Monthly Archives: February 2005

Okay, lets get one thing straight, right off the bat. I know there are people out there who would kill for a holiday during February. So, with that in mind, I don’t want to come across as an ungrateful whinger who went on a cheap winter break and found it to be, in the main, shit.

However, if I didn’t moan and have a rant about things then a vast majority of the content on this site would end up the same as the holiday – dull.

So, not wanting to dwell on how much of a let down the whole thing was for us, I’ll try to convey the disappointment of the whole week by way of a promising subplot that had been gaining momentum before we arrived.

The early part of the week contained the potentially explosive love triangle involving Fliss‘ dad, Ted, and an older, irish man called Billy, vying for the affections of a lady named Beryl. These are, I think, fantastic old peoples names that anyone who’s ever played with Sensible Soccer’s Old Folks XI team will remember with mirth. None of your Kylie’s and Tyler’s to be found here – just old fashioned monikers that conjure up images of rationing and seaside resorts in their heyday.

Anyhow, Ted is a sharp old chap, who, despite being into his mid 60’s, isn’t what I’d call a proper old codger. He has the occasional stubborn old codger moment, I’ll admit, but for the most part Ted is young at heart, far from being on the scrap heap, and only his poor hearing lets him down. Due to the slight deafness, he seldom initiates conversation with people to avoid embarrassment, and this was the case with Beryl. Billy, on the other hand, was a wittering old budgie who sprinkled the words “you know?” into every bumbling sentence that left his mouth. You only had to make the mistake of asking Billy the time and you were fucking stuck there for twenty minutes while he struggled to recall some example of how he’d once used a watch in some way. Beryl obviously had the patience of a saint, because Billy seemed to be quite welcome at her table and, as far as Ted could see, the old irishman’s persistance was paying off.

Fliss and I are currently away in Malta for a winter break. I would have said “Winter–Sun Break” but then I’d be lying. So far, after five days, we’ve had about half a day where it was actually sunny. The rest of the time it’s been wet, windy, and only slightly warmer than being back home.

That’s during the day time – at night time the rooms are bloody freezing, and we had to ask for extra blankets after the first night.

Still, it’s been cheap so far, as Fliss‘ dad paid for the room and we only had to splash on the flights. With hindsight, though, I’d much rather have spent another £500 and gone somewhere that was really warm and sunny, rather than this place which is neither.

In a way it’s quite forewarning, actually. The hotel is full of elderly folk, some of whom are single and spend a lot of the time sitting by themselves. The first couple of days we kept wondering why they would come here just to sit there, seemingly waiting to die. But I’m beginning to realise that they’re here for the company, whether they actively join in with the others or not, it must be nice for these lonely pensioners to see other faces and feel less isolated for a few weeks of a long winter.

As much as we’ve sworn we’ll never end up doing the same thing, it’s quite worrying to think that it’ll turn out like that anyway. After all, if you’re stuck in britain of a winter and you’re hardly flush with cash, a cheap holiday somewhere only slightly warmer than home must seem much more tempting than soldiering through the cold part of the year by yourself.

There’s not a lot to do here for us, to be honest. We’ve already made our minds up that when we’re pushing 70 we’re not going to settle for fucking dominoes or singing the hokey–cokey. So we’ve taken refuge in the only other option – Scrabble.

Kieran loaned me the box set of the first series of 24 last week, and I’ve been going through episodes like Jack Bauer goes through cellphones and cars. I’d been wanting to watch this show for ages, and Kieran had been meaning to lend me his copy for so long that I avoided watching any of the following series.

After putting in Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Thursday evenings, I think I’m up to 18:00 now, so a couple more sessions viewing will have me through it in the space of a week – quite good going considering I’m more of a games player of an evening than a tv watcher.

I cant help but think the series would probably have been better if it had just been called 12… or maybe 13, instead. The first six hours were gripping, and led to quite an exciting conclusion to that half of the day. But since that point the amount of ass pulls has served only to detract from the quality of the first twelve hours for me.

That and Jack’s wife and daughter being two of the most fucking annoying characters ever to grace a tv series. I cant believe Kim actually made it to puberty – she has the decision making ability of a lemming with chronic depression and a personality so vacuous that I’d probably shoot her even if I was a good guy. Yeah, I’ll admit that the mens mags have a point – she has vertigo inducing cleavage and, you know, who wouldn’t? His wife, on the other hand, has none of these annoyance offsetting traits! If Jack had any sense he’d have stayed seperated from that flakey bitch when he had the chance!

It also gives the impression that FBI agents are so poorly trained that scores of them can be rubbed out by just a couple of determined bad guys. It seems bizarre that Jack ends up under internal investigation for breaking protocol when every other agent seems intent in stumbling to their death without first calling for back-up or securing the area. What makes Jack such a loose cannon? Is it because he keeps getting away with it?! Surely he should be training the other guys in how to approach the enemy without getting killed techniques, rather than him getting fucked over for single-handedly neutralising a terrorist cell and rescuing his flakey wife and tart of a daughter at the same time.