Good Scot Bad Scot

Although a strong wind blew across the island, the November sky was cloudless with a clothing order of shorts (and little else) required…the Fuerteventura norm ….He would have remained at the poolside for longer but the plastic sun loungers were so very uncomfortable coupled of course with a flu which threatened to take over his life…”Its been around so long it should be paying rent.” Was the sardonic thought process meandering through a dull ache in his head.

Naturally, there was seldom poolside peace. The plague of flies always buzzed around him…human and insect …often difficult to discern, despite repellent sprays, lotions, and any other combative measure which could be dreamt up. The human version, only discernable as they were without wings, but equally repugnant, continually appeared, with a further distinguishing characteristic, a “HELP REQUIRED” logo writ large on larger bodies.

“How much is the bus to Corralejo?” Always pronounced incorrectly to “Where can I get a camel ride?”

This last question frightened the good Scot and amused the bad Scot, a grotesque and un-natural image jostling for position in a dilated minds eye.

But Christmas was fast approaching along with a new passport, likely to be his best and only gift with 10 more years of travel and adventure the prospect, perhaps an introduction to flies of a different size, hue, buzz even. The timbre and resonance of say Latin wings could well be different, perhaps there are reggaton flies…..? If the Dominican Republic proved to be the destination…could we expect a bachata buzz?

Looking through the departure neon of airports and the exotic far flung destinations offered, he often wondered why people did not take more advantage of adventure, opting instead for a safer package all inclusive - vacuumed off the plane, onto the bus and straight to an all inclusive fortnight where a day glow wristband bought all the blandness required, unless of course they were foolhardy enough to actually want to explore the alien streets and discover that life was not so very different from Liverpool, Llandudno or Largs. It was simply lived in a more pleasant climate, with a different language….

Oh sorry, yes sorrrreeeeeeee, you thought everyone spoke English…of course yes…they do…apart from those who don’t. That’s Spain for you, just wont play the English speaking game…..

Hold that thought.