memphis airport
Let the Luuurve trail commence!!!
Me and Jas did a tribute disco inferno dance when we got off the plane.
twenty minutes later, waiting for our luggage
I haven’t seen anyone who hasn’t got a mustache yet.
And frankly that is not attractive in a woman.
customs
I was singing “Head ’em up, round ’em up, head ’em out, rawhide. Head ’em up, round ’em up, head ’em out, rawhide rawhiiiiiiiiide” in an amusing and entertaining way as we got our stuff and trundled along to customs, but it was, I have to say, not going down very well. In fact it was like being in Hawkeye City.
The customs man asked me if I was bringing in any livestock. I thought he was having a laugh, so I said, “Only, as you see, my father and his mate.”
He wasn’t having a laugh.
Not at all.
in our rental car
A willing but dim Hamburger-a-gogo chap (with a mustache) showed us to a massive black limo–type scenario. It was called a “mustang” or “arsekicker” or something. Anyway, it was big as a big thing. Dad and Uncle Eddie were ecstatic, kicking the tires and so on—it is vair vair sad.
The w-but-d chap said, “This is your vee-hick-el, sir. Now, you all drive safely, you hear?”
What was he going on about?
What is a vee-hick-el?
Jas said, “Does he mean a vehicle?”
I said, “Get loose, Jassy Spazzy. Who cares as long as the vee-hick-el is a Luuurve vee-hick-el. Prepare to enter the vee-hick-el. Adjust your knickers, we are on our way!!”
After a million years of Dad fiddling with keys, we got into one of the eighty-five million seats inside and snuggled down whilst Vati and Uncle Eddie twiddled with their knobs.
I hugged Jazzy. And amazingly she hugged me back.
I said, “Jas, I am sooo excited, aren’t you?”
She said, “Ooh look, there is a little TV on the back of the seat!”
As the Thunderbird-a-gogo or whatever it was took off at one mile an hour, driven by Dad, I said to Jas, “I can almost smell Masimo.”
She said, “Oo-er.”
And then we both fell about laughing. I think I have got hysterical jet lag. Dad and Uncle Eddie were singing “I Left My Heart in San Franciso” and have already started yelling “howdy” out of the window at anyone we pass.
It’s only a matter of time before they are taken to jail. So things are looking up.
6:30 p.m. timewise
I think someone forgot to mention something to me. It’s HUGE here! The buildings, the signs, the shorts. Everything is HUGE here. And bloody hot.
I’d ask Dad to turn on the air-conditioning if I didn’t know what a waste of time that was. He’s already opened the sun roof ten times when he was trying to change gears.
And more to the point, there ISN’T a gear stick, this is an automatic car.
6:45 p.m.
Fifty million years of swaying about in the back of a vee-hick-el driven by someone who doesn’t know what side of the road is the right one (and that’s when we are in England). It was only when we passed the same group of people for the fifth time and they started waving and cheering that Dad let Uncle Eddie drive.
hotel
7:15 p.m.
This is more like it. A huge driveway lined with hibiscus and palm trees and a fountain and then a hotel with about fifty-six floors. Tip-top hotel life. As soon as we screeched to a halt a millimeter away from the fountain, some chap in a uniform opened the car doors. He seemed vair vair cheerful, like someone had told him a really good joke. Perhaps he had heard about the clown-car convention. Or seen Uncle Eddie trying to park. He smiled and clapped his hands and said, “Well, how are you all doing? Come on in, come on in!!! Welcome to Memphis, folks. The home of Elvis—but this is not Heartbreak Hotel, no siree, this is your hotel!” Good Lord. I said to Uncle Eddie really quietly, “Put your foot down and drive like the wind.”
But Mr. Smiley Mad Pants had already taken all our bags inside. Still grinning. Like he was really pleased to see us. The receptionist (Candi) practically split her mouth in half, she was smiling and saying “alrighty” so much.
Whilst Dad and Uncle Eddie sorted out the rooms, Mum said, “Aren’t they all just, you know…”
I said, “Bonkers?”
Mum got all mumish, “No, aren’t they all so nice? Let’s have a little look at the pool.”
poolsidewise
Fabby pool all surrounded by palm trees and with miniature waterfalls and stuff. We tried out the sun lounger things. Libby gave Sandy and Scuba Diving Barbie a bit of privacy by putting them on their own special lounger.
As soon as we sat down a waitress dashed over. Blimey, sometimes days can go by in English restaurants before some complete fool comes ambling over to take your order, and then tells you they haven’t got it.
