Delivered from Delirium

Abandoned Bed

After weeks of sleep deprivation, we’ve finally solved our debilitating predicament with the installation of a wall mounted air conditioning unit in the ground floor spare room where the walls are of standard girth. We’ve abandoned our marital bed with its superior sprung mattress for the rest of the summer. No matter, the gentle cooling hum has delivered us from delirium.

Thank you for all the words of sympathy and suggestions about how to solve our pesky problem. It helps when people can feel our pain.

We Are Not Amused

We are not amused

I am sorry to bang on about this but I really don’t know how the empire builders did it. Those buttoned up Victorians in heavy drapes must have been made of sterner stuff. We’ve mastered the art of minimising all movement unless absolutely necessary. The upper floor of the house is completely abandoned save for our clothes which radiate heat as if just removed from a tumble dryer. We take regular cold showers and Liam’s only bound copy of his treasured composition for string quartet is employed as a fan stand in an attempt to dry our clammy old hides. Death by heat exhaustion is surely to follow.

The Punkawallah and the Pansies

punka_wallahObsessing about the weather is a national pastime for the Brits. I guess I’m no different from my compatriots. I railed against the wind, cold and winter monsoons in February. I’m now wilting in sizzling summer and the varnish is peeling off the window sills. So far our search for a cooling solution has been fruitless. I’m touched by the concern of others towards our plight and the ingenious suggestions to douse the heat (of the wrong kind) in our bed.

  • Carole suggests an industrial fan – comes with a built in facelift as a by-product which is well worth thinking about.
  • Deborah suggests sticking our feet in a bowl of iced water – a method of torture favoured by the KGB.
  • Karyn suggests sleeping outside which would be like trying to catnap on the hard shoulder of the M25.
  • Alan suggests a dehumidifier – more bloody lira down the pan
  • Linda suggests wrapping a freezer pack in a tea towel and applying it our hot bits – get your mind out of the gutter.
  • Kym suggests retiring at night in wet socks – guaranteed to dampen our ardour and rot the mattress.
  • Hana suggests getting down to Arçelik and reviewing the problem with someone who knows what they’re taking about – what in Turkey?
  • As a last resort, Karyn suggests using child labour to fan us with ostrich feathers – How very British Raj and a practice likely to court the attention of the local Jandarma.

All is not lost. We’ve hit on an idea that might bring relief. Inşallah.

Sleepless in Bodrum

Off we went on another flight of fancy in search of an air conditioning solution. The wall mounted unit was exchanged for a mobile machine which is vented out of a window. Another bloody catastrophe.  The contraption did reduce the ambient temperature to almost sleep-able levels but it’s like berthing next to the engine room of a cross channel ferry.

Wilting Pansies

It’s 103 in old money and we’ve like a pair of camp vampires only venturing out between the hours of sunset and dawn. Our sofa radiates heat like embers from a dying grate, the home entertainment system has gone on strike and the top floor of the house has become an oven which our useless ceiling fan only assists. We move slowly. This is not the climate in which to do anything quickly. We’ve never been keen on air conditioning. In our old Yalıkavak house on the hill we were able to leave our windows ajar to be cooled by the constant sea breeze. The mozzie net protected us from assaults by the squadrons of bloodthirsty bugs. Bodrum is a different kettle of fish. Twenty four hour traffic and a constant throng demands that windows are kept firmly shut at night. We can bear no longer our glowing bed and the nightly rite of sleepless sweats so we’ve relaxed our aversion to aircon. We procured a unit from a local store. The following day a child arrived to install it. The pre-pubescent boy stared at our 18 inch thick uneven stone and concrete walls in absolute horror, shaking his head and fumbling despondently with his woefully inadequate tools.

Liam rang our landlady for assistance. Canny Hanife arrived with plums in hand, quickly followed by husband and son. For good measure our neighbours also joined the jolly fray. An impassioned and gesticulated debate ensued around our marital bed. We left them to it and put the kettle on. Eventually, the Turkish Jury awarded nil point to the child and his woefully inadequate tools and cast him out into the street. More debilitating sleepless nights are anticipated until we find a solution.

News of the World, RIP

I hear the hacking hacks at the News of the World, that famously progressive liberal rag, got caught red handed indulging in a little illegal phone tapping (as opposed to legal phone tapping which is commonplace in Turkey, only requiring consent from the local Jandarma chief). That’s the red tops for you, anything for a salacious scoop. The News of the World isn’t the only newspaper that panders to the base and reactionary instincts of the ignorati by any means. Now that it’s published its last issue the slack will be taken up by another soon enough. To think the British Government is about to hand over full control of BSB (the British satellite broadcaster) to News International, the News of the World’s parent company.

I must confess to one tiny regret about the demise of this 170 year old Sunday institution. If it hadn’t been for their relentless and vicious campaign to expose the twilight world of the perverted homosexual in the late 1970s I never would have known where to go for my jollies. I haven’t looked back since. So thank you, News of the Screws. I owe you one.

Get Thee to a Nunnery

Our neighbours have acquired a fluffy little kitten. She’s very cute in a kittenish kind of way. She’s a little ball of virgin snow white fur with big blue eyes. I’m not an expert on cats but I’m guessing this is a rare look. They’ve called her Bianca. Alas, I fear poor Tabitha the Tart’s days are numbered and she’ll be forced to seek board and lodgings in someone else’s garden. Given her promiscuous behaviour I’d recommend a cat convent where she can repent her sins and meow for forgiveness.

