A stray comment in a conversation between myself and 
Some years ago myself and the good lady stepped out on to the blistering hot tarmac of the Dalaman Airport in Turkey.
Being Scottish we marvelled at the dusty heat for a moment fighting the urge to moan that it was too hot. We travelled to our resort a short distance away then set about having a splendid time.
There was the odd niggle.
One of the most striking niggles was the horny waiters. It seemed like every time I left the good lady to visit the toilet I would come back and have to swat away swarms of them buzzing about her like flies around a cows arse.
Still that was only a minor downpoint, the main event was yet to come.
One day we went on a jaunt to the castle of Suleyman the Magnificent. I am a huge fan of castles and couldn't wait. We set off on foot.
The traffic in the local resort was quite heavy. It was a tad frightening trying to negotiate the local roads. Traffic lights did not seem to impede the fast moving stream of cars and the local buses which were called Dolmuses.
When I first saw a Dolmus I was reminded of the mystery machine from the Scooby Doo cartoons. They were about the same size only with windows and usually crammed with folk. Amusing little things I thought. Of course, that was then.
We came to a particularly busy road. There were lots of tourists waiting nervously to cross like gazelles staring at a crocodile infested river. Eventually there was a gap. We all headed across en masse. The good lady was holding my hand but was jostled by someone. Her hand slipped from mine.
There was a huge bang, then a meaty slapping noise.
Everything went quiet. I turned, and looked for the good lady who had been right behind me. She wasn't there. Instead there was a Dolmus practically touching me with a big dent in the bonnet.
I looked around, alarmed. Where was she?
About twenty feet away I saw her flip-flop. A few feet from that was the good lady sprawled on the ground, quite still.
A crowd began to gather and the noise came rushing back in.
I ran over panicking. I had to bodily throw several gawkers out of the way. There was blood pouring from her head. I couldn't believe what was happening. I checked her breathing. The crowd pressed in again. I stood and bellowed like an enraged bull for everyone to fuck off and for someone to call an ambulance.
I took off my shirt and attempted to gently staunch the bleeding.
Two ambulances pulled up. A crew of paramedics ran toward me. Then another crew. They got to where we were and I was hugely relieved. Thank god. Help had arrived.
The paramedics started arguing with each other, it looked like over who would get first dibs on her. I shouted, What the fuck? Fucking help her!
When stressed my urbane gentility takes a backward step.
One of the paramedic crews seemed to win and they quickly strapped her to a spinal board and threw her into the back of one of the ambulances.
A short rattling journey later and we were in hospital.
She regained consciousness as they were sowing a gash on her head closed. Not the best time. I comforted her before an armed policeman beckoned me from the door.
I went over. and greeted him. It's always nice to see someone in authority when you are in shock. Isn't it?
He glared at me.
Passports.
I was taken a little aback.
Pardon?
Need your passports. Now.
I explained they were in the hotel and I was a little busy right now. He stepped back, glowered at me and rested his hand menacingly on the gun at his hip.
Passports now or you come with me.
I looked for assistance. There was none to be had. They started wheeling my missus out of the room. One nurse stopped and said she was fine. Just bruised and badly cut on the head. I went to follow.
The policeman slapped a hand on my chest and put his face close to mine.
Passports. Now.
I need to be with my wife. I shouted. Another policeman appeared. The two of them had a quick discussion before both turning to me. The newer policeman spoke.
We need to see your passports or you will have to come with us to the station. Sorry but your wife can wait. She is ok they have said.
I gave in. The last thing I wanted was to spend a night in the cells apart from my wife at this time for the grievous offense of loving someone.
I told her I was being forced out and would be back as soon as I could.
I hurried back to the hotel (it was actually very close to the hospital) got the passports and ran back.
The room they had moved my wife to was empty. She was gone. Only a bloodied sheet on the bed where she had lain. I think I was close to having a heart attack at this point. What had happened? It was like a tragic scene from a movie. Fortunately then I heard her voice.
In here.
They had moved her into another room with a man who was lying snoring.
I gave her a gentle hug then told her I would be a second, I had to get the passports to the policemen. The policeman in question I found smoking a cigarette near the front door. Quickly I trotted over.
Here they are.
He looked perplexed. Then annoyed at the proffered passports in my hand. He dismissed me with a poo-poo'ing kind of gesture.
Don't you need to see the passports? You said I would end up in the pokey if you didn't?
He picked his nose then inspected the results of the picking on the end of his finger.
I don't need them. Go.
What? I skulked off back to the missus trying my best not to kick random objects in anger.
In her room was a large fellow with a jolly moustache. When I entered he looked furtive and put a pen and piece of paper to the side.
Who're you?
I was in no mood to be polite. The good lady motioned at me weakly.
He says I have to sign the paper but it's not in English.
What? Give me that.
I took the paper from the man and indeed, it was all in another language with a box at the bottom that was obviously meant for her signature.
I waved it at him,
What the fuck is this fucking nonsense?
It is a statement, to describe the incident.
Stated the jolly Santa type.
We are not signing anything that is not in fucking english. Ok.
You have to sign it.
I took a photo of the document with my phone. Jolly moustache man became a bit alarmed and tried to snatch the paper but he was too late.
By now I had had enough. I just wanted to spend some time with the good lady and was not in the mood for such fuckery. I handed him back the document.
Here, we're not signing. Fuck off... Please.
Later I spoke to a friendly person at the hotel who read the document for me. It was a statement absolving the bus company for any responsibility. Pfft.
Two days later the missus got out of hospital. We booked flights home immediately and it was only when we were in the air that I breathed out the madness of the last few days.
I kept thinking over and over...
I am never coming back here!
So, that, in a long winded way is why I will never visit Turkey again. Please note, I mean no offense to any Turkians. It's a lovely country, I just had a shit time.