Our waitress (Loreen) was beside herself with joy at seeing us and said, “Well, howdy to you all, thank you for coming to Memphis. Can I get you ladies anything?”
Mum said, “Could I have tea for four, and perhaps a couple of ham sandwiches if that is not too much trouble?”
Loreen slapped her thigh and laughed for about a year and said, “With that cute accent you can have anything you want, ma’am.”
Mum said to Libby, “Bibs, would you like a little ham sandwich?”
Libby looked at the waitress and started snorting and grunting and pretending to be a mad piglet.
“Hoggy hoggy, piggy sandwich!”
And Loreen chuckled and said, “Now, aren’t you the cutest?”
Cutest?
Libby?
Good Lord.
ten minutes later
Jas is writing a postcard to Hunky—we’ve only been here a minute. She has no pridenosity.
Mum started taking her jacket off. I said, “I beg you, Mum, do not alarm anyone with your nungas.”
She is in such a good mood, and obviously expecting to see George Clooney any minute, that she just smiled at me and lay back in her chair.
Jas said, “I wonder what time it is in Kiwi-a-gogo. If we are five hours back from England and New Zealand is twelve hours ahead of England, that means…erm…let me see….”
I said, “Jas, please work it out in your head and don’t start talking about minutes to me. It makes my brain go jelloid.”
Once I have had a snack I will have the strength to get on the phone to the Luuurve God.
fifteen minutes later
Loreen has arrived with our “snack.” My sandwich is made out of two loaves of bread, chips, a huge gherkin and a piglet. Loreen said to Libby, who was gnawing her way through forty pounds of ham, “Is that alrighty for you, Miss Beautiful?”
Pardon?
Then, attracted by the gnawing, Cindi, a waitress with eight-foot hair came over and said, “Now you leave her alone, Loreen, she is mine.”
Then they had a bit of a mock minifight over Libby, shouting, “Now you give her here, she is miiiiine.”
Quite quite weird. We sat there chewing as Loreen and Cindi sort of pushed each other round. Finally Loreen won and she picked up Libby and gave her a cuddle. Libby didn’t hit her.
I was amazed.
We were all amazed.
It was amazing, that’s why.
She was cuddling my sister. My sister wasn’t biffing her.
Now Loreen was kissing Sandra. Blimey.
Then some bloke passing by with twenty-five pounds of sausages on his plate stopped and joined in. “How are y’all folks doing?”
I said, “We are doing as alrighty as…er…alrighty things, thank you.”
And he said, “Hey, miss, are you from Ireland? Well, begorrah you are real pretty and you have a sparkling personality. Now you all take care and have a nice day.”
Mum practically choked on her pig’s leg.
half an hour of alrighty time later
After our “snack” we staggered to the elevator and a complete stranger in tartan slacks and matching hat said as he got out, “Now you enjoy Memphis, you hear?”
On the way up to our room I said to Jas, “What do they want from us?”
inside
Mum went off with Libby into the “family” room and Me and Jas went into our room. I heard Libby saying to Mum, “When is the kittykat plane landing, Mummmmmeeeee?”
Oh dear.
our room
Wow and wowzee wow, it was HUGE. And it had its own private bathroom! No more chance sightings of my parents in the nuddy-pants.
When we got to our room the bellhop was putting our bags on one of the ginormous beds.
I said, “Oh, thank you very much.”
And he slapped his thigh and said, “Now where are you all from?”
I said, “Erm, we’re all from England.”
And he did a little bit of a dance and said, “Say something in British.”
I looked at Jas but she was busy walking in and out of the walk-in wardrobe.
It was really making me nervy having an ogling person ogling me from about an inch away from my head. Especially one who thinks that I speak British. Anyway, I said, “Do you know if there is a bus that goes to Manhattan, please?”
And he started hooting with laugher. I was just looking at him. Eventually he managed to wipe his eyes and calm down and went cackling off out of the room.
Jas said, “Georgie, look, there is like a cupboard thing with all drinks and snacks in.”
I said, “Oh thank God!!!”
But I was being ironic because I am so full of piglet I can barely move.
We lay on our ginormous beds and made a plan.
I said, “Okay, the first thing is we phone up directory enquiries and—”
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
monday may 23rd
8:30 a.m.
What in the name of arse happened? I remember putting on the TV and Mum and Dad coming in and saying, “We are just going to have a little zizz.”
I thought, “Hahahaha, now is my chance. I will just lie on my ginormous bed and have a little rest to perk me up for my phone call to the Luuurve God.” And then it was now. If you see what I mean.
But hey hey hey, this is our Official First Morning in Hamburger-a-gogo land!
