Category: Repatriation

The Beau Belles

When we decided to jump the good ship Blighty, we enjoyed an extraordinary run of good luck. Our neighbour bought our house and its contents. IKEA-chic (or is that shit?) was clearly to his liking. We hauled over just 17 boxes of our precious personal possessions (aka old crap we couldn’t give away). Our extraordinary run of good luck has continued. Thanks to a select group of Bodrum Belles, we’ve flogged off our house contents all over again. We’ve hauled back to Blighty just 17 boxes plus Liam’s beloved Roland keyboard and our marvellous Samsung flat screen TV (miraculously still working; most of our other electrical goodies have malfunctioned). I love this recycling lark. No need to re-flat-pack the flat pack. So, a massive hand to the Beau Belles of Bodrum.

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Are You Being Served?

In the Beginning

It’s a Wrap

After the Hump’s disastrous showing at the farcical Caucasian Eurovision circus, we awoke to a thump at the door to match the thumping in my hung-over head. The removers launched into a fast frenzy of wrapping and packing at a speed I’ve never experienced in Turkey before. Our meagre chattels were efficiently boxed, labelled and loaded like a well-oiled Germanic assembly line.  The procession of sweaty men was halted only momentarily by a traditional Turkish marching band – all monotonic horns and clashing drums – as it passed along the ancient street. Our fabulous Turkish neighbours popped across the courtyard with tea, cake and smiles. After the briefest of breaks and a quick fag with the fags, the boys chucked themselves back into the fray. The entire endeavour was all done and dusted in just three hours. We had shopped around for a few quotes but most of the silly prices were higher than the value of the family silver: it would have been cheaper to flog the whole lot off and start again. BacktoBodrum came to our rescue with Soyer International Removals – fast, friendly, and cost effective. Our goods will soon be sailing on high seas back to Blighty. We’ll be following them very soon, a suitcase each and handful of high hopes .

Jack the Hobbling Goblin

I’ve had an MOT at a local private hospital five minutes walk from the house. I thought it would be wise before re-entering the well-meaning but labyrinthine world of the National Health Service when we return to Blighty in a few weeks. It was prompted by a sudden and unexpected rise in my blood pressure. I used to be troubled by hypertension before our exodus but after entering Turkish airspace my blood pressure reverted to normal levels and stubbornly stayed there despite my lifestyle addictions.

Recently though, the bloody thing has been on the rise again and I’ve developed some difficulty walking anything more than a short hop. Hills in heels are a nightmare I can tell you. Like most men, I ignored it – until Liam nagged me into submission. After a determined and relentless campaign of drip-drip harrying, I conceded and made an appointment. I can report that the experience was easy, fast and efficient. A wonderful northern lass employed to guide witless foreigners ferried me around the system and smoothed the waters with tact and smiles.

The outcome? The good news is that my ticker (and wait for it) liver and lungs are all in fine form. I nearly fell off the back of my chair when the nice cardiologist told me that. The bad news? My cholesterol levels are through the roof, my blood pressure is way too high and I have developed Periodic Limb Movement Disorder. I’ve been called disordered many times before but not because of my limbs. Essentially, my brand new condition causes my calf muscles to spasm involuntary when I sleep and it’s the nocturnal workout that causes the pain when I mince about town. After the diagnosis, Liam stayed awake for nights on end to check what was going on. Apparently, my calves throb so regularly, you could run a clock with ’em. And there was me thinking I was just kicking him out of bed to make my morning cuppa or rehearsing for a spot on Riverdance.

I’ve always wondered why I have the legs of a Premier League footballer and the belly of an armchair fan. Now I know. The cardiologist put me on drugs to control the rhythmic twitching. Liam put me on a rolled oats regime for my cholesterol. He calls it porridge. I call it cruel gruel.

What does this all mean? Simple. I am now officially old.

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Health Warning

Resident Aliens

What Maketh the Man?

The call came and I’m home alone once more. Liam dashed back to Blighty strapped to a Sleazyjet plane. My mother-in-law’s not well and the family is rallying round to provide the kind of TLC that this kindly lady needs and deserves. His departure was heralded by an impromptu and ear-splitting display by (presumably) the Turkish Air Force Aerobatic Team who flew ultra-low to strafe the unsuspecting town. The vibration set off car alarms. Boys with their toys.

