Lanzaroti 2.

This afternoon we played Meerkats. This is a fun game where two or more stand in meerkat fashion, straight backed, paws up in amongst the sunloungers. The lead meerkat issues instructions quietly, “centre, quick left, slow to middle, quick right” etc. Having just invented it I haven’t seen anyone playing it but imagine it’s quite impressive from a distance. The other of course is repeatedly shouting, “Allen” to no one in the middle distance. Haven’t played this one but imagine it can backfire for obvious reasons. Then there was Norwegians. Actually a pizza then passing a bar showing Arse 1 Barsa 1 and a short walk to the Buskers Bar where it was Arse 1 Barsa 3 and the Arse was out of Europe. Van Percy was sent off for poor hearing and Venga turned all the colours of Joseph’s Dream Coat. Then Scotty, a seasoned entertainer and excellent guitarist, strutted his backing tracks on his square yard stage to me, Mothermouse, a couple from Leeds and three who hid then left. He began with a track from someone who’d just died, followed it by someone who was murdered and another who shot his own son. Music is a tough old business. Then there were Norwegians. About the point were Scotty must have been contemplating shooting himself fourteen Norwegians arrived in a flurry of blond haired beauty intent on drinking till their winter sun broke the horizon, approximately April. They were like a pack of puppies, eager, present and good-natured. One took over Scotty’s guitar and we all sang Norwegian songs. I realise Norwegian is the language I sing in when I forget the words; it’s like I have a special gift of speaking in tongues. When Scotty returned it was heart warming to realise “Alice, Alice, hoo da fuk ice Alice” is in its own small way uniting Europe. Around 1am Ady the bar owner revealed himself to be a trouser flapping crooner and we left to a heartfelt rendition of ‘My Way.’ Apparently after that the Norwegians did it their way and bought and largely spilt every can and bottle in the place.