My last day in Aphrodite Hills

So I finished my final session in the gym and got changed, only to discover that I'd forgotten a change of shirt… I wandered out of the Spa bare-chested, feeling like a total idiot. I simply couldn't wander around like some trashy Brit tourist. I'd just have to buy a shirt from somewhere. Style was not an option: I needed any shirt I could find that didn't make me look like a complete dweeb. I wandered into a store self-consciously, not even looking at the girl behind the counter, and headed straight for the t-shirt rack.

I considered a trashy "Italia" football / basketball sleeveless vest type thing for a few moments, because it was cheap and because it said "Italia" on it. Then I opted for a strange bright orange creation: it didn't seem too great at the time, but it would do.

In my bright bright colours, my bro decided that I looked like a kid with special needs - one who has to wear bright colours so that he's highly visible to his carers…

I like my orange t-shirt, though. I now have some shorts and a belt that complement it very well too :-)

Pete gets walked on for fun

After punishing myself physically for quite a few weeks, I decided it was finally time to take myself for a massage. I browsed through the bewildering array of massages on offer at the Spa, and chose to book myself in for a Thai back massage. How exciting…

I packed some dashing pants to wear, but they gave me some special pyjamas to wear for the session instead. A little on the large side, but they had a drawstring so it was okay. I left the changing rooms, with no idea where I'd find my masseuse. I found her, though. Without even looking, I found her. I could feel her presence. She was just sitting there peacefully, and her aura was reaching out to me.

So I met the little Thai girl: she was very sweet but she didn't speak much English. In true Oriental style, she called me "Mr Peter." I liked that. She took me down the stairs and into a peaceful little room.

- Have you done this before? She asks.

- No, this is my first time, I reply. I think I looked slightly embarrassed at this point, but she gave me a look to say: "It's okay, I'm used to this." She seemed slightly nervous and embarrassed too, which put me at ease.

She took my robe and asked me to lie down. I had absolutely no idea what to expect. Then it all started. She got to work on my heels and calves, exerting quite a bit of pressure, and I'm thinking "She's quite strong for such a little thing…" And then: "Hell, she must me kneeling on me or something, this is getting intense…"

Now, the only massage I'd ever received up until this point was from Louise the Warrior Princess, a big strong girl who really quite hurt me when she started rubbing my neck one evening. Louise told me that it was supposed to hurt. An unreliable source told me that, no, massages aren't supposed to hurt. Whatever, I'd come to the conclusion myself that some massages were designed to hurt, and others weren't. As this little Thai girl continued her work, I realised that I'd let myself in for a massage that was REALLY going to hurt…

There's a thin line between pleasure and pain, and my Thai friend was clearly a master of walking this line. She was no longer kneeling on me - she really was walking all over me, walking straight along that thin line. Unsure of whether to gasp in pain or moan in ecstasy, I just kept my mouth shut and tried to focus on something else. I could just hear Louise's voice in my head, telling me again: "It's supposed to hurt, Pete! But it feels good afterwards..." Yes, my body was in a room in Aphrodite Hills, but my being had been transported back in time, to a bar in Valladolid. The chakras were being opened, and I was travelling through time and space...

The chakras were being opened, and the energy was being released: before I knew it, my arms had turned completely numb. I had no idea what she was doing, but I sensed she was experiencing some difficulties. My back was clearly a mass of trapped energy and pent-up stress.

Are you okay? She asks. I detected concern in her voice.

- Yeah! I gasp.

And so it continued… Having my butt grabbed was wonderful, but having her dig her elbows into my back was pretty painful. I was eventually asked to sit up and cross my legs. That was when she started giving me Spock pinches to the neck. Was the procedure ever going to get any easier for us, or was everything she did going to be painful?!

The end finally came: she pulled out her finishing move… A full-nelson! There I am, trapped in a full-nelson, and this girl gets her knee up into my side and just twists me. All I can hear is Vince McMahon screaming "Oh my! How much more punishment can he take?! He's gotta tap sometime!", and I'm trying hard not to laugh. My back clicked, then she twisted me the other way.

- Would you like to lie down now? She asks. Finally, the treatment's over.

- Yep, I'll just have a little rest

- Okay, I'll go get you some water

And I just lay there for a while, thinking: "That was amazing, I want a little Thai girl to do that to me every day…" She returned with my water, and I took it humbly: I'd been completely at the mercy of this girl for 20 minutes, and I felt like I was a slave on a ship being granted a sip of water to prevent death by dehydration.

