by Mandy Kerr
Sex on the beach cocktail with an umbrella
I know that you are worried about me going away on my own to a far-flung country, and that you are concerned about the political unrest in the ‘Far East’ as you put it (despite being relatively clueless about the political unrest here in England), but I will message you every day to reassure you. I have thus far reached the age of 55, bought a house, held down a job and managed to not kill my children. I will be fine.
I remain unradicalised. The ISIS recruitment stand was unmanned; I think he was at lunch. Not been swept off my feet yet by a Turkish fisherman with a large gulet, but they are few and far between around the airport. My flight has been called, so see you on the other side. (No, not the spiritual other side..) Please don’t worry about me.
I have avoided militant Syrian insurgents so far. I thought I saw one at Dalaman airport, but it turned out to be a grumpy Costa Coffee employee having a quick ciggy on his break. Lovely apartment in the town where Icarus fell to earth after his wings tragically melted. Well, not actually in the town centre, in the sea. I feel this must mean something but haven’t worked out what it is yet. Discovered, to my horror, that you can take a Kindle to Turkey but can’t bring it back again. What sort of weird regulation is that? Surely there must be some kind of Kindle mountain there by now? I have survived day one.
This morning I made two new feline friends. (Anya, and an unnamed male with huge cat balls). I discovered that Turkish cats shout a lot and eat entire bags of crisps while blatantly staring you in the eye. I had to chase them round the balcony to retrieve my cheese and onion Lays (when in Rome...). I might head into the mountains shortly to search for bears, mountain lions and an alleged Daesh training camp. (Joking Mother). Rest assured I am still alive.
Saw a wild tortoise. Was hoping for a mountain lion really but beggars can’t be choosers. Discovered that Anya the cat is actually Tanya the cat, which explains why she was ignoring me. And the unnamed cat is, in fact, called George, a name I feel doesn’t do justice to his majestic masculinity. Dithered about going out in a strapless dress, but couldn’t work out whether that was out of respect for the Muslim culture or a compulsion to keep my bingo wings under cover. I went for it anyway but kept my fingers crossed that I wouldn’t be stoned to death as a Western strumpet. I have a feeling that sadly my strumpet days are well behind me so it should be fine.
Still, I got to meet and be attacked by another cat (just a flesh wound and yes, my tetanus shots are up to date), and even saw a display of some cool skulls arranged on a fence. I think this might have been Ed Gein’s house, but I declined to go in for the obligatory Turkish tea. The phrase ‘I’ve had a skinful’ may have been misinterpreted. Against the odds I’m still alive.
Another wing meltingly hot day. Even my eyeliner pencil has become impotent, and my iPhone informed me that it was going on strike due to unacceptable working conditions. My task for today, to find a boat trip. When I got to the harbour I was faced with a Libran nightmare. Dozens of boats all promising to be the Best. Boat. Trip. Ever. Even I know that this cannot be possible. What if I hap
and Ahmet will make sure that you are looked after very well.’ As he spoke, he winked in what I presume he intended as a gesture of reassurance, but I have seen a few films along these lines, and they generally don’t end well to say the least.
I haven’t spoken to one sinNeedless to say, I remain alive and well.
Us Scots are definitely not genetically designed for such temperatures. As Woody Allen once said, ‘I don’t tan, I stroke.’ Lazing by the pool for the day has given me the opportunity to watch the ebb and flow of guests at the apartments. The benevolent group of ladies of a certain age who were obviously here on some kind of yoga retreat (
Ok, so you know I said it was hot before? That was literally just the warmup. I don’t think there’s even a word for this. It would be more of a strangled gasp which I’m not sure how to spell. As I was walking out, Olgun, the owner here, stared incredulously at me and gasped,
I told him I didn’t have one, but wrapped a gauzy black scarf over my head, which I’m pretty sure would just magnify the d
I went to
the Marina with two boats in mind. How do I choose between them? Does one
captain look more trustworthy than the other? One more unhinged? Do I choose by
a glint/twitch of the eye or do I hand out a psychometric questionnaire? (I
feel valued in my job: strongly agree, agree, neutral, disagree, strongly
disagree). I went by gut instinct and jumped on the Aviva 2. The other boat had
already buggered off anyway.
So I headed out to sea feeling like a cross between Marco Polo and Simon le Bon in the Rio video...
There have been many captains in history; Captain Ahab, Captain Birdseye, Captain Pugwash, Captain and Tennille (one for the over 50s, keeping it current), and now Captain Ahmet. Amazing day, great food, and lots of stops for swimming (desperately trying not to think of Deep Blue Sea, Jaws, or indeed any film with sharks or other aquatic killers). Luckily, I’m not one of these people who need to be able to feel the floor under my feet; fathoms of deep green sea beneath, warm ocean all around, Cleopatra’s stomping ground and a true taste of Turkey. It’s only the Muezzin calling the faithful to prayer at 4.30am that makes me think sod this, I’m too lazy to be Muslim. Day six successfully survived.
Well, I’d hoped to do my final update in Turkey, but my cheap iPhone charger had other ideas and packed up (damn you Poundland!). Maybe it was finally sick of all the photos of yachts. Consequently, and perhaps fittingly, it’s last gasp was a message from Captain Ahmet last night. Enigmatically it read ‘Good Evening’. I guess I’ll never know what it meant (possibly good evening?) How he even got my number remains a mystery, but