Egypt Part 3: AJ’s Mum

I have been a bit slack doing part 2 posts over the months and I think it is about time I made the situation a whole lot worse by tying the loose ends into gapping holes.

So in continuation of Holiday in Egypt: Part 1 - here is Part 3

Because of the insane and surreal but only slightly frightening situation I and my travailing companion, AJ, had got ourselves into in part 2, we had a lot of time to talk.

AJ is an old university friend and it was good to just sit and chat.

One evening, sat on the balcony, watching the sun set over the dry red mountains of the Sahara, drinking homemade cocktails and dubious Egyptian beer, he told me about a conversation he had with his mother that perfectly illustrated the relationship a lot of mothers have with their sons.

He had gone to visit his parents for the weekend and over breakfast his mother asked:

“You went to university with Jemima Goldsmith didn’t you?”
“Yes I did”
“You missed out there!”
“I didn’t actually know her – more of a friend of a friend.”
“You know she has split up with Imran Khan”
“And?”
“Well, that means she is available again.”
“What, you think I should just ring her up and ask her out for a drink?”
“Yeah – why not – she is very rich.”
“For I start I don’t know her number and secondly, well… she is going out with Hugh Grant now!”
“Hugh Grant! Pah! What has he got on you?”

Says it all really - but it got me thinking. So I asked AJ:

“Maybe she had a point. I mean, what does Hugh Grant have on you – on either of us?”
“What, apart from the devastating good looks, the millions of pounds in the bank and the A-list lifestyle? – well nothing I suppose”
“Exactly, it is not as if he can actually say anything funny or intelligent without Richard Curtis writing it down on a piece of paper for him.”
“Hmm...”
“As for Jemima – well she is not *that* hot. If she wasn’t who she was, if she stopped flying her private helicopter to go shopping in Paris every weekend and actually came down to the student union bar to hang out with us mere mortals, you would have given it a crack”
“Damn right. Now you come to mention it, I did have a thing with someone who looked just like her.”
“Really?”
“Yeah – although she was only 5 foot tall, had short black curly hair, a large nose and big flappy ears but apart from that she was a ringer”
“Well there you go – your mum was right!”
“Yeah, pah! Hugh Grant! I wouldn’t swap lives with him”
“Flying to all those tedious premieres!”
“Vacuous soulless Hollywood life!”
“Holidays in San Tropez surrounded by topless super models?”
“I’d take this place any day”*
“No wonder he resorts to prostitutes”
“Yeah fuck you Hugh Grant! You haven’t got a scratch on us.”

* We were suffering heavily from Stockholm syndrome at this point.