After a couple of days, I returned to town (more or less dressed
like a genuin hippie from way back then), carrying a small
frame made of bamboo, on which I displayed my "jewelry".
After a somewhat slow start, my junk sold like free
tickets to a Dyland concert, virtually disappearing from
the bamboo rod with the speed of a fart in a desert storm.
Young tourists paid 5-6 Euro for my back to nature
bangles, without even trying to push the price. In fact
some gave me a tip and a kind smile... with a, -"Thanks'n
peace ol' man!"
However... my new found plastic-hippie-friend told me to get stuffed, and get the hell out of his sight. I was a ruin to his turnover, he told me, and with a stink finger he finished off by saying, that he didn't accept any such shit from an old fart like me.
-"Peace brother", I tried, but his vocabulary was by then reduced to more than fifty
percent "fuck", and I realized with some sadness that the turd was nothing but an
egocentric capitalist in hippie disguise. A skinny little turd, having smoked his brains out
by the time he left primary school, and now probably being paid by rich parents for
staying out of sight. A crappy hippy-fake he was.
I grabbed his skinny arms,shaking him well, while telling him in a nasty "one-word-one-shake-manner", what hippie-oldies like me and my friends do to unfriendly shit smokers down on Costa Blanca. He looked at me with terrorstricken eyes, and I could clearly hear a continuous flicker from his ass, as he quickly grabbed his plastic junk and left. Bloody shithead!... I've met such phony junk before... Odin rules! ... a sad experience... but shit happens... a bloody modern plastic hippie he was.
Anyway, counting in the day of peddling the stuff, I netted a good 100,- Euro in three days... jeeezzes!... a beach bum can live well on that kind of money in Portugal... and still have plenty of time for surfing or just lay back enjoying life. You still get a fine bottle of Vinho Verde for a bit more than a Euro there, and allowing yourself 10,- Euro a day, you can live the life of a king on the beach. I know... 'cause just a few years ago I walked along the coast from Lisboa down to the Algarve. One heck of a great hike. Worth a try!
In fact, I have often regretted, that I didn't live the life of a tramp for a year or to when I was young... but what the heck... in reality, it's never to late for a hike... as long as the sun is shining and the night are mild! Never to late as long as my legs are able to carry me.
After the fake hippie had left, an elderly and immensely fat American lady stopped
by, and bought four of the pebbles I had on display! I had sprayed them
with clear varnish, which made them look like real sparkling gemstones in the
afternoon sun, nearly matching the huge things on her blubbery fingers!
The stones went for 1.- Euro a piece!... and there are thousands of them
to be picked on each and every beach along the Atlantic, so if that ain't
business, nuth'n is.
- "My God are they pretty... and so cheap... how can you survive with
such low prices?" The woman was soooo happy... she had made the bargain
of a lifetime.
She pocketed her new possessions, and continued with telling me "a daring
secrets of her youth". She used to wear flowers in her hair back in the
the late sixties... during that wild hippie time... flower power... she was
making some ridiculous swinging movements with her oversized body as she
told me about her growing up in California with very strict Baptistic parents. Then she leaned towards me and lowered her voice, as if her parents were within earshot. - "I was secretly hanging out with the hippies and the flower youngsters you see... I even smoked a few joints!..." Her voice down to barely audible, she flustered in my left ear, - "So you see!... we got something in common!... the two of us!". Her more than generous use of perfume made it hard to breath... it seemed to deprive the oxygen from the air around her.
A few second longer, and I would have blacked out, but a sudden gust of wind from the sea saved me, as it also nearly blew her hat away , which made her moved a step back. There a step away, she nodde her head slowly, winking at me with her left eye, saying, -"My-o-my were those wild days... I'd give anything to live up a bit of it again... wouldn't you?... I bet you have some experience...".
The look in her eyes and facial movements combined with her words could not be misinterpreted... the fat lady was trying to seduce me... trying to make a score!
