The shop was located in a side street and had the obligatory elderly Turkish men sat outside on plastic chairs drinking çay. As we arrived, a huge vested hairy man came out of the shop carrying a rather large hammer in his hands, which were the size of shovels. “Not a chance” I thought and turned to get back in the car, however, Ahmed clearly had other ideas and pressed on laptop in hand. Not having the same emotional attachment to my Tosh, he did not share the same reservations as I. It was then I realised that it was quite possible that I loved my Tosh more than him.

Once inside the dusty little shop, I realised there was no going back. Although, small there were shelves overflowing with computer parts, in fact, every possible surface was covered with some circuit board or other. Ahmed placed my Tosh on the counter and the big man plugged it in and started it up, a Turkish roll-up dangling from his lips throughout. He was neither a big smiler, or a big talker but that was okay if he had magic computer fixing fingers. Having switched my mean machine on, he spoke with Ahmed, who in turn translated “laptop broken”, which didn’t exactly fill me with confidence.

As I turned to leave I had this overwhelming urge to run back and say to him “If you damage my baby in any way, I will have to come back and seriously hurt you”. Images of me being restrained by Jandarmes (and not in a Fifty Shades of Grey kinda way either) prevented me from acting upon my impulses.

As we drove off I wondered how we could raise funds for another laptop if Ahmed’s friend was unable and/or incapable of repairing my laptop. I briefly contemplated the fee I would earn if I were to sell Ahmed on Ebay and disregarded it immediately, realising it would be unlikely that I would get enough for a wireless mouse and a wrist rest.

There were two English families sat on either side of us – one with young children and the other with teenage girls, who had arrived giggling and skimpily dressed. The father of the girls clearly enjoyed the sound of his own voice and struck up a conversation with the other family. He was evidently unhappy with their choice of holiday venue and his list of complaints seemed endless. He loftily revealed that they were accustomed to more sophisticated holidays and then fumed about everything from their spartan apartment and lack of facilities to the town itself. His biggest complaint though, was the unwelcome attention that his angelic daughters received from the local boys; the same demure girls that were now settling down to a spot of topless sunbathing. He continued on loudly criticising Turkish men, seemingly oblivious to our presence and then commented that only a bunny boiling psycho would be interested in a Turk. As opposed to the speedo-wearing charmer that his wife had married! He then none too quietly instructed his family to secure their valuables whilst giving us meaningful glances and muttering something about “robbing gypsies”. Fortuitously, the foam party was announced and we left to join in the fun before I was further tempted to bitch-slap the ignoramus into the middle of the following week.

When we returned to our sunbeds some time later, the teenage Lolitas noticed they had an enthusiastic audience in Ahmet’s brothers. Subsequently, both girls sat up and made a show of cooling themselves by emptying the contents of their water bottles across their pert breasts, replicating a scene from a soft porn film. Clearly, the girls relished the attention and never once did their father remonstrate with them regarding the need to moderate their behaviour. Ahmet’s brothers were transfixed and I suspected that they had inched their sunbeds a little nearer and were feigning sleep with one eye open; the other firmly on the luscious curves of the nubile princesses. Ahmet appeared to be unaware (or maybe he just pretended to be), of the floor show by continuing to be his usual attentive self, ensuring that we had sufficient water to drink and a beach umbrella on hand if required. I could have kissed him when he gestured to the young girls and commented “no nice costume” before wandering off to buy some snacks from the café.

Ahmet returned and handed out the snack bar purchases whilst the pot-bellied father of the teenage girls having availed himself of several bottles of the local brew, was once again voicing his displeasure at the Turkish male population in general. Beer bottle in hand he continued to strut around in his miniscule “budgie smugglers” whilst his daughters cast furtive glances in Ahmet’s brothers direction. The girls in an attempt to escape from their father’s watchful eye announced they were going for a swim and rather predictably, Ahmet’s brothers followed suit. Dad was now on high full alert and no doubt was set to launch air sea rescue at a moment’s notice, should his angels be sullied in any way. Mum on the other hand had been supping the old “vino collapso” for the best part of the morning; well let’s be honest, the sun was over the yard-arm somewhere in the world! Wearing more jewellery than 50 Cent, she sat up in her matching gold lame bikini and started suggestively rubbing sun oil over her surgically enhanced body. She too, was casting sly glances at the toned and bronzed lifeguards; although I wondered why she would want to be window shopping when she had the “slug hugger” attired stud muffin at home.

