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I made my first fatal mistake by telling Mr. Fusspot the word "Maccanacca" which I believe is a rude word for "I don"t want to buy"
 

We got off of the plane from Manchester, and, after the long hot debilitating walk to passport control we joined in the total free for all with our suitcases.
Mr. Fusspot had brought his guitar and was watching the young boys grabbing cases so became paranoid that his guitar was going to be stolen so started running around the two conveyor belts like the proverbial demented chicken with his head cut off looking for his guitar.
All I could hear him shouting was ,
"Yuccawacca, Baccanucco, Namaccnaca Paccanicca" - of course he forgot the word Maccanacca (didn"t even remember what it meant) which obviously made no sense at all in this instance if it meant I don"t want to buy.
The local people were looking at each other as if to say "What language is this raving lunatic speaking?"
I stood back laughing and watched a couple of boys fighting over cases but one eventually got ours all together (including the guitar) and we just stood and watched the demented chicken running round and round, dripping and sweating looking for his guitar.
He did look over once or twice to see if I was helping and I thought I saw him wave, well, I like to think that"s what the gesture meant - but I was standing in front of the cases deliberately so he couldn"t see them as the spectacle he was making of himself was really cheering everybody up after the long journey.
When he stopped for breath, gasping and wheezing, he finally realized there were no more cases coming out and that I was standing there with all the luggage and he puffed over looking like he had just run about 28 miles (which he probably had), was totally dripping wet and exhausted.
He looked terrible. The hair that he has was plastered over his face in clumps and was in all different directions.
He had a little tussle with the boy and the trolley but was far too frail at that moment to squabble so just let the boy go with the trolley, cases and guitar and hobbled after him as fast as his swollen legs would carry him.
The lad took our cases to the coach but coming from Spain (we had to go from Spain to Manchester), we only had euros - I had some pounds but wasn"t going to mention it - The lad did not really want to take euros but in the end had no option as I think he just wanted to get away from Mr. Fusspot who, had now (NOT) remembered the word for go away which was "Dar"
"Alk," I heard, "Bas, Cof, Dim Erp" then of course Faddywacca.
I realized then he was going to go through the alphabet but it didn"t really matter as the lad had ran away.
Do not know why Mr Fussy is under the impression that nobody speaks English when all Goans do.

"Well, thank goodness we are getting on a nice air conditioned coach" he chirped happily (luckily he has a short attention span)
Who was I to tell him?
We got on the coach after fussing and tutting about the guitar and was told that the air conditioning was the ability to open the windows (shock and horror on Mr. Fusspots face) who then, for some reason, started talking like a ventriloquist out of the corner of his mouth..
"Look at the restaurant, look at the restaurant, dirty dirty, look at the cars, look at the buses, no left wing mirrors on cars, how old is this bus? why don"t the fans work? look at look at look at."
That did it - I collapsed laughing. Who is this man I am with?
So, now we are on the "air conditioned coach" and Mr. Fusspot is having a seizure. His guitar was put on the top of the coach (not in the luggage hold) Thinks it is going to bounce off somewhere so he is huffing and puffing but does not want to say anything to the driver in case he shows himself up.....erhhhh too late!
We were going past small rag built houses held up with sticks - the up-market ones actually had corrugated roofs.
Mr Fusspot momentarily shocked into silence but is actually laughing joyfully as we are bouncing up and down on the uneven road which he thought was incredibly funny until he remembered about the guitar being on the top of the bus. He had stopped talking like a ventriloquist by now but for some reason turned into a gangster saying,
"Anyone messes with my guitar they"re dead meat"
Oh dear, he has to stop watching television
By now, I hate this guitar.
Finally, after about three quarters of an hour we arrived at the hotel and once again, as we got off the coach loads of young lads grabbed our cases .
Mr. Fusspot, flapping about, was hanging around the coach until they got the guitar off . By the way, the guitar was in a major heavy case - if anybody did steal it I think it may have been noticed
Well, he wanted to carry his own guitar so we let him get on with it.
Our room was two floors up and Mr. Fussy was going up the stairs on step at a time with the guitar on his back - I think it"s because his legs were buckling - I forgot to mention he had to wear stockings on the flight as his legs swell up but he had forgotten to take them off so I think they were cutting off the circulation . The room boys were hanging around waiting for a tip. I could tell Mr. Mean Fusspot. didn"t want to give them one because he figured he had carried his own guitar and seemed to forget about the two cases and flight bags they had carried up. I gave them a pound.