Holy shit!... in my mind, a daytime nightmare started to develope... I saw her
nude-long-time-bulimia-body... she was dancing around on the beach... yellow
flowers tucked behind her ears and a some kind of red flowers in her hands,
which she was throwing at me, one at a time. I was lying naked on my back in
the sand, arms and legs tied to poles rammed deep into the ground... and then
she threw herself upon me. All went dark, and I tried to scream for help, but
couldn't utter a sound. I couldn't breeth... her blubber coverd my face totally,
and I felt I was slowly fading away... and then her hand grabbed my pecker...
jeeezzzes!... she was simultaneously suffocating and raping me! What a way to die. Far away I heard the faint voice of a woman singing... "If your'e going to San Fransisco, be sure to wear, some flowers in you hair... if you're going to S..."
- "Sir!... hey!...you're allright?... you're OK?"
I snapped out of the strange spell inflicted on me, but the nightmare was still there, although fully dressed... holy shit!... am I going bunkers?... it got to have something to do with her bloody perfume... jeeezzzes!
- "Yeah-yeah... sure... I'm Ok... it's my blood pressure I guess... I keep forgetting to take the bloody pills... yeah-yeah... I'm OK."
- "Well, you had me scared there for a few seconds... it looked as if you didn't get any air... you turned sort of pale."
- "Yeah, I know... it does happen to me from time, but it isn't too serious... I just have to remember taking the bloody pills... by the way, did I hear you singing?"
- "Yes... you do remember "San Fransisco", don't you?" She started singing again, and her voice was actually quite good. - "For those who come to San Francisco / Summertime will be a love-in there / In the streets of San Francisco / Gentle people with flowers in their hair / All across the nation, such a strange vibration... hmmmm... hmmm..." Then she stopped singing, and said, -"I lost my virginity to the sound of that song... a very special song for me... I have an MP-player with the original version back at my hotel."
She looked at me, and started humming her song again, with a hardly audible
voice... there was no question about it... she was trying to seduce me... holy
shit!... and to my horror I grabbed myself in thinking, -"Why dcesn't she look
a bit like she most probably looked back then?... on the beach... in the moonlight...
lean, trim, and totally nude... a tanned body... dancing with flowers in her hair...
dancing just for me... shit!... what the heck is going on here?... it got to have
something to do with her bloody perfume!"
I grabbed my bottle of water and gulped down a good half liter, and used the opportunity to fill my lungs with pure Atlantic air, sweeping in over Peniche in a couple of new strong gusts.
The wind brought me fully back to the sanity of the street corner again, and the flower power woman in front of me, was nothing but a wobbleing sumo size pudding on fat legs, continuing all the way down in her shoes. A fat American woman perfumed with stuff that could be sniffed a block a way. In fact, she was so fat and bulky, that I bet she would have overflowed a normal bathtub with less than 10. liters of water in it... but of course... way back then...
When looking at her, I estimated that she had put on an average of two kilo blubber each year over the last fifty... yeah, that would be about correct, nailing her weight to some 140 kg... and for a height of about 160cm, that makes one hell of a fat lady. She even had fat ears! In fact,she was so fat, that back in time of my youth, she could have gotten a well paid job in any travelling circus, diplaying herself as "Miss Anomalous - The 8th World Wonder".
-"You must be about my age?", she suddenly said.
I gave her a friendly smile, and was about to agree with her, but to my amazement, I heard my own voice charming her with, -"Oh no dear... I could surely have been your father young lady." In my ears it sounded like I tried to seduce her... jeeezzzes!... how could I utter such bullshit?... why the heck did I say that?... jeeezzzes!
I could read on her face that she just loved my words, and the way I had uttered them... and I could see in her eyes that she was about to invite me over to her hotel! - "Ahh... listen... ehh... would you?...ehhh", she said, while looking me straight in my eyes, but she didn't finish the sentence. Instead she asked about how long I had been making the things I was selling, and I lied by replying, -"More or less since them good ol' days lady." Then she asked if I'd be around the next day,saying that she would like to bring along a couple of friends, who would definitely like to buy some of my beautiful rustic artwork.
After a few more pleasant exchanges about the time and life "way back then"... when hippies were real hippies and women carried real flowers in their hair... "which seemed to be just like yesterday"... she left toward the center of Peniche, along the waterfront, taking up the entire sidewalk with her bulky frame.