We spent the rest of the afternoon alternatively sunbathing and cooling off in the water before packing up our belongings to return home to the apartment. Ahmet’s brothers, however, had been cavorting in the shallows with the two spirited teenagers and reluctantly tore themselves away from their new love interests. We all jumped into the car with the boys shouting their farewells across the car park whilst the girls waited for the dolmus (bus) with Mum and Dad. These spirited young ladies were evidently far too refined to use public transport and after a brief consult, decided to jump into the car much to their parents’ consternation. Needless to say we pulled out of the car park with Dad’s obscenities ringing in our ears.

This I thought, is not going to end well.

As I was frolicking around in the water like a walrus, I noticed two feet poolside and I looked up to determine the owner. “Hello I am Ahmet” – no shit Sherlock! I can’t deny that I felt somewhat pleased by his unannounced arrival, but prayed that he hadn’t brought his scooter with him. Hangover + white knuckle ride = a very poorly me; and it was not an experience I was hoping to repeat again whilst (a) conscious and/or (b) sober.

“I am coming later going Turkish night” – well, since you put it that way, it’d be rude not to! So later on that night, showered, moisturised, shaved and exfoliated to within an inch of my life, I was ready to rock. Expecting a night of Turkish culture and cuisine, I took extra care with my appearance and a tip from Ahmet’s grooming regime by liberally dousing myself in half a bottle of duty-free Prada.

When he called for me at the apartment later on, I was delighted to notice that he hadn’t brought the monstrous moped with him. So we had a nice stroll to a local hotel, which he informed me was owned by one of his “friends”. When we arrived, the venue for the Turkish evening was on the Hotel pool terrace which was decorated in garish balloons and streamers. We were shown to our seats and as we were getting comfortable, the Chef lit the barbecue that was situated directly behind us. Already, I was regretting wearing shedloads of hair product as should a spark stray my way, I would have become a human torch within nano seconds. Both my waterproof mascara and Prada were also fighting a losing battle with the smoke, giving me the appearance of Norma Desmond meets the cast of Scream. Not to mention that I now smelt like a kebab.

As the Turkish master of ceremonies announced the entertainment, everyone clapped as a Michael Jackson impersonator took centre stage. Now don’t get me wrong I love Michael Jackson as much as the next person but there seemed to be something mildly misplaced about this young Turkish teenager and his endless crotch grabbing routine. Next up was the Turkish Elvis impersonator who crooned “I am no help falling in love with you”; which will never be quite the same for me again. As the evening progressed Ahmet showed me the “Cockytail” menu and against my better judgement, I ordered an “Organism” as opposed to a “Mangarata” which was possibly Margarita’s less attractive and cheaper sister. I was touched to notice that when the waiter delivered my drink it was accompanied by a single red rose and a note from Ahmet which included his phone number with the words “I am very bex like you”. What can I say the man was smitten or quite possibly his parents were, at the very least, first cousins.

I don’t know at what point Ahmet got roped in to assisting with the barbecue, possibly when I was being serenaded poolside by “Elvis”, who was a portly Turk demonstrating that anyone can wear sequined spandex. All too soon he was rapidly replaced by a Turkish breakdancing group with a dodgy sound system. As the required music failed to start on cue, curses were exchanged together with the odd blow between the DJ and the group, which resulted in them abandoning their routine mid performance and jogging off to their next venue.

The buffet was pleasant enough although I was hoping for something a little more traditional than salad, cips (chips or fries) and BBQ chicken. Very quickly the remains of the meal were cleared for the big attraction of the night, the Turkish dancing.

