God, I hate travel logs. Variations on the following theme: "I went to Rome. I visited the Colloseum. It was huge. It made me feel tingly." Only with more adjectives.
Dear acquaintances of mine who send your entire address book long emails detailing every single thing you did on holiday:
It's been said before. A billion times. By better, funnier writers than you. And even then I would rather pour salt on my paper cuts and bathe them in lemon juice than read about how awe-inspiring X pyramid was, how sandy Y beach was, how tasty Z food was. I wasn't there and I don't care. Also, while we're on the subject, for the love of God, do not show me your photos. Send me a postcard instead (just one will do).
I hereby promise all my friends who normally enjoy my emails, I will never, ever write a travel log.
It seemed like such a good idea, those months ago, that drunken night. Anna, beautiful best friend that she is, has the wonderful idea that Christiaan and I should visit her while she's living in Rome for the summer, learning Italian. Sure. Wonderful Idea. She's known Christiaan all her life and even though she's engaged to sweet little Jose now, and even though Christiaan's feelings for her are "unresolved", and even though that makes Anna uncomfortable, and even though *I* don't know him especially well (I've seen him a handful of times in the 12 or so years since I first met him), we will travel together to Rome. We'll spend four days in each other's pockets. We'll share a room. Hell, we're trying to save money. Let's share a bed! Let's fuck up the reservation, book it for the *wrong month*, so there are no twin rooms left and SHARE A BED.
I can do this, I can do this. He's a nice guy, he's not unattractive, and I trust him to keep his hands to himself.
Of course, it's pretty damn hot in Rome in July and of course he absolutely has to sleep nude. Of course. And that first night, the one night we did get a twin room, I happened to see things. Things I had No Intention of seeing. Things that make me smile secretly to myself, even now.
It was hot, so fucking hot. No blankets necessary kind of hot. Tossing and turning hot. Waking up, changing position, opening eyes briefly, then going back to sleep hot. I flop over and find myself facing Christiaan. Who is sleeping, lying flat on his back, sheet covering his legs up to about mid thigh. And...
Big. Hard. Cock. *Big* hard cock. Lying flat on his belly. Pointing at his chin. I wonder what he's dreaming about for a curious moment, turn over again and go back to sleep. But that image has set up camp in my brain and doesn't appear to be going anywhere any time soon.
Hell, I might have taken advantage of it (I know he wouldn't have said no) had I, in any (other) way, fancied him. It was fun telling him about it the next evening over Prosecco though.
I love Anna so much and she's looking frickin' gorgeous at the moment - sexy, curvy, skin the colour of honey. It's so much fun travelling with someone who makes you laugh like she makes me laugh and bouncing round the Colloseum like giggling teenagers is how it should be done. Tourists always look so miserable, traipsing around like they'd rather be anywhere else, except they can't relax, because it's a holiday and it's important to see all of the sights. No Fun Allowed.
Dear tourists who video their holidays:
What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you looking at this beautiful ruin through the view finder of your camcorder? And what's more, what sort of total loser then goes and watches that supremely *boring* video once they get home? Do you have one of those editing suites on your iMac that turns you into an amateur film maker? Are you going to edit your footage and put it to music? Are you then going to inflict it on your friends? (Who, let's face it, are probably giant losers as well, because they're friends with people who video their holidays).
Throw your camcorder away, you sad, sad weirdo. Use your eyes, savour the memory. Get a life.
Why the hell can't Christiaan leave Anna and I alone for a while. We need some girl time, dammit. So we can talk about how annoying he is, if nothing else. He's got it in his head that open relationships are the way forward, which is great if you're a horndog like he is, but for the rest of the population, our jealousy keeps us warm at night. It's not that I don't respect other points of view (and I resent being accused of that!) it's that his point of view is retarded. Good luck to him though.
I really like this guy JD, who goes to school with Anna, but who also teaches Philosophy at Bristol University. Yes indeed. I do really like him and I hope he stays in touch with me. I mean, hello. Academic. Interesting. Good company. In hindsight, quite attractive.
Although, while I was with him I did keep asking myself, "Do I find him attractive? Do I find him attractive?" And the answer kept being no. Damn. He certainly seemed interested in me. I wonder... I wonder... I think maybe he wasn't tall enough or something, but I can't remember. (*Loved* the beauty spot on his nose, however.)