You meet a lot of interesting people on holidays. Well when I say “meet”, I mean observing people from a safe distance and mercilessly taking the piss if warranted.
I stayed at a rather nice beach resort in Malaysia over Christmas and it was simultaneously a pleasurable and fascinating experience. I think the five stars were awarded for the characters
that were staying there.
It really was a microcosm of humanity, mixed with sand and the odd Pina Colada. In no particular order we had the delightful Poms from Bogan-On-Trent who thought the dress code in the restaurant where breakfast was served was footwear optional. I love the look of tinea in the morning.
As well as not being able to afford shoes, their pantry must be a bit light on, because each morning they would they would knock off the teabags and sugar sachets from the table.
They must prescribe to the hotel buffet school of thought that “I’ve paid for it, so I can have it”. Similar to the family I saw at a hotel seafood buffet in Singapore stuffing prawns and oysters into Tupperware containers they coincidentally had on them. As you do.
I was wondering how to get the dining chairs into my suitcase.
I also have a bit to learn from the people (stereotypically Germans, though I’ve never actually seen a Teutonic type do this) who bags a sun lounge by the pool at about 3.24am, and then turn up to use
them at 3.25pm.
Speaking of sun lounges, the Natasha twins with their “uncle” Boris (I suggest the ladies were on an hourly rate, and yes, I admit my range of Russian names is garnered from watching “Rocky and Bullwinkle”), weren’t content with their three sun lounges, they thought they’d take over the adjoining ones as well.
Their $4,000 Louis Vuitton handbags and over-sized sunglasses obviously needed a tan.
Also providing a bit of cheek, literally at the resort was “Arse Boy”. We encountered this middle-aged bandanna and budgie smuggler wearing “dude” by the pool, who pulled said budgies halfway up
his date to get some sun on his bum and proceeded to strike poses like a cross between a Bondi lifesaver and the centerfold for Playgirl magazine’s special Wedgie edition.
Thanks for that mate, talk about New Moon. Another highlight was the bloke who pranked his son with the hilarious game called “Let’s Pretend Daddy’s Dead”. He would float, face down, legs and arms akimbo in the classic drowned position in the kids pool. His seven-ish year old son, obviously concerned, started anxiously poking him, saying the word “Daddy” in ever increasing degrees of concern.
Only when he thought his son had reached the right level of hysteria, the guy stood up, pissing himself laughing. What a strange man. He must have great fun at home lying in a bath filled with red food dye clutching a razor blade.
There were plenty of other characters, “Blue Leg Boy”, “Buns of Steel”, and the wannabe bikini supermodel with her wannabe bikini supermodel photographer, as well as the usual pasty white bodies basting themselves in baby oil, so they can return to their -14 degrees European snow-bound homes boasting the trophy tan (and third degree burns).
My pick are the people who feel it necessary to take those Hindenburg size inflatable pool toys on holiday with them. I saw someone being crushed in the pool by a life-size blowup killer whale, but then
again it could have been another round of “Let’s Pretend Daddy’s Dead”.
Facebook Recommendations
Read all about it
Punch live
Up to the minute Twitter chatter
Ukraine song pinches chord progression from The Verve's Bittersweet Symphony. Fo real #sbseurovision
RT @GerardDaffy: @antsharwood all the talk over there is the grannies will win.they entered to get a church built,feelgood story
Recent posts
The latest and greatest
Abbott’s crass logic: trash the Parliament in order save it
An email was sent to almost every politician in Australia this week saying that someone should cut off…
Our special forces don’t always need special treatment
We admire them, but we’re not entirely sure why. We allow them to operate in the shadows; we rarely…
A good holiday is about unrest, not rest
Like a fat full-stop, it lay in my hand. A small orange – not exactly fresh, but purchased anyway…
Nosebleed Section
choice ringside rantings
From: They must pay for one’s bitter disappointments
Michael S says:
"A teacher at Geelong Grammar had criticised her for using words that were too long, which had left her confused and had made her doubt her ability to write essays. She became ''quite distressed'' when her English marks began to fall." I can sympathise. My scholastic mentors conveyed to me a causal relationship… [read more]From: Welfare for breeders is a bonus for everyone
Change Up! says:
I have no problem paying my taxes. As a single, childless person on a very decent income, I can afford it and not have my life severely altered. Plus I understand that my taxes paying for things like schools, childcare and infrastructure is ultimately a good thing. A better community is better for me… [read more]Gentle jabs to the ribs
They must pay for one’s bitter disappointments
A private school girl’s family is sueing her elite, extremely expensive private school for not… Read more
Most commented