Gatters, early morning 0910, interesting place no?
It seems I’ve picked the only day when all Indian Airways fly out. I have never seen so many Indian families in once place at any one time (no, no I’ve never been to India) Looks like everyone is going home after the Lympics, with souvenirs and new suitcases and Samsung Notes.
My bikes looking a bit “obvious” sitting next to me.. lots of creepy eyes staring in my direction, sneaky looks under daily papers and through trolleys laden with toppling bags, vacuum packet suitcases and Costa take away paper bags half ripped open.. Pretty girls sniggering, laughing, pointing and flipflopping down to the departure hall and it seems 80’s dayglo t-shirts are back in fashion, big, I mean BIG mirror shades are al the rage init and rhinestuds onyer jeans..
I’m suitably impressed at the staff here, I’ve always been happy to be acknowledged by my “title” at check in, one must keep up the image shouldn’t one.
The only thing I can think of that I didn’t do was pull the telly plug out, I need Sky+ to record the Vuelta and I have timers on two lamps and one in the bedroom, also I have some rather sexy music set to play when the bedroom light comes on so everyone knows we’re upto our usual tricks and break neck performances (cough)
MrsBouy has popped to the loo and I’m happy to kick the bike box just to make sure it’s still there, still reliably by my side, waiting to be let loose on chalk and limestone roads, searing hot tarmac, dusty lanes and cobbled main squares. Orange and pink dust will smear the frame and gears, create rivers of caked on snot formations on my face, sandblast the shins of my legs and the sunburn will attack the back of my neck with only the vengeance of an Italian Policeman handing out a speeding ticket will know. My thighs will seize up, I’ll drink far too little water, I’ll bonk at some point and fall asleep against a crumbling down edge of an unused farmers field wall, in the shade, on my own.
Windows will be flung open and curtains drawn back to let the heat of the city and moths criss cross as they swap places, dusty dank toilets will need to be flushed and cleaned before use and bed linen laundered before we climb in unannounced. Wine and gelato will fill our days, olives and thinly cut meats so fine they’ll float off if the grip on your fingers is so much as eased one…tiny…bit.
Pinky sunsets, Orange dawns, car horns blasting, tourists chattering, locals enticing the unwashed into their restaurants, preists calling mass, art students sharpening pencils whilst hitched up at yet another square with a church at one end, foil glistening fans and helium filled balloons for the kids, taxis that creep up behind you in electric mode to the “plumb bong” hollow noise they have to make these days whilst in the city, granite walls, marble shimmering statues, rose windows, gold leaf placards, crickets so loud clicking you want to kill them all..
And piece.. leg sapping, back aching piece.
This holiday has been a long time coming.