Jas was awake looking at me. In her giant sleeping knicker ensemble and giant bed. I said, “Howdy,” and she said, “Alrighty,” and I said, “Gol’darn rootin’ tootin’, I’m alrighty.”
And we laughed like loons in Loonland, which we are.
9:00 a.m. hamburger-timewise
Jas was looking out of our two-hundred-million-floor window and I said, “Any sign of cowboys?”
And she said, “No, but I can see some bloke doing nuddy-pants gardening on a roof.”
Wowzee wow!! I leapt out of bed and went to the window and there was Mr. Rudey Dudey Nudey on the roof of another hotel!
I said, “Boo, he’s wearing tiny swimming knickers, or swimming panties, as we must say to get along with people here. I can’t stop to chat with you now, Jas. I’m going to use our phone to call up Masimo in Manhattan.”
Jas said, “Good luck. Hey, I wonder if I could phone Tom in Kiwi-a-gogo.”
It was really groovy having our own phone for once.
I said to Jas, “What is the codey-type thing for Manhattan?”
Typically, Jas didn’t know. I don’t know what the point of coming top in history is if you don’t even know the simplest thing, but I didn’t say that because I am vair nearly in Luuurve Heaven City.
I phoned reception and an alarmingly cheerful person said, “Gayleen speaking, how can I help you, ma’am?”
“Oh, er, I would like to make a call to Manhattan, please.”
“You got it. Now you just wait, ma’am, while I connect you to the appropriate party.”
This was more like it. I said to Jas, “This is why I luuurve the American-type people. They DO stuff for you. Also they are very truthful—you know, like last night that bloke said I was beautiful and had a sparkling personality. That is again why I like them, because they are full of SINCERIOSITY!”
And that is when Dad answered the phone.
“Dad!”
“Oh, yes, I wondered how long it would be before you were on the phone to your mates, telling them what you are having for breakfast and what color lipstick you might wear.”
Donner and Blitzen!
And merde!
And also DARN!!!
Even on holiday Dad is so mad and unreasonable. He has told the hotel to put all our calls through to him!
I said to him, “What if I needed to call the emergency services?”
“I could call them.”
“But what if you had, er, fallen over your shorts and—”
“Georgia, shut up and just accept that you are not calling your mates on the hotel phone. You can use your own money in a phone box.” Then he hung up.
Sacré bleu.
The phone rang. It was Vati again.
“And don’t even think about eating anything out of the room bar or using room service without my permission.”
What was this? A holiday or Stalag 14 on tour?
Through the Fat Controller (Dad), Me and Jas ordered the “healthy option” breakfast.
fifteen minutes later
Me and Jas are sitting in the bath watching the mini TV on the shelf by the sink. It’s like on a stem thing and you can twist it around so you can watch it from any angle, even on the loo. (By the way, we were sitting in the bath not in a lezzie way, just in a in-our-jimjams way).
There was a knock at the door and our “healthy option” breakfast arrived.
I don’t know whose idea of a healthy option it was, but in my book twenty-five tons of porridge, four eggs and forty pounds of fried potatoes plus toast doesn’t suggest health to me, it suggests death.
The smiling person (Dolly) who brought us the brekkie tray said, “Now you all have a nice day, you hear?”
And I didn’t even say, “No, YOU all have a nice day.”
I have never been smiled at by a waitress in my life until I got here.
Creepy.
I said to Jas, “What is it these people want?”
11:30 a.m.
We all climbed into the loonmobile to go and explore Memphis.
Uncle Eddie and Vati are wearing baseball hats backward with their false Elvis quiffs sticking out of the front. There is no need for it. I said to Dad, “Dad, we are representing Her Maj the Queen and quite frankly you two are doing a really crap job.”
Uncle Eddie, once again at the “controls,” accelerated away so suddenly that we were forced back in our seats, like that G-force thing. Only in our case it was the Uncle Baldy force.
As we careered along there were signs all over saying, “Elvis the King dared to rock!” and so on.
Every time they saw one, Dad and Uncle Eddie would start singing another Elvis song and moving their shoulders about and saying “Uh-huh.”
I must find a phone box and set off to Manhattan as soon as I can.
Out of the loonmobile and amazingly still alive.
Memphis is blindingly hot and sort of groovy in a really loony groovy way. Everywhere you go there are Elvis songs blasting out of cafés and bars and shops and people dressed up as him. I never thought the day would come when I would say this, but Dad and Uncle Eddie were almost sane-looking in comparison to some. Is it normal for old ladies who are 800 pounds to dress in rhinestone jumpsuits and false black sidies? “No,” I think, is the answer you are searching for.