I don’t know exactly what I was anticipating but I thought that there may have involved a little more skill. The hotel staff held hands at shoulder level and hopped along to the music whilst moving backwards and forwards but I noticed that if you were on the end of the conga line, you did get to shake a white hanky around. Everyone was dragged up to dance young and old, and as there were no difficult steps to follow, it was fairly easy to pick up. To be fair everybody entered into the spirit of the proceedings; some a little more enthusiastically than others, owing to the abundant availability of “Cockytails”. As I was hopping up and down, the hot and sweaty aged Elvis cut in next to me – oh yeah I’m a fox magnet! Keen to impress, he hopped along with gusto in his skin-tight Lycra cat suit, grinning at me as if I was his next meal. As the tempo increased so did the enthusiasm of the dancers with Elvis hanging onto me as if I was a prize heifer. Inevitably, he toppled backwards, dragging me along with him into the swimming pool. I don’t know who was more embarrassed me or Mr Presley. A couple of the hotel staff helped me clamber out to the rousing applause of our audience who clearly thought I was the best cabaret of the night. Ahmet came running to my aid with a pile of hotel towels and as he was helping me to dry me off, Elvis suddenly realised he had serious competition for my affections so stomped off in a huff, muttering something about “stupid Engleessssssssshh girls”. As Ahmet gently dried my hair I had no doubt that Mr Presley would have already moved on to another conquest who would appreciate the rhinestone-studded costume and quiff. But for now, Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, Elvis had left the building.

Not Average Enough has been kind enough to nominate this dumped shelf stacker for this award and Terri at Time To Be Inspired and Destination NOW for the Versatile Blogger – bless you all for that! How can I not be pleased and at the same time grateful; it is indeed a good day when you receive encouragement from a fellow blogger. Now I think I am familiar with the rules, which are as follows:

* Thank the person who nominated you and link back to them in your post

* Share 7 things about yourself

* Nominate 15 or so bloggers you admire

* Contact your chosen bloggers to let them know

About Me:

1. I love thunderstorms
2. I have an allergy to seafood
3. I was born in Taunton, Somerset in England
4. I make my darling nieces call me F.A.D. (Fabulous Aunty Dallas) – these days Fabulous does just fine!
5. I am always moved by the kindness of strangers
6. If I ruled the world free healthcare would be available for everyone
7. My favourite author is Charles Dickens although I have a very big soft spot for James Patterson

My nominations are:

1. Oceannah
2. One Street Shy
3. Writing Between The Lines
4. florence and freddie
5. Far From The Sticks
6. traveling marla
7. Where’s Wiwi?
8. The Parallel Life
9. intermittenblogger
10. tasveerz
11. Ourmerrybee’s Blog
12. adecorativeaffair
13. Minding The Minis
14. Tiny House Ontario
15. Comments from Cathy

So, in accordance with accepting this award these are the guidelines:

* Thank the person who nominated you and link back to them in your post
* Share 7 things about yourself
* Nominate 15 or so bloggers you admire
* Contact your chosen bloggers to let them know

Seven Random Things About Me!

1. I love red wine
2. My favourite city is Istanbul (no surprise there)
3. My favourite book is Wuthering Heights
4. I swear like a trooper when I’m driving
5. I talk to myself – a lot!
6. I adore George Michael
7. I have watched the film Under The Tuscan Sun over 100 times

And in no particular order my nominations are:

1. Fly Away Home Book
2. The Wanderlust Gene
3. maggiesonebuttkitchen
4. Accidentally Domesticated
5. All Things Boys
6. Not Average Enough
7. Globe Tramp
8. Dwittopinions
9. The Penquin and the Machine
10. Eat O Live
11. La Vida Loca
12. Buckswheatrisk
13. turkishmusings
14. Magsx2′s Blog
15. lakesideindia

First up… The rules for playing blog tag.

You must post the rules
Answer the questions the tagger set for you in their post
Create eleven new questions to ask the people you’ve tagged
Tag (eleven) people with a link to your post
Let them know they’ve been tagged
Here are the questions I’ve been given:

1. How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?
The age I was when I got my first kiss – 6 years old!

2. When it’s all said and done, will you have said more than you’ve done?
Actually I am a doer and I just feel better when I take control of a situation

3. Have you ever picked up a hitchhiker?
Frequently in Turkey, as so few people can afford cars.

4. If you could offer a newborn child only one piece of advice, what would it be?
No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.

