Hell Hath No Fury....
Once upon a time I used to live in a lovely marina apartment overlooking the Mediterranean in Gibraltar. The sun shone every day, the skies were blue and all was good.

Just below my balcony a huge white 30 meter gin palace was moored up. The skipper, who was something of a friend, told me off the record that the boat belonged to a blind trust, but that his real boss was a Mexican who had fled to Spain following the collapse of the Mexican banking system, at which time large amounts of money has disappeared from said Mexican’s family bank just before the creditors moved in. The Spanish authorities had extradited him back to Mexico where he was serving out his time. They probably got a serious bung for that one, but that didn’t stop them trying to confiscate the boat, which just managed to escape into Gibraltar waters ahead of the Spanish coastguard. So there was this huge boat with all the trimmings sitting in a very small country and unable to leave without being seized by the Spanish.

Once a week the skipper used to start her up, and drive half a mile to the other marina for lunch, then head back again. And that was about the extent of it.

About this time an attractive blonde woman decided to pop over for a week to stay with me – just a friend you understand. She’s a woman who enjoys the finer things in life, so I thought she’d enjoy a trip on the boat, and asked the skipper who not only agreed, but suggested that as a practical joke he’d make out it was my boat. This is where things started to go wrong. In the run up to her arrival a few hints were dropped by friends about strongp being a fool wasting his money, and no, they couldn’t elaborate as they had been sworn to secrecy etc etc. Just as things were building up nicely some work shit blew up in London, so on the day my lady friend arrived I met her at the airport, made my apologies, gave her my apartment keys and left her with my driver while I got onto the plane she had just arrived on.

Fast forward through two days of intense work bullshit, and I get back home to find out the whole thing has blown up into some sort of nightmare; after her jolly little cruise nobody told her the truth as planned, so my lady friend has had 48 hours of intense winding up about the boat, and it’s up to me to lay the beast to rest.

I don’t pretend to understand women at all, but as any b3tans of the feminine persuasion will probably understand this had morphed into a BAD THING. It took about three months before she’d even speak to me again, and to this day if I even try to apologise about the whole the affair she turns a strange red colour and starts throwing sharp things at me. Which is a shame as I could have been an excellent practical joke.

Did I mention I could see Africa from my balcony?
(strongp, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 19:00, 2 replies)

Watergardens?
Or Queensway?
(steh30, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 23:33, closed)

QQ of course - Watergardens is a flea pit! Mind you - this was before they built the island and you actaually had a decent view.
(strongp, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 13:41, closed)