Category Archives: travel humour

MYKONOS DIARY; A society round up with our Social Correspondent, BUBBLES DE VERE

MYKONOSBUBBLES

“Well darlings, it’s all fur coat and no knickers.  Just fur coat and no knickers…..

But- that’s enough about me. I bet that you’re all just bursting to read about my exploits on Mykonos…..

Well darlings, it was first off to a private salami tasting session at the Greek Naval Academy here on Mykonos. Eat your heart out, Katie Price, or whatever the hell it is that you’re called this week.

Well, what a night! All those handsome young sailors, standing at attention for little old me! I almost didn’t know where to begin, darlings. And don’t even get me started on the senior officer’s mess…….

Anyway, after my three o’clock reverse colonic irrigation (thank you Boris and Nigel, you’re both such angels) it was time for my early, pre-dinner cocktails at Caprice. Then, just as I was sashaying along the waterfront, the sun disappeared behind this humunguous moving object. I’ve never seen that much solid mass moving in slow motion since the launching of the Titanic, darlings. No wonder I put Moet on my corn flakes….

Of course, it was that whore, Desiree….

Now you know me, darlings. I’m not one to gossip. Really, I’m not. But the woman looked like a badly wrapped Easter Egg in a stretch kaftan. And the last time that I saw THAT many chins at the same time, was in the Beijing telephone directory. Thank you Giorgios, darling, they’re the little pink pills on the right….

And I’m still having nightmares about those nasal hairs, darlings. Honestly- they were waving in the breeze like the tentacles of a Portuguese jellyfish. I half expected to see Tarzan swinging from side to side across them. Now there’s a man that I could teach a thing or two about swinging, if you get my meaning….

But- that Desiree. Talk about desperate! I hear that she now lets her gentleman admirers pay for her ‘favours’-whatever the hell they are- with Monopoly money. Given how old and decrepit the fat, pear shaped, sozzled, witless hag is, I would have said that Confederate currency would have suited her just as well!

Still, I’m not one to gloat, or spread gossip, as you know full well, darlings. And after all, it’s not her fault that she’s got an IQ that’s lower than a slug’s dangly bits, is it? Meow, baby!

Anyway darlings, I must dash. I’ve got a three o’clock at Tourlos with an American aircraft carrier. Catch you later, cupcakes-ciao!”

 

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THE LARDBURGER’S TIPS FOR VISITING SCOTLAND

MARSBARS
This is one of the local delicacies that Scotlanders eat. Herb and I were not amused…..

Hi folks, it’s Myrtle Lardburger here again! Herb and I went to Scotland recently to sample some of the culture and hospitality on offer, and Anthony asked us if we’d be kind enough to write a blog for his website. So, here we go!

We flew over on a wide bodied jet from the mid west US of A to Edinburgh. We had to fly over England, because some guy called Adrian has built a wall to keep the Brits out of Scotland, apparently. Go Scotland!

(Otherwise, next thing you know, that Mrs. De May will be up there, rounding up every Dalmatian puppy she can get her hands on. Can’t be too careful around THAT woman, let me tell you!)

Anyway, back to the subject in hand. The Scotlanders are very proud of their heritage and history, so Herb and I decided that we would try to fit in. We stayed with what is called a Laird and his Lady in an old castle. Dreary place, no air conditioning. Still, when in Rome….

While we were there, the Laird told us some of the old, local legends. I mean, who knew that the Scotlanders had their own version of Boudicea, the famous English tribal queen (She was the mother of the famous investigative reporter, Barbara Cartland, for all of you history buffers out there).

Anyway, back to the tale of this fearsome Scottish warrior queen. Apparently, her name was Lulu. One day, she led a horde of screaming, tartan clad midgets- the Bay City Rollers- across Adrian’s Wall, and tried to invade London.

Lulu was eventually defeated at the famous Battle of Crinkly Bottom by the loyal forces of Lord Snooty but, even to this day, her tormented soul can still be heard, wailing and howling around Carnaby Street after midnight. I love history- it’s so historic.

We both had a kilt made especially. Ours were made from curtains taken from the old Royal yacht, Britannia. We so, so wanted royal hair for our sporrans, but you can’t get it because it’s illegal. Apparently, the last monarch- Mary, Queen of Scots- died of a bad head injury or something. And Prince Phillip is as bald as a coot.

However, the Laird of our castle very kindly ponied up some of the hair from his beard for the front of Herb’s sporran, and his wife did the same for mine. Winners!

Having seen Westminster and York Minster last year in England, we were really looking forward to seeing the Loch Ness Minster this year. Apparently, it’s a monster. Being something of a culture buffer myself, I expected this to be a highlight of our visit.

Well, I took the high road and Herb took the low road, but damned if we could find sight or sound of the damned place. Maybe it’s just one of those urban mists that you read about. There’s lots of that stuff up here. Can’t see your damned hand in front of your face at times.

There is also a local dish called Haggis, that everybody here eats. The Haggis roam wild in the Glens, and are hunted and cooked by a band of hunters called the Haggi, or ‘Hag’ for short. They take their work very seriously indeed.

We went to a Haggis feast, and when Herb asked one of our lady servers how long she had been a professional hag, she went bright red, and then slapped poor Herb across the face with a big, wet haddock. Poor Herb- his jowls wobbled like jello on top of a washing machine on spin cycle, and all for asking a perfectly simple question. We won’t be going Haggi hunting again any time soon, and would not recommend anyone else to, either!

You also have to be aware that the Scotlanders do like to spin the old folks tales as well. We kept hearing about something called ‘Battered Mars Bars’, so of course we had to try one…

More local exaggeration, I’m afraid. These things are sold from behind a shop counter, and they have obviously never been in orbit, never mind to Mars. When I pointed out that mine wasn’t even vaguely battered to the help in the shop, he hit me across the head with the durned thing! Five times! Then had the cheek to ask me if it was ‘battered’ enough now? How rude, and how cheap!

So don’t fall for this baloney. Luckily, Herb and I are sophisticated, well masticated world travellers. Two of life’s beautiful people. I mean, I’ve eaten sushi in Stockholm, for crissakes.

So sorry, no, we won’t be going back to Scotland-on-Sea any time soon, I’m afraid. It’s damp, wet and scary, and full of strange creatures lurking in the undergrowth. Kinda like the Everglades, but without the sunshine.

See you all soon!