It was off to meet the others down on the strip. Most of the night passed me by in a drunken blur. That is no surprise in Magaluf. All the bars offer two for one, shots and cocktail pints on entry. The first place we tried was “Jumping Jacks”. It was fairly quiet inside. Not unusual as it was only 10:30pm. Magaluf sleeps until Midnight.
Team Photo L-R: Mick, Rawdo, Guiri, Craig, Paul J, Shane, Paul H.
So we moved from bar to bar. The obligatory photo’s with other girls on hen nights taken. Plus a few snaps of the go-go girls on top of the dancing poles. We had the dance floor to ourselves in most places. Just as well as none of us were too steady on our feet.
In some "Irish" Bar.
The Two Paul's hit the dance floor.
Bring on the dancing girls!
We arrived at the final bar, Chaplin’s, and the days drinking were taking its toll. Rawdo the stag was sat comatose on a bench outside. Craig was with him for a little break. I was at least upright, although a spent force on the dance floor. My eyes truly glazed over. Non responsive to sight or sound.
The final retreat was imminent. Only the lads who had stayed in for the afternoon were showing signs of life. Rawdo and Mick had long gone. Craig was MIA. I vaguely remember being stood with Paul J and Shane before survival mode kicked in. Home time.
Out on the street and a little sense of feeling returned. It was 3am and I turned left and headed up the strip. The place was new to me so I had no sense of direction. The instincts took over as I reached a T junction. Left or right? Must be right, up the hill. But nothing looked familiar. I paused, drunkenly looking around to find any recognizable sight. From behind a sensed a presence and a split-second later someone had taken my hand. A young, black lady was stood next to me smiling. Had she recognised me from the hotel? Was she going to lead me back safely?
“You want sucky sucky?”
I staggered away up the hill as fast as my legs could stumble. Surely it wasn’t this steep before. Halfway up and I convinced myself I was going the wrong way. I turned back. I saw the lady of the night standing on the corner. She had been watching my slow progress up the hill. She was smiling at me. She thought I had changed my mind!
I made my second escape as gracefully as an oil tanker turning around and once again started up the wrong hill. Suddenly I heard the hurried footsteps of stilettos behind me.
“No means No!” I cried as I turned to see not one, but three ladies chasing me up the street. They were almost on top of me when they darted for a side street on the right. About 50 metres behind them was a local policeman giving chase. If he had turned up a little later it could have been very difficult explaining my innocence to Monica. Then I saw the breakfast place on the corner of the side street. I was on the right hill. I was soon tucked up safe and sound, dreading the inevitable hangover in the morning.
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