I'm off to Cyprus .... it's near Iraq you know

Greetings dahlink. You would be forgiven if you cried out; "Where the blazes have you been?"

It's simple. Last week I bombed off on holiday, primarily because I haven't had one for a couple of months and secondly because I am like a delicate flower who would perish if I worked too hard without a break. I am a bit like Paris Hilton in that respect, except that I don't have that weird squinty eye thing going on.

My destination was Cyprus, a little island close to ...... well actually, I wasn't sure where it was close to because I am crap at geography. I had to look it up on a map and discovered that it was startlingly close to Iraq, Iran and Syria. Not that it put me off mind you, in the past I have discovered that holiday destinations near to warzones are often quite economical. Like Cambodia for example; lovely place as long as you avoid the landmines, but that's another post.

Pic.No.1 Cyprus is that blob in the middle of the sea towards the top left of the picture 

Why Cyprus you might ask? Well, Steve's parents live there, and he was taking Izzy over there to visit and asked if I wanted to join them.

"Sounds good," I said to him, "but what's the catch?"

"You'll have to sleep on the sofa," he replied.

"Bugger off, do I look like the type of lady to bunk on someone's sofa?"

"No, I suppose not," he said, "but what are you going to do instead?"

"I shall procure myself an apartment for the duration," I announced.

I made a quick Skype call to Steve's Father, and quickly determined that there was an apartment available for rent in the same block as theirs. Job done. Sometimes I am as resourceful as James Bond except that I don't have a lighter that turns into a zipwire.
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Not long afterwards, the day of my flight arrived. Huzzar to the power 10! The trip to Gatwick airport was a bit hairy due to the fact that I had set off late, and to compound matters, there were long delays on the M40. Sacre bleu. But you will be pleased to hear that after a mad dash down the back roads, I arrived with a full 15 minutes to go before the bag-drop counter closed.

My hide was saved because a few days beforehand, I had decided to try a 'meet and greet' parking service. Bascially, you drive your car to the departures terminal at the airport, and a chap with a uniform picks it and takes it away to park it for you. I felt like a movie star except that I hadn't done a sex tape. 

And because I am kinder than Mother Theresa but without the facial hair, I have got some pictures for you .........

Pic.No.2 This was the view from the airport terminal. As you can quite clearly see, there was a British Airways Boeing 777 being loaded. And the weather in the UK was crap

Pic.No.3 Unfortunately, I wasn't flying with British Airways. I was flying with EasyJet and all that it entailed: Like ugly cabin crew clad in orange polyester flying suits. Luckily I had remembered to pack an earthing strap

Pic.No.4 During the 3 hour and 50 minute flight we flew over a spectacular mountain range which was probably the Himalayas. And the bloke in the next seat had his elbow in my rib cage most of the journey. Git

When I eventually arrived in Cyprus, it was 10pm and dark, but I was still overpowered by a searing heat as I stepped from the aircraft and boarded a waiting bus to transfer to the terminal. And unlike any UK airport, I cleared border control and picked up my suitcase in 15 minutes flat. When it comes to Johnny F, it's not all bad you know.

It had been arranged that Steve's dad, Paul, would pick me up. At least that's what I thought had been arranged. But as I entered the Arrival's Hall, I couldn't see him anywhere, and he is quite distinctive because he looks like Noel Edmunds.

I quickly formulated a plan to deal with the situation. Yep, within five minutes I had located an airport bar and was sipping a chilled white wine (paid for with my credit card because I had forgot to bring any Euros with me) whilst I pondered my dilemma. By the time I had finished the second one, I still hadn't come up with a plan and 50 minutes had passed.

Next thing I knew, I heard a Brummy voice shouting; "What the berluddy hell are you doing in the bar? I've been looking all over the terminal for yow!"

It was Noel Edmunds. I waved at him cheerily as he regarded me in a disgruntled fashion. 

"Whoops, sorry," I said, "I couldn't find you when I arrived."

It turns out that he had had trouble finding a parking spot, and narrowly missed my arrival. Which made me feel a bit vindicated for being found in a bar. 

It wasn't long before we were winging our way through the dark Cyprus streets to my squeaky clean new apartment, where I was dropped off, after arranging to meet everyone (including Izzy), the next morning for breakfast.

Pic.No.5 This is the kitchen in my apartment. Obviously there was nothing of interest in there for me, except for the fridge, which would chill the Bolly

Pic.No.6 This is the dining area of my apartment. I don't know why it has a glass top - probably so blokes could look up girls' skirts whilst they were eating

Pic.No.7 This was my living area and veranda. I checked out the TV and all 192 channels featured Syrians in various states of worship. There is only so much you can have of a good thing

Pic.No.8 This was my boudoir. I'm not sure why the picture above the bed came in two halves. It's like a touristy version of Damien Hirst's cow things: 'Mother and Child Divided', but without the Mother and Child

Pic.No.9 This was the bathroom. The disgusting thing about Cyprus is that you cannot put toilet paper down the toilet because the sewers can't cope with it. You have to put it in the bin. That takes some getting used to

After a busy day, I decided to retire ...... excited about seeing Izzy the next morning. Unfortunately I set the Air Con too cold so I didn't get much sleep. In fact it wasn't much different to being in England.

Pic.No.10 This is the view from my apartment the next morning

I would have done a blog post about Cyprus a lot sooner than this, but events conspired against me. When I did eventually get a wi-fi signal (which only worked approximately 30% of the time), I logged into Blogger to find this ...................

Pic.No.11 Johnny F had hijacked my computer and turned all the instructions into Greek. How the hell did my computer know that I was abroad?

Anyway dahlink, that is all for now ...... more Cyprus exploits to come. That's if I ever have a wi-fi signal long enough to publish anything. If I do, I will eat Ghandi's flip flop.

What have you got planned for the summer holidays? Pray do tell ..........