Nabbed meself two weeks off while the boss gets the bullet proof fitted. It’s me first holiyers since the divorce, so I have to make sure and go somewhere nice. These days there’s so much choice its hard to know where to stay. Malaga, Benidorm, Sangria. Sure you’d want a geography leaving cert just to keep up.
Booked me trip! Heading off on one a them last minute deals. Flight leaves in three hours so I’d better run, zoom! Majorcan minibreak, here I come.
Magaluf is only lovely. Savage little harbour and all the girls are English. You know what they say about proddy wans! They say they like to ride a lot.
Airport was a nightmare, wouldn’t you know it. First there was the whole, ‘stick your bag in here sir’. Course it doesn’t fit, and that’s forty quid down the grotto. Then they want to open the hand luggage in front of everyone. Big laugh. Bet a woman wouldn’t get told off for having a Linford Christie in her bag. I should take it to the court in Europe.
Heading to the ‘superclub’ tonight for a bit of a boogie. Chances are I’ll get chatting to the DJ and he’ll let me spin some cuts. Girlies always love a musical man.
Have a black eye and a swolley nose. Got tossed out of the club for dancing. I suppose they’d kick you out of the jacks if you did a number two. To make tomatoes worse, I think I put me back out doing the crab.
Lovely afternoon so far. Took the bus down to Palma and hit the streets, working me best material on the beautiful ladies. It’s all kosher here from thirteen up. Now that’s what I call civilised. Best of all, everyone seems to speake Englasias. Well, they know ‘f off’, ‘get f’d’, and ‘creepy b’tard’ anyway.
Met a savage wee bird from Germany, have a date tonight. She’s over on a school trip, so she’ll have to sneak out to meet me. Feel like Jason Bourne on a secret mission!
Her name is Aaline, and she has the loveliest teeth, mad white and all the same size. Told a little fib to get the date. Let on to her I was doing a bit of DJin’ instead of just on holiday. Sure it’s half true anyway, I know me stuff when it comes to the decks.
Writing in a hurry. Can’t stay in one place too long. Wouldn’t you know it, I stumbled into a Catherine Zeta film. Went to meet up with Aaline, but instead of a date I got an earful of ‘where do you work?’, and ‘what’s your real name?’, off a pair of super-size plods.
Jeasus isn’t it well I fibbed to her in the first place? Managed to blag me way out a there somehow. Turns out it feckin’ illegal to tell a wee angel a lie over here, so I had to convince the feckers I really was working for Boy George and me name was Alfonzo Kittenpants. Arse, arse, arse, and quadruple arse. Now I have to keep the head down until me flight leaves. That’s not till Saturday!
Made it home. I swear I’m never leaving Dublin ever again. Had to spend the last two nights sleeping in the ditch near the airport, in case the fuzz found me hotel. Last night, just as I was packing up to head for the airport, some English louts spotted me and took turns trying to splash me with their wee.
On the plus side, I got a lovely laminated map of Majorca and a giant Toblerone at the airport. Don’t even have to share it. Wouldn’t mind though…