Seeing the huge fat ass wobble away, some words spoken by my good friend Oscar came to my mind, -"I've never gone to bed with an ugly woman... but I sure woke up with a few."
Oscar is probably the horniest male ever to be born and raised
in Norway, and I bet, if he had been me, he would have
wrapped up the "artwork" left, and rushed to her hotel right
away, at her first vague hint. His life motto's and utterings
will tell you most everything about the guy and his sexual appetite;
"Heck man... it might be the last hard on in my life!"...and,
"I can't just let it be vasted...you can't save them up you know!"...
and, "If you only knew the amount of good pussy, being lost
behind an ugly face and a fat ass!".
He was also the the first guy I heard using the expression, "she was a two-bag-woman". (Going to bed with a bag-woman, is when a woman is so ugly that you have to put a paper bag over her head before taking her to bed. A two-bag woman is when you also have to put a paper bag over your own head.)
I remember that he once told me, - "In Copenhagen, a few years back, I woke up with a woman on my arm, so ugly and fat that I seriously deliberated gnawing off my arm at the shoulder in order to escape without waking her up." And, on that day in Peniche, I saw that woman, slowly disappearing out of sight. Yes, I'd bet my last nickel that he would have jumped in bed with her... and asking him about it later, he did confirm that my bet would have been a winner.
Fifteen minutes after she had left, she came bearing down on me again, with a big fat smile, hollering from a distance, -"I'd like to buy one of you brazelets as well!"
She took the largest one of the two I had left, and I charged her 9,- Euro
for it. - "A bargain", she told me, adding, "I just dont understand how you
can survive with so little earning from your artwork dear." I just held out my
arms and pulled my shoulders over my ears, as if I was a Spaniard, but said
nothing, and she looked at me for a while before she said,- "You bring back
so many nice memories from the past, man." Then she reached out her hand for me to hold, and in one swift movemet she pulled me down and gave me a big wet kisses all over my face. (Have you ever noticed how quickly sumo wrestlers can charge and move?... incredible!... or does it only look that way because of their xxxxx-size? Well... whatever... this woman was sumo size... huge and fast!)
And then... she DID invite me! - "How about a nice candle light dinner at my hotel tonight, husky?"
She was definitely the least attractive woman ever to offer me her charms, but still, needless to say, she deserved respect... her dignity and feelings not to be stepped on. Well then, luckily I had asked myself how to handle such a situation during her first visit, and I was prepared. .
- "For a man my age, that is indeed a most generous invitation lady, but my woman comes around to pick me up in a few minutes..."
- "Well ... should you change your mind... Praya D'El Rey... apartment 5... Ann Weeks..."San Fransisco" and I will stay there until next Sunday." She turned and waived me adios from the sidewalk which she filled for the second time , leaving me with a scent that my woman later on flatly refused to take my explanation for. The odor seemed to have fused with my skin, and could not be washed away... but after a day or two, the wind and the weather did kill it off.
A few weeks later I relived the California nightmare while having a
slumber in a reclining camping chair with foot rest outside our motor
home. Sharp finger nails were scratching my belly, and a mouth was
exhaling a foul fishy breath up my nose while giving me big wet kisses
all over my face. I managed to grab her hair, and with my right arm,
I flung her away from me, with all my strenght...
She was howling in pain, like a beaten dog, and I woke fully up from my
nightmare... just in time to see her head... which I had ripped off her
body!... flying away from me, about a meter above the ground... and then
came the impact.
Jeeezes!... as the head hit the camper, I saw that it it was Perro, our Spanish mongrel
It was siesta time, and Perro hit our camping neighbour's caravan real hard. He seemed to be glued to the white surface for a second, before he - without a sound - slid down to the ground, The neighbour woke up and came storming out, finding Perro shaken but apparently not badly hurt at his doorstep.
Our neighbour was a huge, mean looking, beer-drinking coalminer from Glasgow, who loved dogs more than he loved his beer and himself. The look in his eyes when he came towards me, patting Perro who was tucked to his chest with his left arm, told me that I was in deep shit... real deep shit.