The grown-ups were all keen on going to look at Robinmobile headquarters on the outskirts of town. I said to Mum, “Please, please don’t make me and Jas go. Please, we’re only young, we have our whole lives ahead of us. Please, please.”
Eventually they agreed that we could have a look round town and they would go “check the scene,” as Dad pathetically put it, wiggling his dark glasses. Dear God.
As they went off he said, “Be back here, outside Elvis’s Rock Emporium, in two hours or say good-bye to ever going out by yourselves again.”
Cheers.
But at least we were free!!!
As they went off and got back into the car we waved and looked full of maturiosity. Then, when Uncle Eddie had careered round the corner in the Thunderbird thing, we did thumbsie upsies and a swift disco inferno.
I yelled, “Yes and three times yes!!! Good-bye, porky ones! We are off on the Luuurve train! Or Luuurve Greyhound!!!”
Jas said, “I am not getting on a bus to Manhattan with you. And that is final.”
I put my arm around her.
“Come on, my bestest little pally, one for all and all for one and all for me.”
“No.”
“Jas—”
“No.”
I resisted the temptation to kick her stupid legs and decided to use my famous charmosity.
“Jas, let us just go and find a phone box. I can phone Masimo and say ‘Ciao, Masimo, your dreamboat has landed’ and you could phone Hunky and ask him how many boring…er, I mean how many fascinating bits of wombat poo he has found in Kiwi-a-gogo and so on.”
Jas perked up then.
“Oh, yeah, I could, unless you think it’s sort of, well, you know, keen…but I am keen, aren’t I? And I have got his phone number—well, at least I’ve got the number of the farm he is staying on.”
Good Lord. She is sooo, you know, pathetico.
And I say that with deep loveosity.
We had to wait to cross the road with the other Memphis-type people. One enormously friendly person, who clearly had eaten all the pies, said there was a phone box in the “drugstore.” Can you imagine it being called that in Shakespeare-a-gogo land? Anyway, as we waited at the lights they changed and instead of the “Beep beep beep” thing it had a woman talking in a Memphis accent! Honestly! She said, “Now you all are safe to cross the road.”
A shop next to the drugstore had a notice on its door that said NO DRINKING, EATING OR FIREARMS IN THE SHOP.
Wow!
in the drugstore
We asked the drugstore man how to use his telephone thing. He gave us loads of quarters or something. I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, as he was eating a hamburger at the time. I did hear him say, “Are you going to phone Her Majesty at Buckingham Palace?”
What is he talking about?
telephone box
The telephone is a bit low. Are there a lot of tiny people in Memphis? I was a bit phased about asking the operator for numbers in Manhattan as my first go at the phone thing, so I thought I would try phoning Rosie.
Jas was looning about being an unhelp. I said, “Are they five hours ahead?”
And she said, “Well, if it’s yesterday tomorrow in Kiwi-a-gogo, well, that makes it…er…”
As she was rambling on I picked up the receiver and it made a really funny dialing noise and then I had to shove in tons of quarters. Then it made a funny ringing type noise. It was almost like I was in a foreign country.
Perhaps no one was in.
Then Rosie answered the phone.
Yesssssss and three times yesssss!!! Contact!!!
England! England! A person who spoke my own language at last!
Rose said, “Bonsoir.”
“Ro Ro, it’s me and Jas!!!”
Jas was trying to get the receiver off me and yelling, “Let me say hello. Let me.”
Vair annoying.
I let her have a go, though, because I wanted her to do stuff for me. She was ludicrously excited, like we had been away for years in the Antarctic and had just found a phone on an ice floe.
“Rosie, it’s me, Jas, in Hamburger-a-gogo!”
She rambled on for ages, saying stuff like, “What is the weather like there? Oh, is it? Raining? Is it that light rain that soaks you right through? Yeah? Right. Not really raining, more like spitting? It still wets you right through, though, doesn’t it? It’s boiling here. The money is different.” Really really boring stuff. For ages.
I said, “Give me a go, Jas, before the money runs out.”
She handed the phone over to me. I said, “Ro Ro, guess how many people over here have said they love me?”
And Rosie said, “None?”
Happy days. Back to normality.
I luuurve my friends. Rosie is growing dreadlocks and Sven has had his thumb pierced.
After we had said good-bye to Rosie, Jas went off into another booth to speak to Hunky.
I took a deep breath, got my coins ready and got through to the operator.
fifteen minutes later
Do you know how many Scarlottis there are in Manhattan?
A million.
I could spend the rest of my life phoning them.
