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Day 20 – Florida 2016

It’s a snake. And it’s in our pool. I’m not sure what make it was, all I know is that it was black, had a puffed up red tail end, a cream stripe around its mouth, and was in my pool. Taking the piss. Not only am I not a snake handler, I’m not particularly fond of the little sods, especially ones who have the ability to end my life prematurely. This one is probably called a Smiths Hob Nob Snake, or something as innocent as that, but I’m not taking any chances. I wondered why there was an aluminium suit in the garage, with asbestos gloves and a flamethrower. Anyway, I chose to use the pool cleaning net to catch the bastard and deposit it outside. And the shit didn’t realise when I tried to save it, because when he was placed outside, he wriggled like a twat and jumped back at me. I’m no hero, I just did what I had to do. (Actually, Jason did, I was in the car driving as far away from this thing as possible. I got to Miami before I got a call to say all was ok)

You won’t be able to hear it, but there’s an intermittent alarm going off, and it’s been going since last night. 5 seconds on, five seconds off. And it seems to be coming from one of our neighbours houses. Now, I know I’m no longer a member of the Feds, but my instinct led me to check it out. As I approached the home, three houses down, I noticed the pool screen door was open. As I peered in, I noticed that the patio door was open. Shall I go in? Shall I balls! For a start, if I go in and there’s a burglar in there, the chances are, with this being America, he’s got an Uzi, and I’m history, or at least spending the rest of my life eating my dinner through a straw. If, on the other hand, the owners are in, and I go waltzing into their living room, the chances are, with this being America, they’ve got an AK-47, and I’m history. Again. Yep, time to call the real Feds. I’ve never seen the four ladies in the house get ready and do their hair so quickly, just in case the Sheriff that turned up was a bit dishy. Turned out he wasn’t that friendly, and was eager to get away, not interested in a coffee, or viewing the scantily clad feminine population parading around our pool with numbers on their wrists. Turns out there was a break in, and the unlucky occupants had been relieved of their tv…..

It was a quick trip to the shops for a gander, but nothing has changed there….there’s still a plethora of English tourists in football shirts, who insist on telling the world they’re tourists by carrying around bags from Polo, Tommy Hilfiger, AX (whatever that is) and the latest, Michael Kors. “Oh it’s a Michael Kors”. Who the flock is Michael Kors? And how do he get so big all of a sudden? I’ll tell you how… He started charging a bloody fortune for his stuff. There he was, struggling to make a profit, selling bags at $10 a time in a market stall in Luton, when all of a sudden he thought, “I’ll sell these at $200 and every bugger will want one. I’ll then branch out and do watches, perfumes, and even golf tops, we’ll be shitting money by Christmas”. Look what happened? He’s now bigger than George at Asda, which is, ironically, where his customers used to shop.

Onto Crazy Golf, after watching the England game. Oh, and a helicopter ride. This seems to be the latest thing to get more money off us tourists. I know they’ve been around for years…lord knows I tell stories to the kids about my days in ‘Nam, but on the main drag through Kissimmee now you have a choice of about five helicopter trips, all advertising a $15 trip around the Disney area. That, of course, is not the case. Fifteen of your finest American dollars gets you into the helicopter and even allows the pilot to turn on the radio. You’ll need at least $25 if you want to take off, and you’ll need to be with three other people, and that will get you a trip down the road and back. Turns out the kids have travelled in a pack of four, and so booked into the next flight. I have to say, when we’ve walked into a bar, we’ve all been asked for ID. However, for a helicopter flight over Disney, the most visited attraction in the world, we weren’t even asked to sign a disclaimer to say we’d be good. The pilot was professional though. He had shorts on and a stripey t shirt, so he looked the part. After our short recognisance flight for future acts of atrocity, Sam announced that he wanted a helicopter. A real helicopter.

Onto the golf. I’ll briefly skip over this, as the only semi proficient golfer in our party came second last. I will say that Nikki was streets ahead at the halfway stage, and was looking at pole position until the 14th, when the windmill and water feature caused shame, and had her walk off the hole with a 12 over par.

From there to Manny’s, a steakhouse that, until recently, I’d decided to boycot. In my online guide, I’ve tried to include as many diverse locations as possible. Including reviewing my many visits to Mannys. I wrote to them as a courtesy, telling them I was going to write a review recommending their gaff. I got a very terse reply, telling me that I could not use their name in any way shape or form, and cannot review their restaurant or their name for fear of legal action. Unfortunately for them, freedom is quite big in America. As is Trip Advisor. There’s nothing saying I can’t link other reviews….balls to you Mannys, however, your steaks are lovely, and your place is so friendly….

I’ve just noticed, the bastard snake is back……

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