Andy tries to hide behind his sunglasses but you've been caught!
Paul J giving it the full Zzz.
Indestructable Bush was a regular offender.
Showing posts with label Magaluf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Magaluf. Show all posts
Lightweights
A boozy holiday in Magaluf tends to sort out the men from the boys. Every group as its lightweights. The ones that can't take the pace. The ones that fall asleep in the noisest of environments. Our group was no exception. The roll of shame includes:
Andy tries to hide behind his sunglasses but you've been caught!
Paul J giving it the full Zzz.
Indestructable Bush was a regular offender.
Andy tries to hide behind his sunglasses but you've been caught!
Paul J giving it the full Zzz.
Indestructable Bush was a regular offender.
Bonkers!
Feeling a lot fresher than the previous evening, we headed off to the Tex-Mex place at the bottom of the hill. Tonight’s plan was to take it easy early doors. A relaxing long dinner. We arrived around 9:30ish. It was nearly 2 hour later that we paid the bill and left. The meal deal on offer was superb. Highly recommended.
Rawdo, Mick and Lenny had decided against the Mexican and were already down the strip. Communication lines were down. We headed to the first bar of the previous night to see if they were there. No sign of them. Finally Shane received a call from Rawdo but couldn’t hear a thing. A text message received said that they were in a bar near Chaplin’s. That narrows it down to about 50 then!
Where's the stag?
We headed down the strip looking at the outside of the bars to no avail. We had lost the stag. More phone calls. All straight to answer phone. I tried Lenny’s number with the same result. Ten minutes later I received a text from Lenny. They had all gone back to the hotel. An early start home in the morning was the reason.
The not getting drunk plan had its downside. Everyone else out was already blind drunk. It’s quite an intimidating atmosphere. We headed for relatively more chilled out places. Or so we thought. We ended up sitting outside at Mambo’s. A large group of young lads were congregated near the pool table. All completely wasted and eventually they started to fall out with each other. Security came over a few times to calm them down but all that did was unite them and they directed there bile at the doormen. Bad idea!
Bonkers!
At this point it looked like the owner had turned up, swinging a bunch of keys around. Chatting in his mobile phone. It was obvious he was calling re-enforcements. The lads got more boisterous. One started an argument with the owner, who looked like he could handle himself. He had clearly had enough and pointed to the beach. He calmly walked over to where he had pointed, waiting for the young lad to come over and sort it out. The young lad had a “moment of clarity” and scarpered.
Cocktails and shots required in Magaluf.
We headed for an indie bar close by. At last some decent music. After a couple in here it was off to Chaplin’s to boogie the night away. At 4am the lights were switched on. Chucking out time. But there was still plenty left in the tank. We went in search for another bar. A lady beckoned me down a back street.
“Very good bar down here”. I was about to head down when Paul H stopped me. Apparently I was heading for the local brothel.
“But she said bar!” was my weak explanation. I don’t think the lads believed me. Anyway we found a dive of a bar before heading back to the hotel.
All that's left of the Stag Party.
Rawdo, Mick and Lenny had decided against the Mexican and were already down the strip. Communication lines were down. We headed to the first bar of the previous night to see if they were there. No sign of them. Finally Shane received a call from Rawdo but couldn’t hear a thing. A text message received said that they were in a bar near Chaplin’s. That narrows it down to about 50 then!
Where's the stag?
We headed down the strip looking at the outside of the bars to no avail. We had lost the stag. More phone calls. All straight to answer phone. I tried Lenny’s number with the same result. Ten minutes later I received a text from Lenny. They had all gone back to the hotel. An early start home in the morning was the reason.
The not getting drunk plan had its downside. Everyone else out was already blind drunk. It’s quite an intimidating atmosphere. We headed for relatively more chilled out places. Or so we thought. We ended up sitting outside at Mambo’s. A large group of young lads were congregated near the pool table. All completely wasted and eventually they started to fall out with each other. Security came over a few times to calm them down but all that did was unite them and they directed there bile at the doormen. Bad idea!