5. Would you break the law to save a loved one?
If I say yes, will I incriminate myself?

6. If you had to move to a state or country besides the one you currently live in, where would you move?
Italy

7. Have you been the kind of friend you want as a friend?
Absolutely!

8. Has your greatest fear ever come true?
No and I don’t want to say what it is as I don’t want to jinx myself.

9. What is your happiest childhood memory?
Anything involving my childhood idol, my Uncle Sid was always magical and I remember once being poorly and not being able to play outside with the other kids so he made a snowman and brought it into the house for me.

10. Why do you blog?
Initially because I anticipated having a lot of time on my hands but now I love it and the support and interaction from other bloggers has been an unexpected boon.

11. If you just won a million dollars, would you quit your job?
In a heartbeat.

Here are my questions:
1. What makes you laugh?
2. What was the best piece of advice you were ever given?
3. What’s your favourite city?
4. How would your best friend describe you?
5. What was the last book you read?
6. What music do you listen to?
7. When was the last time you cried?
8. Who was the last person to kiss you?
9. Who is your hero?
10. Where were you born?
11. Do you drive?

Here are the blogs I chose:
1. Online Dating Journal
2. diaryofanexpatwife
3. La Vida Loca
4. The Flourishing Tree
5. Poppyposts
6. How to Online Date
7. awalkinmyflipflopsdotcom
8. Boys to Men
9. The Eclectic
10. The Writer In the Woods
11. Knitting Galore

Dressed to impress in my new sundress, my smugness was quickly replaced by dismay when I stepped outside the apartment to discover our chosen mode of transport. It was a small motorbike but more “Naked Chef” than “Sons of Anarchy”. I enquired about helmets to which he responded with a shrug and “s’okay it’s Turkey”. Clearly, you’re never going get rich in Turkey by owning a biking accessory and helmet shop.

So as he was taking corners at 50 mph (didn’t think you could on a moped but hey ho you learn something new every day), he proudly announced that he passed his test after only two lessons with his old mathematics teacher – no kidding! Having observed the random driving manoeuvres of other Turkish drivers; I think that his Maths teacher may also be responsible for teaching the entire Turkish population to drive and was probably permanently drunk or medicated or possibly both. As if I wasn’t traumatised enough, he was obviously determined to demonstrate his ability to multi-task by smoking, answering his mobile phone and waving to various people en-route, whilst driving at the same time. As he accelerated through the back streets he shouted over his shoulder “I am big understand Turkey roads” as he applied the brakes a little too sharply to avoid an oncoming vehicle. Lots of Turkish insults were exchanged before carrying on to our destination. A quick scan through my English/Turkish dictionary later and I was only able to decipher the words “son of a maggot”.

Fortunately, soon after we skidded to an abrupt halt at a small café in the town centre away from the main tourist bars. I dismounted albeit a little too enthusiastically and almost knelt and kissed the ground with relief. My date greeted the waiters and escorted me to a table where our order was quickly taken. He requested an assortment of Turkish dishes and we spent a pleasant leisurely afternoon sat in the shade eating and talking.

Unfortunately, it came to an end all too soon as my date explained he had to get back to the shop for his shift. I mounted the scooter with more than a little trepidation, wishing I had partaken in some Dutch courage for the perilous return journey. Having closed my eyes for the entirety of the ride, we seemed to arrive back at the apartment in record time.

As I thanked him and bade him farewell, I realised that I didn’t know his name. “I am Ahmet” he shouted at me as he drove off at breakneck speed into the sunset.

The rules of receiving this award are:
1. Add the award to your blog
2. Thank the blogger who gave it to you and include a link to their blog.
3. Mention 7 random things about yourself.
4. List the rules.
5. Give the award to 15 or more bloggers.