While I’m home alone, I’ve got plenty to occupy myself, including preparations for our own homecoming in June. I’ll be clearing out my mucky drawers and chucking out the chintz. Besides, the weather’s on the up; I’m sure our select group of Bodrum Belles and Gümbet Gals will keep me from crying into the bottom of my glass. Liam went without hesitation or resentment and he went with my blessing. Liam’s love and loyalty is second to none. That’s what maketh the man.

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Left to My Own Devices

Home Alone

200,000 Hits Plus

A few days ago, an obscure English language blog written by an ex-pretty boy reporting from a minor peninsula on the Aegean coast of Turkey, exceeded 200,000* page hits. My sincerest thanks go out to all those people who have popped by to show their support for Perking the Pansies. Are you all mad?

Other notable stats for cyber geeks include:

600 posts – 2,000 shares – 14,000 spam comments – 4,500 legit comments (not including Faceache and that tweety thingy).

Surprisingly, I’ve been little troubled by the angry little trolls who stalk cyberspace with impunity. I’ve only ever had to delete two vile comments from the faceless.

My parochial dispatches from the emigrey trenches (in the winter, I mean this literally) have been liberally sprinkled with liberal mutterings on selected events of the day. Sometimes, Perking the Pansies goes beyond these short-sighted shores and tackles issues that interest, amaze, amuse or concern me. Indeed, many of the posts with an international twist have been big hits. This gives me hope. Maybe Perking the Pansies can evolve from reflections on emigrey life to broader horizons – from fosterland to motherland. So, climb aboard the slow boat to Blighty. I hope you’ll stay on for the ride but feel free to jump ship at any sunny port en route. That’s what journeys are all about.

Next milestone? A quarter of a million. Imagine that?

Pansy Reach
Pansy Reach

*Combining page views on this site with my old Google blog blocked by the Turkish Authorities in December 2010).  

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No Going Back on Going Back

Review of the Year 2011

From Top to Bottom

Now we’ve unplugged Digiturk, we’re gradually re-acquainting ourselves with our DVD library. This is more troublesome than it sounds. Our LG home entertainment system is rejecting discs at random. Again. This tiresome business first started last November. At the time, the system was still under guarantee and Liam called in the service man. The burly, surly boy who turned up at our door had a brilliant suggestion. We were trying to play the ‘wrong kind’ of DVD. I quickly disabused him of that and he grudgingly took the machine away for repairs. It was returned a week later and worked fine. For a few months. Naturally, it’s now out of warranty. When we move back to Blighty, our top of the range system will be at the bottom of the bin.

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Life’s Good

Every Little Helps

The Bodrum Bulletin has just updated its annual grocery price check, comparing Britain with Turkey. This exercise was first started in 2009 using the same basket of goods from Sainsbury’s (in the UK) and Migros (in Turkey). The headline is that the price differential between the two countries has been gradually eroded since the survey started. In 2009 the British basket cost 26% more, whereas today the difference is less that 10%.

As with all things, the devil is in the detail. Buying habits vary from person to person and the comparison is affected by the prevailing lira to pound exchange rate. Nevertheless, it does indicate a direction of travel during these recessionary times. We residents all know that booming Turkey is no longer the low cost paradise it used to be. To add to the depressing trend, the Turkish Government has just hiked the price of gas by nearly 19% and the price of electricity by just over 9%.

A year ago, I set Liam a challenge. I wanted to know the cost of living for our kind of life in Britain, Spain and Turkey. He calculated  our average monthly spend on the typical stuff we consume –  food, booze, fags, essential trips back to London, rent, bills, healthcare, insurances, etc. He also used Migros for the Turkish grocery shop, comparing it to Tesco’s in Britain and a major Spanish chain. At the time, the results showed that living in Spain would cost a fifth less overall whereas living in Britain (outside London) would cost a third more.

The same analysis today (excluding Spain) paints a completely different picture. Our British living costs will be on par with our Turkish expenses. This is almost entirely due to the low rent we expect to pay in Norwich and the fact that we’re (almost) a smoking-free family. This isn’t the reason we’ve decided to leave our foster home but, as they say at Tesco’s, every little helps.

