This is an ode to Sweaty Arse written by my new friend, who I shall call Mysterious Mr R, to protect his or her anonymity.
Everything in this piece was written by Mysterious Mr R, We, all of our families, played a part in pretty much all of the shenanigans, but unfortunately drunk so much cheap Bulgarian lager at the wrong times of day, namely in the evening which is when I choose to write. So ,Mysterious Mr R, thank you for taking the time to scribble and scribe this wonderful reminder of a fun holiday. Love to you and your family. D
Garden of Eden, Sweaty Arse, August 2018. I met a map maker, with a delightful family, including a ten year old boy who knew the way to Bethlehem. I rode an inflatable biscuit, and avoided death. I drank orgasmic mussel juice from a plate and split the bill with a waiter named Alec, with a penchant for threatening service. I learned of a private members Ministry who place toy offerings in woods. I encouraged slow cookerage and of ISBN codes. I dreamed of eating the cheeks of the wild pish. I installed a router, that’s ‘router’ and not ‘router’! I Drivv. And Droven. I cooked a feast and ate it on the beach with friends. I laughed many times. I became a little silly on occasion. I walked into the hills and saw several hundred running turtles and three rare flying tortoises. I wasn’t stung by a hornet, despite the best efforts of some of the party. I met, briefly, Count Dracula, before he flew off down the valley to murder a wild boar. I saw no wild boar, but tracked their trotters. There was no WiFi code. I ate at Balkan and played musical tables. I gorged on Chinese food and listened to Bulgarian Ed Sheeran. I saw, but did not taste the infamous Emperor Chicken. I witnessed the Worlds slowest crepe maker, too often. I hashtagged Soul, often. I drove a car made from solid gold. I travelled on the floor of a bus. I rode a death defying water slide and touched a Ministry member’s legs for a short but acceptable period. Together, with my friend, I drained cash like a running tap, but with few regrets because this holiday has been worth it. I fenced a patch of land and intend to return to Bulgaria each week to mow the lawn. I learned of diamond encrusted socks, and may one day purchase a pair. I driv all day to reach a market full of food, and it was truly satisfying. I smoked coconut Sheesha and dreamed of quadruple apple. I failed to tame a wild D (ministry member), quite the contrary. I selfie bombed. I cooked with oregano and walked the sidewalk. My maker of maps friend had sex on the beach with his daughter each day. He was also interested in a small French baby cock, but chose the turbot. I didn’t not want to not never include the double negative, so chose the sea bass. Gender neutral.
NB: the “sex on the beach” quip is a joke in very bad taste as my daughter was fond of the cocktail and in no way does it mean what it actually says. And probably as my blogging friend Mr Fandango might well allude to this news being fake news.
No music, I’ll let the prose speak for itself.