Jas came out of her tiny-person’s booth to get more change, and I said, “It’s bloody hopeless. There are about a billion people called Scarlotti in Manhattan.”
She said, “Why don’t you use sort of psychic luuurve bonding and just telepathically think of where he will be and choose that number?”
fifteen minutes later
I have made many many new Hamburgese friends, all called Scarlotti. One of them seemed a bit on the Chinese side and I think I may have ordered egg fried rice to go, but that is life. Oh, I have laughed, I have cried with my new mates, I have talked about central heating and so on, but I have not spoken to anyone who knows Masimo. And I have spent almost all my money.
Jas was still on the phone, nodding like a nodding thing.
Huh, she was probably doing pretend snogging on the phone to Hunky.
I was exhausted.
I went up to the counter and ordered myself a milk shake.
The young chap wanted to talk. Oh dear.
He said, “Now, where are you all from?”
I said, “England.”
He said, “Oh, wow…awesome.”
He was just looking at me drinking my milk shake.
Then he said, “Do you know Prince Charles?”
Oh dear God.
I said, “Yes, I play table tennis with him.”
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending how you look at it, Jas came and sat down beside me.
I said, “I have spoken to loads of people, pretty much all of them mad, and spent all my money and I have no idea where Masimo is. What about you? How was Hunky?”
“I don’t know, I’ve just been told off for about a million years.”
It turns out that when Jas got through to the farm, it was one A.M. in the morning timewise and the Kiwi-a-gogo farmer who eventually answered wasn’t pleased. Jas said, “When he answered the phone he said, ‘Are you there?’ You know, with that funny accent that goes up at the end.”
“Why did he say, ‘Are you there?’ when you had just phoned him?”
“I don’t know, it is the Kiwi-a-gogo way.”
“Then what happened?”
“I said, ‘Yes, I am here, are you there?’ and he lost his rag for no reason and said ‘Don’t go playing the bloody smartarse with me’ and started giving me a lecture about how hard they worked on the farm and what time they all had to be up. I said, ‘Er, I am in Memphis.’ And he said, ‘I don’t care if you’re in the bloody body of a whale, don’t phone up in the middle of the bloody night.’
And he put the phone down on her.
Crikey.
I never intended to go to Kiwi-a-gogo and now I know I made the right decision. Do you know why? Because they are all mad.
And they think that just gone midnight is late.
I rest my case.
Jas was all miffed, but she agreed to just have a look at the bus station. We shuffled off to find it. Hot as billio. I think I am getting a bit brown though. Everyone is soooo friendly, its vair vair tiring. And all the men wear either Elvis costumes or dungarees.
I said to Jas to cheer her up, “I have never seen grown men wear dungarees.”
She said, “They are not called dungarees in Hamburger-a-gogo land. They are called overalls.”
I looked at her.
“How come you know so much about it? Have you got some?”
She went a bit Jas-ish. “Well, yes, I, er…use them for, you know, er, gardening and so on. They have many useful pockets.”
Yes, I bet.
I had a sudden image of her and Tom cavorting around in her bedroom in their dungarees….
bus station
Do you know when buses go to Manhattan? Never, that’s when. Also, if they did go, it would take five weeks to get there and back.
Sacré bleu.
Jas said, “Look, be reasonable. We are not going to track him down, let’s just try and enjoy ourselves through our love pain.”
tuesday may 24th
poolside
1:00 p.m.
The olds are all in their swimming cozzies drinking cocktails. Libby has made our Lord Sandra a sarong. She seems to have forgotten about the cat plane fandango because she is so spoiled by everyone she meets. If she eats any more, I fear an explosion in the knicker department.
Vati is still being ridiculous about my gun.
When I asked him to get me one, like in Thelma and Louise, he said “What part of ‘not a hope in hell’ don’t you understand, Georgia?”
“I only want a small one, just for the comedy value of it falling out my handbag in a café or something. It could even be one of those cigarette lighter things.”
But oh, no, he is just too busy chatting bollocks to Uncle Eddie about clown cars and beards. Apparently there are more clown cars at the convention than anywhere else in the world.
Vati said, “What a sight: Robin Reliants for as far as the eye could see.”
I said, “Hurrah,” in an ironic way, but he didn’t get it.
Uncle Eddie is allowed to wear his comedy-arrow-through-the-head hat when we go out to dinner.
It is soooo unfair.
evening
When we were in the Live to Rock diner this huge bloke came over also wearing a comedy arrow through the head. I thought he was one of Uncle Eddie’s sad clown-car mates but he turned out to be the waiter.
I said, “Could I have a glass of Coca-Cola, please?”
