El Gezzy

Quite a few years ago, myself and the Nemesis (my wife Carol) used to visit the Algarve in Portugal to see friends of ours Annie and Rune who, along with their son Christopher, used to stay in a little fishing village called Burgau.

For the Nemesis, going abroad with me was something of a task; she always claims that she gets an uneasy feeling that we are going to end up in a foreign gaol. This is just a stupid notion, I admit to pushing my luck with people but I would never wind up a man holding a gun. I’m deeply suspicious of men with guns. If I were to be in charge of giving out gun licences I wouldn’t give one to someone who wanted a gun, the fact that you want a gun makes you an unfit to own one in my opinion. Even worse are people who want to wear a uniform in conjunction with owning a gun; this for me can only lead to disaster.

With all this in mind, we set off on one of our attempts to find sunshine, we should hire ourselves out as water diviners as we always book in the rainy season like mid July! The holiday got off to a bad start, which wasn’t that unusual for me, but this time it was a genuine accident.

At the airport my over indulgence of the Irish fortifying fluid I had consumed the night before caught up with me and I needed to for a ‘Jimmy Riddle’ It was about four in the morning, and like all men’s toilets the world over, there was a line of men doing what had to be done while staring straight ahead, in case they were accused of peeping at another man’s willy! I too was playing this game; I was half asleep and half thinking about something to stop the rumbling in my stomach. Over my shoulder I had a very small rucksack which we always take as hand luggage; it contains our tickets, passports etc. Because of my distraction I hadn’t noticed that the strap of the rucksack was balancing precariously on the edge of my shoulder, it wasn’t long before gravity took over and sent it crashing down on to my wrist. This wouldn’t normally be of any consequence, but at the time I was holding my little friend who was in full flow. The rucksack forced me to point him to the right of me, where there stood someone whose DNA was definitely more rhino than human, and I peed down his leg!

The phrase he used was, I think, “YOU DIRTY BASTARD!” He then jumped to face me, with his John Thomas in his hand pointing at me. I too jumped to face him holding my Percy in hand. The toilet fell to a hush as we stood there like two gunslingers at the OK "canal"! He was making threats while his leg steamed away, I was trying to calm him down saying it was just an accident but he wouldn’t listen. We both knew his threats were empty as he had spent all his ammo; there was just a little feeble dribble trickling from the end of his. While on the other hand I still had a good pint left.

We circled each other a few more times neither of us daring to look down even now we were both scared of being accused of looking at each others willies!

Some people stopped to watch in fascination while others ran for cover. My victim finally shook his willy at me then put it away telling me that I was lucky that he had left me alive. I on the other hand was finding it difficult to hold back the rest of the night before fluid intake. All men know that peeing is like the Mastermind catch phrase, “I’ve started so I’ll finish!” I didn’t want to take my eyes off him but I knew that if I didn’t turn away now I would squirt him again; luckily, he left.

I spent the rest of my time before departure in hiding from him. I didn’t tell the Nemesis what had happened as she would blame me and claim I had done it on purpose.
We did, however, see him while we were having a coffee The Nemesis also noticed him. She said, “There’s a man over there with a big red face, and he keeps pointing at you, do you know him?” I shook my head and claimed that I had an over whelming urge to go to duty free to look at perfume, which was strange, because the Nemesis had the same urge.

The rest of the journey, and even the next few days, passed without incident. Then, half-way through the first week it happened. I spend quite a lot of my life standing outside various shops while the Nemesis buys things she neither wants nor needs. On one of these occasions, when I was standing wasting my life, in a lovely little city called Lagos (pronounced Lagoosh) I noticed a man who had ‘Gezee’ written all over him.

He was, at the time, telling another tourist directions to another resort. He would be in his late fifties and dressed in a tight t shirt which he had tucked into his over-size comedy shorts. He had committed one of the greatest fashion crimes known to man; he wore socks and sandals. He was bald, except for tufts on the side of his head and had a strange little moustache. It took me ages to work out who he reminded me of then it came to me; he looked like Denis the Menace’s Dad in the old Beano!

After giving the tourist directions, his chest swelled with pride at his good deed. When his wife came back to him he told her blow by blow how he had read the map of the Algarve from back to front and how the tourist was so impressed by his vast knowledge of the coast. I was beginning to fall in love with the man - he was just what I dream of meeting on holiday, he would help me get through all the boring bits. I had to find out where he was staying, though, so I could do a proper Gezzy on him.

His wife moved off into another shop - I think to get away from his never-ending story of direction giving. What a fool! If he was my husband, I would carry him around under my arm, for when I got bored. I noticed he was sitting alone on a small wall; he was rolling himself a congratulatory cigarette when I decided to move in. I didn’t at this time know how the Gezzy was going to go, or what I was going to say but I had to strike now! I only got within three feet of him when I had to abort the mission, Nemesis at twelve o clock, SHIT!

For the rest of the day we just spent time doing holiday stuff, but I had my little Gezzee man at the back of my mind all the time. Where was he staying? Would I see him again?

