On assignment - The Philippines 1.
Location: Manila: Philippines
I'm going to regale you all with tales of my recent visit to Manila in the Philippines, and in true George Lucas epic style, I'm going to start at the end then work backwards, just to confuse the merry fuck out of you all.
So I’m sitting in the Emirates Business class lounge at Manila international airport – or the (insert first name of dead/deposed/deported) Aquino international airport, and let me tell you, I’ve been in coach terminal coffee shops in Midwestern USA that are better than this. There is this air of bewildered disbelief hanging in the air as middle aged business men loiter longingly around the grubby food buffet looking for something that might even remotely resemble a cocktail. (Penance perhaps, for their obvious sexcapades over the last week..)
It’s a sorry sight. In design terms, I seem to recall a Keith Lord buffet and hutch set my parents foolishly bought in the early 80’s that stylishly (and I use that term liberally) was quite Midwestern USA darkwood faux classic tack, but nonetheless, more spacious and capable of satisfying many more guests come festive season.
So at the beginning of the evening my initial response was to get absolutely blind drunk before I get onto the airoplane, by drinking the rest of the bottle of gin lurking very frightened like at the back of the shelf behind the cheap vodka. In fact, it reminds me of a student bar. Noice.
I think it was a good idea to get here early. Looking around me, there doesn’t seem to be many seats, and only a few break out spaces. And I dont think the kinds of people who fly Emirates business class are about to climb into each others personal space and start to workshop a panto. No, I just don’t. In fact. As more people arrive, I can see the drinks are flowing very freely. Quick, I’ve finished my G & T, be back in a moment.
Ok, back from the bar and onto drink no 2. I’m a little worried that I might be making an arse of myself. Wait, hang on a moment. Making an arse of myself has never bothered me before and it’s not like I’m in Kensington Palace or nuffin.
I do happen to have my ipod on extra loud on the ‘disco’ setting and no doubt disturbing the peace with the sounds of the Freemasons, who have, in anticipation of their up and coming Sydney Mardi Gras debut, released a CRACKING CD, which is rotating around my Ipod faster than Kerry Katona’s head spinning around after a vigorous talcum powdering of the dance floor at 4.00am. Not only is my music blasting out for all to hear, but I appear to be dancing along. Heaven knows, by drink no 12, I’ll probably do a whole floor show. Now, where are those feathers.
So, my collegues have just arrived, and onto drink no, 3. I have just declared to them that I am attempting to drink the bar dry. They seem impressed.
OOOHHH Bud and Chuck have arrived in their Khaki sweats and seem to be making a line for the bar. I love the new way to describe grunge, Lacoste calls their new drab range of dirty looking tripe the ECO TEES. Whatever. Just look like you should be flying business class, Chuck, if you want to hang out in here with me and my Mandarina Duck. Best top up….
Ok, so look, because I have now taken off my Ipod I’m listening to the warbling sounds of the muzak. Last track was the Hammond organs rendition of Take That’s back for good. Now it’s Toni Braxton’s ‘Unbreak my heart’. One of my collegues, a rather senior gentleman, has been talking to me and distracting my train of thought, and that’s probably why this is so rambling. I might have done a bad thing. To shut him up a let it slip that I was gay, and I think he’s now very confused and looking a touch uncomfortable. I can see him thinking about our candle-lit dinner last night, and now here’s coming around to realise that there was a reason why I didn’t go to the girly bars the other night… wait for it… waaaaiiit, here it comes, ah yes, there’s the look.
Boarding in half an hour. OK, that’ll do for now.
I'm going to regale you all with tales of my recent visit to Manila in the Philippines, and in true George Lucas epic style, I'm going to start at the end then work backwards, just to confuse the merry fuck out of you all.
So I’m sitting in the Emirates Business class lounge at Manila international airport – or the (insert first name of dead/deposed/deported) Aquino international airport, and let me tell you, I’ve been in coach terminal coffee shops in Midwestern USA that are better than this. There is this air of bewildered disbelief hanging in the air as middle aged business men loiter longingly around the grubby food buffet looking for something that might even remotely resemble a cocktail. (Penance perhaps, for their obvious sexcapades over the last week..)
It’s a sorry sight. In design terms, I seem to recall a Keith Lord buffet and hutch set my parents foolishly bought in the early 80’s that stylishly (and I use that term liberally) was quite Midwestern USA darkwood faux classic tack, but nonetheless, more spacious and capable of satisfying many more guests come festive season.
So at the beginning of the evening my initial response was to get absolutely blind drunk before I get onto the airoplane, by drinking the rest of the bottle of gin lurking very frightened like at the back of the shelf behind the cheap vodka. In fact, it reminds me of a student bar. Noice.
I think it was a good idea to get here early. Looking around me, there doesn’t seem to be many seats, and only a few break out spaces. And I dont think the kinds of people who fly Emirates business class are about to climb into each others personal space and start to workshop a panto. No, I just don’t. In fact. As more people arrive, I can see the drinks are flowing very freely. Quick, I’ve finished my G & T, be back in a moment.
Ok, back from the bar and onto drink no 2. I’m a little worried that I might be making an arse of myself. Wait, hang on a moment. Making an arse of myself has never bothered me before and it’s not like I’m in Kensington Palace or nuffin.
I do happen to have my ipod on extra loud on the ‘disco’ setting and no doubt disturbing the peace with the sounds of the Freemasons, who have, in anticipation of their up and coming Sydney Mardi Gras debut, released a CRACKING CD, which is rotating around my Ipod faster than Kerry Katona’s head spinning around after a vigorous talcum powdering of the dance floor at 4.00am. Not only is my music blasting out for all to hear, but I appear to be dancing along. Heaven knows, by drink no 12, I’ll probably do a whole floor show. Now, where are those feathers.
So, my collegues have just arrived, and onto drink no, 3. I have just declared to them that I am attempting to drink the bar dry. They seem impressed.
OOOHHH Bud and Chuck have arrived in their Khaki sweats and seem to be making a line for the bar. I love the new way to describe grunge, Lacoste calls their new drab range of dirty looking tripe the ECO TEES. Whatever. Just look like you should be flying business class, Chuck, if you want to hang out in here with me and my Mandarina Duck. Best top up….
Ok, so look, because I have now taken off my Ipod I’m listening to the warbling sounds of the muzak. Last track was the Hammond organs rendition of Take That’s back for good. Now it’s Toni Braxton’s ‘Unbreak my heart’. One of my collegues, a rather senior gentleman, has been talking to me and distracting my train of thought, and that’s probably why this is so rambling. I might have done a bad thing. To shut him up a let it slip that I was gay, and I think he’s now very confused and looking a touch uncomfortable. I can see him thinking about our candle-lit dinner last night, and now here’s coming around to realise that there was a reason why I didn’t go to the girly bars the other night… wait for it… waaaaiiit, here it comes, ah yes, there’s the look.
Boarding in half an hour. OK, that’ll do for now.
Labels: MADNESS
posted by Eddie Knittster at 6:00 pm
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