Land of the bloody hot weather and the dearth of internet, not only has the Turkish government put pay to our Hotellier from selling beer and Rose’ (the international figure head wine of the holidays), but also the internet is appalling here, we need to turn off the server, but I can’t because its not mine and the owner has gone out.
We can see the see the sea from our balcony and we can smell the floral and citrus wafting through the air. Arriving in Turkey and leaving Bristol, I looked around myself in the airport and felt I had fallen into a Sports Direct nightmare, tracksuits and sports top make for casual clothing nowadays, Adidas and Nike, yuk, what happened to band and slogan t-shirts? Grandad shirts and denim shorts. FFS I stood behind a group of 5; 2 boys, 3 girls (what sort of mischief will they be having?) at the airport, all of them wore socks with sliders, Adidas, Nike, etc etc. Where’s your style you fucks? And there’s me wearing walking boots because there’s a 15kg weight restriction in my massive case, I’m packing fresh Shrawley air in the top half.
On the way to the airport in Bristol, we stopped off in Butcome, the brew place, apparently, of one of my favourite ales; in part for the flavour, in part for the name; its rude and makes me laugh. Turns out there is no pub in Butcome! The Bungalow Inn (awful name) in the nearby village has closed down and is now a storage area for travelling fairground folk. Butcome ales, I learn, are brewed in Barnstaple. Dreams shattered. Anyway the pint I had somewhere else where we did stop for lunch was staring back at me, mouth agape.