3 Times a Lady

How I haven’t mentioned Laia yet is beyond me. Laia is the third Stooge, the jacket in a three piece suit, the third little kitten that lost her mitten. She’s the thumb hole in a bowling ball, the third shake of a duck’s tail, the last leg on a milking stool. She’s the Speak No Evil monkey, the Scissors to our paper – rock, she’s the one that completes a group hug. Basically, the Kay Olé and Bella K combo that you’ve come to know is, in fact, an amitié ả trios – a gorgeous trio of the Good, the Bad and the Beautiful.

Local to the island of Mallorca, she has beachy tousled tresses, a flawless tan and an ass that you can bounce coins off. She’s known and loved all throughout the island, never forgets a name or a face, plays pool like it’s her job and throws a beach party each July that is the highlight of summer. Her car is the permanent home to a selection of beach towels, beach pillows, miscellaneous inflatables, two umbrellas, a picnic kit – or ‘pinnikit’, and a cooler waiting to be stocked at any given moment, as every day is a beach day lying in wait. This wonderful specimen of woman is Laia, our best friend.

When we mentioned to Laia that we’d be kicking it for three weeks in the Republic of South Africa she was aghast, ‘I wanna come!!!’

‘Ok’ we chimed over Skype, ‘quit your job and come!’

And she did just that.

After the plane hit tierra firma Kay Olé and I went our separate ways, each to spend a relaxing week with our respective families, in preparation for her arrival and the start to an epic road trip. On our travels we’ve hung out elephants in the bush, taken a cheetah for a walk, tried all the local beers, gone on safari, attempted to ride an ostrich but ate one instead, dived with Great White Sharks, and today we will chill on a beach with penguins en route to the southern most tip of Africa. Stick around for photographic proof.

Just Plane Hat

Exactly two weeks ago Kay and I left the boat running. Both scheduled to fly at 6 pm to South Africa for vacation, we left for the airport nine hours early, to allow for ample time shopping, and to try to get bumped up to first class, to no avail. We were preparing our aeroplane seats when Kay pulled out a hat and explained that it was her Plane Hat.

‘I’m not resting my head against there, you know how many heads have been on there lately? Ew. Look, they don’t even have any covers on!’

We connected our new BeatsBy Dre, pulled our blankets up to our noses, and settled in for a movie marathon. A few hours later, just as I leant over to shuffle around my footrest, I heard a splash. I sat back up and turned to face Kay, who was sitting one empty seat away, and looked like she had just seen Rod Stewart naked.

‘Did someone just spill their drink on us?’ I asked.

The next few words that spilled out of her horrified face did not sink in until the third repetition. ‘It’s vomit!’ she gasped, exasperated.

I looked around to see several people from both isles, and numerous rows, covered in puke and gawking at one another in disbelief. Removing our blankets we were relieved to see that we’d escaped the spray off of that bitch’s techni-coloured yawn, and proceeded to burst out laughing. We snorted with laughter until my eyes settled on Kay’s Plane Hat, that hadn’t gotten off so lightly. Kay's appreciation for her own foresight didn't even begin to reflect in the protective head gear, that still didn't aid in our quest to be bumped up to first class and that she binned so lightly.

Tighter Than a Dolphin's Blowhole

So fortunately after arriving in Harlingen we neither had to share the last bottle of Cristal, nor have dinner with the boss. In fact, we skipped dinner all together and went straight on to the champagne. 6 bottles, in decreasing order of quality. We then followed that up with a recon mission into town and then on to the main bar here, which we got kicked out of at a tender 1am, as per usual. Most unfortunately, it is just as shit as we suspected.

Then next day we discovered that the reason that ol’ honkin’ Harlingen smells just as shit as it is, is because of this:

...the manure factory just across the way from us. Harlem Harlingen is literally, a shit town.

The next day saw the start of a six week yard period, during which the boat will come out of the water, be lifted above the ground, and will have fixed / renewed / redone everything from getting the entire hull repainted to the smallest jobs like professionally polishing the door knobs. I am very glad that I will be on holiday for one month of it.

The endeavour of drawing the boat out of the water, getting it onto a dry dock and manoeuvring it into a hanger took all of three, long days without internet. In other words, right up until Kay and I left for vacation. Gale, being the ever-sober wet blanket, was in his engineering element, and it’s amazing how his sense of self-importance, just in that time, grew into something disproportionate. In actual fact, it seemed to be directly proportionate with the size of our hangovers. The pious bastard.

He approached Mini Me just as she was in the middle of frantically organising several contractors.

