After a bit of rooting around in the garage on Saturday I have been busy with a scanner and can now bring photographic adornments to some of the stories previously told on this here blog in the style of those TV companies who just put on repeats on a bank holiday because they can’t be arsed actually doing anything constructive…
The villa in corfu, a most attractive dwelling with long distant views to the beach, in the photo can clearly be seen the vine that stored a million mosquitoes who all eagerly dined on the Burt Brothers every night because they had bags’ied the front bedroom with the nice views.
All packed up and ready to go home, the Burt Brothers standing and Charlie on his knees, you can’t tell from the photo but he is completely blathered at this early hour of the morning as we had most of a bottle of gin left in the fridge and rather than bring it home with us he’d decided to drink it all for breakfast.
Me, busy doing nothing in a park in Rhodes Town during my denim-and-cowboy-boots phase, a look that strangely did not take off in Europe although I believe it was all the rage in Wyoming.
Original Rhodes stories here https://jerrychicken.wordpress.com/2010/03/12/rhodes-town-a-travelogue-of-sorts/
Me, busy doing nothing on our rather narrow, dangerously narrow balcony at the rather awful Hotel Sylvia just beyond the old walls of Rhodes Town, a hotel that mentions its cockroaches in the Guests Instruction Book is usually one to be avoided.
The flares and sandals look never really took off either, my whole life has been a long tirade against the fashionista’s, ultimately a futile tirade but someone has to make a stand.
I was a handsome bugger in 1979 wasn’t I, where did it all go wrong, oh yes, mortgages, wife, kids failed businesses, its all coming back to me now…
One thing that can be said about our holiday to Rhodes in ’79 is that we ate well, and for free (see link to full story below) and it wasn’t all as deserted as this photo suggests.
Not sure who the bloke in the photo is but he is demonstrating in a wonderful manner the pinched arse shuffle of a man who is either competing in an Olympic walking event or alternatively is dashing back to his hotel room for a very loose evacuation of his bowels in the manner of Burty in this story …
Devon Coast Country Club in 1978 and yet another lads holiday, hey look, theres beer on the table and we’re all sitting down drinking it, now there’s a surprise and not the sort of thing that normally happened at all, oh no.
Full story here
Photographic evidence of the night that Brian Armit tried it on with a deaf girl, yes I know he looks like the geek out of “American Graffiti”, maybe she was blind as well as deaf what with all of us other handsome chaps to choose from.
The deaf one is the one on his left with the specs on, maybe they had some sort of mutual spectacle appreciation thing going on, she’s grinning like a loon because she thinks that Armit knows that she’s deaf and still wants to talk endless rubbish at her all night long – he’s grinning like a loon because its the first time he’s ever pulled in his life, but he hasn’t realised yet that she can’t hear a word he’s been saying for the last hour.
The one on his right, the sturdy girl, she’s the one who cracked Armit across the face a few minutes after this photo was taken, you really wouldn’t wan’t to be smacked in the face by her would you, not when you weigh less than a string bean anyway.