Pot Bellied Brits

Bodrum has arrived and acquired a laid-back sophisticated buzz you can feel. Unlike many of her Aegean sisters, Bohemian Bodrum is chock-a-block with holidaying Turks. This is where the well-heeled come to get well-oiled. I wonder what the urbane Turkish social elite sporting Lacoste polo shirts, M&S Blue Harbour cotton pants and loafers make of the half-naked pot-bellied Brits who waddle along the smart Marina promenade in Nike trainers and extra-large synthetic shorts from JD Sports? I observed a family of tattooed honey monsters looking lost and disoriented in animated conversation. It was almost as if they’d been beamed in from Benidorm. Virtually every second word was an expletive. I have nothing against the occasional curse. I’ve been known to use the odd ripe Anglo-Saxon profanity myself from time to time. However, I swear with care. They cussed because of a limited vocabulary.

The Seven Links Project

Natalie from the Turkish Travel Blog nominated me to take part in the Seven Links Project which was started by Katie at Trip Base. If you’ve not heard about the project, here are the rules of engagement.

‘To unite bloggers (from all sectors) in a joint endeavor (sic) to share lessons learned and create a bank of long but not forgotten blog posts that deserve to see the light of day again.’

THE RULES

  1. The Blogger is nominated to take part by another blogger
  2. He/she publishes their 7 links on their own blog. One Link for each category
  3. They nominate up to five more bloggers to take part.

I like the idea because often once a post is read it’s dead which is a bit sad. Mind you this hasn’t stopped me re-cycling my old tosh like repeats on BBC Entertainment. So here are my offerings…

My Most Beautiful Post

I don’t really do beautiful, well not since I was 21 when I had cheekbones to slice cheese with. There are acres of fabulous blog pages out there crammed with exquisite writing and stunning photography and Perking the Pansies isn’t among them. Perking is about observation, satire and irony (at least I think it is). However, someone kindly said of one of my posts ‘This is one of the freshest pieces of writing about Istanbul that I have read for a while. I am new to your blog and am looking forward to exploring more. Superb’. Who am I to argue?

Islamic Chic

My Most Popular Post

I originally wrote my personal classification of ex-pats because Liam thought it might help readers to understand and remember some the new terms I’ve coined or purloined such as emigrey, sexpat and the like. It seems to have caught on and is far and away my most popular piece. The list has even been included on other blogs.

Ex-Pat Glossary

My Most Controversial Post

I always try to be culturally sensitive and respectful of the faith of others though I draw the line at treating women as chattels and marrying off children to their cousins. The trouble is that I’ve been godless since I was a boy and I can’t help poking fun at all those funny old fairy tales. Mind you I just love a classic Hollywood Old Testament epic romp. Anything starring Chuck Heston will do.

Anyone for Spare Ribs?

My Most Helpful Post

Like beauty I don’t do helpful. I’m not an agony aunt and who am I to tell people what to do and where to go on holiday? Therefore I’ve picked something about the Turkish language not because it’s helpful but because it’s informative (kind of).

Just Shout Loudly in English

A Post Whose Success Surprised Me

I’ve been deliberately courting the site sharing service Stumbleupon. Few seem to know how the system really works as the algorithms they use to distribute websites to their users is shrouded in mystery. One day I posted a piece about Liam’s compositions then stumbled it. A few minutes later my pansy map went berserk and I had one the biggest hit surges ever. It goes to show what a good title can do. I only hope the hundreds of spotty teenagers across the States weren’t too disappointed. I’m sure few returned for more.

So You Think You Can Write a Pop Song?

A Post I Feel Didn’t Get the Attention it Deserved

Gorgeous Kym invited me to be a columnist on her new website about the Aegean Coast of Turkey called On the Ege. I was both flattered and delighted. The trouble is my debut article didn’t really fly which surprised me because I really liked it.

Imagine Two Nations

The Post I am Most Proud of

Just after I started writing about our adventures in paradise canny, clever Karyn at Being Koy contacted me to ask if I’d like to guest post on her blog. It was my first invitation and I bit her hand off.  The piece I sent her just flowed from my pen (well keyboard actually) virtually unchanged from the first draft. Karyn inspired me. I subsequently reposted on Perking the Pansies. I still think it’s one of the best things I have ever written which probably isn’t saying much. You be the judge.

It’s OK to be Different

Now for the bloggers’ chain letter. In no particular order the nominations from the Pansy jury are…

As if they haven’t got enough to do keeping on top of their blogging and writing work, and getting on with their unique lives.

But for the Grace of God…

We were shocked and saddened to hear of the fatal car crash on the Torba Road that killed Engin, the chef from Koşede Restaurant in Yalıkavak and seriously injured his wife and child. We used to eat in the restaurant from time to time. We were only on nodding terms with Engin but know Emra, the front of house, a little better. The scale of the tragedy hit the news. The article in the Bodrum View is in Turkish but hardly needs to be. The pain on Emra’s face says it all. It brings back horrible memories of our own near death experience on the same road. I’m not religious in the slightest but think at these times but for the grace of God go all of us.