The Seven Random Things about me are:
1. I am guaranteed a sleepless night if I watch any horror film – just the trailer alone will give me nightmares.
2. I love gardening although I’m not very good at it – but I can dream!
3. I can incinerate frozen pizza
4. As a child I was addicted to Enid Blyton books.
5. I am a lightweight in the alcohol department, one drink I’m slewed and two I’m stocious (but on the upside it does make me a cheap date).
6. When we were kids I used to lick my sweets and put them back in the packet so my sister wouldn’t steal them – still do!
7. I deplore cruelty and injustice
It has been so difficult to whittle down to 15 of my favourite blogs because there are so many good ones … In no particular order the award goes to:

1. Petchary’s blog; it’s a passionate and well-informed blog beautifully written by an expat living in Jamaica

2. There and Back; one of my favourites because I enjoy reading her posts on where she’s been and I particularly like her pieces on Turkey

3. A nurse note ; her beautiful post “To Aryana” made me cry and appreciate the wonderful work that medical staff undertake all over the world

4. Our Weird and Wonderful World; have some of the most beautiful pictures and help to compensate for me not having a garden

5. Tall Tales/A Travel Blog; really like reading about her travels, particularly as she’s recently visited the part of the world that I come from – check out her impressive pieces on Gallipoli.

6. Animal Couriers; because it covers two of my favourite things – animals and travel

7. EyesOfDysseus ; some really stunning images

8. Marviiilous; I just love her pictures

9. Czech the Flip ; an expat living in the Czech Republic and writing about her family’s experiences

10. The Art of Letting Go; another talented photographer

11. Finding Ann MacGregor; a really brave and inspiring blog

12. Movin’ On; really enjoy the variety of this one

13. The Collaborative Writer ; this is a fab blog for those wanting to develop their writing skills, lots of really good advice as this lady knows her stuff.

14. One Day at a Time: this blog follows the author’s preparation for a triathlon – feel exhausted just reading her daily entries.

15. City Life Picture; Now I would be a little biased here but check out Dianne Jones at Knitting Galore pictures – she lives in Kusadasi and posts some really good photographs of the places she visits.

On the battered tray covered with a hand crocheted cloth, were an array of fresh produce including tomatoes, bread, olives, eggs, butter, fruit and cheese. As she pushed past me into the apartment she continued berating her son. She continued on through the apartment until she found the kitchen, and then busied herself making çay and searching through the crockery. As there were lots of tutting going on, I don’t think she was impressed with the holiday apartment tableware. She ushered me out of the kitchen and laid a place for me at the dining table. She gestured for me to sit and eat whilst continuing to talk to her son. I was almost grateful when my dirty stop-out friend chose this moment to open the door and do the walk of shame through the apartment. At this point my Turkish benefactors took their leave but the son popped his head back round the door and said “I am very big like you”. Good I thought, glad we’ve got that settled.

As my friend admitted to “hanging out of her arse”, we spent the day by the pool reading trashy novels. To be honest I hadn’t really wanted to venture afield for fear of being ambushed again by my admirer. So after a nice long leisurely swim and a late lunch, we headed back to the apartment for a power nap before freshening up for a night on the tiles. No sooner had we sat on our balcony for a pre-dinner drink when there was a loud knocking at the door again. “Don’t answer the door” I hissed to my friend!
Too late, and this time my Turkish fan (who I have to admit had brushed up rather well) was accompanied by two brothers, a sister, various children and his mother, all carrying pots, pans, portable barbecue and various produce trotted into the apartment out onto the balcony. Then the whole family proceeded, like a colony of worker bees, to set up a barbecue much to our amazement. It was fascinating to watch how they worked together and before long the food was ready and we were told to sit down. I have to say that the meal was amazing and our hosts very gracious. Whilst we were eating we got to know them a little better as the brothers and sister all spoke English.

