The P & O Chronicles Volume 2

INDIANA SLOPE

AND THE TOILET OF DOOM

DAY SEVEN

07.00

Land Ahoy!

At last we are beginning our days of port hopping and we can get out and
about a bit.

The Captain is parking us in the harbour at Piraeus which is the port
for Athens.

There are all sorts of organised tours put on by P. & O. but Indiana and
I have decided to be the intrepid explorers and have a look around on
our own.

08.30

We board one of the P. & O. coaches for the short trip in to the centre
of Athens.

A Greek guide is provided with the coach he¹s called Robert and speaks
with a Welsh accent but swears he¹s a Greek. He¹s also got a comb over
so I reckon he¹s Welsh.

The journey takes us past a number of very impressive Olympic venues and
the grounds for Galatasaray and Panathanaiakos, the two Athens football
teams.

The football grounds are both big and modern and it would be easy to
forget that every weekend they house fans who murder foreign supporters
and routinely sacrifice goats behind the goal.

09.15

Athens has nightmare traffic problems but eventually we are dropped off
in Cathedral Square with Robert having pointed out the whereabouts of
the main sights.

We thank him for his help and wish him ³Yakky Dah Boyo² and set off to
do the whole tourist bit.

09.45

A bit of aimless wandering starts the day.

Indiana ³I worked here for a while so I know my way around² Slope
strikes again but eventually we end up at The Roman Agora of Athens.

Indiana is clearly excited, by that I don¹t mean he gets a visible
stiffy, but he¹s obviously pretty chuffed by what appears to me to be a
building site crossed with the world¹s biggest litter tray.

This place was built in the second half of the 1st century B.C. so I can
perhaps see why it¹s in need of a bit of attention. Apparently the place
was jointly funded by Julius Caesar and Augustus in what may very well
have been one of the first joint venture agreements between two local
builders.

I¹m a little bit bored but then come across a stone tower where I
suddenly feel very much at home and at peace with myself.

It¹s called The Horologian of Kyrrhestos.

I only realise why I feel so at home here when I notice that in English
it¹s called The Tower of the Winds. Being famed for my own towering
winds I feel that I may have found my spiritual home, though sadly they
don¹t sell Budvar and there are no ash trays.

10.45

Time to set off for the Acropolis.

It¹s bloody enormous and sits on top of a hill, yet still we have
difficulty finding it as there seems neither rhyme nor reason to the
roads round here Milton Keynes it ain¹t.

11.15

A little short of breath and gagging for a beer we finally stumble
across the ticket booth and hordes of foreign tourists.

Now I accept that in this context I too am a foreign tourist but Indiana
and I clearly have the moral high not being members of a race who have
lost a world war or joined it late!

There are countless morbidly obese Americans clearly mortified at the
prospect of having to walk the final 800 metres, uphill and without a
burger in sight.

Without exception the septics are noisy, brash, rude and don¹t know how
to queue.

You¹ve heard of mass hysteria? Well I find myself wishing for a mass
heart attack for this lot of ill educated red necked tossers.

I hear one particularly obnoxious American shouting at a Greek lady that
she shouldn¹t charge him 4 Euros for a bottle of water it wouldn¹t
happen in the good old U.S. of A.

I can¹t help it, but I find myself pointing out to him that the Greek
lady seems perfectly polite and pleasant, he shouldn¹t shout at her and
suggesting that Osama Bin Laden is probably quite a nice bloke all
things considered and that 9/11 was a good start.

Time to move on up the hill I reckon.

11.45

We finally reach the Acropolis.

We would have been quicker but were somewhat impeded by the aged and
infirm from our boat who are trying to get up the uneven slope in
wheelchairs and on walking frames.

They are moaning like buggery about the hill, the heat, the lack of a
lift etc and have all completely overlooked the helpful warning from P.
& O. that if you have mobility problems the Acropolis is not for you.

This just confirms my belief that most of the passengers on The Oriana
will only read something if it¹s called The Sun or The Daily Mail.