-"Yer got some explaining to do mate!", he belched, quickly adding,"And how the fuck did yer dog happened to hit my camper?.. poor doggie!... what!... I hear nuth'n!... speak up man!.. yer a dogthrower are ye?"
- "Well sir... I was having a nap here you see, and..." I told him about the fat American woman, and the daylight nightmare, with me strapped down on the beach.
-"Na ye' listen ta me dickhead! ... I hate ol' buggers like you... lettin' yer bloody impotence frustrations out on a small doggie... ye bloody pervert!"
I have suffered from Tinnitus on my right ear since I did my miltary service. Some idiot fired a shot with the muzzle just inches away from my ear. Now, ever since the Scottish brute hit me over my left ear, I have had the same hissing sound on that ear as well, but with a slightly lower frequency than the pitch in my right one.
Anyway, my short hippie spell was a great experience... and for a while I have been playing with the idea of going full time old-man-hippie for a few weeks. However, my woman doesn't favour the idea at all though - to say the least - but!... I have still not shelved the project entirely.
Turning roots and stones into hard cash was rewarding, and I find it intriguing that a fat elderly lady was willing to spend 13,- Euro on an apparent left-over-hippie... out of sympathy for an evident misfortune like me, with gray beard and a red Che bandana on a near bald head... peddling self made junk on a Portugese sidewalk.
But, then there are alas some rather uncomfortable thoughts which have
struck me.
Could it be that she was just a desperat sexually undernourished woman,
having reached the point of saying, "any old fart will do"? Did she plan
on getting a quicky for her investment of 13.-Eura pluss dinner?... or?...
jeeezzzes!... did I give her the impression, that I'm a desperate old geezer...
always ready to jump in bed with any old obese double-bag?
Well... whatever... as said... I haven't shelved the hippie project entirely,
so stay put. It could turn into a great experience, giving food for some real
good stories.
...
like a genuin hippie from way back then), carrying a small
frame made of bamboo, on which I displayed my "jewelry".
After a somewhat slow start, my junk sold like free
tickets to a Dyland concert, virtually disappearing from
the bamboo rod with the speed of a fart in a desert storm.
Young tourists paid 5-6 Euro for my back to nature
bangles, without even trying to push the price. In fact
some gave me a tip and a kind smile... with a, -"Thanks'n
peace ol' man!"
However... my new found plastic-hippie-friend told me to get stuffed, and get the hell out of his sight. I was a ruin to his turnover, he told me, and with a stink finger he finished off by saying, that he didn't accept any such shit from an old fart like me.
-"Peace brother", I tried, but his vocabulary was by then reduced to more than fifty
percent "fuck", and I realized with some sadness that the turd was nothing but an
egocentric capitalist in hippie disguise. A skinny little turd, having smoked his brains out
by the time he left primary school, and now probably being paid by rich parents for
staying out of sight. A crappy hippy-fake he was.
I grabbed his skinny arms,shaking him well, while telling him in a nasty "one-word-one-shake-manner", what hippie-oldies like me and my friends do to unfriendly shit smokers down on Costa Blanca. He looked at me with terrorstricken eyes, and I could clearly hear a continuous flicker from his ass, as he quickly grabbed his plastic junk and left. Bloody shithead!... I've met such phony junk before... Odin rules! ... a sad experience... but shit happens... a bloody modern plastic hippie he was.
Anyway, counting in the day of peddling the stuff, I netted a good 100,- Euro in three days... jeeezzes!... a beach bum can live well on that kind of money in Portugal... and still have plenty of time for surfing or just lay back enjoying life. You still get a fine bottle of Vinho Verde for a bit more than a Euro there, and allowing yourself 10,- Euro a day, you can live the life of a king on the beach. I know... 'cause just a few years ago I walked along the coast from Lisboa down to the Algarve. One heck of a great hike. Worth a try!
In fact, I have often regretted, that I didn't live the life of a tramp for a year or to when I was young... but what the heck... in reality, it's never to late for a hike... as long as the sun is shining and the night are mild! Never to late as long as my legs are able to carry me.
