A postcard from Morocco

Flying back from Marrakech to Manchester I overheard a passenger say:

“That was the worst holiday EVER. I could not get Heinz baked beans there!”

I think certain people shouldn’t be allowed passports. If you can’t visit another country without complaining about it then you are too small minded to be allowed out of your house let alone the country. Although leaving the country also reminds you that no matter what the color of your skin, the language of your mother tongue or the religion of your church that anyone can answer the question:

“Real Madrid or Barcelona?”

Morocco is one of the friendliest countries I have ever visited as I made many new friends. In fact all conversations started  ”Hello my friend. I have best price for you…”.The locals’ sales technique was so good that when I walked past a food stall the vendor would shout out ”Ca va? Francais?” I’d reply “non” and they would go “ahhh – english” <how bad can my French be that even pronouncing one word which contains 2/3 of the equivalent english word is still obviously non french.> At that point they would go “Good food. Michelin star quality. Jamie oliver recommends.” Offended that they had called me English I would say “no – scottish” and instantly they would reply “then the food is also recommended by Gordon Ramsay” I wish our beggars took as much time to learn the local references of visitors to our country.

In Morocco they have massage/steam rooms called hamanns, They are split into two sections, one fore women and one for men. They should really be called the hawomann and hamanns. If i was a Moroccan comedian then I would call myself the haha-mann. The female section was busy but I was the only man there! It was just me trapped in a steam/massage room for 90 minutes with a big man called Rahid who spoke no english. Some of the things he did to me with his loofah will haunt me for the rest of my life but even though he spoke no English we still managed to have one conversation.

He had bent me backwards over his table and was pummeling my legs when he stopped for a second and said “Barcelona or Real Madrid” I assumed he wanted to know who I supported so I said “Non, Ecosse. Glasgow Celtic” he managed to figure out my poor french and thought for a second before pointing at himself and saying “Moi, Barcelona.” i realized they had just lost a champions league game against chelsea so tried to be sympatheitc  ”Sorry! Champions League”

He though again for a second and replied:

“Chelsea! John Terry. C*ck!”

Which proves football is universal as anywhere you go in the world knows that John Terry is a c*ck.

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