It Is… Pt52 into… Tales from the Hip pt5

‘into… – Tales from the Hip pg/pt 5’
‘cf’

… ordinarily yes for sure, a sequence of events could unwrap a good ol’ fashion intro by setting scenes and giving a wistful character the nod, but hey, cold beans aint hot. Jax, in the meantime, grrr, from Durban’s Bread, alive alive oh, crying cockles and mussels, alive alive oh, is here no less, in Tales from the Hip reappearing before events in Durban’s Bread. Yet he feels an unscratched inkling of familiarity to circumstances yet developed, all be them slithering around in his psyche. If you’re happy to sit with that, then read or listen on and if you’re feeling a bit munificent then why not chuck in a few cockles and mussels for a paid or donated subscription. But right now, folks, let’s back to Mexico…

Tales from the Hip

pg/pt 5

I wonder why, he’s the greatest dancer, I wonder why, ooh, that I’ve ever seen, I wonder why…  why indeed he woke up with that earworm, is no one’s guess but his own, but there it was soft on his conscious, purring on repeat. He double checked the cassette sleeve was still in his bag. He stashed it by his feet during the night when the bus started to fill, and a sweet plump gracious lady full of night sweat and sex took the window seat, ‘gracias’, she smiled, ‘danada’, he obliged. He was concerned those psycho chickens might get loose from their pen and peck his bag to death and he’d wake up to find tape reels of Psycho Killer Qu’est-ce que c’est? bound around their scrawny necks, and he’d be frog marched off the bus for some weird bestial savagery left to survive on summer breeze. Who gets a bus in the middle of the night anyway.

He rested on in peace, as a pre-dawn haze filled the windows like a rising Margarita and the clucking bus rumbled through salted air. Five minutes later it pulled over on a narrow road. The driver turned a shaggy head full of fatigue, ‘Puerta Vallarta.’ He emits offering a low gruff to the vacuum of the opening door. Up the back, Jax points to himself, questioning the drivers rubber face in the mirror? How was he the only one left at the back. Where did everyone go? ‘si, si. Puerta Vallarta.’ crunched the gravel impatiently. He hurried his luggage from the overhead netting, thanked farewells to anyone left on board, which were a couple ancient walnuts propping up walking sticks sat near the front. ‘Gracias, bus driver man,’ Jax glees half asleep. Vamos a la playa.’ He marvels at his grasp of the local tongue, hastily correcting himself, ‘err, donde a la playa, por favor?’ ‘Aqui, aqui,’ you mad bastard, and the gruff motions forward with a nonchalant flick.

The road was alive with of rats. Morning not yet fully bloomed but potent with anticipation. The bus was gone and Jax walked towards the scent of the sea. Creeping flora entangled a wall that kept him in the shadows, on the other side spotted shacks not ready for a day’s trade hid behind closed shutters of faded yellows and reds. Tables outside spewed last night’s funk of sunken bottles and loaded ashtrays. Jax walked uncaring, half awake, he’s the greatest dancer, the rising Margarita warm on his soul. Barely into the second verse when he saw it, bold and majestic, the big blue wobbly Pacific sedately undulating in dawn’s easy rhythm. That’ll do nicely, he schemes standing transfixed. Still smouldering between insomnia and stiffness he immediately caught sight of a fin, no mistaking, bold as brass, two foot out of the drink easy, 15metres off shore, just cruising up and down, left to right. This wasn’t any restless eyes trickery. This was a battleship grey hunter. He looked around for verification, to who he didn’t know, who was there to care, it was dawn, who would be. But there was, over his right shoulder on the patio of a ground floor hotel sat a man in a white bath robe drinking coffee. It’s amazing what you don’t see at first, Jax thinks, where did that hotel come from? He flings the robed man a universal gesture of affirmation. Grins rebound with omniscient nods then more coffee was sipped. ‘Fuck me’ Jax thinks. And with that he turned and the fin slowly disappeared, periscope down, gone, and the silent commotion never existed. Just Jax, the sand and the sea. And the man in the, where did that hotel come from, with his coffee.

In no rush to move, Jax spied up and down the beach for signs of life. Some 50metres to his left and set well back from the shore sat a solitary tent. Snuggled by the dunes in the foot of a steep hillside, one side flapping in a gentle breeze. A normal run of the mill family holiday tent. Deep purple with bedroom compartments no less, and an arched porch that unzips to an igloo effect opening. A two-sided awning made up a kitchen area. Guide ropes a plenty, all marked with heavy rocks to save kicking those bastard pegs on a middle of the night. There it was folks, people camping on the beach just like Fred the foot said. Jax set up pretty much where he stood, close, to be safe in numbers but not close enough to over crowd his neighbour. He had borrowed a two-man tent complete with aluminium poles, from his mate Roger back in Blighty. He’d knew it’d come in handy.

… till page/pt 6 folks…

He sat at the screen and pondered…

 … camp set, let’s go to the World News…

Fed into our psyches are promiscuous follies of Ancient Greece, especially the army and particularly that man for all seasons Alexander. Sex it seemed was game with anyone and anything and a soldier’s, ahem, rite of passage. Fast forward a couple millennia and same sex marriage is only just now poised to be voted legal. There’ll still be the poo-poohers such as the Greek Orthodox Church and other lawmakers opposed to it, but consensus is Greece will catch up with the world. Not all the way though, as same sex parental rights would exclude having children by surrogate mother. Well, who wanted the cake anyway. But if you’re offering, I’ll have Jamaican cake with yoghurt please.

Thai visas are the carrot in a bid to entice tourism. You can now acquire up to 90 days if attend Muay Thai classes, Ther soft power policy is also expected to venture into cuisine, dance, music and lady boys. Try and guess which one is false.

Florence’s new Aeroporto Amerigo Vespucci is going green once finished in 2035. With 5.9m passengers and, 6 hubs the roof will be covered in a 7.7-hectare vineyard. And yes, there will be a wine cellar too.

Chinese domestic travel is expecting 9.7m trips over their New Year holiday period, up from 4.3m last year. TET, if in Vietnam or Chinese NY lands on 10 Feb, but holidays will extend for weeks. A spokesman from the Ministry of Darkness said, ‘It is the year of the Dragon, so it will be huge.’

The new Starfield Suwan mall in South Korea has the record shop from Seol, Vinyl, stocking over 10,000 records. It also boasts a library, for books, remember them, from floors 4 to the 7^th.

Bullfighting is back at Mexico’s Playa de Toros. It’s been there since 16^th Century. Folk got miffed and it was closed, but it generates over E370m, so it’s back again.

And Toronto closed 45 parks as too risky for toboganing. Mostly because folk might hit a tree or fence. Folk retaliated and poo-poohed authorities saying they shall toboggan, stating ‘risky play’ is healthy for growing children. Your Honour, I rest my case

On that happy note, we’ll say ta ta

Tha tha that’s all folks

Keep it turning keep it wheel, keep it radioPrimco.com

Till next weak folks – spelling correct.

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