ISSUE 14 ARCHIVE - DRY SHARM DOS AND DON'TS: LOVE

Traveller

Do

Follow this tip for Putin’s People. Learn that cheesy Greased Lightning dance out of 70’s film noire. If you can do that, and all the actions, it is performed nightly at the Hard Rock. Nothing embiggens Svetlana more than your pointy arm going left at the right time. Once impressed, take her to the local karaoke and do a Tom Jones. Seal the deal at the Black House up by the cheaper Hilton and the two of you will be talking Pravda Politics until the check-in desks next week.

Do

Remember that “Habibee, habibee, habibee”, when sung into your ear, are the very words written by Avicenna himself over two thousand years ago. From the poem “For the Love of a Tourist” these words are a prequel to a long, fulfilling relationship between you and your erstwhile lover. They compare your beauty to the finest flower of the hibiscus and your aroma to that of frankincense. When sung with a rotation of the head, you know he is serious. If his eyes are wide open, then it should be marriage without refusal. You can tell how much he really loves you though, once he has his feet up on your sofa in Middlesborough and a UK passport.

Do

Note the reasons why your target might be in Sharm-el-Sheikh. This can affect your initial chat up lines. Here’s the key: The Swedes come for the sun, Italians for coral destruction, English ‘cos its cheap, Israelis for the fight, Aussies ‘cos they’re lost and Russians for the air miles. That’s why that cute thing is sitting there opposite you. Now go get lyrical. “Each time I come here, I get enough points for to see my Babushka in Ekaterinburg. You too?”, worked for me last time. “Hot here, innit” didn’t, as she was from Chernobyl.

Do

Realise your dive instuctor means it when he says he loves you at the Camel Bar. He may have hundreds of students each week to teach, and the nitrogen has probably affected his brain, but the fact that it’s kicking out time at the bar, he has nowhere to go, and you have a hotel room has nothing to do with it. You may be 15 stone out of Manchester but his desires are pure. The Facebook occasional mails have only dried up on your return because he is so busy, but still thinking of you as he buries his sadness in another’s bosom. He will return to Rochdale to be with you and you will have that dive shop together in Burnley. Trust in the Lord.

Do

Settle all arguments with your loved one before the airport shuttle bus. There is nothing worse than seething distaste for your partner than what will happen at the airport. There you have to be a team. She figures out the exit cards, as you negotiate the Sbarro pizza queue. You will have to leave your bag on a chair whilst going to the loo, and she will have to make sure it is not “cleaned away”. Yes you are a team, Mr and Mrs Diver, so don’t let the fact that you found her with three Italians in the loos at Pasha ruin your Easyjet experience to Gatwick.

Don’t

Ever take a posh bird to the lower bar at the Camel. Unless she is a softball major in the Ivy League then the prospect of an evening hurling monkey nuts at other divers may not be her thing. Woo her with your sophistication and the view from the roof-top bar. There you can flop onto low lying cushions and pay twice the price for a drink. Make sure she has a long skirt on as short ones tend to ride up and distract the waiters. If your date has a love for ESPN and fighting then stick with the lower bar. You may even fall in love when she gets the pissed Aussie directly in the eye with nut shrapnel.

Don’t

Try anything saucy on the beach. Remember Dubai. Yes, there is a similar law here too. You don’t want your name and face pasted across Al-Jazeera as you stand in the dock of a Sharia Law court. There’s a UK version of this channel now and chances are your aunty will see you looking sheepish as the judge hands out the fine. If for some reason your passion knows no bounds, then go to one of the Irish bars. There’s never anyone there as all the Guinness gets hijacked by pirates south of Suez.

Don’t

Forget a holiday romance is for two weeks. Not for life. You may feel the early tinglings of love after the first week. You may think you have found your soul mate after the second. But beware. When they come back to your room at your mum’s in Crawley, all will change. It’s all very well hanging out in the sun in neoprene talking hammerheads, but when she meets you at home, sees your Bon Jovi posters and cactus collection in your bedroom, she will realise that you are a twat. Whilst at the hotel bar, walk away early and make her always believe you were MI5, despite the whispy stubble and inability to equalize.

Don’t

Ever be unfaithful. There is a reciprocal extradition agreement with the Yemen. When they have none of theirs to stone, you may find yourself rendited to San’aa to become part of the primetime viewing there on YBC. A decent Brit will always stand in front of his lover in these medieval events. A clever Brit will have the embassy and Amnesty International on speed dial.

Don’t

Try anything local. They are from the Bedou tribe you know. Harder than a Croydon street gang and more punishing than Delta Force when running prisons at Abu Ghraib. Mate of mine got to first base with his room maid, and went to the desert for the second date. He was met by something out of a Rommel advance and woke up staked out in 50 degree heat covered in honey. After that the ants had his legs off and the spiders went for his head. He’s out of the gene pool now, wishing he’d stayed celibate.