myself, what was I thinking? I often tell myself that snuffing it in a plane crash would be the kind of dramatic exit I would like to make - much better than wiping your anus with an extremely poisonous plant after a bush bog, or eating so many brownies when wasted that you rupture your stomach. But I think that's just to make myself feel better. When at last we thumped down hard onto the shitty cracked tarmac I could breathe again. That part of the trip was over for another 6 weeks. It was time to settle back into life in the Caribbean.
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| Dat's what I'm talkin' about |
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| Most unbelievable sunset picture I ever took (totally unfucked with) |
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| It's ok - I almost hate myself |
I really have to pinch myself sometimes, especially being so lucky as to be able to come back here year after year. I have no idea what I could have possibly done in a past life to warrant these kinds of fortunate occurrences that keep on rolling. Must have been some serious high class muthafucken shit - I must have been some kind of saint or something - rescued heaps of poor kids or crippled animals or something. I'd say that it was likely I was Mother Teresa, but she only snuffed it a few years back. Besides, on further research it seems like Mother Teresa was a total bitch. I'm not making this up - word on the street is that the Mother herself hung out with dodgy fuckers, accepted heaps of cash and never spent it on the dying leprosy people in her shelters. Plus she was a stuck up Catholic who believed that God always provides - Really? I thought it was the millions of dollars in donations from various charities that provided. Mother Teresa! I'm shocked - can't believe I did the 40 Hour Famine and the MS read-a-thon for nothing. Thanks a lot. Well, whoever I once was, I was definitely much better than Mother Scamming Teresa. However, that was last life, as I'm sure fucking up this one for the next person who comes along. That dude's going to get nothing - he'll have to rebuild completely from scratch. I've destroyed the legacy of my soul in a life of self gratitude and narcissim.
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| Million dollar view |
In the meantime, I'm going to continue in a similar vein while here - I'll fix my life up later - when I get old or something and death is much more imminent - get a puppy from a shelter and do Meals On Wheels. But that's later, for now I'm going to walk around in the raw, eat mango and get it all over my face, grow my eyebrows out all thick in some places and patchy in the other, grow a 70s style bush extending down the top of my thighs, not wash my hair for a month and let the grey roots just grow and grow; and when I do wear clothes it's going to be really tight short shorts, with my gut hanging over the top. And I'm going to show off about being warm - posting tropical pictures on Instagram as all my nearest and dearest are freezing their tits off during one of the coldest winters ever. Stay tuned for the bikini pictures everyone, I'm off to float around on a giant pink lilo in our personal infinity pool.
(P.S. I'm immune to your double fingers).
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