Bonkers!
At this point it looked like the owner had turned up, swinging a bunch of keys around. Chatting in his mobile phone. It was obvious he was calling re-enforcements. The lads got more boisterous. One started an argument with the owner, who looked like he could handle himself. He had clearly had enough and pointed to the beach. He calmly walked over to where he had pointed, waiting for the young lad to come over and sort it out. The young lad had a “moment of clarity” and scarpered.
Cocktails and shots required in Magaluf.
We headed for an indie bar close by. At last some decent music. After a couple in here it was off to Chaplin’s to boogie the night away. At 4am the lights were switched on. Chucking out time. But there was still plenty left in the tank. We went in search for another bar. A lady beckoned me down a back street.
“Very good bar down here”. I was about to head down when Paul H stopped me. Apparently I was heading for the local brothel.
“But she said bar!” was my weak explanation. I don’t think the lads believed me. Anyway we found a dive of a bar before heading back to the hotel.
All that's left of the Stag Party.
The Aftermath
I awoke with a banging headache. The remains of a bottle of water by the side of the bed. It had turned pink. A partially dissolved paracetmol floating on the top. Looks like I tried to take a couple last night. Banging inside my head again. I looked at my watch and squinted to see the time, 10:30am. I had managed to take my lenses out also. What I hadn’t managed to do was undress. Or get under the covers. More banging. The front door.
“Come on yer lazy git. Brekkie Time!”. The unmistakable dulcet tones of Shane, managing to wake up the entire hotel.
It compulsory on Lad’s holidays to start the day off with a full English. It’s a bit like the first pint after a heavy session. It sits in front of you, untouched for a few minutes. Your mind is rejecting it. Your body squirms and informs the brain that it too is going to reject it forcibly. The smell of the bacon brings on nausea. But experience tells you that you’re going to feel a whole lot better after a few mouthfuls. Down the hatch!
Breakfast over and the plan for today was lazing around the pool.
“No beer until the Arsenal game”. What a fantastic plan. Hopefully it will be the early evening kick off.
The pool at Sotavento.
Around the pool were the usual girls soaking up the sun. A gang of lads camped out near the bar. Boom Boom music blasting out. How many times did they play “Tonights gonna be a good night”? Ipod on full blast was the only solution. The relaxation around the pool was broken at 3ish. Andy was impatient to find a bar showing the Arsenal game. It was a 3pm kick off in England. It would have to be one of those bars that show Scandinavian sports channels or whatever else shows games not covered by Sky. We found that the massive “Mambo’s” bar was such a place.
Lazing around the pool.
Watching the game there was a surreal experience. The Friday afternoon chilled out vibe was replaced by a DJ who was whipping up the atmosphere. Promising free shots for all. Taking the piss out of any passersby. He had tagged each group by location or by look. Near the bull were the St Helen’s lot. At the back the Leicester boys. In one corner, two slightly aging rockers were christened “Spinal Tap”. We were duly named the “Arsenal Fans”.
Mambo's.
As the game got underway, so did the party games. The rodeo bull got going. All the Stags and Hens present got called up and taken for a spin. The stags more up for it than the hens. We had a Gimp and a cross dresser, wearing a way too small pair of ladies pink briefs, ride the bull. There was the tampax drinking game. One bloke had to down a pint of some vile red looking concoction whilst having two tampons placed inside his mouth.
“It’s a marathon not a sprint. Breathe through your nose!” advised the DJ as the guy’s face expanded like an inflatable beach ball.
The game passed most of us by, except Andy the Arsenal fan. I can’t remember the score except it seemed an easy win for the Gunners. Our attention had been focused on all the party games. Game over and we headed off to the Boatyard Bar for the Liverpool game. Typical Brits abroad.
“Come on yer lazy git. Brekkie Time!”. The unmistakable dulcet tones of Shane, managing to wake up the entire hotel.