"A pound?" he screeched "A pound? Where did you get a pound? I haven"t got any English money" Why have you got English money and I haven"t?"
"Perhaps it"s because you couldn"t be bothered to go to the cash machine eh?"
"Oh", He snorted "I forgot" but he was immediately jolly again as he discovered that the room had a fridge
Unfortunately, the fridge was on the floor and only around 2 foot high so when he got down it took him half an hour of creaks and groans to get up...
Said to Mr. F "Look at this sink unit in the bedroom/sitting room - it hasn"t got a pipe" "Just as well" he bleated - "It hasn"t got a bloody tap" Mr. Observant.
We collapsed laughing which was a bit painful as the bed had about an inch of mattress - rest was wood but could not care less by then as had to have some sleep.
I did not know what Mr. F was going to turn into the next morning

Mr Fusspot wakes up really early with a stiff neck and creaked and moaned three times (that's" routine anyway) think it's a ritual that all his family do.
Then he went down to breakfast because he"d found out that before 11 o"clock that the breakfast is free (he"s from Bradford) he didn"t realize at the time it was only toast and jam that was free so, bless him, he woke me up with a room boy carrying a tray with eggs, bacon, toast, beans, tomatoes etc., but when he realized he had to pay for that he went into a snit and said he would never do it again as they were taking the mickey. It was only a euro (about fifty pence) - not that I expected it in the first place.
He had another room boy with him who I'm sure he eventually fell in love with because the room boy could make swans out of towels (don't even ask - I will go there later ) all I know is he gave him the equivalent of about 3 months wages a couple of days before we left.
Then the chaos began.
Decided to walk into town. Turned round at one point and Mr. Fusspot is walking with a water bottle balanced on his head -
"Stop it" I groaned "The Goans will think you"re laughing at them"
"Good for my posture" he smirked - now I"m bordering on insanity
Got into town then he decided to keep a low profile as the bikes, scooters taxies, rickshaws, elephants, beggars, goats. chickens, cows, buses and coaches have the upper hand. I think that"s around the time he decided to pick on mosquitoes we"ll go there in a minute
Then..highlight of Mr. Fusspots holiday - he"s spotted not one chemist but two.
They eventually knew him by the name of Mr. Mosquito because out of the blue he developed this "Lets Kill the Mosquito Agenda". I swear from day one I don" t think he slept more than a couple of hours in three weeks because he was "Ambushing mosquitoes" By the side of his bed by the time we got back on day one there was a fire thing to ward off mosquitoes, a plug in, a reserve plug in, a repellent just in case they get you, a repellent if they did catch you, a spray just in case, a lotion just in case but wait for this, when we were walking along the road we went into a supermarket and the electric went off so she gave Mr. Flappy Fusspot a bit of cardbard to fan himself - guess what it turned out to be later that night - you"re right - a mosquito swat. I think he smashed every black mark in the room at least ten times with the new sneery look he"s developed. (Thinks he"s brave now) He turned out the lights to trick them, flicked the light on to trick them then on and off to trick them now I am very worried about him.
By the way, I am not sleeping either while all this is going on. At least the mosquitoes have taken his mind off the guitar for now.
Forgot to mention, I am suffocating as all doors have to be locked and sealed in case "they get you" and he seems to be permanently walking around with a shoe or something in has hand looking at walls - at least he"s happy.
For me, in a perfect world, I would love a mosquito to steal his guitar, what joy.

Well, after tossing turning and swatting things all night of course Mr. Fussport is completely worn out again.
Went through the ritual three moans
Had the new sneery look on - how can I describe the sneery look ?
Okay, imagine someone so smug with little pursed lips that looks at people out of the corner of his eye, thinks they don"t notice and sort of nods in that superior way that makes you feel like should know the person who actually thinks he has Annihilated the entire Continent of Goa of mosquitos
Mind you, he thinks he"s still blonde - hate to tell him he"s grey but that"s the kind of imagination we have to deal with.
Caught him peeping at a few crayon marks on the wall (made out I didn"t see) but in general he was content.
