And suddenly it is time to go. The last day dawned on us with sunshine and bird song. Sneaky bastard. We were hoping for some sort of reprieve, some sort of exculpation, exoneration, absolution, call it what you
want. We urgently wanted to stay longer, very much longer, maybe even indefinitely. This is what a postmodern society looks like. This is me, the world famous, sophisticated Red Cap. This is where I belong. This is what I deserve. All the technology, all the luxury, the rich and mind boggling culture, the sophistication and level of civilisation. An authentic, thoroughly postmodern society.
Ye gods, I stand (or rather hang) mortified in the midst of all this splendour at the side of my moron, who is beaming with devastating ignorance at all of this, and mumbles weakly; ‘This is nice. I think we should perhaps come here again sometime’. NICE! NICE! Domkopf! Saumensch! I swear his befuddled little brain cannot fathom the splendour and intricacy of this sophisticated civilisation he suddenly finds himself in. Shame, it must be completely overwhelming for the bird brained poor sod. As the saying goes; the light of one single candle is just there to show you the darkness, presuming of course that there is even one single, tiny little candle burning in that empty, pitch black cavern of his skull.
For a last treat our hosts take us for a walkabout and a cup of tea in the Englischer Garten. Strange thing this English garden in the woods of Germany. Why, one wonders, did a proud German nation bother with an English garden in the middle of a German army camp? But I am willing to forgive them this faux pas, because they at least had the common sense to erect a shrine with a statue of Apollo in one corner of the garden, it could just as well have been a statue in honour of some or other Royal English prick.
And then it was off to the airport. Said our goodbyes, au revoirs, happy landings and what not, and we were off. And this time I was treated with the respect due to me. I travelled with the moron in the passenger compartment of the plane and not in the cargo hold like before. Disgustingly dirty and cold as hell it was down there. I felt humiliated beyond words. I will never forgive him that indiscretion.
But my happiness was short lived. The cargo hold was indeed cold and dirty and disgusting, not exactly Schloss Neuschwanstein, but, as I soon realised to my horror, to be herded together in this cramped space with this lot vulgar, wheezing, coughing, spitting humanity, was an ordeal comparable to Dachau. The air was hot and humid and teaming with the most horrid bugs of all kind, competing with each other for the most suitable host to penetrate where they multiplied to be coughed out into the liquid air to infect more people who were happily smiling and talking and laughing. This was driving me out of my mind. I was not going to survive this madness.
We stop over at Dubai, a splendid, modern, shiny airport, not designed to accommodate weary, bone-tired world travellers. We survived ten agonising long hours of waiting for the connection flight back home amidst drooling men in long white frocks ogling innocent young girls (hateful Western unbelievers) in miniskirts and hot-pants. They, the white frocked, towel headed men, are not interested in a famous, albeit dishevelled Red Cap, sitting atop the greying bald head of an equally dishevelled elderly man. Regrettably, nor are the pretty young ladies.
Eventually our plane arrives and we shuffle on board, being welcomed by pretty stewardesses and a new wave of exotic, noxious germs. After an eternity in the belly of our flying beast, crammed in like sardines in a tin can with these vulgar, sweating, wheezing bipeds, we arrive back home. We disembark, taking our aliens, now in permanent, hostile residence, with us and picking up a couple of the local variety on the way to the arrival terminal.
If there is such a thing as fifty shades of grey, then I am sure I achieved a remarkable 51 shades of crimson during our flight back home, arriving at Aandblom Street in the palest shade of red imaginable. My poor germ infested moron (now poor in every sense of the word, especially the sort of word bank managers understand best) and his equally poor spouse, sported a very dark shade of green and promptly went to bed, and stayed there for the rest of the week, and half of the next week, telling each other what a fabulous, unforgettable trip they had had. And, I believe, in their feverish delirium, started to plan the next trip to Europe.
And now, fully restored to my old exuberant, charming and witty self with a healthy red colour, I must admit that it was worth it, every moment of it. Yes I do sport a few permanent scars and lost a stich or two like a seasoned traveller, but I loved it and will do it again, and again for as long as I live. To that end, we are working on a scheme to rob a Bank. Watch this space, we will keep you posted.
Ps. watching the news last night made me change my mind. I have a feeling that the moron is going to botch up our planned bank robbery, and we will all land in jail, thus I suggested that the moron and wife paint themselves black, we get a boat and head for Europe as refugees. That way we will get VIP treatment and permanent residence in the country of our choice. We get food, a house, medical treatment and a job. Once inside, we can start demanding better treatment, free housing, free meals, and if we don’t get what we demand, we accuse them of racism and discrimination, and we burn down their towns and cities.
This is going to be so exciting. Just can’t wait. The Red Cap is going to go on a rampage!
See you soon darling Juliet.