It would be two days later when I was to bump into the Gezee again. We were in another resort called Alvor, when I heard his Lancastrian dulcet tones wafting through the airwaves. Now, you’re not going to believe this but I swear it’s true, he was telling another tourist directions and repeating the story of his last time as a human sat nav! With his accent he over pronounced his ‘R’s’ and substituted his ‘E’s’ with ‘U’s’.

As in, ‘Look overr thurr!’ Think Paddy McGuiness and you have the accent. Well, what can I say? My heart skipped a beat at the sight of my new best friend, who incidentally had the very same clothes on as before. (Well, that is unless he had a job lot of them).

I don’t know why or how, but this must be a common occurrence for him, because his wife gave the tourists a knowing smile then slipped away with her husband being none the wiser. He stood like a mighty colossus, legs akimbo, hands on hips and cig in the corner of his mouth. He gesticulated in various directions, then burst out laughing for no apparent reason. The poor tourists that had asked for directions were now wishing that they had stayed in bed.

They finally prised themselves away from his wonderful world of direction and scurried off to the nearest bar, checking all the time that he wasn’t following them. I decided it was now or never. I checked for any sign of the Nemesis. but she was lost in a world of shoes and handbags, an addiction I’m afraid that there’s no cure for!

I moved in quickly and, without a care for my own safety, I approached him. What happened next surprised even me. I stood in front of him with a big grin on my face thinking of something to say when for no reason whatsoever I found myself saying, “You are Englander yes?” I was using an accent which was part 1950’s B movie Gestapo officer and part 1950’s B movie mad scientist, and I don’t like 1950’s films!

The Gezee eyed me with great suspicion he obviously didn’t trust any Johnny Foreigner types.
My accent decided to get worse, “My farter he was saying if ever you would be needing directions you should be asking an Englander, for they are knowing everything!” I had now slipped into a bizarre Scandinavian accent.

The Gezee’s chest swelled to let in more pride than was good for him. I had just confirmed all he had ever thought; the rest of the world regarded the English as superior. I was a bit disappointed, as this was just too easy.

“Worrisit yer wont ter know?” (I think that’s what he said)

I smiled as innocently as I could, “could you be telling me the way to Lincoln Cathedral?” my accent was now so Scandinavian I was in danger of selling him flat packed furniture, but he didn’t notice. His brain couldn’t at first program my request. He was thinking that he knew foreigners were quite stupid but fuck me, not this dim!

I stood there smiling as sweetly as I could. Remember if you go for a Gezzy you have to play it for real.

Finally he spoke with great indignation, “Yer canrn’t git ter Licoln Cathedrral from’ ere!”

“Yes I am being told by lady at hotel that Lincoln Cathedral is very beautiful”.

“It might be but it’s verry Beautiful in England but not on the bloody Algarrve!”

“So you are not knowing the way to the Cathedral?”

“I know the way to the Cathedrral but you will need to have a bloody aeroplane.”

I had with me a tourist map which wasn’t really a map as such, it just had points of interest marked out on the coast; I handed it over to him with the question, “could you be telling me the way please?”

“Arre yerr bloody cracked in thurr head, Lincoln is a town in England!”

It took all of my will power to stop the pedant in me shouting back, “it’s a city you fuckwit” but I held back.

“So please you will be showing me the way now?”

“Thurr is no Lincoln o, ‘t’ Algarrve I keep on telling you!”

“Yes lady at hotel say it is very beautiful”.

He looked by now as if his head was about to explode, and a little bit of spit was forming at the side of his mouth.

I was just about to ask him if he and his wife would like to visit Lincoln Cathedral with me, just to finish him off, when I noticed that the Nemesis had had her fix of shoes and handbags and was making her way across the road to me. I had promised her faithfully that I wouldn’t do tricks like this on this holiday and that I would behave myself, so I threw my arms up in mock disgust and turned away from him before she reached us. As I walked away from him I could hear him muttering, “He’s fucking stupid, he is.”

I took hold of the Nemesis and steered her well away from him, result. I was so pleased with myself, the Nemesis had smelled a rat, but I had told her that he was one of those strange people that I seem to attract where ever I go, and she looked at him and agreed.

Two days before we were due to fly back home Walking down the sea front at Luz who should be walking directly towards us but my little Lancastrian friend with his wife. I started to panic. There was nowhere to hide, and my other half had hold of my hand.

I whispered to her out of the side of my mouth, “Shit, it’s that weirdo that we saw the other day. He keeps on talking about Lincoln cathedral for some reason! Pretend to be German to get rid of him, that’s what I did the other day.”

He saw me and he let out a big sigh. I could see him frantically nudging his wife to tell her that I was the stupid foreigner that wanted to go to Lincoln. We drew up alongside each other and smiled he hissed sarcastically, “Did Yerr find Lincoln cathedrral then?”

I smiled back and replied, “Yes we were thinking it was very beautiful and shall be going back today!” His brain couldn’t take this in he gasped but we just kept on walking. We could hear him repeatedly telling his wife, “See what I mean? Thur bloody idiots! No wonderr they lost thurr warr!“

The best thing about this Gezzy was that I had included the Nemesis without her realising.

Gez, Germany/Scandinavia 1 England, Lancashire, Nemesis 0.

Result!