Hip hip..Hooray for Stephen Moss!
Who´s he?
After the fuss over Gibraltar and the Parsley Island debacle, it was time the Spanish were taught a lesson. So, dressed as Sir Walter Raleigh, and armed with a union flag and supplies from Harrods, Stephen Moss, a Guardian journalist along with a cameraman, set off by pedalo from an Ibizan beach to claim the island in the bay.
They stayed overnight to claim the previously named ´Isle of Mice´ about 400m off Playa d´en Bossa for Queen Elizabeth and the British Empire renaming it ´Stilton Island´ due to the pervading smell of the cheese (which become more than ripe in the Ibizan sun) they had taken with them to celebrate in style.
Once established they phoned both the British Foreign Office to register their claim and the Ministry of Defence to ask for protection from the expected attack from the Guardia Civil.
Neither of the UK government departments showed any interest at all. As Moss states,
"Is this the stuff of which empires are made?"
Their occupation was however, cut short when the photographer fell and gashed his hand which required medical attention.
They have however not left the new part of the British Empire uninhabited as they left a metal moulded, model soldier, a Grenadier Guard that they have named, ´Gordon´.
Moss explained,
"We encased Gordon in a small fortress built of stones, so that only the top of his bearskin is showing, and beside him, hidden beneath a rock, left the following note: Here stands Gordon the Grenadier, protecting Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth´s sovereign territory of Stilton Island, taken from the Spanish by force of arms on July 20 2002. God bless Queen Elizabeth.
Gordon is unlikely ever to be disinterred and, as far as we are concerned, while he remains on Stilton Island it is rightfully British. We have a new territory in the Mediterranean, to set alongside Gib, and Spain has a new diplomatic headache. Your move, amigos. No doubt Peter Hain will be on the blower later to discuss possible quid (or even euro) pro quos on joint sovereignty".
Good true-Brit stuff- eh what?
And on the subject of the ´parsley invasion´ I can reveal (to you exclusively gentle reader) a little known fact.
It appears that when the local goatherds returned to the islet they found that a number of their nannies had apparently suicidally jumped for it into the ogen.
Animal psychologists argue (which is, as one can imagine, also the hot topic in the souk coffee shops of Morocco) about the motives for this lemming-type behaviour.
Some put it down to a rare phenomenon which translates in layman´s term to ´lover´s leap´.
It appears that the Moroccan gendarmes have not written or even telephoned as they had promised!
I however (having had the experience of sharing some of my early life with ´Hammy´, the hamster and so therefore knowing more than a thing or two about animal psychology) favour the alternative explanation.
This is very simply that the naturally eco-friendly goats couldn´t stand sharing their little piece of rock with the rusting washing machines, spin dryers, three piece suites, bidets and general rubbish left by the Spanish forces.
The ´Curse of Bates´ has struck yet again! It was only in the June issue when I warned that the ´joining of forces´ of The Reader and The Entertainer under the banner of Euro Weekly was doomed.
Confusing? You bet; particularly when any reference to either The Entertainer or The Reader has now disappeared along with the former ´mismanagement´ of The Reader!
What they originally punted to be a media breakthrough of three papers for one Euro is now one obviously edited by Ms. Polly Filler with a flaccid pink insert.
Can they really believe they can fool all the people all the time?
On the subject of the local media, has anyone seen any audited circulation figures for Island Life yet?
No? Thought not....very strange eh?
Here´s a nice little one that certainly made me titter!
A man gets on a plane and takes his seat, only to realise that the occupant of the seat next to him is a parrot.
The plane takes off and after some minutes a stewardess approaches.
"Can I get you anything, sir?" she asks the man.
"Yes, I´ll have a coffee, please, when you have a minute. Thank you".
"And for you, sir?" she asks the parrot.
"A double whisky and coke, bitch, and make it quick, I´m thirsty!" demands the parrot.
The stewardess returns a few minutes later with the parrot´s drink, which he snatches without a word.
"Excuse me," says the man, "but I ordered a coffee".
"You did, sir? I´m sorry, I´ll get you one straight away".
By which time the parrot has finished his drink.
"Anything else for you, sir?" the stewardess asks the parrot.
"Yeah, I want another double whisky and coke, tart. Quick, you bitch, can´t wait all night!"
Again the stewardess returns with the parrot´s drink and without the coffee. Naturally the man thinks the only way he is going to get any service is to adopt the attitude of his fellow passenger.