‘You owe me money’, he butted in mid-conversation.

‘Excuse me?’

‘You owe me money.’ he continued curtly, ‘Everyone left without paying the bill last night’.

‘Uh, okay, can it wait?’ replied Mini Me, clearly in the middle of something.

‘Well I’d like to get that money’, he said, as if chewing on his own very words with his sucked in cheeks and hooked upper lip.

‘You will, though I’m sure it can wait ‘til five o’clock’, she shot back, showing irritation towards his timing.

Of course, she prioritised telling Kay and I what happened immediately after she became free rather than looking for her purse.

‘... so be prepared’, she warned.

As he’d done to Mini Me, and subsequently Kay, he approached me at the most inopportune moment.

‘Uh Gale, as you can see I’m in the middle of a meeting...’ I responded, eyebrows raised, ‘Do you need it right now? Are you leaving during work hours to go buy stuff?’

He mumbled something in his stupid, indecipherable accent.

‘Alright.’ I conceded, ‘God, I never realised you were so hard up. How much is it?’

‘Well you can work it out for yourself’, he spat.

‘Well if I knew how much it is I wouldn’t ask you, would I? Should I make up an amount? Nothing divided by seven is nothing. Thanks for the shout. Do you have to be so difficult?’ I snapped impatiently.

‘One hundred and thirteen...’

‘It’s 16 euros and 14 cents each’, interjected Mini Me in passing, having caught the end of our conversation.

I turned back to him, ‘Do you have change for a hundred?

                                                ****

As it turned out, Gale, being the huge you-know-what that he is, only asked the girls for his reimbursement, and since he made such an enormous deal of asking for it, we made a point of giving it. I had completely forgotten about it as we were all sat for dinner in the Chinese restaurant that evening. Kay piped up, mid-conversation, ‘Oh Gale, before I forget! Here is the money for the last round of drinks last night. Sixteen euros and fourteen cents!’

He tried to shush her, ‘Oh don’t worry about that now,’ he said meekly, clearly not wanting the boys to be privy to tight-fistedness.

‘Oh yes!’ I quipped cheerily, ‘I have it too. There you are.’ I paid in exact change, after I spent a good 45 minutes after work trying to hunt down a collection of 1 cent coins that are barely used anymore. Mini Me chipped in with her 16,14 as well. The boys looked puzzled. Gale was positively squirming.

‘Oh, Gale bought a round last night and was hoping to get some cash back for it’ explained Kay.

The Leader, who usually pays for most things, was sardonic. Mario, whose motto is, ‘Our bitches don’t pay for drinks’, was horrified, and Spencer, who knows that everything goes in circles, was just plain confused.

‘Don’t worry’ I said, breaking the silence and saving them the embarrassment of not having correct change, ‘I have a whole load of 1 cent coins I’m just dying to get rid of!’

Land sweet Jesus!

Days at seahab:                                 19

Coordinates for your Google Earth:        53°11’282   N

                                                        005°25’819 W

Transatlantic Push-up Challenge:           4250 miles travelled

                                                        Push-ups done: Don’t care

So after almost three long weeks at sea we are arriving in the shithole that is Harlingen, The Netherlands, where it is 14°C with an 80% chance of rain. Marvellous. I’m not thrilled about the location, but I’m still happy to be hitting dry land rather than rocking about at sea so hard that it requires every muscle in my body just to sit fucking upright. The murderous boredom had me on the brink of watching the Kardashians talk about weddings and stuffing their yobs with sticks of butter, whilst I devour all the candy in the fat bastard draw, and my own feelings. This is what I had to do to deter myself:

Even more unfortunate than being in this place that The-Boss-Of-Me chose to suit his convenience, is that The-Boss-Of-Me will actually be waiting to greet us and his slightly battered yacht in the shipyard. This means several things; 

      Sharing the last bottle of Cristal with him, or developing a secret drinking habit where I stash the stash in a cereal box, and risk losing the fizz.

      Working, instead of shopping for warm clothes, moving into our pimp new crew apartment and spending the afternoon grooming myself for a night out.

      And worst of all, spending our first night back on land, after three weeks at seahab, at dinner with him and on our best behaviour, rather than behaving like Courtney Love at the Emmys, as was my plan.

Moreover, we haven't even tied up yet and all I can smell is manure.

Europa bound.

Days at seahab:                                 18

Coordinates for your Google Earth:        51°58’7   N

                                                        002°52’0 W

Transatlantic Push-up Challenge:           4149 miles travelled

                                                        Push-ups done: Don’t care

Land tomorrow. ‘Nuff said.