Sun, Sea, And A and E
Here's a short story of what happened to me, on my holiday to Turkey in 2003. I spent two weeks in Bodrum, which is on the south coast, and my memories still haunt, like a lonely old ghost.The first week was lovely, relaxed, and laid back, but then along came the terrible Turkish attack.
Me and a friend went for drinks to a club. We partied, and had a great night. But just after three, I thought i'd pose for a photo, and climbed on a speaker, about six feet high. I threw down my camera to my mate called Karl, then along came a bouncer who just stood there and snarled...
He was screaming and shouting in Turkish. He looked just like a killer let loose, but Turkish is a language I've never understood so his words were of simply no use. He knew I was there for a photo, but the bastard would simply not wait, so the next thing I felt were his hands round my ankles, and a sudden increase in my heart rate.
I was yanked from the speaker - I fell from a height. My adrenaline pumped, so I started to fight...
He'd provoked and awoken the psycho inside. (How scarred the mind of a bullied child). You see I don't give a shit if I'm beaten or not, just as long as I give it my very best shot. And when demons arise, you'd be more than surprised at the powerful force of a will. We went toe to toe, but he was simply too slow, so I put the bastard down:(1 - Nil).
With a doorman floored, I knew there'd be more, it was simply a matter of time. Then I suddenly spied, from cautious eyes, more steroid munching monsters arrive. They grabbed me and dragged me to the back of the club, and started to beat me like trogolodite thugs.
Now there were five of the bastards. Now isn't that incredibly bold? Fun loving Ben, being attacked by five men, who punched me and kicked me, and knocked me out cold. Karl received one or two punches, but Benji boy came off worst. And all because of a holiday snap. To me it seemed so perverse.
My memory still serves to remind me, of the moment I woke on the ground. Blood soaked my shirt, and my battered head hurt, as I opened my eyes and frowned. They'd split my skull open, and broken my nose, but with hindsight, it could have been worse i suppose.
I could never be labelled a psychopath, I'd have to be the first to admit, but something inside just won't back down, and when bullied I simply flip. So the response to my broken nose, bruises and cuts, was to steam straight back in, and quite simply go nuts. So I punched and butted, and went for some more, but with five against one, my chances were poor. So once again Ben got knocked to the ground, but if I'm in for a penny, I'm in for a pound.
I was blinded by blood, and conscious (just), but as gamblers say, "it's shit or bust". So "fuck it!" I thought, as I got to my feet, and steamed in again, but again I was beat.
My memory after that doesn't serve me well, but we ended up back in our grotty hotel, where for twenty four hours I lay concussed, and it soon became clear that surgery was a must...
Well, the hospital room they gave me, was simply second to none. I felt like Vito Corleone, the infamous Mafia Don. It had gold gilted mirrors, and satellite T.V, with magnificent views of the Aegean Sea. And on the walls hung pricey paintings, in various shades of pink, and in the ensuite marble bathroom, a bathrobe made of mink. I could beckon a nurse within seconds, with the simple flick of a switch. This was obviously no place for poor folk, just the well insured, and rich. I'd bought my insurance from AXA, at the reasonable cost of ten quid, and with the surgery bill at three and a half grand, I'm ever so glad I did.
It was once a hotel with 5 stars I believe, and if totally honest, I didn't want to leave. I felt safe and secure, like a child in a womb, until the bouncers that beat me were brought to my room. I was asked to I.D them, to secure their arrests, while they comfotably sat there like VIP guests.
Only one of the five I remembered, and that was simply to do with his size, and as for the other four bastards, they may as well have come in disguise. The police asked them questions. They sat there and lied. They walked away free men. I lay there and sighed. The police were supportive, the translator too, but they both told me straight - "There's no more we can do".
So the result of this vicious and violent attack, was surgery, stitches, and a week on my back. But as I lay in pain in that Turkish town, I felt proud at the fact that I didn't back down.
So after the violence, and hospital silence, and lunches through tubes and drips, I thanked all the nurses, then filled up their purses, and gave them a kiss on the lips!
© Copyright 2016 ben hardstaff. All rights reserved.
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