Now I discover he has a completely new ritual.
Get every lotion, cream and anti-repellent and smother yourself with them from top to toe
Well, the smell will actually keep the mosquitoes away and probably most ofthe Goan population.
Oh ,and pack the ones in your bag to take out with you that you light up, plug in, spray, dab, and waft just in case.
After breakfast we decided to walk into Calangute so after running the gauntlet of taxis outside of the hotel, we started walking down the dirt track.
It"s only about fifteen minutes away but Mr. Scaredycat Fusspot has spotted a mongoose that he swears is a rat.
Here my first fatal mistake came yet into play again
"Puccanacca (I don"t want to buy) he screamed to the mongoose "Niccarracca" I know he will learn maccanacca sometime but, at the moment he is very happy with his control of the Conkney language.
Mongoose has run for its life of course but Mr. Sneery Fusspot thinks he"s protected me and chased it away by telling it he "Doesn"t want to buy anything".
Delusional or what?
Started walking on the road to Calungute and Mr. Mosquito Sneery Fusspot decided to buy a hat - well, he bought this big white cowboy hat (totally got ripped off but thought he had a really good bargain) bargaining skills are a whole other chapter.
He put it on, put a roll up in his mouth and said in a drawl
"Who do I look like?"
"Liberace" I said
Off he went in a sulk.
"I can manage on my own" he bleated over his shoulder "I"ve got 300 rupees"
"It"s only 5 euros" I shouted (about three pounds fifty)
He decided he"d gone a bit deaf then.
When I caught up with him he was muttering at the beggars "Yip, Gom, Jok"
I wish he would just say "Go Away"
When I looked at him he had so much mosquito repellent on his face the inside lining of the hat had sort of slipped down and covered his ears. He truly looked like a manic shiny bee keeper - I finally lost the plot!
Carried on walking along about twenty paces behind the "bee keeper" - no, of course I didn"t tell him what he looked like - I get my own back in small ways We decided to stop at a small bar opposite his favourite shops in the main street (the chemists)
I had to go to the toilet so left Mr. Fusspot sitting outside smirking and posing and thinking he looked like (not John Wayne by the way,) he reckoned Clint Eastwood.
In reality, the sweat was dripping into the cream which was in streaks down his face and the lining of the hat was stuck to one of his ears (he didn"t notice)
Was far too busy showing off with his mosquito swat he had made out of cardboard. (He had added a stick to the lump of cardboard by now.)
I asked behind the bar if they had a loo and the lovely lady made a big production out of getting a key and walking me round the back and opening the door of the toilet for me
Well! It was a hole in the floor and really really dirty (but when in Goa you have to do as the Goans do.)
Wonder what it would have been like if there wasn"t a key.
So, now I am so gleeful as not going to tell Mr. Fusspot what it was like as when he was Mr. Neat and Tidy in Crete he was washing everyones" floors etc., (that"s a whole different story) Mind you, Mr. Neat and Tidy creeps in a bit in Goa later on.
"What are the toilets like?" Mr. F. said on my return
"Best I"ve seen in Goa" I replied
"Good" he says "I"ll go before we go to the beach" (still got little mouth sneery look about him).
He was sitting boring a mother and daughter about his new invention, the cardboard mosquito swat/fan and , I don"t quite know how, but while I was away he had also managed to get in that he was a musician.
Anyway, they have mentioned that there is a jam session in Baga that night. Mr. Fusspot is delighted, but knows better than to go on about it at the moment.
They finally went and we decided to go to the beach
"Don"t you want to go to the toilet before we go? " I say"
"Yes, I had better" and off he trotted to get the key.
Well, he came back a lot quicker than he went, - he came round the corner at a hundred miles an hour with his mouth open (luckily no speech coming from it)
Think the shock of the loo had taken away his sense of speech - was just opening and shutting his mouth like a fish
"Okay then" I said "Let"s go.
Unfortunately after a strangled grunt his speech came back in full force
"You said they were the best toilets you"ve seen in Goa" accusingly
"What"s wrong with them then?"