He said, “Coming right up, ma’am.”
I said to Jas, “I could get used to this ma’am business; it makes me feel like Her Maj.”
As we were leaving the diner the same bloke brought me this mag called Dallas Monthly.
He said, “I thought you would like it because of the cover, ma’am.”
And the cover was of some heavily bearded bloke dressed as Her Maj smoking a cigar.
I just said, “Thank you. What a lovely gift.”
wednesday may 25th
midday
I tried one more time in the phone booth of love, but after speaking to a petrol pump attendant and the mother of twins called Apple and Spaceboy, I decided enough is enough.
On the plus side, we did have a hoot and a half at Graceland, where Elvis the Pelvis lived (and died, as it turns out—he died of a hamburger overdose).
We saw his bedroom and everything and even his grave. Bought some marvy gifts in the gift emporium for the chums. A lovely Elvis mug, which I am sure some fool (Grandad) will cherish, hilarious wigs, and just to show that we can all live in peace and harmony, I bought the Prat Poodles two Elvis dog outfits. One was a little Lurex all-in-one suit from Elvis’s Las Vegas days—it even had a doggy-size quiff. The other suit was based on this film called Jailhouse Rock and was a doggy prisoner outfit with a striped hat. I would have bought Angus and Gordy one each too, but they would have eaten them in minutes. Oh, and I also bought a very elderly man’s CD. That was a bit of a mistake, actually. This old bloke was sitting in the shop dressed entirely in blue Lurex and humming. I thought he was another elderly Elvis impersonator, but then his “assistant” informed me he was a blues legend.
Jas thought the man said “blue,” not “blues.”
“Why is he a blue legend—does he always wear blue?”
She can be incredibly dim. He was called Moaning Clyde or Wailing Clyde or something, anyway some kind of complaining was going on namewise. Sadly, Moaning Clyde took a shine to me and kept patting my head, so in desperation I had to buy his CD. And then he made us get a photo taken with him. He was quite a tiny chap and his head was practically resting on one of my nunga-nungas.
Jas whispered to me, “Moaning Clyde is your new boyfriend. He luuurves you.”
She might be right. I couldn’t make out what he was saying; we may be married, for all I know. Still, as I said to Jas, “I don’t think a hundred-year age difference is necessarily a barrier to our happiness; the fact that I will never see him again probably is, though.”
8:00 p.m.
In our hotel. Alone!!! Dad and Uncle Eddie and Mum and Libby are all at the clown-car evening do with their incredibly sad new mates.
There are twenty-two channels on the TV, which is in a chest of drawers. There isn’t a TV in the wardrobe, which is a bit of a blow. But ho hum, pig’s bum.
Tuning into the local stations. Mostly it is fools plucking away on banjos and singing “I am the son of a preacher man.” Or something about God or grits, etc. But then we found a program with a sort of agony aunt person. She is called Delilah and is supposed to be cheering people up when they phone in with “luuurve trouble.”
She wouldn’t have cheered me up, I can tell you that. She was an alarming shade of orange and dressed entirely in pink. There was a suggestion of the criminally insane around the pigtails area. Some poor sod phoned in about her second marriage. She said, “Good evening, Delilah, I am getting remarried and my son from my first marriage is having a little trouble coming to terms with my wedding. In fact, he is refusing to come. How can I persuade him to enjoy my lovely day?”
Delilah (looking intently into the camera with a mad/concerned look on her face) said, “So what you are saying is that your son is DEVASTATED by your new marriage?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say devastated, I would—”
Delilah hadn’t finished. “He is MORTIFIED that you have taken another man to YOUR BED who is not his father.”
“Well, he hasn’t mentioned the bed, it was just that he—”
“He CANNOT BELIEVE his own MOTHER would deceive him and LET HIM DOWN SOOOOO BADLY. He is in TORMENT!”
After having reduced the caller practically to suicide, Delilah then said, “But as you all know, music soothes the troubled breast, and here’s a little tune for you to heal the wounds.”
The tune was called “You Are a Drunk and an Unfit Mother.”
I wanted to ring the helpline number to complain about my mutti and vati, but then I would have only got through to Dad and he’s not even in.
thursday may 26th
poolside
only three days till we go back to england
Even if I can’t find Masimo, I can concentrate on becoming brown as a bee in a bikini. Me and Jas had just settled down to heavy sunbathing duties when Vati tried to make us go to the clown-car convention with them.
He said, “What is the point in coming to a new country and then just lolling about by the pool? You could do that anywhere; you should get out and experience the culture.”