The Turkish women were fascinated with us particularly as I didn’t have any dark hair covering my arms; owing more to the benefits of Immac than nature I have to admit. Whilst our new friends packed away their supplies, my room-mate implied that had I succumbed to a little Turkish lovin’ the night before, they would probably have adopted me and we could have dined for free for the remainder of the holiday. I made a mental note to unfriend her from Facebook upon my return home. She also thought that they were checking me out as potential daughter-in-law material and as neither of us were familiar with Turkish traditions, could this have been an unofficial betrothal party? To add insult to injury she also pointed out that to get over someone, you needed to get yourself under someone else and besides I seemed to have my future mother-in-laws stamp of approval.

As we bade these lovely people goodnight my admirer said to me “I am very big like you! Tomorrow I am coming, we go eating Turkish food beach bar”. There’s an offer you don’t get everyday!

On the third day after a tiring boat trip, we decided to use the local bar opposite our apartment rather than venturing further afield to the busy beach bars. After applying our slap we tottered across to the bar in our ridiculously high heels, totally unsuitable for the hazardous Turkish roads. Despite the treacherous pavements we made the journey in one piece and ordered our overpriced cocktails whilst watching the young semi naked Turkish Bar Boys performing their dance routines.

As the evening progressed and we had made our way through the limited cocktail menu, watched the karaoke, pub quiz and the dance routines. One or two of the bar boys, drifted across to our table, in an attempt to chat us up whilst taking our drinks orders. I was clearly not in the mood for a little lascivious chat but my friend, bolstered by a few cocktails, was enjoying the banter and innuendo. Having won the Most Publically Jilted Award, I had decided to embrace lifelong spinsterhood so I was not going to be getting my jiggy on with anyone anytime soon.

Most of the bar boys had prudently recognised my “Bitch Troll from Hell” expression and wisely side-stepped me. Two of the bar boys in particular, were vying for my friend’s affections that night and she was basking in the attention. Just because I was a bitter and twisted old maid, didn’t mean I didn’t want her to have a good time. I was quite content sitting there and people watching whilst she relished the cheesy one liners and the smooth moves. Out of the corner of my eye I became aware of the Turkish man in the adjoining shop watching me so I deliberately ignored him not wishing to give him or any other man any encouragement. I made a point of studying the cocktail menu intently but he was still staring at me.

As the evening got later and most of the customers drifted away, I too was keen to climb the stairs to blanket street, however, my friend buoyed up by one too many “Sex on the Beach” cocktails kept ordering another for the road. At this point, the man who had been watching me all evening came and sat at the table having acknowledged the bar boys who were competing for my friend’s favour. He sat there smoking whilst nonchalantly sipping on a Jack Daniels and Red Bull, without saying a word to me or my friend. A further thirty minutes passed and another round of drinks was ordered. At this point, the man became a little more talkative and punctuated every other sentence with “I am very big like you”. At one point in mid conversation he lunged at me but as he appeared to be inebriated, I was easily able to dodge him having had years of practise, wrestling with my siblings. In fact, I still hold the family record for having held my sister in headlock for at least three minutes! I was subtly trying to get my friend’s attention but as she was too busy playing tonsil tennis with a Turkish bar boy, she was oblivious to my situation. As the inebriated Turk rested his head on my shoulder, my friend announced with a wink, she was off on a moonlight beach stroll with her Turkish Knight. Cheers great! As I tried to extract myself from a drunken embrace, I realised that the man was unconscious. One of the other bar boys merrily revealed that my admirer was unused to alcohol but as they were locking up, they needed to move him.

And that would be my problem because? But clearly it was, as a few minutes later I had been recruited into helping assist the bar boy carry him to his upstairs apartment which he shared with a couple of the other boys. And wouldn’t you just know it – the apartment was on the third floor and there was no lift. So much, for my sparkly killer heels.

When we got him to his front door a good thirty minutes later, I felt that I had spent a week doing hard labour. The bar boy sensing I was not feeling the love, rummaged through the drunk’s pockets for his key. After stumbling through the door, we deposited him on a bed. My Turkish groupie lifted his head from the pillow just once before we left to say “I am very big like you” before falling into a deep slumber.

With my shoes in hand, I hobbled back to the apartment eager to re-acquaint myself with my nice comfy bed. I hoped that I wouldn’t be seeing that particular individual again but somehow fate had dictated otherwise!