It compulsory on Lad’s holidays to start the day off with a full English. It’s a bit like the first pint after a heavy session. It sits in front of you, untouched for a few minutes. Your mind is rejecting it. Your body squirms and informs the brain that it too is going to reject it forcibly. The smell of the bacon brings on nausea. But experience tells you that you’re going to feel a whole lot better after a few mouthfuls. Down the hatch!
Breakfast over and the plan for today was lazing around the pool.
“No beer until the Arsenal game”. What a fantastic plan. Hopefully it will be the early evening kick off.
The pool at Sotavento.
Around the pool were the usual girls soaking up the sun. A gang of lads camped out near the bar. Boom Boom music blasting out. How many times did they play “Tonights gonna be a good night”? Ipod on full blast was the only solution. The relaxation around the pool was broken at 3ish. Andy was impatient to find a bar showing the Arsenal game. It was a 3pm kick off in England. It would have to be one of those bars that show Scandinavian sports channels or whatever else shows games not covered by Sky. We found that the massive “Mambo’s” bar was such a place.
Lazing around the pool.
Watching the game there was a surreal experience. The Friday afternoon chilled out vibe was replaced by a DJ who was whipping up the atmosphere. Promising free shots for all. Taking the piss out of any passersby. He had tagged each group by location or by look. Near the bull were the St Helen’s lot. At the back the Leicester boys. In one corner, two slightly aging rockers were christened “Spinal Tap”. We were duly named the “Arsenal Fans”.
Mambo's.
As the game got underway, so did the party games. The rodeo bull got going. All the Stags and Hens present got called up and taken for a spin. The stags more up for it than the hens. We had a Gimp and a cross dresser, wearing a way too small pair of ladies pink briefs, ride the bull. There was the tampax drinking game. One bloke had to down a pint of some vile red looking concoction whilst having two tampons placed inside his mouth.
“It’s a marathon not a sprint. Breathe through your nose!” advised the DJ as the guy’s face expanded like an inflatable beach ball.
The game passed most of us by, except Andy the Arsenal fan. I can’t remember the score except it seemed an easy win for the Gunners. Our attention had been focused on all the party games. Game over and we headed off to the Boatyard Bar for the Liverpool game. Typical Brits abroad.
Evacuate the Dance Floor!
After a revitalising shower I was feeling a little more prepared for the evening. It was time to meet up with the others from the afternoon session. How would they be feeling? All present and correct in the hotel bar except one. Lenny. A faller at the first hurdle.
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.
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.
Beach Crawl
After a nice spot of lunch it was time to take a stroll along the front. Going to the beach is a little like it is in Nerja. A very steep decent! A huge flight of steps has to be negotiated to get to the beach. But what a beach! Nice and Sandy as opposed to the grit you get at Burriana.
We soon spotted a nice bar with a terrace for our afternoon drink. The Boatyard bar would prove to be popular with us throughout the trip. It is a great place to relax in the sun and watch the world go by. This is the life!
View from The Boatyard.
The peace was soon interrupted by a group of Geordies on the beach. It seemed like the usual lads mucking about after a few beers had got out of hand. One lad with a prosthetic arm didn’t see the funny side when one of his mates launched it like a Frisbee. They soon squared up and punches were exchanged. I think this the first time in my life that I have seen a one-armed man beat the shit out of someone else. Blood streaming down the offenders face, spoiling his brilliant white T-shirt. God knows what it will be like later on the strip.
Mick soon suggested the plan for the rest of the afternoon.
“Let’s cane it all day!”.
There were only a few dissenters and we split into two groups. Regrettable, I chose the wrong one. I ended up in the caning group!
The plan was simple. Chill out, drink responsibly and don’t stop. Otherwise you will not make it out tonight. Good plan except my definition of “drinking responsibly” seemed to differ with the others. Safe to say we were all drunk before the evening meal.
Craig slapped by Monarch finds the Credit Crunch Bar.