I said, “Dad, how many hamburgers can one person eat? And anyway, Me and Jas are soaking up the culture conversationwise poolsidewise. So get real and cut me some slack here because I am sooooo OVER you.”
“Why are you talking rubbish?”
“Well, HELLOOOO, Dad, do not even GO there—that is not rubbish, that is Hamburgese.”
He went raving and grumbling on, but at last they left me and Jas in peace for a few hours.
3:00 p.m.
I said to Jas, “Have I got strap marks?”
“Let’s see…yes, you have.”
Excellent!!!
evening
In the old laughter wagon again on our way to a hotel that everyone has been rambling on about. It’s called Gaylords, which says it all in my book.
I said meaningfully to Uncle Eddie and Vati, “You two are certainly in the right place then.”
Gaylords is “the Western experience under one roof.” Apparently people can’t be arsed to go to the real West, so they just come to this hotel. We went in through the “saloon door.”
inside gaylords
Oh, this is so much worse than you can possibly imagine. There are canyons and waterfalls and deserts all inside a hotel and everyone is dressed in cowboy outfits, or shorts with high heels and gold belts for the ladeez. (Didn’t you know that in the Wild West the ladies wore shorts and high heels?) I said to Dad, “Now can I have a gun?”
But he and Uncle Eddie were too busy yelling “Yee-haa” and staggering around in tight leather jeans. Yes, they were wearing leather. I will just leave that image with you. Me and Jas tried at all times not to be behind them because then we would have to look at their bottoms bursting out of their tight leather jeans.
Erlack.
By the Dodge City cinema there is actually a shop that sells overalls.
I am not kidding.
five minutes later
Oh good, Dad and Uncle Eddie have bought some and they have slipped off to the “rest rooms,” or “bucks’ room” (I know, I know), and come back wearing them….
This is a nightmare scenario.
In the bar area comfort zone they have bucking broncos as bar stools.
Nothing will make me go on one.
two minutes later
I am sitting on a bucking bronco stool, I have a pair of horns in between my legs…so has everyone. We are all sitting at the bar on bucking bronco stools. My dad and Uncle Eddie are wearing overalls. The bar staff are all dressed like Wyatt Earp and crack a whip when you order a drink. Nothing could be worse.
Wrong. Oh, so very wrongey wrong wrong.
The bucking bronco bar stools actually buck. I found this out when “Rawhide” came on the speaker system. I was too late getting off, and before I knew it I was being thrown backward and forward and round and round. I was clinging onto the horns for dear life. Jas had fallen half off hers and was nearly upside down. Libby was absolutely hooting with laughter and yelling, “Giddyup!!!”
God, I feel sick. The stools eventually stopped bucking when “Rawhide” finished, and me and Jas scrambled off and had a rest on a rock.
four minutes later
“Rawhide” came on again, and Libby and Mum, Dad and Uncle Eddie, and everyone else at the bar started bucking about like loonies. It is sooooo sad. Dad fell off. Good.
two minutes later
Dad and Uncle Eddie have made loads of new fat overally mates.
Hoorah.
The fun just goes on and on. From the safety of our rock we were watching a boy with alarmingly big white teeth and those leather things that cowboys wear over their jeans. They are called chaps, for some reason. Cowboys wear them when they are rounding up cattle. White-teeth boy wasn’t rounding up cattle, he was line dancing like a fool.
I said to Jas, “He makes Sven seem normal.”
Then he caught me staring at him, winked, and came over.
“Do you mind if I take a little rest beside you, ma’am, I’m a bit saddle sore.”
I said, “Sadly, it’s a free country.”
He sat down and said, “Hi, you all. Whereabouts in Australia are you all from?”
I said, “I’m English.”
And he whistled and said, “Awesome!”
Is it?
Then he tipped his hat back and said, “Honey, I bet you are a real good kisser.”
What a cheek!
I said with haughtiology and glaciosity: “I’m afraid I don’t do snogging with strangers.”
Jas almost choked on her megasize Coca-Cola (i.e., Coke in a bucket).
Big-teeth boy said, “What is snoggling?”
Snoggling?
It turned out that Mr. Goofy knew next to nothing about the British language. For instance, when I asked politely, “Were you always an arse and a prat, or were you once just a prat?” he didn’t understand what I meant.
Fortunately we were interrupted in our interesting cross-cultural chat by Libby. She came over singing, “Head ’em cup, knead ’em in. Soooooorrreee hide!” and sat on my lap.
She was looking at my new “friend” and then looking at his trousers.
“Georgeee, why is that man so bulgy?”
