It’s two days after my birthday and I’m alone in a bubble in a forest in deepest, darkest Hungary. The trip is a gift from my wife who is also supposed to be with me, but thanks to an unavoidable double booking she can’t join me for a couple of days. As I sit alone in my transparent orb, I can’t help but think that this sounds like a great premise for a horror story. The synopsis might go a little something like this…
After unexpectedly finding himself alone in a bubble, a heroic half Welshman/Englishman/Hungarian dual citizen has to bravely and single handedly defend his bubble from a gang of slack jawed, deviant local cannibals, armed with nothing but his bare wits and a pair of flip-flops. Can he hold them at bay for two whole days until reinforcements (my pygmy wife) arrive, or will he succumb and end his days as the protein in a rustic goulash soup?
Maybe I’ll have to write the script for this at some point, but anyway, this isn’t the only birthday gift that I have been given by my kindly wife. To find out what other treasures have been bestowed upon me, let’s travel back in time, all the way to two days ago.
(BLACK AND WHITE FLASHBACK)
It’s midday two days ago (otherwise known as my birthday) and I’m on my way to a massage parlour in Budapest. Zsuzsa has booked a relaxing “oil massage” for me, and my tired limbs are looking forward to being kneaded. A kneading is needed.
I arrive at the Thai massage parlour and I’m pointed in the direction of a door. I enter and look around. Hmmm. A small dark room with a mattress on the floor. It looks uncannily like the kind of place that Al Queda might use to imprison hostages, but I shrug and ready myself for kneading.
Within a few minutes I’m lying on the mattress in my underpants. A small Thai lady enters. She says something inaudible and then whips off my underpants.
“Er.” I mutter, but then decide to ignore it. After all, I’ve been to German spas where it’s obligatory to wander around with your bits n’ bobs on display. Maybe she’s a fan of the German, acres bits n‘ bobs style? The oil comes out and the little Thai lady sets to work me as though I’m a slab of wagyu beef.
About forty minutes in and the silence is interrupted by dubious groans and moaning from the room (aka cell) next door. “Wow!” I think. “The guy next door must be getting an incredible massage! Lucky guy!”
A few minutes later and I’m now lying on my back with a small towel strategically placed across my modesty.
“Shall I massage that now?” asks the Thai lady, pointing directly at my…my modesty.
…
“Er, what?” I ask.
“Shall I massage that?” she repeats.
I glance up at my underpants hanging on a coat hanger. I hear another groan from next door. I look at the Thai lady’s pointing finger.
CLICK!
I’m Chazz Palminteri in The Usual Suspects watching the mug fall to the ground and smash, as Kaiser Söze leaves the building. I’m Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense as the wedding ring falls. I’m Mark Hamill screaming “Noooooo! at his evil daddy”. I’m Charlton Heston on a beach cursing towards the heavens. I’m a guy in a naughty massage parlour.
“Er, no.” I replied.
Queue awkward silence.
(COLOUR RETURNS)
So back to my bubble. What does a guy whose wife has accidentally sent him to be sexually molested for his birthday do when all alone in a bubble in the forest? He pours himself a drink, picks up his laptop and begin to write.
It’s two days after my birthday and I’m alone in a bubble in a forest in deepest, darkest Hungary…