This novel is limited to 100 free copies due to its part in Inkitt’s Novel Contest.
The Final Summer of Vodka
April 3rd 2011
Hello. My name is Lei. I am a 30 year old British single gal living in Marmaris, Turkey. I am a vegetarian and a vodka lover.
I have not kept a diary since I was 14 years old. It ended very badly with my Mum reading it and circling all the paragraphs that she did not agree with. This was highly embarrassing for me as I had detailed every last thing that I had been getting up to with my boyfriend at the time, and she bloody well circled those bits too. #Mortified
Mum if you are reading this now then I suggest that you put this down immediately. I predict if last night was anything to go by, then this diary may give you an effing heart attack.
Anyway, I have decided to write this now as firstly my Mum does not live in the same country as me and secondly, in most single gal’s lives, there comes a time when one needs to step up and keep a diary of sorts to start documenting one’s shenanigans to see where I am going wrong.
With this being my final summer of vodka and all, you could say now is a good a time as any.
This summer is going to be a big deal for me. This is the summer that is going to be the end of all my single gal ways. It is to be the end of an era, a mark in my life.
This summer I am going to find the one.
Yes dear diary, I have made it my main goal and my only aim; the only thing I plan to accomplish this summer is to find my man. This is the guy that is going to sweep me off my feet, the one that I will fondly refer to as my other half, fuck it, let’s be cheesy and roll with ‘my mate’.
I believe that it’s high time to stop all the pissing about, partying and general living of single life and get cracking with coupledom. I’m at that age where it just makes sense. I am feeling that male company on a full time basis is absolutely required from here on in.
I live in hope that I will find my knight in shining armour by the end of this season. Now let me be clear here, I am not looking for some sort of tit in a tin can. No. I have had my fair share of those, in fact I have had everybody’s fair share. So to be mighty specific, I am literally looking for the real deal.
Even though it comes across this way, I am not one of those girls with a time line and a baby goal. Bloody hell no. I have simply arrived at the point in my life where I know that I’m ready to meet the man that I am supposed to be with. And, by the end of the summer, come hell or high water I need to have found him.
Its official, my green light is on.
So, welcome to my world. My sometimes dark depressing world, but welcome none the less.
Let me give you somewhat of an insight about me:
My life is relatively normal. I live alone with the current love of my life Gucci Prince Michael the 2nd (My ridiculously wonderful dog - Guch for short), a car named Kastro and a scooter named Betty.
I have a great team of Mingers (terribly good friends) that I love dearly (most of the time) and a non-blood related Sister of the opposite sex. Sound pretty normal so far? I would say so. However I live in a land filled with mostly abnormal people. Firstly Marmaris is home of the Turkish love rat. I won’t bore you with the stories as I’m sure you’ve heard many, but what Marmaris also attracts is the crazies, the self obsessed and the downright psychotic ex pats in search of a better life and cheaper beer. Sometimes this rubs off on you and you get sucked in to the pointless drama of it all, but if you are clever (and you would be wise to be so), you dust this unwelcome shit off as quickly as possible and steer clear of the unwanteds.
I was born in Manchester and being that my Mum is from South Africa, we have done quite a lot of travelling in our time. This gave me the bug. I won’t go into too much detail about the how’s and why’s that got me living here, but I had just gotten rid of a nob head when I looked around at the grey skies and thought fuck it, I need me some sun. Don’t care where, but I want that flight and I want that beach. And that’s just what I did. Nothing and no one could have stopped me hopping on that plane back then. Now would be a different story entirely….
I like most, have an ex. He was the thorn in my side for a heck of a long time. When I say thorn, I obviously mean the one that got away, the one that broke my heart, the one that I should steer well clear of in all future endeavours, and the one that I always drunk text. As soon as I get close to removing his presence from my life, he for some reason starts to rear his head again. I have had to input him in my mobile as ‘Do not Drunk Dial FFS’, but even that doesn’t work. Why don’t I delete his number? Like most good ex stalkers, I know it by heart drunk or sober. So my way of thinking was to name him something that may put me off dialling. It doesn’t.