- The muscles in your back are very… She started, unable to remember the correct English word

- Tense? I say.

- Yeah, tense, you need to come for therapy more often...

I really do.

Pete meets Take That

I dreamt that I met Take That. How mad was that? It was the take that of old, back when Robbie was in the band and Howard had dreads. Does Howard still have dreads? To be honest, I have little idea: I'm just guessing that he'll have chopped them off by now.

But, whatever, here I am in my dream, I'm sitting in some dingy little room where there's only one table, and Take That come in and sit down. And I suddenly think: "Hang on, they're Take That, aren't they?" Sure enough, I look across the table, and Robbie's smiling at me. I'm all: "Alright?" And he goes: "Yeah." I'm thinking that this is a bit of a strange situation, but anyway, I turn to my right, and there's Howard. I say to him: "You alright?" He smiles and nods in return.

So I'm a bit confused at this point: I'm sitting in a dingy little room, minding my own business, when Take That come in and sit down with me. I figure: "They must be doing a show here in a bit or something, I'd best leave them to it…" So I get up and make my way out. At this point I realise that I'm only wearing a towel, but for some reason, I don't really mind.

I leave through what must be the back door to the place, and I look up the walkway, up towards a crowd of screaming girls, who are all trying to get through the door to see Take That. I'm utterly perplexed by this point: I have no idea what's going on - what are Take That doing in my dream, why am I wearing only a towel, and why is it so darn dingy in my dream (it's kind of like Blade Runner)?! I just sort of stand around, looking at the posters on the side of the venue, thinking about the absurdity of the situation for a few minutes, and then my dream changes shot: there's a guy and a woman - they must be Take That's management or something - and they're talking about me, all: "He was very relaxed around the band, he's cool, we should let him in to be a part of all this."

The couple invite me back inside, and tell me to follow them. Take That aren't there any longer: they must have gone off to get ready. This management couple lead me into a large auditorium, with really steep steps down to the bottom, and there's a load of activity going on all the way down the steps to the arena. I'm following this couple down the steps, and my main concern at this point is that my towel may come off at any point. Why couldn't they give me some clothes before letting me join them to help set up the show?!

The next bizarre twist: this auditorium is being used as a TV studio of sorts. To get to where we're going, we have to pass Jon Snow, who's reading a report for the Channel 4 News. My two 'friends' go on ahead of me, and step carefully over the cables and stuff, right past Mr Snow, who doesn't look amused that people are walking between him and the camera. I have no choice but to follow, but I can't step quite as carefully as the other two, as I'm wearing only a towel, so my legs are restricted in their movement. I don't want to disrupt Mr Snow AND flash him at the same time. That would be overly rude.

As it turns out, I can't step carefully enough, and I nudge one of the cameras as I step by. This is terrible, I hear the producers cry: the news report they're filming is going out live, and I've just messed things up for them… I continue hurriedly down to the bottom of the steps, where the Take That management team are sitting playing Pong. No lies: they're there, with an Atari 2600, playing Pong, having a great time. They've already forgotten about me.

Unfortunately, the Channel 4 News producer hasn't forgotten about me, and he's coming down the stairs, with an incredulous look on his face, which I read to mean "I can't believe that these two have brought this boy in here with them: he's only wearing a towel, and he's just ruined our transmission!"

Whatever, that was my dream. I can actually understand where most of the elements of the dream came from. Can you?

My stomach has shrunk, and now I can't get drunk

Starve yourself for two weeks and lay off the alcohol, and you'll have a real difficult time trying to party, I can tell you… Last night was my cousin's 21st, so I felt the need to try and celebrate with him - I'd forget my hardcore regime for just one night. Bring on the champagne! Bring on the quesadillas! Go on, bring on the beer! Bring on my mozzarella sandwich and chips! Yep, bring on the shandy!

But, boy, I was in no state to handle this. About one bite into the sandwich, and I was stuffed. My stomach must be about half the size it was when I came out here. I said: "Sorry, Chris, I just can't do it!" Far from having a party, I was on the brink of throwing up and then falling asleep. Poor Chris: it was his 21st, all he wanted to do was get slaughtered and hit on women, but nobody was up for getting drunk with him, and there were no women about whatsoever.

