Day 66 - More rubbish from my hospital bed

I think I am competitive, well I get competitive brushing my teeth, buying a tube ticket, getting the last racing post, or getting through the first stage of 15 to 1 and beating a lot of retired mechanical engineers from Basingstoke. Did I tell my Dad was on 15 to 1 I choose his shirt and tie but it was considered too gaudy so they made him change? No my dad was a bright bloke, and he sure was completive, medals for everything football, cricket, snake charming and wrestling with alligators in the River Exe, alas his competitive streak came to an end in the 1st round of 15 to 1 when he went out, when he failed asked two dreadful questions about Greek methodology. Now I have the view if its myth why ask? cause it’s all made up in the first place, a bit like the bible.

I felt so sorry for him I wanted to hug him, perhaps that’s my calling avenge my fathers defeat in 15 to 1 and celebrate with fireworks and on one of those little stages they build when you win the FA Cup singing “Olay, Olay, Olay”

Talking of which my DVD player on the laptop did not work here is hospital, so I still have 9 hours of Lord of the Rings to watch, there is a dayroom here with a DVD player, but there is something competitive about having a laptop and not allowing other people watch your classic DVD, ok it maybe childish but it’s the only sport I get these days. Talking of DVDs have you noticed that something’s have not changed in the DVD library?

I was mooching, what a word, my local Londis and looking at the DVDs for rental, thinking I could be even more smug by not only having the box collection of the Lord of the Rings to watch but something equally as classy like “James and the Giant Peach or Cat in the Hat” However, my observation was that virtually every cert 15 plus DVD cover featured an impossibly beautiful and decorated girl and a slick looking bloke with floppy hair. Now with respect where are the ugly videos? Under the counter I suspect  I was tempted to ask for the videos with the ugly pictures but had already caused suspicion by giggling ever louder every time I saw a good looking babe and bloke with floppy hair on a DVD cover, and after asking for “ugly videos” I am sure would of got me on the front page of the Parish Magazine which I am sure doubles as a recruiting sergeant for the WI and knitting circle or a heap of 1970s porn videos with overweight women and blokes with very dodgy moustaches, only worn by friends of Merv Hughes and men in tight white t shirts and leather trousers mincing up and down Brighton sea front on a Sunday afternoon.

I think my fascination of DVDs been watching too much Bollywood in my time at home, the cheeky kisses behind trees, satin and the unforgettable music, available at £4.99 per month from B4U.com! Talking of which you I mentioned that Carol Voderman was offering to clear all your debts with a competive rate of interest, my son reminded on Sunday that in fact I had it wrong as Carol had said “You can pay all your debts off at just £100 per month” He was spot on, he has been watching the Ocean Finance Adverts as well. I think he is planning his next housing renovation in France as we speak.

I forgot to tell you that during our family visit to Exeter Airport yesterday my son remarked that the shop did not sell anything of interest to children. Now as my son is as switched on as his dad I realised this could be a ploy to obtain presents by deception, however he was right. The only option was to buy William 6 and Ellen 4 a John Grisham novel or a set of expensive set of hand luggage. Now it begged the questions what kind of fool buys luggage at an airport, well I convinced myself they must be as disorganised as me and turn up for their flight with Tesco carriers bags, pants sticking out of every available pocket! Then by chance saying hooray an expensive luggage shop ideal just what I need!

I supposed I am quite a seasoned flyer having the experience of a plane tilting 45 degrees in strong winds on approach to Birmingham Airport to wrestling with an elderly Arab lady at Dubai airport. The wrestling was not part of the in flight entertainment but more an example of no one now listens to announcements on any form of transport system we have become conditioned it. Travel “Worst” Great Western Railways and we all switched off to the Conductor telling us that the “Super have a nice day ticket” is not valid and unless you get off the train your house will be repossessed and your children sent to the workhouse. “Please keep all your belongings with you” No one listens, and lets face it no really wants to watch the stewardess tell us how to attach our lifejacket when we are hurtling at 600 mph into the Atlantic Ocean 2000 miles from nearest landmass. I have found the only people watching are either intoxicated by vast quantities of duty free or testosterone on a rugby club tour that fancy their chances of a quick grope. Even the bloody captain has to apologise these days for the safety announcement and begs us to listen!

