Last night, Lindsay went to bed at about 9pm. Lee retired for the evening at 10pm. We were both worried sick. Physically sick. The prospect of having to teach Yoga to anything from 10 to 100 people today was a horrible nightmare.
Throughout the night, we both saw every 20 minutes on the clock. Possibly the worst night of our lives. So, so worried. So, so unprepared.
We set 2 alarms (just in case) for 7am (which would be the earliest we had seen since coming to India). The first one went off. It was quickly turned off. Back to sleep we went. 3 minutes later though, the other alarm (which we had strategically placed at the other end of the co-co-hut) started blaring.
Lindsay got up and turned the annoying b*stard of a thing off and, back to bed he went. But, this time, he went to start revising the ancient history of Yoga. What consumes the entire life times of some people – Lindsay expected to understand and be able to teach within 3 hours.
Lee finally awoke at 0720 hours after hearing Lindsay spluttering and splattering a nervous jobby in the en-suite. The two of us then bastardised and simplified a 394 page book on the “basics” of Yoga and spent 90 minutes revising our “Lines”. During this time, Lee produced two nervous poops.
And so came 10am. F*ck.
There we both were. Standing together on the middle of Palolem beach. Petrified. Bricking ourselves. Lindsay wearing his salmon/peach (pink) flarey trousers and with his upper body covered in sand - we couldn’t find gold coloured body paint and so, in order to create our “Golden Buddha” he had to jump in the sea and then roll around on the beach (like an epileptic beached whale) to achieve the desired Yoga look we had in mind.
Lee, who was very attractively dressed in orange Yoga-like flared trousers and a matching coloured glittery and shiny top (which was a lady’s top and which made the locals think Lindsay was dating a Western transvestite – we’d probably have crossed their lines if they knew Lindsay was dating a Western tranny that was his brother/sister)
Anyhoo (we always say that) as we nervously started our class (with notes and maneuvers written on our arms) and (just for the heck of it we’re putting another comment in brackets here) looked across the shore at our “audience”, we began the lesson.
Now, we must have been given at least 29 promises of attendance by the random strangers we had harassed the night before. Said 29 people further promised to tell their friends and pass on the word of our “Free Yoga Class”. On top of this, we stupidly put a blackboard on the beach to promote the thing. Idiots. Naive and foolish idiots.
The most we ever imagined turning up to the class was a, very maximum, 20 people. After all the marketing strategies we implemented – we feared that a figure more like 40-50 would attend.
Holy Sh*t!
So there we are. Asses trembling like a 19-year-old-boy-racers-sub-woofer-in-his-souped-up-imprezza-(wank) welcoming the class to our lesson.
What the hell were we worried about? Thank God that Lindsay never quite achieved his BA/Hons in Marketing back in his university days – the drink demon interfered with his studies.
Thank God that two Scotsmen running around Goa advertising a free yoga class was never taken serious by the locals or the visitors. Instead, thank God that we just appeared to look like two twats with a hell of a lot of special needs (namely the need for supervision at all times and the need to be kept away from the public)
The class went perfectly! Frank (the pervy little bugger) is more flexible than an 11 year old Chinese Olympic’s entrant. He performed every position and move with immaculate timing and posture. Well done.
With one challenge done and dusted and out of the way, we were confident enough to attempt and crush another one. The Ring Of Fire.
We attended at Cuba (a fantastic restaurant here in Palolem and where, if you tell the staff that Lindsay and Lee recommended it – we get a free drink!) and started a rather unique cooking lesson. The chef (Parlad the Great) attempted to show us how to make his idea of India’s hottest curry. Nancy.
After preparing all the vegetables and meat, we tasted the paste which was to be our curry and laughed in the face of Parlad, his kitchen staff and India. 20 red chilli’s and 3 tablespoons of chilli powder never even raised an eyelid. So, in to the pot we threw 31 massive green chilli’s. Taste check. Still rubbish.
So, in keeping with the name of the site. 50 other likewisely huge green chilli’s were added. Taste check. Oh my fecking Lord! Hot!
The chef then cooked everything to perfection while the two of us went to sit at our table – on the beach – under the boiling sun – with no shelter and more importantly, no liquids.
The curry was disgustingly and painfully hot. Never in our lives have we ever felt the need to cut our own tongues off until this afternoon. But, as you may have already guessed, Lindsay and food get along brilliantly. A romance made in heaven. And so, he kicked Lee’s ass.
Lee (rather foolishly and arrogantly naively) opted for the “psyche Lindsay out and hope he fails” tactic and ate his curry slowly and confidently. Lindsay – who opted for the “get this bloody thing down the throat asap without it touching the tongue” approach – wolfed his curry down. 1 minute later Lindsay was licking his plate clean (a move which was rather cocky at the time and may very well prove to cause Delhi-Belly at a later stage).
4 minutes after this, Lee finally and rather gay-ly (not a word and so, we don’t know how to spell it) finished his curry. No offence to any gay readers – we love everyone – every race and every sexuality. And with Lindsay’s sexual desert-dry spell going on right now – he’s prepared to love you even more.
Challenge victory to the Vine junior.
Gay people - don’t fear – you’re safe. Lindsay finally got a ride today. After hours and hours of planning, attempting, failing, replanning, reattempting and refailling, he managed to mount the back of a pig.
This may not sound like much but, these little buggers have to be the quickest species on earth. They are so aware of human presence and never ever allow anyone to get less than 10 feet away from them – probably because when humans do get within 10 feet, we normally slit their throats and turn them into sausages.
So, cunningly, Lee held our little stinky friend’s attention by handing our some crisps. As the Pig or Pigess (we never got the chance to check) was concentrating on Lee’s generosity, Lindsay quietly (well, as quietly as a 15 stone lad can) creeped up behind it like twinkles-toes.
Yeehaa! One second of pig riding before the animal squealed louder than aforementioned 19-year-old-boy-racers-sub-woofer-in-his-souped-up-imprezza-(wank) turned up to full-blast level and blaring out happy-crappy-hardcore!
Naturally, Lindsay squealed back. Only louder, and more girlier, jumped off and ran away. 99 animals to go!
Leave a comment
Be the first to comment