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Y Viva España

Pounds and Porn

From Local to Yokel

It’s Sod’s Law. As soon we decide to paddle back to Blighty on the evening tide to become country yokels, two things happen to make life in battered Bodrum just that little bit easier and that little bit cheaper.

First off, the Town’s highways and byways are being laid with fibre optic cables. A battalion of dusky, sweaty vested navvies is carving out mini-trenches along every street. The deep furrows are being backfilled badly and dribbled with lumpy tarmac. In some of the crazy paving alleys, zigzagging troughs look like hastily repaired earthquake cracks.

The project is a joint venture between Super Online (internet) and Turkcell (mobile phone). Fibre optic cables provide a much faster and more reliable internet experience and the new service will give the current whore’s drawers service from TTNET (Turk Telekom) a run for its money. Who knows, it may even drive down prices. I hear there are also plans for cable TV in the pipeline. Oh, what joy: the chance to tell Digiturk (Satellite broadcaster) where to shove their overpriced packages.

And so to the second piece of good news. Dolly drivers on the flat fare blue-liveried bus routes now charge us the tariff usually reserved for locals (2 lira instead of 2.75 as advertised in English). It’s only taken two years. Sadly, we’ve yet to get the local rate at cute Ali’s barbers for our one-round-the-side-two-on-the-top crops. He’s worth it though. Even without the ‘extras’.

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Something for the Weekend Sir?

Back, Sack and Crack

Norwich?!

This has been the loaded question from some of those in the loop. Do I sense smidgeon of incredulity? A soupçon of smugness? To be fair, until quite recently, all I knew of Norwich was the Sale of the Century from the Seventies, Bernard Matthew’s gobbling turkeys and the acronym, kNickers Off Ready When I Come Home. I used the latter in text messages to Liam when we were at it like rabbits during our honeymoon years. By common consent, the former Anglo-Saxon kingdom of East Anglia is full of in-breeds shagging their siblings and marrying their cousins (sound familiar?). This may be true in the rural flatlands of England’s gobbling breadbasket but surely not in the pretty cathedral city, a hidden gem with its student vibe, wine bars and arthouses. We are delighted to be joining the north folk of Norfolk as neo Norwichians (not to be confused with Norwegians who, as Vikings, did a bit of raping and pillaging in that part of our Sceptred Isle). And just in case you need further convincing, take a look at this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ovyQJYEr23s

Okay, Norwich didn’t win but we all know that Derry (or Londonderry, depending on what side of the fence you pray on) won for political reasons. Just in case you’re thinking of sending me outraged of Derry/Londonderry letters, I’m entitled to say that. I’m half Northern Irish and I don’t pray at all.

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No Going Back on Going Back

And the Winners Are

And the Winners Are…

All medieval Gothic cathedrals look the same to me – all those lofty arches, graceful buttresses, elegant cloisters, grimacing gargoyles and more effigies of martyred saints than I could shake a stick at. Thank you to everyone who entered the spot the Goth competition. Some were stumped and plumped for Chichester, Durham, Oxford and second favourite, Salisbury. All fine buildings, but nil points to you lot. Yes, the next exciting whistle-stop on our pansy trail is the fair city of Norwich, the handsome capital of East Anglia and former home to the quiz of the week with Nicholas Parsons.

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We decided to alter the competition rules a little (we can do that) and pick a couple of winners at random instead of just the one. Liam selected one and I chose the other. Congratulations to Niki Fowler and Paul Hard. A pristine copy of Perking the Pansies will be with you very soon, signed, sealed and delivered. We hope you enjoy it. And if you do, tell your family, your friends, strangers in the street, shout it from the rooftops and maybe add a review to Amazon. As they say at Tesco’s, every little helps.

Off to Norwich we shall plod and that’s where I’ll write the sequel. Emigreys beware. Just when you thought it was safe to dip your toes in the Ege, I’ll be tying up the loose ends of our extraordinary time in old Bodrum Town and moving the story along to its bitter end. I’ll also keep on blogging, reporting on the Motherland and our foster home through my veracious, liberal eyes. The uncensored safety of Blighty will allow me to write more honestly.

Have a look at No Going Back on Going Back for all the competition entries (those not published elsewhere). It’s my most commented on post.