EURO VISION

EURO VISION
It’s nice to get off this small damp, cold island once in a while and go somewhere... Different. Where we are the foreigners for a change, where they don’t understand our warm beer and oi-oi-oi football culture.
What WAS I thinking? ... Anyone who books a holiday, where Nazi's and the sound of music is the featured attraction, deserve everything they get. Actually the main attraction was 7 nights for £199... A bargain basement passage through France, Belgium, Germany and Austria ... Cheap as chips... So I can’t really complain... However, being a Brit ... I will.

I should have realised the moment i couldn’t get in my seat at 2.35 in the bastard AM that I would be sitting behind the most ignorant man on the planet... Planet Twat... Population ONE.

He had reclined his seat on the coach so far back, I had to slot myself in my seat like bread in a toaster. Once we got underway he continued to sleep like a diabetic in an unwakeable coma for the next 12 hours. By the time we got to the nearest motorway services, I hobbled off the coach the best I could with shattered kneecaps. Every time we stopped and he got off the coach, I would slam his seat back in to the upright position. Only for him to get back on board and whack it back so far into my face.

I could have counted every spec of dandruff on his hair which was dyed blacker than any Elvis impersonators wig. It wasn’t so much his hair or his clothes that he'd somehow manage to buy from a 1978 Grattan catalogue that caught your attention, it was the fact he was traveling with a much older woman companion, on first glance we thought it was his mother but when they start cuddling up like a pair of teenagers, we begin to think otherwise.


It turns out he’s 45 and French-Latvian, which explains it all, they are only one notch above Neanderthal Man who strutted about like he was transporting genitals of rhino proportions, he doesn’t have a job except sponging off this poor delusional woman whom I could only guess was in her early seventies. She must have found him on the last page of Latvian lotharios.com that’s fer shure. To prevent an English/Latvian crisis, the tour rep swapped our seats and the slimy bastard kept his seat in the bolt upright position for the rest of his trip because they put a man in the seat behind him.

We had the best part of the deal because we got to sit in the back row of seats of the coach with the most leg room and laugh with a 50 something born again teenager with pink hair called Wendy, who has just got to start living her life due to her divorce and being the main career for her sick mother. To idle away the time we made up false rumours about the Latvian man which spread around the coach like Anthrax in a subway. Mean I know, but there were a good few hours to kill and I have never laughed so much at another’s expense.