Don"t know how I'm keeping a straight face at this time
Open mouth, shut mouth, gurgling a bit"Have you been?" I asked innocently
"Aaaaaargh,! No I haven"t how could you go? How could anyone go? What is that bucket of water for? Is everyone blind? Why don"t they have any cloths in there? Did you notice what they were like? Why is there a bucket on the wall? Is it for sandcastles? (sarcastic) Why is there no paper?
"Oh, did you want to read the paper then" I smirked
Aaaaaaargh! splutter, aargh! splutter. On and on and on and on
Best cup of coffee in Calangute there though not that Mr. Fusspot would know as he had hit the vodka.
We started to walk along to the beach
"I want to go to the toilet" whispered Mr. Fusspot.
"Didn"t you go then?" me smirking now
"Aaaaaaaargh " he screamed.

He soon forgot though as had spotted the shop that gave him the piece of cardboard so he had to toddle into the shop to brag about the mosquito swatfan he had made and was soon merrily prancing about with that silly hat balanced on the top of his head. It didn"t even fit, and I'm not sure how he kept it on I think the mosquito cream was keeping the hat lining attached to various parts of his face.
Well, we got back to our hotel after another eventful day and, after running round the room swatting any little black bit he could find, he got ready to go out which entailed smoothing out his new white Goan cotton shirt and new white Goan cotton trousers, putting on his aeroplane stockings (which were black,) as, by now, with all the mosquito hunting, his legs had swollen up again and he put on his new brown sandals.
Liberally sprayed himself with mosquito repellent (would not let him wear his hat)
He decided he was going to the bar as I wasn·t ready so picked up the guitar, stood at the door and sprayed the room with mosquito spray then backed out quickly.
It took me half an hour to stop choking then another half an hour to find little black bits and put them in his bed.
That will keep him amused when we get back.
When I got down to the bar he was surrounded by waiters, I thought he was playing a bit of guitar but, no, he was showing them his mosquito swat which he has now decided tonight is also a fan.
"Are you ready then". I said
"Yesh letsh go"
"Talking Gobbledegook again" I thought - I was wrong
Downed his vodka in one and picked up the guitar. (it weighs quite a bit in the case)
Shook all the waiters hands like he had known them all of his life and went out regally waving to everyone who was sitting in the bar and restaurant with that "I know you all know who I am" look on his shiny red face
At this point, I wasn"t sure who he thought he was The Great Anihilator?, Clint Eastwood?, An Inventor of Swats? Or perhaps The President of All Chemists?
Mr. Fusspot Dick Head more like it.
"Are we going to get a choof choof?"
Was he slurring a bit?
"A what?" I'm a bit confused here
"Or is it a pooph pooph?"
"Oh no", I thought "he"s trying to speak the Goan language again so he could be saying anything"
"Look" he squealed as we walked out of the gate "there"s a choof pooph"
Well, no he hadn"t actually learned any new words it was his own word for a rickshaw.
We got into the rickshaw, guitar and all (rickshaws are really cheap which makes him happy ) and really small, so he then starts patronizing the poor rickshaw driver.
"Where are you from?" he asks.
The rickshaw driver replied but Mr. F is a bit deaf so didn·t hear what he said and looked at me with a pained look on his face waiting for me to interpret (I didn"t)
"Do you live in Goa? How musch is petrol? Why are there no lights in the shtreet? How far is Burger ? (Baga) What do you do in the rainy sheason? Are there a lot of moshquitoes when it rains?" Do you play guitar? (snidy side look at me out of the corner of his eye) I play guitar." Me Me Me On and on.
"Is it my imagination" I wondered "He seems to be adding sh into a lot of things"
When we finally got to the restaurant in Baga I asked how much he had heard
"Nothing" he said "but he wash a really nice bloke"
How would he know?

We were first in the restaurant so decided to have a meal He ordered a curried fish platter (I ordered a steak much to Mr. Fusspot Crawlers" distain.)
"We are in India you know, you schould have curry"
"Why is that then?" calmly
"Becaushe we are in India" voice rising
"No we are not" still calmly
"Yesh we are ,yesh we are, where are we then eh? In Isceland I shupposh "
So sarcastic
He called the waiter over
"Where are we?" he asked
"Where are you?" Waiter replied
"Yesh yesh, what Country am I in?"
The waiter is looking at him like he would rather have a question on sport
"What Country?" Waiter getting amused now
"Yesh, yesh what Country?" Voice getting ten octaves higher.
