"Turning the Other Cheek"
Things didn't turn nasty until we arrived at the hotel room in Auckland. I'd expected divorce proceedings to begin during the twenty-odd hour flight, but apart from some mild aggression towards the selfish seat reclining bastards sat in front of us, we'd coped quite well. We hadn't turned on each other, and that was the main thing. But that soon changed as we began to unpack and settle down.
The first sign of our tempers flaring was as the plane touched down in Auckland. Mrs Top Hat looked out at the dismal grey buildings of the airport, moistened by the drizzling rain. She turned to look at me and noticed my furious expression immediately.
"What's the matter love?" she asked, concerned.
"I don't f**king believe it!" I yelled, partly due to my frustration and confused state and also because I was suffering 'Walkman' syndrome, having lost my hearing from the descent.
"What's up? What's wrong?" Mrs Top Hat asked again.
"The b***ards have brought us back to England!".
It was an easy mistake to make. Clouds, rain, dull grey buildings, lots of tired and miserable looking people.
Mrs Top Hat assured me that everything was all right and calmed me down. But it wasn't long before my face was the colour of a freshly lanced boil again.
"Where have you put my toothbrush?" I asked, quite politely.
"I've not had it." Mrs Top Hat replied, just as politely.
"Where have you put it? You've had it!" I pinned her down on the floor and gripped her neck as tightly as I could manage. "Where is it?!!" I demanded as I squeezed harder, until the veins on her neck started to swell and her forehead resembled a rather accurate map of Greater London.
Mrs Top Hat wriggled and escaped my grasp. "I told you to pack your toiletries before we left, you idiot." She yelled as she stabbed me in the heart with a Parker pen.
Boy, did we need to get some sleep.
Back in England, Mrs Top Hat had quite clearly instructed me to leave all the toiletries to her. So I did...until the day before we left, when I noticed that she had not packed any of my razors. So I made some last minute additions to my luggage, just in case she'd forgotten anything else. But I didn't pack a toothbrush - that was her responsibility.
I slumped, defeated on the bed, trying to ignore the stench of tramp's hair that wafted from between my teeth. I rubbed the back of my arm against my front teeth and recoiled at the sight of thick plaque yoghurt up my sleeve. How could she forget my toothbrush?!! Suddenly, I found myself face down in the pillow...the soothing, comforting pillow.
My head was banging when I woke up and there was a strange fluttering noise. Jesus Christ, there's a bat in the room! It flashed past my head before doing a full circle and clattering into the window. Oh hang on, it's just some sort of tit. I lifted my head up and looked at the huge burn on the bed cover where my satanic breath had scorched the cloth. Mrs Top Hat stirred beside me.
"What is it, love?" she asked as she squinted into the afternoon sun that blasted in between the tropical looking leaves that rustled against the outside of the window.Her voice was quiet and calm. Maybe everything would be okay now, I thought, having calmed down a little myself.
We released the bird and I tried to forget that someone had once told me that it was bad luck to have a bird in your house. It doesn't count for hotel rooms, does it?
Having settled our earlier differences out of court, we ventured out and took a short walk into the neighbourhood. The houses were largely wooden and looked similar to American houses. The streets were pretty much deserted and there didn't seem to be any sign of shops or a restaurant. Still tired and weary from the journey, we returned to the hotel and ate in the hotel restaurant. We were both encouraged by the friendly staff who made us feel very welcome and told us about all of the facilities. The food was very reasonably priced and tasted great after all that rancid airplane food.
In fact, it was a great relief to Mrs Top Hat that she was no longer eating halal meat. Her face had recoiled at the thought, but when hunger strikes, you have to eat...even if the food resembles some sort of afterbirth. When I'd opened my tin of processed crap, Mrs Top Hat had tut-tutted as I tucked into the leathery slices of meat. "I don't know how you can eat that veal" she said as she tucked into a very odd looking sausage, "It's bad enough eating a pig or a chicken."
"Er, actually, I'm eating chicken." I pointed out.
"The sausages are veal."
She checked in the menu, then spat the throat-cut calf meat out all over her tray. Oh how I laughed.
When we returned to our hotel room, Mrs Top Hat went through my bag in the name of retrieving something of hers. Amazingly, she 'found' my toothbrush.
"It was here all along! I can't believe you, causing a big row over nothing!" she exploded, "You're always doing this! Why can't you just take responsibility for it for once?"
Now, I have to admit, Mrs Top Hat is a good actress. Scarily good. But I wasn't going to fall for that old chestnut. I had emptied that bag before and knew that she had slipped the toothbrush in somehow, the devious little swine. That's my story anyway, and I am sticking to it.
See Mrs Top Hat's fantastical version of events right here, where the lies live!
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