11.50

I fire off a few photographs of the spectacular views and the Acropolis
itself when Indiana wanders up and mutters ³You¹d have thought they
would have finished it by now wouldn¹t you².

Oh how I laughed.

12.30

Begin a very pleasant downhill stroll into the centre of Athens for some
lunch and a much needed beer.

The views as we walk down are amazing. Athens is a massive city set in a
natural bowl over which a mixture of smog and heat haze hangs like a
mosquito net.

Discussing the heat, the terrain and the pollution Indiana and I
speculate that if we brought Alex the Taxi to Athens he would last about
5 minutes before collapsing in and asthmatic wheezing heap.

What are you doing next summer Alex?

13.15

Indiana the Intrepid struggles to locate Cathedral Square.

I enquire of him ³might it be that square over there with the cathedral
on it?²

Lunch, beer and retsina and your two intrepid travellers are both ready
for their afternoon nap so we pile on to a passing P. & O. courtesy bus
for the run back to the boat.

13.45

Expecting the boat to be quiet I¹m surprised to find it¹s packed out. It
fast becomes apparent that at least half of the passengers don¹t ever
get off!

Apparently these dreadful places we go to are full of foreigners and
nasty foodŠŠand clearly the ones who do get off are the ones who can¹t
walk and should be at Lourdes not up the fucking Acropolis.

Athens? Cradle of civilisation my arse, fetch me another pint of
Boddingtons there¹s a good lassie.

14.00

Afternoon kip in readiness for beer and dinner later my harsh regime
continues.

17.00

Wake up and wander off for a cup of tea and a fag amidst all the burning
flesh on the Carcinoma Deck.

I look excitedly at my copy of Oriana Today, the ships own newspaper, to
see that we are to be treated to The James Long Experience in the
Theatre Royal tonight.

From the picture he looks about nine years old but we are told by the
press release that ³James Long¹s show is a mixture of stunning large
scale illusions, clever card manipulation and audience participation².

³Expect the unexpectedŠŠŠ.² we are urged.

Bloody hell can he make Indiana buy a round?!!

Only five and a half hours to go until the show, so I may as well bide
my time with a few drinks and a seven course dinner.

22.20

Beers and dinner having passed uneventfully I find myself caught up in
the crush of mobility aids and the smell of piss as I make my way to the
theatre.

22.25

I sit down on the end of a row to be told by a stern old crone, who
looks like Margaret Rutherford on acid, you can¹t sit there it¹s for my
husband, he¹s late.

I tell her that if he¹s bloody dead he won¹t need a seat but her sense
of humour fails her.

I politely move.

Her husband eventually does turn up and he looks as if he really has
been dead for some months. I wonder if James Long can do a nice line in
audience participation resurrections.

22.30

The lights dim, mood music begins, dry ice blows across the theatre and
then the 9 year old leaps on stage in a sparkly suit that doesn¹t fit.

His glamorous assistant follows at a more sedate step and it occurs to
me that he can¹t be that bloody good or he¹d have made her cellulite
disappear.

There follows an hour of hysterically bad magic with cards flying every
where, audience members on stage telling him they can see what he¹s
doing and general dismay from the gathered crowd.

I suppose the upside is that the glamorous assistant was clearly anxious
and managed to sweat off at least 3 or 4 pounds.

23.40

Normally the entertainers mingle with the public after their performance.

Not so young James, he¹s finally managed to make something disappear -
himself.

Poor lad is probably damaged for life. It can¹t be nice being heckled by
a room full of pensioners.

23.45

Join up with Indiana and our now regular crowd of dinking buddies in the
bar.

All are agreed that the magician was absolute shite.

00.55

I can make things disappear - four pints of Carlsberg and two gay
coffees!

01.15

Indiana being a bit of a light weight is asleep before I even get a
chance to fart and annoy him.

Shortly thereafter I lose consciousness to dream of Julius Caesar making
a rabbit disappear whilst ably assisted by a northern bird with fat
thighs.