“Vodka Limon por favor” I said to the young lady behind the bar, as she sloped off to quench the thirst of yet another local ahead of me. She sniffed the air – my money obviously not good enough for her.
Deciding this could take awhile, I turned, instead, to resume my conversation with the youthful and ever so dashing Indian Diplomat, Anurag Jha; whom I had just this minute been introduced to.
“Apologies for cutting you short there, dear boy. You were going to say something about working on a gramophone record. What did you call it, Mumbo? Oh how I do like the Latin records.”
Mr Jha said something about a Russian female playing his record. It sounded like jolly good fun; though I had to cut him short once more. Nature was calling in a rather excitable tone.
I slipped away from the bar, no doubt losing my turn to another 10 or so local miscreants. I did so enjoy the record that was playing in the background; but needs must. I moved out of the glorious sunlight of an Ibizan day in to the blackest hole imaginable. The gentleman’s comfort area was of the lowest standard I had seen since a urinal broke at the association football. Ghastly mess; but that wasn’t the half of it. As I tried to push the door of the cubicle ajar to ease myself in, I was greeted by a most unfortunate tangle of bodies. This poor chap in front of me had quite clearly slipped on the sodden, tissue covered floor and landed penis deep inside of the man in front of him.
Thankfully neither of the chaps saw me; saving all of our blushes. They struggled desperately, trying to wriggle free; though bizarrely they chose to move towards each other as they did – thus causing them to lock even further. I managed to quietly remove myself from the scene and made my way to the spare cubicle. I relieved myself and returned to the bar. That lovely music was still playing.
“Have we been served yet Jha, darling?”
Flashbacks are wonderful things. If déjà vu can confuse the life out of you, flashbacks bring your life back to you in glorious, vibrant technicolor.
They can happen at any time, for a multitude of reasons. The above came crashing back through the stereo of our car this lunchtime, as, on a cool, grey day in Leeds, I stepped out to partake in the office bi-hourly movement of cars to avoid the traffic wardens (or whatever their glamorous name is these days?).
As the ignition kicked in, so did the CD – flicking over to the next track. I first heard X-press 2 – AC/DC on the dancefloor of DC10 in Ibiza, 2001. It was by the bar – whilst waiting for a drink; that I am sure never arrived. It was the first time I met Anurag Jha, or Raggy to his mates. He’s not an Indian diplomat; forgive the fictional diversion to tell this tale.
Unfortunately, I did, genuinely stumble in to a tissue strewn lake of a toilet, and yes, thank you flashback – there were two men intimately filling the space I wanted to use. I’ll forgive the recesses of my mind for throwing that image up, in exchange for the great memories – the sun drenched, grey Leeds killing memories – either side of it.
A wonderful flashback, that lasted for as long as the track did – reluctantly fading as I walked back in to the office. It will come back again – all of it, fumbling bodies and all.
If only I could remember what a Vodka Limon tasted like.