Day One : Brand New Pair of Rollerskates
Day one. Arrived in "the dorm". A bus took us from the plane to the airport even though it was only 10 yards away. Spoke to some Diego's and tried to decide whether to get a bus or a taxi. In the end we decided to get a taxter. We dropped the gear off in the room and went for "a donner" down the beach. Found a British daytime karaoke bar selling pints for one Euro and playing all the top holiday hits like Boney M, the birdie song etc. What more can you ask for? Got dragged on a "sectarian binge" by the Dick to loads of Rangers bars then got enticed into a "magic show" by a sceming scouser then had to watch "Pete Loaf" sing and sweat profusely for a few hours. Went to a few more shady pubs and met a Russian drug dealer. We all went and bought skates and charged along the beach front singing the rollerskate song from that TV advert.
Day Two : Shut it Diego (I'm a better Geordie than you)
Woke up pure dying to find a bunch of Diego's drilling the fucking pavement outside the hotel. There was no need for that. Went out to watch the game and had a swatch of all the belting pubs. There was every type of pub imaginable, Rangers bars, Irish bars, Welsh bars, Geordie bars, Scouse bars, saloons and shady disco's.Went to a Geordie bar and were bitterly disappointed with the lack of patter. X factor was on the TV at the time though so they were all too busy being proud of Cheryl Cole. We were later to find out that it was " not a real Geordie bar" but was in fact run by "some fucking poof from Blackburn or somewhere who moved away from Newcastle years ago by a short,back and sided woman drinking pints of John Smith and moaning about football players on the TV wearing gloves. Basically she was trying to make the point that she was a better Geordie than them. It would have been hard to disagree.
Day Three : Schindlers Lift
Haloween was today, they had bowls of monkey nuts in all the pubs and we discussed at length whether this was because it was Haloween or if this was just what they did in Benidorm. We went in a pub shaped like a boat and watched a lesbian who was obviously styling herself on Cristiano Ronaldo sing a selection of crap songs and make cringeworthy comments to groups of incontinent pensioners. Saw a cheeky, racist comedian whose routine involved solely bamming up the audience. He was everything a good comedian should be, picking on people in wheelchairs etc. The type of comedy which wouldn't be allowed in this country because it's considered "offensive". Went to the Jew bar for Halloween dressed as Hitler. Saw a Girls Aloud tribute band, it was weird because none of them looked like anyone from Girls Aloud and none of them could sing. Saw an Indian takeaway called "Punjabi Kebabi". When we got back to the hotel there was a mob of angry Jews in skull caps baying for blood in the form of a pound of flesh. From the balcony Dick gave them "the sign" to come ahead. At this point Turpie ran out and switched the power off on the lift, trapping the Jews inside, proving the Schleiffen plan a success.
Day Four : Maybe It's Because I'm a Londoner
Went for a walk round the shops on the morning and noticed a large selection of David Aitkenesque T shirts for sale. A jaw dropping sight if ever there was one. Went to the Scouse bar we had been in the day before but it was closed as a mark of respect to John Lennon who was apparently shot on a Monday and also Brookside because the last ever episode was broadcast on a Monday aswell. We were told by a shifty looking geezer in a yellow Fila tracksuit that every Monday is known as "Black Monday" in Liverpool. It's the day they close all the shops and bars and stay in their (council) houses taking ecto's and coke to lift their mood. There is even an unwritten rule that you don't rob anyones car or house on a Monday as it's considered "out of order". Saw a bunch of old English guys walking in a straight line along the street singing "maybe it's because I'm a Londoner", wankers by any standards.
Day Five : I Dont Wear T Shirts, T Shirts Are Rotten
Match day. Got the bus to Valencia with a bunch of nutters singing Rangers songs in the style of Elvis Presley. Went for a trek to get ticketo's and some crap Spanish "food". Saw a drunken, topless Rangers fan in a pair of white trackies covered in blood sleeping in the street outside a stylish, cosmopolitan cafe. When he awoke and someone asked where his T Shirt was he awoke and replied that he didn't wear t shirts because they are rotten. Fair enough. Saw the team bus coming past us on the way in to the ground. Got a thums up from Ally McCoist, Laffery gave us a wee wink, Bougherra looked slightly puzzled, Davie Weir didn't notice us as he was engrossed in a game of travel chess with Walter. Watched Rangers get beat 3-0. Panicked when we couldn't find the bus after, found the bus and went back to the Dorm.
Day Six : It's Nice To Be Nice, It's Good To Be Good
There is a black guy who works in the toilets of one of the clubs here who uses the catchphrase "it's nice to be nice, it's good to be good". He is one of those people whose job is to force you to wear cheap aftershave, "tip" him for the privelage and generally annoy everyone by calling them his "brother from the second mother". Top class patter but what he really means is please give me all the money in your pocket. I raked around in the pocket of my jeans for change but only had a 50 Euro note, he grabbed it and tried to take it off me saying he'd give me change. Aye right mate, I've heard that one before. God loves a trier though I'll give him that. Anyway, at this point I noticed a stream of what I assumed to be piss out the corner of my eye and stepped away. As we grappled for the 50 Euro's he slipped in it and smashed his head on the tiles, knocking him out. I took my money back and helped myself to a selection of aftershaves, lollipops and all the money in his bucket, stuffed them up my jumper and headed downtown where I dished them out to revellers.
Day Seven : If I Knew You Were Coming I'd Have Baked A Cake
Went for a walk around the shops and bought a neon "bar" sign for 12 Euro's. Absolute bargain. Tried to introduce Turpie to cider but he declared it was "not his thing". Got far too drunk in a Wild Western bar. Dick tried to grow a moustache but it was a poor attempt it has to be said. Tried to organise a "Cheese and Wine" party in the hotel lobby. Made up some "posters" with crayons and coloured pencils. A few people showed up, mainly posh English folk in sailing jackets and golfing gear. They turned their noses up at the Buckfast and Mini Cheddars on offer so the guy from the hotel baked them a "posh cunt cake". Dick beat the English guy at poker and won his yacht off him then we went out sailing to some shithole in Africa and swapped them a bottle of Bucky for 3 ounces and a voodoo face mask.
Day Eight : Terrorist Lynx
Had to get out early to get to the airport and forgot to lift some things from the room. Had to go in a shop in the airport to get some deodorant but when we went through security the guy stopped me and pulled it out the bag and started shouting in Spanish to a guy at the far end of the airport. They both stood there looking at in in awe as if they had never seen anything like it before. The first guy then figured out how to spray it and started laughing hysterically then threw it across the airport terminal before switching back to deadly serious mode and told us in no uncertain terms to "get on the fucking plane you terrorist bastards". We got on the plane and went home.