After the fake hippie had left, an elderly and immensely fat American lady stopped
by, and bought four of the pebbles I had on display! I had sprayed them
with clear varnish, which made them look like real sparkling gemstones in the
afternoon sun, nearly matching the huge things on her blubbery fingers!
The stones went for 1.- Euro a piece!... and there are thousands of them
to be picked on each and every beach along the Atlantic, so if that ain't
business, nuth'n is.
- "My God are they pretty... and so cheap... how can you survive with
such low prices?" The woman was soooo happy... she had made the bargain
of a lifetime.
She pocketed her new possessions, and continued with telling me "a daring
secrets of her youth". She used to wear flowers in her hair back in the
the late sixties... during that wild hippie time... flower power... she was
making some ridiculous swinging movements with her oversized body as she
told me about her growing up in California with very strict Baptistic parents. Then she leaned towards me and lowered her voice, as if her parents were within earshot. - "I was secretly hanging out with the hippies and the flower youngsters you see... I even smoked a few joints!..." Her voice down to barely audible, she flustered in my left ear, - "So you see!... we got something in common!... the two of us!". Her more than generous use of perfume made it hard to breath... it seemed to deprive the oxygen from the air around her.
A few second longer, and I would have blacked out, but a sudden gust of wind from the sea saved me, as it also nearly blew her hat away , which made her moved a step back. There a step away, she nodde her head slowly, winking at me with her left eye, saying, -"My-o-my were those wild days... I'd give anything to live up a bit of it again... wouldn't you?... I bet you have some experience...".
The look in her eyes and facial movements combined with her words could not be misinterpreted... the fat lady was trying to seduce me... trying to make a score!
Holy shit!... in my mind, a daytime nightmare started to develope... I saw her
nude-long-time-bulimia-body... she was dancing around on the beach... yellow
flowers tucked behind her ears and a some kind of red flowers in her hands,
which she was throwing at me, one at a time. I was lying naked on my back in
the sand, arms and legs tied to poles rammed deep into the ground... and then
she threw herself upon me. All went dark, and I tried to scream for help, but
couldn't utter a sound. I couldn't breeth... her blubber coverd my face totally,
and I felt I was slowly fading away... and then her hand grabbed my pecker...
jeeezzzes!... she was simultaneously suffocating and raping me! What a way to die. Far away I heard the faint voice of a woman singing... "If your'e going to San Fransisco, be sure to wear, some flowers in you hair... if you're going to S..."
- "Sir!... hey!...you're allright?... you're OK?"
I snapped out of the strange spell inflicted on me, but the nightmare was still there, although fully dressed... holy shit!... am I going bunkers?... it got to have something to do with her bloody perfume... jeeezzzes!
- "Yeah-yeah... sure... I'm Ok... it's my blood pressure I guess... I keep forgetting to take the bloody pills... yeah-yeah... I'm OK."
- "Well, you had me scared there for a few seconds... it looked as if you didn't get any air... you turned sort of pale."
- "Yeah, I know... it does happen to me from time, but it isn't too serious... I just have to remember taking the bloody pills... by the way, did I hear you singing?"
- "Yes... you do remember "San Fransisco", don't you?" She started singing again, and her voice was actually quite good. - "For those who come to San Francisco / Summertime will be a love-in there / In the streets of San Francisco / Gentle people with flowers in their hair / All across the nation, such a strange vibration... hmmmm... hmmm..." Then she stopped singing, and said, -"I lost my virginity to the sound of that song... a very special song for me... I have an MP-player with the original version back at my hotel."
She looked at me, and started humming her song again, with a hardly audible
voice... there was no question about it... she was trying to seduce me... holy
shit!... and to my horror I grabbed myself in thinking, -"Why dcesn't she look
a bit like she most probably looked back then?... on the beach... in the moonlight...
lean, trim, and totally nude... a tanned body... dancing with flowers in her hair...
dancing just for me... shit!... what the heck is going on here?... it got to have
something to do with her bloody perfume!"
I grabbed my bottle of water and gulped down a good half liter, and used the opportunity to fill my lungs with pure Atlantic air, sweeping in over Peniche in a couple of new strong gusts.