I can pull my shit together when I need to as I somehow found myself running my own business. I don’t quite know how that happened, but it did none the less. Well, that’s a bit of a fib, I know exactly how I ended up where I am. My ex boss decided to not pay me for 3 months and rip me off all at the same time. Once this happened I decided to take a few months off to contemplate life. Vodka was the key ingredient in the contemplation process. Once the process was complete, my mind was made up. I had decided to become a show girl in Vegas. If Holly Madison can do it, then I’m sure as shit I can too. In the mean time I decided to go full throttle with the business while I work on removing my stomach.
To survive living in Marmaris I have had to pretty much work like a dog to make ends meet, everyone has to. There have been the best friendships ever formed and a million memories made (some that have been forgotten due to the vodka) and most of those memories were made whilst I worked as a holiday rep.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not always wonderful living here. Sometimes the grass is not always greener. Sometimes it really pisses me off. But I’m still here and I don’t feel like moving anywhere else most of the time.
So, as you can see, I am a normal(ish) kind of gal. I don’t have any weird fetishes that I need to point out, nor do I have any obsessive compulsive disorders.
In all honesty my life is as bog standard as they come. It’s not glamorous, it’s not mundane. But you really couldn’t make it up…
Chapter 1 - April 2011
Dear my rich and married self in an alternate universe,
The start of the month has been like the start of any other. I have worked to survive, I have partied like the aging rock star that I am and I have eyed up a few nice looking blokes.
At the moment I am finding great difficulty in flirting. I seem to have lost that ability and I don’t know why. I want to find a bloke that sparks my interest as well as my libido but where are they all? These last couple of years I seem to have found myself stuck in a rut of meeting no one. I don’t mean no hopers, I mean no one.
I am going to let the ex take full credit for this. I am going to go as far to say that the arsehole may have ruined me for life. We had a great relationship until it he was summoned to do his compulsory military service. Then he went all odd. I can’t explain how, but trust me on the odd bit. I truly madly deeply loved him. I don’t think I had ever been in love with anyone until him.
And that dear diary is why I am struggling.
I sometimes have horrific thoughts that I am not going to find love here in Marmaris. The resort boys with their huge gelled hair that is the size of the Eiffel Tower do absolutely nothing for me.
I want a man that has got something about him, that does not need a woman for money, that is in the same age group as me, that is adventurous and spontaneous yet organised, and most of all, that speaks my language and I don’t just mean English. I need this man to get me. I need him to show me what this world is all about. I need him to totally sweep me off my feet and damn well surprise me as God knows, there aren’t many surprises in my life these days.
Oh universe, please deliver me my Mr. Right soon, I’m bored of being single now…
Dear world that is testing me,
Last night I decided to stop off at a rather nice view point up in the hills of Marmaris with a young man that I met on the internet. Yes I do these random internet dating things occasionally and never once have they ended well.
The thing is I didn’t even like his pictures, but I’m a trier and you never know if he may have used fugly pics of himself in case he happens to be a beautiful model that is struggling to find love because of who he is. #Nosuchluck
I had no intention of snogging the life out of him, yet I could see it was on his cards from the glint in his eye and the statement that he made: ‘Your eyes are like diamonds, we are mates’, and with that, my interest disappeared along with my libido, never to return again (for him anyway).
The police were doing their rounds and happened to come a knockin’ at Kastro’s window mentioning that my music was too loud. I had good reason for that as I had to drown out the cheese that internet boy was spouting somehow didn’t I?
The police man didn’t speak much English and what with my horrific Turkish (yes I know, after all these years I should be able to string a sentence together other than swear words), I didn’t have a clue what he was yammering on about until I saw the big truck coming up the hill and I instantly knew that that particular truck had Kastros name all over it. Bastard!
The vile Police man went on to receive an inordinate amount of abuse from me and the young cheese suddenly seemed to have disappeared leaving me alone to deal with the crap I had gotten myself into. What a nice young cheese, NOT.
I do not recommend kicking off with Turkish police men. They are scary buggers that carry guns. It wouldn’t have taken much more to tip this bugger over the edge with my mouth working the way it did. As you can see I’m clearly not dead, yet I am writing from the inside of a cell. Jokes. But it wouldn’t have taken much.