Then she slipped down from my knee and before I could stop her she went and stood looking and looking at his pouch trousers. He just had time to say, “Well, how are you all doing, little miss?” before she thumped him in the trouser-snake area.
Happy days.
And lovely holiday moments.
friday may 27th
only two more days to go
We were driving to the clown-car convention when we saw a big four-wheel drive car thing, and in the rear window it had a sticker that said HONK IF YOU SEE THE TWINS FALL OUT, which I though was vair vair amusant.
I said to Vati, “We could have one that said ‘Don’t honk if Uncle Eddie falls out.’
Mum said, “Don’t be so rude.”
But she needn’t have bothered, as Uncle Eddie had his headphones on and was singing along (badly) to “I Am Proud to Be a Redneck.”
Which I think is spookily karmic, as his whole head is practically now a red neck, if you see what I mean.
at the clown-car convention
2:00 p.m.
Me and Jas slipped off by ourselves to get away from the overall-wearing fools. And do more sunbathing.
Libby came with us to the ice cream stall and she started her usual shouting. “Me want a big big one pleeeeeeease!”
The elderly man and woman behind us, both dressed from top to toe in gingham, said, “Isn’t she the cute one?”
I looked around, but amazingly they were talking about Libby.
“Hey now, let us get you a treat, little lady.”
And they paid for her ice cream.
She said, “Fank oo ladies.”
They were keen as mustard to know us, and gingham-man said to me, “How are you all enjoying your day?”
I said, “Oh, fab, I haven’t enjoyed myself this much since I injured my ankle at hockey.”
But I said it with a charming and light smile.
Mrs. Gingham said, “Oh, that is a cute accent you’ve got there. Whereabouts in Ireland are you from?”
Then Libby, in between mouthfuls of ice cream, said, “I can sing my song.”
Oh no. I tried to gag her but she bit my hand and went on really loudly and with gusto.
“Poo pooo bum bum. Poo bummy bum bum, arse.”
Oh good.
The Ginghams clapped and laughed.
“Oh, soooo cute. But what is ‘arse?’ That is not a word I know. Is it an Oirish word?” Mrs. Gingham asked.
Libby started smacking her behind, singing, “Bum bum, arse arse.”
And the Ginghams clapped along. I hope they weren’t escapees from the circus-clown-car mental home.
Then Mrs. Gingham said, “Oh, I seee, honey. You mean your derrière! You say arse in Oireland but in the United States we would say FANNY. Can you say that word, dear? ‘Fanny’? Let me pat your little fanny.”
I dragged Libby away quickly. With a bit of luck she would forget all about the fanny business.
As we went off, Mrs. Gingham yelled, “Now you all come back and visit us from Oireland again, begorrah.”
Good grief.
But God bless them—if you can’t beat them, join them, I say.
Me and Jas shouted back, “Top of the morning to you!”
saturday may 28th
one more day
The week has whizzed by, even though I didn’t have any luck finding Masimo. What I like most about here is that everyone likes us. A LOT. It has made me and Jazzy Spazzy in such a good mood that we even went to watch a clown-car race.
Actually it has to be said, seeing a lot of clown cars roaring around a race track is very hilarious. It’s like watching very old people with ponytails skating or something. At least my dad doesn’t do that.
Dad and Mum and Uncle Eddie have made loads of new mates, and we all went out to a takeaway hamburger place for the last lunch.
You drive up to some clown head thing and then you shout your order at it, and it talks back to you and then you go and get your order.
Now, that is what I call culture. Why can’t we have something like that in England? I think I will suggest it to Hawkeye when I get back to Stalag 14.
It would make lunchtime a whole new experience clown head thingwise.
2:00 p.m.
As the olds went off to get last-minute pressies and Libby went to get something for the kitties, me and Jas made our small but meaningful tribute to our visit to Hamburger-a-gogo land. The only good thing about the nightmare trip to Gaylords was that we got to buy some souvenir bison horn hats. We were able to wear them for our farewell nuddy-pants photo session in the hotel room.
It was vair vair amusing. Jas in the nuddy-pants and bison horns, reading a book on the ginormous bed. Me adjusting the TV in the bathroom in my bison horns and nuddy-pants. Packing suitcases, applying lippy, etc. Vair vair amusing indeed. I was nearly dead with laughing.
Loreen and Jolene and Noelene and Gaylene and all the other lenes at the hotel actually cried when we left…honestly. They were hugging us and so on. Saying “Now, you all come back to us, soon as you can, missing you already.”
Still, as I said to Jas, “They are only human.”
Adiós amigos, as you say in Hamburger-a-gogo land. I love you all. But I must go, as I have a Luuurve God to find.