The Scene: Eurostar to Paris, heaving to Deauville EPT.
The Players: Me, Ali (Virgin), Dubai, Dpommo.
The Eurostar 'port' at Waterloo is hardly the most glamorous lounge I've ever waited in, but my guts have been complaining about a steak sandwich I fucked up on the George Foreman yesterday night, so I'm just glad to sit down before gravity has the chance to force anything out of my arse unexpectedly. I don't know why I bought the bloody thing to be honest (the grill, not my arse). Like I need another cookery toy in my kitchen. Anyway, I suppose it'll look nice next to the blender (never used) the sandwich maker (some of the residual cheddar dates back to 1998) and an Ideal Home Show slicing machine I haven't touched since I nearly lost a finger just trying to get to the instruction book out back in 2002.
The Bagel Factory is advertising "Hot and Crispy" bacon bagels, and though the doc recommended I avoid eating and starve out whatever weevil rode into my stomach on the Foreman express and started partying, I'm starving and can't resist. Sadly, a more accurate description than "Hot and Crispy" might have been "Microwaved to the temperature of the sun and flaccid like John Pertwee's cock," but I imagine that probably wouldn’t look so good on their poster. It is, frankly, disappointing, and I think I just heard the weevil downstairs cheer at the arrival of breakfast. He certainly just opened another bottle of champagne if the pressure in my sphincter is to be believed.
In a move that I've since come to expect with this bunch, we upgrade to the highest level of travel possible. Pommo is small enough to look comfy, but I know Ali and I are going to have to be careful not to spend the next few hours cracking shins like horny boy elks fighting over lady elks. Exactly what makes this seat "1st Class" I really don't know, but Ali almost immediately pulls the arm off his chair for no apparent reason. "If you're looking for the 'in-flight' movie screen, I think you're fucked son."
A reasonably pretty waitress appears, prompting Dubai to sit up ever so slightly and remove his headphones (which are - just to give you some colour - larger than many family cars currently on sale). "Hope the lobster's fresh." he quips. "Yes," she replies, "Straight from the Thames." Touché. Dubai retreats back into the relative safety of his Craig Davids. "I'll pass on the lobster."
Thankfully, being the resilient chap he is, Dubai is ready for round two as the 'main course' arrives. It's the Eurostar's take on a full English, and Dave ventures a "Sausages medium please". She rewards him with total silence - as if he doesn't exist. I think he could be in here. Apparently Dubai recently turned up at a MacDonalds and asked for the fries to be lightly salted. The spotty underachiever at the till turned to the 'oil monitor' and shouted "FRIES LIGHTLY SALTED!" God only knows exactly how much phlegm his burger contained by the time the youths had had their way with it.
NEXT TIME: Desert