After a stroll down the promenade we decided to head off the beach and hit the strip. The change between places is starker at night but we still got a little taster. The chill-out vibe on the beach was replaced with a more traditional “let’s get wasted” atmosphere. A free shot was offered with every drink.
After visiting a few bars on the strip we went to the huge place between the beach and the strip, Mambos. The PR people were already patrolling outside, offering all manner of shots to get you to go in. A rodeo bull was the main attraction but nobody seemed interested. The music was the repetitive boom boom stuff but a little chilled out for the afternoon sun. The big attraction for us was the free pool table and the comfy sofas on the shaded terrace area.
The Cane Gang. Guiri, Craig, Rawdo, Mick and Lenny.
The bar crawl returned to where we started for a few games of killer. The Stag, Rawdo coming up with a few innovative shots. Two games and two Euros down and I wasn’t happy. Seemed to me like a few shady deals had been struck. Rawdo and Craig exchanged a few nods and winks. I’m sure they even have a secret handshake.
Rawdo negotiates a few obstacles.
We managed to stagger half way up the hill before deciding to have dinner before getting ready to go out. Maybe a bit of food might revive us for tonight’s efforts. How much longer would we last? We met up with the others a little later. All of them seemed refreshed and ready for a good night out. I was beginning to think the all day drinking plan was not a good idea.
Neatly sums up the afternoon.
We soon spotted a nice bar with a terrace for our afternoon drink. The Boatyard bar would prove to be popular with us throughout the trip. It is a great place to relax in the sun and watch the world go by. This is the life!
View from The Boatyard.
The peace was soon interrupted by a group of Geordies on the beach. It seemed like the usual lads mucking about after a few beers had got out of hand. One lad with a prosthetic arm didn’t see the funny side when one of his mates launched it like a Frisbee. They soon squared up and punches were exchanged. I think this the first time in my life that I have seen a one-armed man beat the shit out of someone else. Blood streaming down the offenders face, spoiling his brilliant white T-shirt. God knows what it will be like later on the strip.
Mick soon suggested the plan for the rest of the afternoon.
“Let’s cane it all day!”.
There were only a few dissenters and we split into two groups. Regrettable, I chose the wrong one. I ended up in the caning group!
The plan was simple. Chill out, drink responsibly and don’t stop. Otherwise you will not make it out tonight. Good plan except my definition of “drinking responsibly” seemed to differ with the others. Safe to say we were all drunk before the evening meal.
Craig slapped by Monarch finds the Credit Crunch Bar.
After a stroll down the promenade we decided to head off the beach and hit the strip. The change between places is starker at night but we still got a little taster. The chill-out vibe on the beach was replaced with a more traditional “let’s get wasted” atmosphere. A free shot was offered with every drink.
After visiting a few bars on the strip we went to the huge place between the beach and the strip, Mambos. The PR people were already patrolling outside, offering all manner of shots to get you to go in. A rodeo bull was the main attraction but nobody seemed interested. The music was the repetitive boom boom stuff but a little chilled out for the afternoon sun. The big attraction for us was the free pool table and the comfy sofas on the shaded terrace area.
The Cane Gang. Guiri, Craig, Rawdo, Mick and Lenny.
The bar crawl returned to where we started for a few games of killer. The Stag, Rawdo coming up with a few innovative shots. Two games and two Euros down and I wasn’t happy. Seemed to me like a few shady deals had been struck. Rawdo and Craig exchanged a few nods and winks. I’m sure they even have a secret handshake.
Rawdo negotiates a few obstacles.
We managed to stagger half way up the hill before deciding to have dinner before getting ready to go out. Maybe a bit of food might revive us for tonight’s efforts. How much longer would we last? We met up with the others a little later. All of them seemed refreshed and ready for a good night out. I was beginning to think the all day drinking plan was not a good idea.
Neatly sums up the afternoon.