I didn't mind, though. I was full of food, and heading home for a nice sleep.

- - - - -

Go on: starve yourself for two weeks and lay off the alcohol!

There was a magazine cover that intrigued me on holiday, but I never looked beyond the front cover. Oh no, after looking through a magazine only to find that the Paris Hilton cover story only warranted a few paragraphs of information I already knew (and it's not like I'm a celebrity gossip expert), I doubt I'll ever look inside another gossip mag again.

Anyway, this magazine... It was telling all the girls "drop a dress size in a week!" I swear it was a week. I was thinking: "How the hell could you do that, other than by buying a dress from a different store?"

I never read it. I had much more interesting things to read...

Blogger is very clever - I'm in Cyprus right now, so when I came to this site, everything was in Greek. I logged on, and quickly used my knowledge of interface design to find the drop-down menu I could use to change the language. Now THAT is impressive. No, not my ability to navigate in completely foreign scripts, but the ability of Blogger to be designed in such a user-friendly fashion. I mean, just like that, the language of the script changed completely. Breathtaking. Give it a try for yourselves. It's rare that a computer program will impress me, but Blogger just seems to get better and better...

- - - - -

I had to come in from outside, because it was getting dark. I sat down with a head full of ideas, and no sooner did I start getting them all out onto paper, then the light faded. I then wandered around the romantically-lit grounds of the Aphrodite Hills resort in search of a proper light source beneath which I could write. I finally found one, though it was in the middle of the main thoroughfare between the hotel and the restaurant area. I was able to sit and write stuff, but every now and again my concentration would be broken by some terribly overweight women. Seriously, I don't know what it is about this place... I've spent a week wondering why the gym was so empty, and why the portions of food they serve in the restaurants are so large, but I think I know the answer now.

Whatever, eventually an absolutely gorgeous couple walked by. The guy smiled at me, and when I saw the girl he was with, I realised exactly why he was smiling. My eyes nearly popped out of their head, I nearly stood up to say "Good Evening!" But I just finished my paragraph, closed my book, and headed to the hotel to sneak in some free time on this supposedly very costly internet terminal...

- - - - -

I have only four pages left in my diary, and I could fill them very quickly. That is why I've had to resort to Blogger. I'm now worried that I won't find another book to write my thoughts down in before I get back to England. Whatever will I do if such a case arises? Will I resort to writing graffiti on the rocks that lie about Aphrodite Hills? Will I use up every last sheet of toilet paper in the house, and start screaming because my pen is clogged up with tissue? Or will I just get out the Henna and start writing on everybody I meet?

- - - - -

I've been distracted too many times by too many things this evening: this blog was never going to go anywhere, and it's just been totally derailed anyway...

Lego!

I came home today and started heading up the stairs, when out of the corner of my eye I caught glimpse of a Lego logo (a Lego logo? Rogo bogo!). What was this doing in our paper recycling bin?

I walked over and, joy of joys - it was the Lego magazine! Well, I was happy, but then I felt sad for the poor boy who hadn't received his magazine. But I looked at the address, and it was addressed here, so I had no way of taking it to its rightful owner.

If anyone knows a Joseph Parkin, get in touch with me so I can give him his magazine. Until then...

Anyway, I used to be in the Lego club too, I used to spend all my time building really cool things with Lego, I used to just sit in my own little world, elaborating my space station, listening to Radio 1. I used to look with envy and curiosity at some of the models in the Lego Club magazine - the Master Builder pages. I wanted to be a Master Builder too, but I didn't have as much Lego as these other guys. I remember the tea-stirring machine: as I child of seven I sat there and studied this picture, and then finally somebody bought me a motor and I made my own tea-stirrer. But it was useless, it just splashed the tea all over the place! I didn't quite know it then, but I needed gears...

Of course, these days, I spend my days in the abstract world of computer code, perfecting marvellous trading systems, and I look with envy and curiosity upon the code of the master builders of the software world - the guys who have their own consultancies, and who write the books...

I have a new book, it excites the life out of me. Among other things, this book claims to contain "an abstraction for treating objects uniformly that doesn't have a physical counterpart". Wow! This leapt out at me as being the single most exciting thing I'd come across since the mind-blowing literature of Macedonio Fernández, a man who laboured to find a way to use language to take us to a place that bore no traces of reality whatsoever.

And that's my little journey of thought for today.