Everything is cool baby!

And so our buffet in the sky came in for final approach to the green and pleasant lands of Bermuda. We have had 150 mph head winds. The pilot claimed he’d been given a “quick route” to the runway. I mean, it’s a dot in the middle of the Atlantic how many routes can there be? My fellow passengers were all pleased to hear it, we were 30 mins late and sun set over our tropical paradise awaited.

Obviously, I’ve seen this episode of Air Crash Investigations far too many times. Long flight over water into a head wind. Pilot has 100% declared a fuel emergency to get us in before we run out of gas and become a submarine! Our luck is in. Plane glides down onto the tarmac as the dial ticks around to empty. We’ve made it. We collect our shit, I like to call her “Snuckems”, and exit the aircraft. There to greet us, a line of people with wheelchairs to help the multitude of other recent retirees off the plane. That’s my future right there bitches!

We turn the corner and there as if by magic is a British policeman. Resplendent in full uniform and large nipple helmet. Wow! I was thinking we had landed back in the UK. Next up immigration! Just like the UK we’ll have to queue to get in! Passport control looks a tad American. “Have you completed your arrival form?” sign… ignored. We are BRITISH. Not wanting to be rude but we own your ass Bermuda. Soon, being Business Class and British we are at the front of the queue. The border control granny has a lovely chat with us about the weather and what she’s been knitting whilst waiting for the plane. Now… “Where is your arrivals form”? Sigh… I punched my missus for allowing me to walk past those forms. This is her fault, thinking she’s important when she’s just a commoner!!!

We complete the forms and return back to Mary Berry to have them checked. Lord above, border bitch criticised our hand writing amongst other pedantic comments. I thought the bloody Caribbean was supposed to be friendly. I knew we should have gone to Barbados! Cases arrived and we exited through the green channel. “Do you have anything to declare?” … well did you know I retired early and we just flew business class to Bermuda. I thought it best just to say “No”… no one wants my bullshit here. I’m an ex-salesman. No one wants your bullshit full stop Steve. Now get back into your wheelchair.

I’d booked a coach transfer because it was cheaper than a taxi. I was expecting a holiday rep with a clipboard and hoards of tourists climbing aboard a packed coach. I mean I didn’t book with a travel company so that was never going to happen. What we did get was Clive. He had my name displayed on his iPhone as we exited customs. Clive had dreads down to his waist. Was approximately 4 million percent cooler than I have ever been, and (and here is me being old and racist and reenforcing negative stereotypes) he was stoned. But don’t worry, Clive wasn’t driving a coach full of passengers off the plane.  He was just driving us. In a “coach” that in the 60s was nearly new. He hadn’t locked it. The doors needed a good old tug to open. The interior had seen better days. It was the fact it had seen so many better days that was the problem.

The drive to our hotel was, Clive estimated, about 20 minutes. I’m not sure Clive knew what day it was let alone what time. He navigated the narrow roads of Bermuda like he could do it in his sleep. “You’re not asleep are you Clive?”. Soon, we pulled into the hotel. No one was there, no one in reception, no other guests, just no one. As the sunset over the bay, eventually a lady appeared at reception and checked us in.  She explained that the ferry to the town wasn’t going to be running tomorrow so we’d just have to relax and wait for it to turn up on Tuesday. Wow! It’s like someone just hit the slow motion button on life. No one here is running to your time table Steve. After I got to the room, I was looking through the hotel directory…. “Opens at 11am” “Opens at 11am” “Opens at 11am” … Jesus Christ Bermuda!! I’m up and at em at 5am. Where am I gonna get my Mocha-Choca Latte you lazy laid back bastards!?

The room is nice. Massive patio, hammock and views out over the sea. The bathroom is interesting. It does have a wall into the bedroom, but that’s made of glass. Let’s call it a floor to ceiling window. But it’s ok because there’s a Venetian blind to protect your modesty. Now that would be fine but the only way to operate the blind is from the bedroom. But that’s ok because when I’m scrubbing my knackers in the shower I’m more than happy for a crowd to gather and cheer me on!! I mean that’s got to be one of the fantasies, prior to reading this, you never knew you had. I guesssssssss that is all romantic like. Either that or Clive the coach driver fits bathrooms in his spare time when he’s had too much of that fine Bermudan Wacky Backy to drive!

Anyway, I made it to the late hour of 9pm before my body, exhausted from my consumption of two weeks of calories and alcohol in just one day expired and I slipped into a wonderful coma! I awoke at 3am. Both me and Maggie Thatcher don’t need that much sleep. I load up the coffee machine with Lebanese Black coffee and hit the go button. I was expecting that the little lady would also be waking up as my coffee was ground by a jack hammer sending shockwaves across the hotel. But no, it’s a feckin Bermudan coffee machine. It’s soooooo laid back it barely makes a noise as it delivers my coffee to the cup.

The little lady sleeps on… oh well… I’ll need to empty my bowels soon. Blinds open! That’ll stir her!!!

Right, that’s two blogs on one day. Now don’t moan if tomorrow’s blog is delayed by me slipping into the Bermudian way of life… it will probably arrive on Thursday. But that’s cool because…. Everything is cool baby!