The wind brought me fully back to the sanity of the street corner again, and the flower power woman in front of me, was nothing but a wobbleing sumo size pudding on fat legs, continuing all the way down in her shoes. A fat American woman perfumed with stuff that could be sniffed a block a way. In fact, she was so fat and bulky, that I bet she would have overflowed a normal bathtub with less than 10. liters of water in it... but of course... way back then...
When looking at her, I estimated that she had put on an average of two kilo blubber each year over the last fifty... yeah, that would be about correct, nailing her weight to some 140 kg... and for a height of about 160cm, that makes one hell of a fat lady. She even had fat ears! In fact,she was so fat, that back in time of my youth, she could have gotten a well paid job in any travelling circus, diplaying herself as "Miss Anomalous - The 8th World Wonder".
-"You must be about my age?", she suddenly said.
I gave her a friendly smile, and was about to agree with her, but to my amazement, I heard my own voice charming her with, -"Oh no dear... I could surely have been your father young lady." In my ears it sounded like I tried to seduce her... jeeezzzes!... how could I utter such bullshit?... why the heck did I say that?... jeeezzzes!
I could read on her face that she just loved my words, and the way I had uttered them... and I could see in her eyes that she was about to invite me over to her hotel! - "Ahh... listen... ehh... would you?...ehhh", she said, while looking me straight in my eyes, but she didn't finish the sentence. Instead she asked about how long I had been making the things I was selling, and I lied by replying, -"More or less since them good ol' days lady." Then she asked if I'd be around the next day,saying that she would like to bring along a couple of friends, who would definitely like to buy some of my beautiful rustic artwork.
After a few more pleasant exchanges about the time and life "way back then"... when hippies were real hippies and women carried real flowers in their hair... "which seemed to be just like yesterday"... she left toward the center of Peniche, along the waterfront, taking up the entire sidewalk with her bulky frame.
Seeing the huge fat ass wobble away, some words spoken by my good friend Oscar came to my mind, -"I've never gone to bed with an ugly woman... but I sure woke up with a few."
Oscar is probably the horniest male ever to be born and raised
in Norway, and I bet, if he had been me, he would have
wrapped up the "artwork" left, and rushed to her hotel right
away, at her first vague hint. His life motto's and utterings
will tell you most everything about the guy and his sexual appetite;
"Heck man... it might be the last hard on in my life!"...and,
"I can't just let it be vasted...you can't save them up you know!"...
and, "If you only knew the amount of good pussy, being lost
behind an ugly face and a fat ass!".
He was also the the first guy I heard using the expression, "she was a two-bag-woman". (Going to bed with a bag-woman, is when a woman is so ugly that you have to put a paper bag over her head before taking her to bed. A two-bag woman is when you also have to put a paper bag over your own head.)
I remember that he once told me, - "In Copenhagen, a few years back, I woke up with a woman on my arm, so ugly and fat that I seriously deliberated gnawing off my arm at the shoulder in order to escape without waking her up." And, on that day in Peniche, I saw that woman, slowly disappearing out of sight. Yes, I'd bet my last nickel that he would have jumped in bed with her... and asking him about it later, he did confirm that my bet would have been a winner.
Fifteen minutes after she had left, she came bearing down on me again, with a big fat smile, hollering from a distance, -"I'd like to buy one of you brazelets as well!"
She took the largest one of the two I had left, and I charged her 9,- Euro
for it. - "A bargain", she told me, adding, "I just dont understand how you
can survive with so little earning from your artwork dear." I just held out my
arms and pulled my shoulders over my ears, as if I was a Spaniard, but said
nothing, and she looked at me for a while before she said,- "You bring back
so many nice memories from the past, man." Then she reached out her hand for me to hold, and in one swift movemet she pulled me down and gave me a big wet kisses all over my face. (Have you ever noticed how quickly sumo wrestlers can charge and move?... incredible!... or does it only look that way because of their xxxxx-size? Well... whatever... this woman was sumo size... huge and fast!)
And then... she DID invite me! - "How about a nice candle light dinner at my hotel tonight, husky?"