Now an example of this disrespect for announcements and safety rules was witnessed by myself. I was flying back to London from Joberg, to us frequent flyers or “mugging city” to most of the World via Dubai. We were flying Emirates airlines, which was most impressive I would think so when you consider the cash they can flash. We landed at Dubai and next to me a small Arab lady was sat. As we taxied to the hard standing the mad scramble to get to the overhead lockers commenced. You know what I am saying here it’s like Pamplona all over again, stewardesses screaming on the microphone to sit down in 48 different languages and turning the stay seated lights on and off. I had worked out the only language they had failed to give the warning too was dialect that the old lady sat next to me spoke. This sprightly lady was standing on the seat and me to rescue her full carrier bag full of duty free Jonnie Walker. She had worked out the only way she could get the angle she wanted to lever her bulging bag out of the overhead locker was to standing on the arm rest my shoulder and the hippy looking lad sat next to her. The trouble is her bony elbow was stuck in my ear, causing me to cry out in pain as all you could see were the little ladies legs sticking out of the locker. There was a temptation to flip her into the locker and close the door, but the thought of her trapped in a locker with all that duty free was too much even for me to bear.

I was too shocked to complain, in fact speechless, as her foot had caught my chin as she descended from the locker. But resolved to trip her up later and push her on the carousel later as she waited for her bags. She was however very nippy and like a mole keeping low and digging her way down to the front of the plane. I lost sight of her, but could tell where she was but the passengers who were suddenly lurching out of the way and the crashing down of hand luggage as they suffered injuries caused by this diminutive whirlwind. Just as the commotion died down and the old lady had got to front of the plane, the back doors opened right next to where the old lady was sitting and me and the hippy made our exit before the typhoon started her journey back up the plane.
Anyway back to films.


Now I have been known in my time to frequent cinemas of many different types, but with respect Bollywood films are hard to follow at the best of times. Well the first reasons is obvious unlike your local Odeon you have to watch them in “cast” what I mean by that is forget the popcorn and ice cream get stuck into the samosas and chutneys, alas all of this has an adverse effect on your ability to sit through a whole Bollywood film without need the assistance of Pile cream. The second is obvious I do not speak Hindi! Now in Brixton the local cinema shows some quite alternative films and last summer the choice was Motorcycle Diaries or some crap Italian Movie, thinking I was being trendy I watched the Italian movie. When we came out of the movie a local South London trendy type looking like Noel Gallagher said to me “You understand that mate? it was all Greek to me” Without thinking, because as we now know wearing an overcoat in summer is risky let alone being cheeky to a local bohemian type, in Brixton, I retorted “Well mate you wouldn’t it was an Italian Film” He replied understand this “F*”K Off “ I understood this verbal interaction!

So understanding Hindu is pretty fundamental to understanding Bollywood.

I have the ability to talk to me without prompting. In fact I am in more demand to talk to by strangers than Liz Hurley is by cameramen. I am always the bloke that gets the drunk sit next to you on the tube. You see them coming down the stairs, Stella in hand, swaying onto the tube train and under your breath you say not me please not me, but they do make a beeline for me and start a conversation with me which the only words you understand are the Fs, Cs and Ws.

Of course then things get lost in translation a Bollywood movie called “Masala” in this country conjours up the thoughts of a “bright creamy tomato sauce” rather than a film that has a wild mixture or romance, a cheeky Indian Arthur Askey type chappy, adventure and tragedy, with a bit of knockabout comedy, pathos, emotion, musical numbers and not a waiter in sight.

Now talking of waiters in my local “Paradise Palace” whose title could double as massage parlour if it were not in Dawlish, why is it that you can walk into an empty restaurant and the “maitre de” screams at you “have you booked, have you booked” of course you have not and he searches through his non existent booking lists and eventually able to find you a table in his empty bistro which funny enough is always next to the murals of tigers being massacred!

Lets face why do we spend so much money on a food, which causes physical pain either on the way or on the way out like we do with an Indian? Would you eat broken glass?

Now Bollywood movies are far too commercial. They are sponsored by various Indian companies who are doing rather well. The first time I really noticed sponsorship was after an interview with the Great Auzzie fast bowler “Merv Moustache Hughes for those who do not know Merv he is a fast talking, big Auzzie who yes looks like he should be walking the poodle in Eastbourne, but I can assure you he eats chickens, beer cans and children whole. Merv had just threatened to kill the umpire or something similar with his bare hands, when on came the advert sponsored by “Norwich Union Insurance for all your insurance needs” Better tell the umpire mate Merv is after you.

I am truly rambling now its 2315 on my first night here in the Hospital. Kevin warned me that it would be noisy on the ward and I now know the reason opposite there is a geezer semi asleep mumbling loudly in his sleep like a 1970s German Porn Star. I will start getting concerned when he starts shouts “Duck me, Duck me” and “Das good, Das good”

I am listening to a compilation of tunes on my “Ibiza Summer 20 Chemo hits” I decided to record 20 hits to spend the summer swinging too as I hip hop through the valley of boredom, sickness, and irrationality. It’s a funky blend of old and new but all them you want to stand up and sing to and I must admit I have been foot tapping, but not in that embarrassing way Fatty Prescott did tapping and air singing “Things can only get fatter” after the 1997 election win.