"You are In Goa, a sub continent of India"
"Thatsh India then" ,delighted look on his face
"No it isn"t, waiter smirked, it"s Goa."
"Told you sho" he said to me.
I wonder if he can actually hear anything anybody says ever?- It must be wonderful to have selected hearing and live in his Blissful World where you are right ALL of the time
As I only drink wine, he decided he would have wine too. (He doesn"t really like wine but hates to miss out on anything.
Mr. Greedy Fusspot
By now, after the rickshaw drive with his precious guitar on his lap to say he looked a bit crumpled would be an understatement!
He put the guitar under the table which was a bit of a nuisance and the waiter said would we mind sharing the table a bit later.
Mr. No Friends Fusspot is highly delighted (some new victims to show that bloody swat to)
When the food came, a fly started landing on him, he didn"t flinch, just tried to casually swat it, he missed. For some reason the fly took a liking to him and stayed with him for the whole meal. He was almost exhausted and catonic by the time he had finished his meal what with swirling round in his chair every couple of seconds then swirling back, standing up, bending down, swatting the air, swatting the ground.
"Huhgotchya" he finally smirked picking a lump of ash off of his crumpled trousers.
"I feel a bit dizzy" he grumbled
He looked a bit cross-eyed but that was either the drink or swirling backwards, forwards and up and down for nearly an hour.
By now the place was really filling up and a fellow who I think must be a sort of resident there started playing the guitar. Now I see the jealous look creep over Fussys" face.
"Who do I see to play then?"
"Shall I guess?" sarcastic, "There"s only one bloke up there - and you don"t even know if you are allowed to"
"I used to run jammsheshshshon back in Bradford" (jam session)
"A jammsheshshshon is a jammsheshshshon" I thought it was another one of his new words so didn"t pay any attention.
By then a young couple had joined our table so Mr. No Friends Fusspot put a grimace on his face that he thought was a smile and started fanning himself frantically with the mosquito swat looking out of the corner of his eye and sighing, hoping they would mention it so he could tell them all about how he invented it.
They ignored it totally.
Then he started fanning the girl who waved him away.
He thinks he has an in now as convinced she is fanning the mosquitoes away
"They are rather a problem these mosquitoes aren"t they" benevolently
"Not for me" the girl answered and looked away
He looked at me a bit aghast as if to say "What did they come on holiday for? Don"t they know how to enjoy themselves?
Then another man joined the other one on stage so he got distracted by them and shrilled,
"How"d HE get up there?" (He had paid no attention at all to the music)
"I'm off to the loo, Where ish it? Do you think it"sh a hole? Have you got a tisshue in cashe they have a bucket on the wall? Look after my fan, Is it a unishex toilet? Is there a queue? " (This by now is all out of the corner of his mouth behind his hand with his teeth gritted together which made him look really sneaky)
Off he staggered. I was talking to the young couple on the table, and, when I looked up, Mr.Take a Bloody Liberty Fusspot was sneaking on to the stage behind the two guitarists. I nearly died. He picked up the spare guitar that was there and started playing. Luckily the two playing were professionals so after looking round totally shocked, kept on playing but when they realized Mr. Take a Liberty Fusspot could actually play they relaxed - they even let him play a couple which I hate to say went down really well (his jokes didn"t) I don"t think anybody understood a word he said, and for his grand finale he decided to sing Postman Pat in German (he normally does this with a German hat on which one day will get him in so much trouble)
But was he happy!
Didn"t realize he"d carted his heavy guitar all over Goa for nothing at that moment.
Came swaggering back to the table with this really funny pompous grin on, but only until nobody was looking then he slumped over the table out of breath .
"Schaall we go now" slurring
"No, I said" Just because you"ve got up there you want to go and I haven"t finished.
"Well, I'm hot so I'm going outshide" (We were in an open air place anyway but no way did he remember that)
"Don"t forget your guitar" which he didn"t want anything to do with then - thought if he escaped I would have to bring it out.
He got under the table to get the guitar but fell on one knee. It was hilarious watching him try to get up with dignity. Watched him stagger out with one dirty black knee on his crumpled white trousers (at least the knee matched the socks)
I finally got the bill about an hour later and went looking for him.
