Croatia: Cock-cunting professor gets a Molly mangling

See Croatian photo album in postings below
l to r: Film director Robert Chilcott, actress Carson Parkin-Fairley, Molly Parkin and some tag-along. Photo: Jadran Babič of Slobodna Dalmacija. Click images for full size.

Poor Professor S! Out of humanity I shall not publish his name. But yesterday he was fed into the Molly Parkin sausage machine and spewed out as mangled mince; or dumped like a turd at the water's edge on the Croatian island of Brač. Even now I inwardly cringe at his operatic humiliation. But the tale has to be told.

The Professor had dreamt of an idyllic day celebrating the work of a Croatian painter: a charming woman in a lovely dress. And who better to invite along as honoured guests to partake in this appreciation on Brač than the famous artist Molly Parkin and her entourage (now including newly arrived daughter Sophie and husband Jan)? The Ghetto Club's Sonja had phoned our hotel to tell us that the promised six-seater taxi had not been booked so we must get cracking and phone for two taxis to get our party to the harbour at Split within the hour. "I have a surprise for Molly!" Molly's granddaughter Carson had barely finished washing her hair and she was bundled into a car. So the group mood was already faintly toxic.

The surprise! Kočani Orkestar greet Molly. Click each image for full size. Photos by MA


The harbour surprise was Gypsy brass band Kočani Orkestar with Sonja at the head, clapping. A very generous and charming gesture. Molly was utterly delighted, dancing to their music as they trailed us to the ferry before the 50 minute trip to Brač. "I'm a Gypsy, you know," she chided on the boat when her entourage proved churlish about the racket. "You're all killjoys!" And the mood turned darker when it dawned we were not about to meet Croatia's cultural elite here but to be treated to a walking cultural tour of the island: or "traipsing" as Molly called it. "I don't do traipsing," she declared to the Prof. We refused to traipse: instead I noticed a sign in the grass showing a dog with an erection and took a pic of Molly posing behind it. The Prof looked most put out. Someone explained that the erection was actually doggy poo and is not encouraged in public places.

We anchored ourselves in a waterside bar in front of a noisy church as the art lovers traipsed on. By now Molly had learnt that the Prof was not gay. "I have two sons," he revealed, unwisely. Molly said to me, "I've lost interest in him now. I much prefer gay men around me to talk about art, much more interesting. I can't have him wittering on in my ear."

The promised al fresco dinner in the marina failed to sweeten things. Though we were invited guests we were told we'd have to pay for anything that wasn't the local plonk, the anchovies or some fish paste (and what looked like Christmas cake). The very idea! The Professor snuck up to Molly and said, "I have a lady who wants to meet you. She is a motel. " "A motel?" asked Molly. "Yes, a motel - a moh-dell. She was a model in the 60s."

This prompted a rebuke. "Please, Professor, would you please stop giving me a history of everyone who wants to meet me." Not taking a hint he pushed on and described at length another fan who desired to supplicate at Molly's open toes. Molly exploded. "You can give that kind of bullshit to your art students but not to me. Please stop. If someone wants to meet me just bring them over."

We all exploded when the Prof informed us that the ferry was running late. We wouldn't be leaving before 22.45, which meant we wouldn't get back to the Ghetto in Split before midnight where the Parkin Lot was booked to perform. We refused to view the artist's paintings, we all wanted to leave. Now. "You can't!" said the Prof. When Carson noticed private water taxis available for hire he said, "They take two hours!"


Photo: Jadran Babič

In fact not. Jan and I secured a water taxi and at around 9.30pm Molly and entourage took off into the Adriatic night and were back in about 50 minutes. The moonlit journey was pure bliss, bumpier than the ferry, part African Queen. We all felt awful about Professor S: I shall never forget the bewilderment etched on his face as he probably rehearsed what he'd say to his fellow art lovers - and featured artist - by way of excuse.

If he's reading this - sorry! Lesson: Get the itinerary blessed first.

Oh, and that dog with an erection (click for full size). Photo by MA