As I watched Kastro on the truck going down the hill, I realized that I was rather a long way from home with not a taxi in sight. Well, I can’t blame the taxi drivers; I was in the middle of nowhere, up a hill in the pitch black of night. Kind of like a horror movie, I could just imagine a mad man with a machete coming along and be-heading me at any minute.
So with no other option, I started on my long walk home. With every step I took I got angrier and angrier. None of the Mingers were answering their phones (being 2am, why would they?) so I had to grin and bear it.
Then I did something rather stupid. I text the ex. Mo Fo didn’t reply.
When I eventually made it home a few hours later, I stuck my nose in the fridge and hunted for the vodka. I believe that I have never deserved vodka more. Something that usually happens after throwing a shot of vodka down my throat to sort my face out, would usually result in me sending myself off to bed. But that didn’t happen. What did happen was me drinking half the bottle of vodka and Facebooking.
Seriously do I never learn? Who did I Facebook? My ex of course. He got it all that night. All that plus more the poor dear.
Eventually bed called and I passed out into an alcohol induced kip. I woke up with a stinking hangover and the Guch on my face. Great. Then as it occasionally does, some memory returned. “Fuck my Life” sprung to mind.
After sorting the mess of my head out, I got to work on sorting the mess of Kastro out.
Funnily enough, the ex text giving me some advice. Not on getting the car out of the impound like you would imagine. Oh no. The arse gave me advice about drunk Facebooking.
Thanks dick face.
Thankfully Kimmy Minger came to the rescue. Kimmy is a long-time friend/Minger of mine and I love her like a sister. We worked together as reps quite some time ago and we have never lost touch since. We are literally like chalk and cheese. Kimmy being the sensible one and me being the loose cannon. Our friendship works. Sometimes, when I spiral out of control, Kimmy brings me back onto the planet. She is the voice of reason. She too has suffered a great deal of heartbreak, and over this heartbreak is where our friendship really began. One day soon this biatch will be my maid of honour, but until then, bestie will do.
Anyway Kimmy helped out a Minger in distress and took me to the car impound, but as she had to leave for work, she could literally only drop me off at the place (that happens to be miles away from anywhere in Marmaris). I started the search for Kastro but no Kastro in sight. Why? Cos I was at the wrong sodding car impound that’s why. Justmyluck.com. I found myself once again stuck in the middle of nowhere, alone, with not a soul to be seen. To make matters worse I had also ran out of credit on my phone. At least it was day light, right?
I was resigning myself to another long walk back into town when I spotted a man on a scooter. Before he could say no, I hopped on the back and made him drive off into the sunset. Unfortunately we didn’t elope as fate didn’t jump in. You guessed it, he was not exactly a cute guy, more rather beauty impaired, but the nice beauty impaired guy did help me out big time. He stopped me from getting eaten by wolves and he drove me to the correct place to collect Kastro. However, it is never as simple as it seems for me. I had to go to the cop shop and spend three friggin’ horrific hours there pleading with them to release Kastro. Then off course they wouldn’t. Why? Because this is Turkey and I am a single female without a boyfriend to help me out. The nice beauty impaired guy on the scooter had to go as obviously he has a life of his own and does not masquerade as superman for the full day, so I called upon the assistance of a rather good pal of mine instead, Kaan.
Kaan is a diamond. We fight like husband and wife but don’t have the benefits of the makeup sex, so what happens is there is lots of sexual tension that builds up and up and up. Without the sweet relief of sex, we end up not speaking to each other for a couple of months or so then have a vodka night and all is well again. I like him immensely. He is clever, has a lot going for him, funny (even though I don’t think he means to be) and is a good friend that doesn’t judge me.
Anyway, God love him, he showed up, whizzed me around everywhere, got it all sorted and not one sarcastic word crept out of his mouth. The looks said it all though.
All hail good pals that take time out of work to help out silly British females!
And the young cheese? Not even one text to find out if everything is OK after ditching me. See, this is why I should never go near fugly internet men…
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