"Listen here you stupid slapper," he says to the stewardess, "I want my bloody coffee and I want it now, you silly cow!"
Two minutes later the stewardess returns, but this time with two enormous security guards, who proceed to manhandle the man and the parrot to the back of the plane, open the door and eject them from the plane.
As they are hurtling uncontrollably towards earth from 35,000 feet, the
parrot turns to the man and says,
"You´re a bit of a lippy bastard for someone who can´t fly, aren´t you!"
With all the bad publicity that Mallorca is receiving in the press the local government has decided to open up a press office to send out good news´ press releases.
What a bloody joke.
I can just see it can´t you?
´The Mallorcan Government are happy to announce that the taxi strike has been called off because there are not enough tourists around for it to become an annoyance to anyone.´
I´m waiting for the best of all- the news that this bunch of pillow-biting, left-wing, pseudo eco-warrior, anoraks are ousted!
There is however, some good/bad news which I would like to share with you.
It seems that the annual survey conducted by Barclaycard has revealed that Spain is number two behind France.
It is not however something that perhaps the new Mallorcan ´good news´ press office has in mind.
It refers to credit card fraud.
It appears that France has ousted Spain as top of the European league for credit card fraud against British card holders.
Don´t be too complacent though because it´s all down to the total value of the fraud and, in the big swing of things, Barclays say that there are more cards nicked in Spain than in France.
It appears that, whilst the garlic-ridden, pastis-swigging, frog-legs nibblers will rip you off for an average of £169 on a stolen card, Pedro Ladron will only do you for an average of a piffling 51 quid.
This new fact, have no doubt, will be spun to their advantage and we will see the usual supercilious articles in Le Monde etc. as it being even further proof of la belle France´s superiority in Europe and proof of their ´oo-la-la´ sophistication and their more expensive tastes, even amongst the bottom-feeding criminal classes.
I have been slanderously accused of being a male chauvinist pig!
The bloody cheek and balderdashery of it
Ink, is all I can say!
To put the record straight and the risk of being accused of being a pinko here´s a few bon mots for the fairer (or perhaps it should be the Fuhrer) sex.
Men are like... Floor Tiles.
If you lay them right the first time, you can walk all over them for years.
Men are like... Bank Accounts.
Without a lot of money, they don´t generate much interest.
Men are like... Blenders.
You need one, but you´re not quite sure why.
Men are like... Coffee.
The best ones are rich, hot, and can keep you up all night.
Men are like... Commercials.
You can´t believe a word they say.
Men are like... Computers.
Hard to figure out and never have enough memory.
Men are like....Cool Boxes.
Load them with beer and you can take them anywhere.
Men are like... Photocopiers.
You need them for reproduction, but that´s about it.
Men are like... Horoscopes.
They always tell you what to do and are usually wrong.
Men are like... Popcorn.
They satisfy you, but only for a little while.
Men are like... Snow storms.
You never know when they´re coming, how many inches you´ll get or how long
they´ll last.
Men are like... Mascara.
They usually run at the first sign of emotion.
The Bambu Fish annual raft race was a belter this year with no less than 16 teams of 6 competing in a pair of 16- man life-rafts (Thanks to David and Paddy of Ocean Safety for those).
The place was packed, the barbie was blazing with Dave in charge whilst Penny was busy organising the dispensing of neck oil, food etc. etc. Well done you two.
The racing, as usual, was about as close to Henley Royal Regatta as you could possibly get old boy!!
It was perhaps inevitable that the eventual winners were a mob from the aptly named, ´Pirates´ who at the end of the day were the best. Err...um...cheats - that being the order of the day!
Congrats to ´Stan the man´ who´s organisation it was all down to. I think he actually enjoys the pain: obviously an ocean going, MCA class 4 masochist!
We nearly called for the straightjacket boys though when Stan´s lip started to twitch and foam when someone suggested that, ´perhaps it would be fun to run the race twice a year´!
In my munificence I donated a case of bubbly to the winners who I´m glad to say decided that it was far too heavy to carry home and so had to be consumed on the spot with a bit of help from others.
It´s high season and is hot as Hell but remember when you´ve just done 12 straight hours after a half-day turn-around and the charterer´s botoxed ´little wifee-poo´ asks, no demands, to go jetskiing just remember to fix a grin like hers and dream of a fat tip and a long, cold beer! Until next month, unless we´ve melted!
Yours, Bates