Worst. Person. Ever(41)

“He runs a Dungeons & Dragons shop in Hull. He never really was the same after he’d spent time training dolphins to wear video cameras on their foreheads. I think those little buggers stole his mind.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Laugh if you will, but Olly served the Queen very well.” Elspeth wiped tomato sauce from her lips. “And now he throws rocks at you if you go too near his council flat door. Fucking dolphins.”

“They think they’re actually going to fix the trash vortex with bombs,” I exclaimed. “These fucking Americans are like children.”

Neal, being one of nature’s mimics, said, “Imagine John F. Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe riding in a bomber above a nuclear blast. ‘Ooh, Mr. Kennedy, that H-bomb is so scary.’ ‘Don’t you worry, Marilyn. Just cover up your diseased minge with this lead-lined X-ray-proof garment I stole from Jackie’s hope chest.’ ”

“John Kennedy,” said Elspeth. “Is he the one who had a lot of sex and the retro hairdo?”

“Dear God,” I said. “What year were you born?”

“I’m old enough to be a flight attendant is how old I am. Just like Prince William’s mum-in-law.”

We became reflective then and took a pause from eating. Overtop the dusty whoosh of sleek jet engines I put forth a question. “Neal, let me ask you this: do you think camel toes are, in any way, you know … hot?”

“That’s an excellent question, Ray.”

“Oh God,” said Elspeth. “I’m going to be sick.”

Neal said, “Come along, Elspeth, think of this as an interfaith symposium, with you representing just one of several points of view. But I do want to say that simply because a woman’s got camel toe, it in no way indicates she’s a slag.”

I said, “Thank you, Neal. I, too, believe women are the future—yay, women! Yay, tampons and all that! But it’s the camel toe part about women that’s the topic here.”

Neal reached for brandy. “It’s hard to really get in the mood when there’s a badly packed kebab three and a half feet away from your eyes. It’s all about the packaging.”

“Agreed,” I said, “Part of the charm of the quim is that it’s on the inside, not the outside.”

“And,” added Neal with authority, “just because there’s something big on the outside doesn’t always mean a bird’s got a clown’s pocket on the inside. Perhaps the contrary. And it’s a slippery slope, too. One day you’re fine with having a camel toe, and the next day you’re out behind the chip shop with your knickers yo-yoing up and down, servicing strangers for the price of a pack of fags. Not helping society much that way, are you?”

Elspeth rebelled. “Will you two stop blabbing on about camel toes! I would like to enjoy my chicken piccata in peace.”

So much for the consolation of philosophy.

I looked over at a pile of apparently blank CDs on a seat beside me. “Neal, for fuck’s sake, who the hell uses CDs these days?”

“Oh, them. They’re bootleg Harry Potter movies I promised someone in LA I’d take to his friend in Kiribati.” Neal threw a Sharpie my way. “Do me a favour, Ray, and write ‘Harry Potter’ on them so they don’t end up in the rubbish.”

“Will do, mate.”

Sharpie was the first permanent ink pen-style marker, launched in 1964 by the Sanford Ink Company. In 1992, Sharpie was acquired by Newell Rubbermaid. The Sharpie created an entirely new category: a rigid felt-tip with minor give to allow for characterfullness. There’s something fun about Sharpies that’s really hard to articulate. They are to handwriting what Play-Doh is to sculpting.

Bonriki International Airport is the only international airport in Kiribati and serves as the main gateway to the country. It is located in the capital, South Tarawa, a group of islets in the atoll of Tarawa in the Gilbert Islands.



AWK to TRW = 8 h, 30 m





27


Stuart Greene.

What a total fucking dick.

But let me back up a bit.

We finally landed in Kiribati in the fiery coral dawn. Christ, could these people have found a place on earth more remote? Excuse me, but were the Kerguelen Islands all booked up? Was Pitcairn Island shut down for an extended religious holiday? Try Google-Mapping this place; it’s a dogfart.

On a practical level, since cartwheeling over the atomic blast, I’d been down to a borrowed pair of sailor pants. Before we landed, Neal gave me one of Arnaud du Puis’s linen outfits.

“Ooh,” cooed Elspeth after I changed, “you’re dressed just like Ewan McGregor.” She brushed some dust off the lapel.