Thursday 14th August 2003
Another earlish rise and another Special down my neck I was ready with Air Force 1 to hit the waves. Everybody bar the Rose spent the day in the sea. During the day it doesn’t get any better than bobbing up and down on the waves with my fellow shipmates to the melodies of Balearic beats, emanating from either Bar M or Ithaca.
Couple that with the gravy in abundance what more can you ask for? My eyes are permanently damaged….I’m going to request to the Spanish government that thongs should be banned!
Supermodels on tap, I was going to need a neck brace by the end of the holiday……whiplash ahoy! :x Little did we know that Rose Jnr had arranged to meet some friends he knew were over at the same time. We were to hook up later at the local.
Ivan was on tap once again but this time Milligan stayed away, a truce had been met and we decided to celebrate in style…anyone for mini golf? I was flying on this day and giving Golfbug aka Doogalbug a good run for his money. Doogal has been taking golf lessons and was obviously giving us a good hiding after BeerMatt’s Ivan powered fluke. Like I said, I was Tiger Woods that day at the start, even the dreaded hole 9 was nailed in 2. 10 followed and then that’s when the hex hole kicked in. If anybody has played this course they will be aware of this spawn of Satan
…basically it’s a ramp where you have to chip the ball into a basket which has a tube leading to the hole. Around the green is a net to stop the ball from flying off the course. This in principle sounds as the Ones said, “absolutely flawless.” Not when Hex Fox is in town. Over the past few days I’d shipped the basket, hit the lip of it and now as if some divine inspiration had struck the ball flew bang in the centre hit the bar at the base of the basket and the ball flew out again….aaaarggghhhh I felt like D-Fens from falling down….I threatened the basket with my putter and managed to loop the cup and fly out of a gap in the fence. A shot carry. Bunch of arse.
From then on I couldn’t hit a barn door at 3 paces…..what happened I do not know. Golf…shit game anyway cue bottom lip wobbling.
Finished sulking and ate a cracking steak and pepper sauce across the road and hit the V&O at sweatbox towers. Crane greeted me with some bad news and informed me that after Beelzebub had vacated the toilet a group of squatters had moved in…..ants. Which was nice. Crane swears he was lying on his bed and saw my shoes walking across the floor in front of him. Pesky ants. No sooner had we trampled them all, their relatives moved in….in the end we just shared each other’s company. It struck me that between 3 of us we had sunk 4 bottles of Smirnoff since we’d arrived and were just about to crack open number 5. My liver will be defo a sun dried used Tetley teabag by the end of this trip…..make no mistake.
Bar M was wired for sound and the usual tunes graced the air….Solitaire - I like love, Lee Cabrera, Bob Sinclair- The beat goes on. David Morales – Needin u, Tropical Soundclash and an impromptu Angie Stone – I wish I didn’t miss you, which I regard as an absolute classic. We had Cream – Tiesto scheduled for this evening but I wasn’t convinced, yes I desperately wanted to experience Amnesia but I’m a House man so I was a tad worried that I’d hate the night. Got talking to what I thought was a very attractive ticket seller to ask her advice. When asked if there was any funky house alternatives anywhere she said she would find out and took me to the Bar next door. She tried in vain to find us something, even pinching a magazine to see what was on. I was confused as she was supposed to be trying to give me the spiel about going to Cream. I asked her if she was going to lose out on some commission and she replied that she wasn’t even a ticket seller, she was just helping a mate out to shift some tickets. Bless, a refreshing change if ever there was one. I was gob smacked by her generosity and honesty…top bird
. She said she hoped to see me at Space on Sunday and gave me a peck on the cheek. A really top-drawer girl that one. All in all it left 2 options, Underground or Savannah again.
Went to the latter and boy was I glad we did. The DJ was asking for requests that night so I asked him for Shakedown and 2Risque but he’d left them at home……reverted to one of my all time faves – Soul Heaven…he dropped it and the tightly packed crowd went mental…result…even the barmaid, who has to be seen is the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid eyes on and I’ve seen a few, seemed to love it. The DJ said he’d play some similar stuff from around the same time. Sweet Thang, Jon Cutler – it’s Yours, Backfired (that made my night), Praised Cats, Calinda, and Deepswing - in the music, to name but a few. At one point some crazed guy covered in tattoos, wearing a ruck sack with no top on ran onto the dance floor and started making shapes right in front of the DJ booth…bizarre. Met said fellow in the gents, said his name was Sperm, Sprog or Spam, something like that anyway. He had an eye redder than red, blond spiky hair and a Welsh accent. He told me he had walked from Ibiza town with 2 Euros in his pocket and that some guys had tried to mug him at the bus stop. Allegedly he sparked 2 of them and had another in a chokehold, recreating the moves right there in front of me. Believe you me if I’d had what he’d taken I’d be still on the moon. I for one believe him. He said he was a photographer and asked me what I did for a living and when he found out he was made up. We were bessies…..frightening, very frightening. I hadn’t realised that 2 of the Squadron had sidled off with some ladies and, according to reports one went fooling around with Jellyfish and the other went rock hopping. Look out for headlines in the Daily Sleaze soon. Back in the Funky Lounge I overheard some drunken numpties who were on their last night saying that they hated some lads and one of them was me????
They clearly were about to jump me. For what, I don’t know. Looked for backup – 2 had disappeared, one was on blue rascal power and loved up onm the dancefloor, another was doing an impression of Bob Marley at the bar with head in hands and the other was plainly not up for it. Made a sharp harp and left the building quicker than Elvis on a burger run. Shame really as it was cooking in there. What is the need for people to scuffle on holiday? I can look after myself, that is a certainty but that’s the last thing on my mind when I’m on the party isle.
There were quite a few of them and only 2 of us who were compus mentus so it would have been futile to have stayed on. Got solace in a tasty freshly made sandwich at the West End and drifted off home. To those knobs in Savannah, The next day I would wake up sober, happy to the extreme, you on the other hand will wake up, as you do everyday, look in the mirror and discover you’re still a knob head. Peace out brothers.8)