He had captured yet another poor rickshaw driver and was shaking his hand, patting him on the back, high fiving him (don"t know when he started that) and was frantically waving the swat at him.
I told the rickshaw driver he had to go back to the hospital after the weekend. Finally got back to the hotel and the bar was still open.
"Letsh have a drinky winky (where did that come from) shall we?"
"No", you can have one when we get back into the room".
A subdued sulky Mr. Fusspot dragging his guitar and swatfan behind him, followed me up.
We sat on the balcony (he had totally forgotten about the mosquitoes) as was trying to get his aeroplane stockings off. Huff and puff huff and puff. Finally all his lovely black and white crumpled dirty clothes were all on the floor in a heap as normal and he then merrily merrily assumed - dressed only in his underpants that were about ten years old - what he thought was a macho pose..
I thought he looked more like a mad professor (the hair that he has was going in all different directions over the top of his head and standing up where he"d taken his shirt off)
"Hey babe" he said in this really deep voice
"Oh no, I thought, here we go, in a minute he"ll say "Who am I"
"Who am I?" he cackled with his lip going up at one side. I couldn"t stop looking at the top of his head.
"What you looking at?" he was looking up in the air sort of twisting his head about "Come on..Who am I? What are you looking at up there? Who am I? Why are you looking at the top of my head?"
"Are you Danny Blanchflower?"
"No" he screeched "Come on, Who am I? You know really don"t you, you are jusht having me on, do I look like Danny Blanchflower? come on, look at me, Who am I?
"Are you Tiny Tim?"
I left him screaming.

I woke up to the chant of,
"Huhgotchya", grunt, "Huhgotchya" grunt, "Huhgotchya" grunt - swat swat swat . He certainly made a good job of killing all the little bits of tea leaves and coffee grains that I"d put in his bed. Didn·t realize he"d been rolling about in them all night
Then, spray, swish, grunt, swat (no three moans as normal) spray swish grunt "Huhgotchya" spray "Huhgotchya". spray Not sure which is worse. This new morning ritual of the "Huhgotchya" chant or when he was just a misery guts.
"Wot you doing staying in bed all day then?" he winged..
All very well for him to say, he"d been in a happy sleep tossing, turning and laughing while he was killing ball point pen dots in his dreams and I was awake listening to mumbling, gurgling, laughing, singing, snoring and now I realize the "Huhgotchya" chant.
Oh dear. Will he ever recover from this holiday.
I'm quite happy at the moment though as he hasn"t said muccadicca or wacconucca to anybody after the dormouse
He toddled off for breakfast, remembering just in time to give me my half hour choking fit with the big spray. Could hear him talking very slowly in a broken accent outside the room and realized he was talking to the lovely room boy who had left our towels in a different shape every day.
"You make swans with towels? I do too swans with towels" Now, this is in a broken Bradford accent
"Two swans with towels? " confused room boy in a broken English/conckney accent
"Si" (voice ten octaves lower, he always does that when he tries to talk Spanish but only knows the word Si anyway)
"I can do snakes too with towels" he always has to go one better
"How you do two snakes with towels?"
I peeped out of the room and Mr. F. was looking at the boy as if he was a
creature from outer space.
"I no do two snakes, I do too snakes "
I threw myself on the bed - not really sure how much more I can take
He looked a bit scornful at the poor lad but gave him a cheesy grin, tossed his head and told the room boy that we were going to hire a car and drive to India. Well, not quite told him, there were a lot of gestures for driving a car and a lot of nonsense being spoken. Along the lines of:
"Me no get rickshaw, You know car? I have car in Spain, big car, no rickshaw.In Spain, many scooters like here, I have pedal bike before - (this was demonstrated) but have now car - we hire cold car, me no like hot car, too hot in hot car. Cold car better . We go get car, not go Goa, go India brumm brumm".
"I will pray for you" the little room boy said
He didn"t quite get that but off he trotted.

Finally went down to meet him and he was happy as had fiddled some extra toast. Said he was exhausted (why?) so had to lay down for a bit on a sunbed. Then he noticed that all the sunbeds had the same blue and white towels on them. (You can get a towel from the hotel if you want and use it on your sunbed.) but nobody was on any of them and there were no free beds.
