I may well vomit over a fairy tonight....

I haven't a clue where I am.

When I need to go somewhere, someone books me the flights & the hotel.
They are the only things I insist on. I get to the airport, shove my
passport in the machine, and it prints off my boarding pass. Where the
plane lands is irrelevant - I know it will be in China, the food on
the plane will consist of a bun and a yoghurt, I will be met at the
airport by someone who won't speak a word of English, the food will
make me want to vomit, everywhere looks the same, the people look the
same and no-one will understand me, even if I am rude to them. Which
is a bonus, and possibly for the best.

If the people at the other end haven't sorted a translator (ideally a
woman) then I play on the internet all day, go back to my hotel, fight
with the ironing board, and shout "HAVE YOU ANY PROPER TEA, WITH
MILK?" at anyone who will listen.

I'm typing this in The Fairy Hotel. I kid you not. Look it up. Each
room has a theme - mine is THE UGLY DUCKLING ROOM - so someone at the
office will get a shafting for taking the p*ss there. It's the sort of
place 10 year old girls will love, I feel f*cking stupid having a beer
sat in a giant kings chair, and being served my breakfast by someone
dressed as a prince or a duck. Like I said, someone gets a kicking
when I get back, instead of the free toiletries from my bathroom.

Yesterday, I was 'treated' to some more local food. Whenever they say
"We'll take you for a traditional......." or "This place has a
reputation for......." ,I fear the worst. This time, we sat in what
could have been the front room in a large council house in Bradford,
with 'mum' cooking, 'daughter' serving and 'son' swotting flies with a
tennis racket. I think 'grandad' gets locked in the shed when
customers come.

It was by a river and - to be fair - the fruit they gave us for
starters was lovely - she pointed to the forest, so I assume she meant
"we picked the fruit from there this morning" and not "we've just
killed grandad and buried him in the woods". I ate a lot of fruit,
anticipating they were about to serve more goat, dog, budgie or even
grandad's remains. But it was fish. A VERY large fish.

I don't like fish - especially when the bastard still has it's head
on. It looked at me as if to say "you eat me and you'll have the shits
on the plane home", which is a constant fear. They also served a plate
of what I thought were chamois leathers. I was about to take one to
wipe my hands on, when I saw someone else take one, fill it with tiny
fish (heads on), make a butty and eat it. I'd have rather eaten a
chamois leather from Halfords.

Tonight, on the way back to my hotel, I saw 4 accidents - all
involving scooters being hit by cars. One bloke was riding his with
one hand on the handle bar, the other holding his i-phone to his ear
(even the beggars have i-phones). He was also wearing pyjamas. He
lasted a matter of seconds before a taxi took him out. The taxi drove
off, tooting his horn, which my ever-improving Chinese
traffic-translating skills told me meant "YOU ASKED FOR THAT YOU
TOSSER", and - to be fair - I wouldn't argue.

I could have sworn I saw a dvd shop nearby as we flashed past at
100mph, so I was out like a shot tonight, but it was a false alarm. It
was a second-hand Chinese book shop. Gutted. But I did find a KFC. I
tried to oredr a chiken burger sandwich without the mayo shit on (body
fluids - ladies, I understand your dislike for the stuff) but after
shouting everything from 'NO MAYO" (at first) to 'NO MAYO BODY FLUID
SHIT ON!" (at the end when I lost patience), and with no friendly
local who'd been to University in Manchester offering to translate, I
had the two piece meal thing instead.\

I now have the shits.

Funny, I've been eaten most zoo animals and an assortment of family
pets, chickens feet and even had a narrow escape from a bulls penis
(honestly) recently, but never had the squits as a result. Vomited
profusely, yes (chicken's feet & deep fried cheese) but I thought the
Colonel's recipie for coating anything & everything in his secret
batter & lobbing it all in a vat of boiling Shell 30/40 car oil was
safe where-ever you may find yourself in the world. Clearly not.

I think Mrs G packed me some stuff to take "when your arse explodes"
so I truly hope it's still in my suit carrier. If not, on the plane
tomorrow it will be "This is the Captain speaking - I wouldn't go in
the bog if I were you....."