She was definitely the least attractive woman ever to offer me her charms, but still, needless to say, she deserved respect... her dignity and feelings not to be stepped on. Well then, luckily I had asked myself how to handle such a situation during her first visit, and I was prepared. .
- "For a man my age, that is indeed a most generous invitation lady, but my woman comes around to pick me up in a few minutes..."
- "Well ... should you change your mind... Praya D'El Rey... apartment 5... Ann Weeks..."San Fransisco" and I will stay there until next Sunday." She turned and waived me adios from the sidewalk which she filled for the second time , leaving me with a scent that my woman later on flatly refused to take my explanation for. The odor seemed to have fused with my skin, and could not be washed away... but after a day or two, the wind and the weather did kill it off.
A few weeks later I relived the California nightmare while having a
slumber in a reclining camping chair with foot rest outside our motor
home. Sharp finger nails were scratching my belly, and a mouth was
exhaling a foul fishy breath up my nose while giving me big wet kisses
all over my face. I managed to grab her hair, and with my right arm,
I flung her away from me, with all my strenght...
She was howling in pain, like a beaten dog, and I woke fully up from my
nightmare... just in time to see her head... which I had ripped off her
body!... flying away from me, about a meter above the ground... and then
came the impact.
Jeeezes!... as the head hit the camper, I saw that it it was Perro, our Spanish mongrel
It was siesta time, and Perro hit our camping neighbour's caravan real hard. He seemed to be glued to the white surface for a second, before he - without a sound - slid down to the ground, The neighbour woke up and came storming out, finding Perro shaken but apparently not badly hurt at his doorstep.
Our neighbour was a huge, mean looking, beer-drinking coalminer from Glasgow, who loved dogs more than he loved his beer and himself. The look in his eyes when he came towards me, patting Perro who was tucked to his chest with his left arm, told me that I was in deep shit... real deep shit.
-"Yer got some explaining to do mate!", he belched, quickly adding,"And how the fuck did yer dog happened to hit my camper?.. poor doggie!... what!... I hear nuth'n!... speak up man!.. yer a dogthrower are ye?"
- "Well sir... I was having a nap here you see, and..." I told him about the fat American woman, and the daylight nightmare, with me strapped down on the beach.
-"Na ye' listen ta me dickhead! ... I hate ol' buggers like you... lettin' yer bloody impotence frustrations out on a small doggie... ye bloody pervert!"
I have suffered from Tinnitus on my right ear since I did my miltary service. Some idiot fired a shot with the muzzle just inches away from my ear. Now, ever since the Scottish brute hit me over my left ear, I have had the same hissing sound on that ear as well, but with a slightly lower frequency than the pitch in my right one.
Anyway, my short hippie spell was a great experience... and for a while I have been playing with the idea of going full time old-man-hippie for a few weeks. However, my woman doesn't favour the idea at all though - to say the least - but!... I have still not shelved the project entirely.
Turning roots and stones into hard cash was rewarding, and I find it intriguing that a fat elderly lady was willing to spend 13,- Euro on an apparent left-over-hippie... out of sympathy for an evident misfortune like me, with gray beard and a red Che bandana on a near bald head... peddling self made junk on a Portugese sidewalk.
But, then there are alas some rather uncomfortable thoughts which have
struck me.
Could it be that she was just a desperat sexually undernourished woman,
having reached the point of saying, "any old fart will do"? Did she plan
on getting a quicky for her investment of 13.-Eura pluss dinner?... or?...
jeeezzzes!... did I give her the impression, that I'm a desperate old geezer...
always ready to jump in bed with any old obese double-bag?
Well... whatever... as said... I haven't shelved the hippie project entirely,
so stay put. It could turn into a great experience, giving food for some real
good stories.
...
A modern time young hippie I met in Peniche (Portugal), who made "jewelry" from
colourful plastic beads and strings, gave me the idea to give him some competition by making up my own collection, thereby using only available natural materials found along the beach.
colourful plastic beads and strings, gave me the idea to give him some competition by making up my own collection, thereby using only available natural materials found along the beach.