Head started going from side to side and the ventriloquist appeared again,hand over his mouth
"Are they all Germans here? What time did they put their towels on those beds? Bet they were up all night waiting, Selfish selfish, They can"t put a towel on a sunbed and wander off. Who gave them permission, look over there, left a book so they can go back, look there, I"ll be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow , in fact I probably won"t go to bed" on and on on.
Then his eyes lit up, in the far corner he spotted a bed without a towel, jumped up (forgot about his swollen ankles ) and strolled round the pool looking left and right under his eyelashes just in case anyone was going to beat him to it well, (nobody was there, they were all having breakfast)
He looked really shifty
I was sure everyone must have thought the same, that he was up to something, but he must have thought he looked really casual and cool (in that hat!!) and his new sandals that his feet kept slipping through catching his toes on the hot floor , so that he had to stop every couple of seconds to put his foot back in.
He waved over at me with the bad smell under his nose look and laid on the sunbed.
He jumped up mouth open in a silent scream (for fear of showing himself up) - as if!! as the bed was plastic and burning hot. He pretended to wave over at me again but I know he was just trying to cool himself down with his hand as he"d left his mosquito swat/fan on the table. Watched him try to pretend nothing had happened as he slowly sauntered to the shower (with sandals on) and then jumped into the pool.
Was another shock to his system so I watched him for a while gurgling something to me and trying to to get his breath back.
"Are you Moby Dick?" I called out
"Gurgle, gurgle",
"No?" Okay then, are you a Jellyfish?"
"Aaargh, gurgle gurgle splutter"
"Oh, I know who you are" couldn"t stop laughing by then
"You"re A BIG PINK CRAB"
"I'M A CRAB?" he shrilled but he opened his mouth too wide and swallowed another mouthful of water
"Yes, you are" I smiled.
It got boring when he finally did get his breath back so I decided to let him get on with it and go for a walk.
I came back about two hours later and he"s still on "his sunbed" I"ve got it so I'm not leaving it look on his face. "Mine mine mine"
He still did not have a towel but he doesn"t dare move from the position he was in because if the sun got on the sunbed it would have burnt him again. He was so stiff his neck creaked as he turned round to talk to me.
"Guess what?" I remarked cheerfully "I"ve just seen an elephant walking up the road"
He rolled on his back (only winced a little bit) with an incredulous look on his face
"Are you drunk" he whined "What colour was the elephant, pink I suppose?"
"No" I corrected him, "It was a green African elephant and it had a Prince on his back.
"How do you know it was a Prince - did he have a diamond in his turban?, you don"t know if it was a Prince it could have been an elephant trainer. What colour was his turban? Different coloured turbans mean different things you know.(where he"s getting this information from is beyond me) - the only book he has ever read is called Sammy the Fish and it has six big thick pages and drawings on. He was 39 at the time

That night. I decided to give him a spider invasion.
I wear individual false eyelashes so picked them out of the box one at a time and put them on his pillow and in his bed. I honestly thought I was going to have a seizure or a heart attack muffling my laughter when he pulled his top sheet down and spotted them all
Swat! Swat! Huhgotchya huhgotchya (voice rising hysterically higher and higher) as all the eyelashes did was bounce to another place on the bed.
"Swat swat yaccapunca," (oh no) "miccamucca" (decided he only says he doesn"t want to buy anything when he"s under stress")
"Why are you lying there? Look at the spiders in my bed do you have any?, Why have I got them? Spray spray. Why don"t you have any? They kill over here you know the spiders? Why aren"t you scared? Look at the size of that one------ swat swat spray spray. "Huhgotchya ,Fub, Pec, Swa, Punkawalla."
He"s getting out of breath now so pulls all the bedclothes off, opens the balcony door and shakes the bedclothes over the balcony.
"That fixed them" he crowed
He remade the bed, got in, turned off the light then sat up quickly.
Light on again.
"Guess what?" he whispered
"What" I whisper back
"They"ve got me" an even quieter whisper
"Who"s got you?"
"THE BLOODY MOSQUITOES got me while I was getting rid of the spiders he screeched scratching furiously "THEY ARE ALL IN IT TOGETHER"
I had to run to the toilet as was wetting myself.
 

Mr. Fusspot Goes to Goa - A Diary
By Janice Matthews    Email Janice