Black Sea

The evening before I had met a lovely Danish couple, Nicholas was a freelance journalist and his partner Olivia a theatre actress. They were the 1st english speaking people I had met in well over 2 weeks, so I decided to invite them around for a spot of lunch the following day.
I awoke from my tent and wrote a small shopping list for the food I would require and set off for the centre of town to get the provisions. I managed to get most of the ingredients straight from the shelf or when necessary a 25 minute theatrical performance usually pretending to be a chicken in the case of trying to procure an egg from the shop owner, and after various failed attempts to get my message over, where the shop assistant brought forward a loaf of bread and a packet of Marlboros cigarettes (how silly of me bread comes from chain smoking chickens with a taste for american cigarettes in particular) - I had finally all the ingredients I needed for my lunch guests...I SWEAR THEY KNEW ALL ALONG WHAT I NEEDED AND SPOKE THE QUEENS ENGLISH, PROBABLY HAD A DEGREE FROM CAMBRIDGE OR HARVARD...
On my way home I came past some locals selling their wares.....the tables were laid out in the open or on the floor and the items seemed to be a broken display of everything that you would never need - 1 shoe...strap broken, bits of tap, bent pipe, clothes bleached from the sun etc. I returned to the campsite...
My guests arrived and we spent an enjoyable afternoon on the campsite in glorious sunshine, surrounded by trees and flowers on a lush green field - I even put a table cloth over the campsite table.
My guests returned to their sunbathing and swimming activities while I went for a cup of tea (Cay) with the campsite owner. And it was at this point that I noticed he was trying to fix a broken chair. More colleagues of his then came to assist. At 1 point there was 3 grown Turkish men trying unsuccessfully to fix this broken wooden chair, with a broken hammer, rusty nails and 2 pieces of rotten wood. I had one of my laughing attacks, which saw the older of the 3 master craftsmen shoot a look in my direction, waving a broken hammer around as if to say any more laughing from me and I would be beaten about the head and hands. I couldnt help but to continue to laugh thinking if he doesnt put that hammer down hes going to hurt himself...more laughing...It was a wonder no-one got killed or aimed. And to think these chaps were descendents of Alexander the great from the Ottoman empire. I thought I had found the missing link - until, that was on my return from my evening run - I must have been a mere 50 metres from the campsite when my left pocket from my shorts - which must have been turned inside out and hanging like an ear outside of my shorts, got caught onto a piece of railing as I came jogging over the bridge. It spun me 180 degrees around and ripped half my shorts down the upper leg. It all happened so fast and there I was standing in the street half naked with only the right bottom covered. I managed to pull the 2 torn sides of my shorts together and leaning over to the left to keep the shorts together I stooped back to the campsite like the hunchback of Notre Damme to spend the rest of the evening stiching together my 50 pence shorts. By the time I had finished sewing the left leg back onto the right leg and put them on to test out my repair, it looked like I had both legs in one leg of the shorts.