Rawdo’s Stag Do – The Arrival
The lads were off to Magaluf for the weekend for Rawdo’s stag do. An early start at Manchester Airport. The flight was at 06:50. We were on our first pint at 5:30. A rude shock to the system. How much more would come in the next three days?
The first surprise was for Craig. Apparently, nobody had told him that you have to pay for your checked-in luggage with Monarch. His suitcase was too big to go in the cabin. A suitcase for two nights? School boy error for which he got slapped for £36. Ouch!
The flight to Mallorca was uneventful. I was in the vantage seats at the front while the rest of the lads were in the cheap seats. This allowed me to stay clear of the beer and catch up on my sleep. The blow of wasting £36 on baggage was softened slightly by Craig’s bag coming off first. A once in a lifetime experience for Craig “Lucky” Taylor. Then it was a quick coach transfer to Magaluf to our hotel. Sotavento.
I was pleasantly surprised at the standard of the hotel. It looked geared up for hen nights and stag do’s. The pool bar was playing the disco boom boom music. A group of lads were sat nearby having a laugh. The girls were positioned around the pool taking in the sun. The first impressions were very good.
Things improved inside. I managed to practice a little of my Spanish as we checked in. It soon became apparent that Shane’s plan of three rooms of three wouldn’t work as I was told it was two rooms of four and one room for two. The rooms were decided by our departure dates. Four lads leaving on Sunday, Four lads on Tuesday, and I was leaving on Monday. Room to myself then. Get in!
Who's on top?
It turned out that all three rooms were of similar size. Rawdo, Mick, Lenny and Craig had an identical room to me on the pool side of the hotel. One bedroom with two single beds, and a living room with two sofa’s that doubled up as beds. Shane, Paul H, Andy and Paul J’s room was a little different. I little cosy. All four would share the one bedroom. Bunk beds were provided. I’m glad I wasn’t in that room!
Lovely Views from the Terrace. Opps Wrong Photo!
Lovely Views from the Terrace.
The views from the posh side were fantastic. Sea and pool views. Magaluf is situated on a beautiful cove bay. If you took away all the discos, bars and drunken Brits it would be a lovely resort. After a little un-packing it was time to get some lunch and check out the beach.
Lunch Time.
The first surprise was for Craig. Apparently, nobody had told him that you have to pay for your checked-in luggage with Monarch. His suitcase was too big to go in the cabin. A suitcase for two nights? School boy error for which he got slapped for £36. Ouch!
The flight to Mallorca was uneventful. I was in the vantage seats at the front while the rest of the lads were in the cheap seats. This allowed me to stay clear of the beer and catch up on my sleep. The blow of wasting £36 on baggage was softened slightly by Craig’s bag coming off first. A once in a lifetime experience for Craig “Lucky” Taylor. Then it was a quick coach transfer to Magaluf to our hotel. Sotavento.
I was pleasantly surprised at the standard of the hotel. It looked geared up for hen nights and stag do’s. The pool bar was playing the disco boom boom music. A group of lads were sat nearby having a laugh. The girls were positioned around the pool taking in the sun. The first impressions were very good.
Things improved inside. I managed to practice a little of my Spanish as we checked in. It soon became apparent that Shane’s plan of three rooms of three wouldn’t work as I was told it was two rooms of four and one room for two. The rooms were decided by our departure dates. Four lads leaving on Sunday, Four lads on Tuesday, and I was leaving on Monday. Room to myself then. Get in!
Who's on top?
It turned out that all three rooms were of similar size. Rawdo, Mick, Lenny and Craig had an identical room to me on the pool side of the hotel. One bedroom with two single beds, and a living room with two sofa’s that doubled up as beds. Shane, Paul H, Andy and Paul J’s room was a little different. I little cosy. All four would share the one bedroom. Bunk beds were provided. I’m glad I wasn’t in that room!
Lovely Views from the Terrace. Opps Wrong Photo!
Lovely Views from the Terrace.
The views from the posh side were fantastic. Sea and pool views. Magaluf is situated on a beautiful cove bay. If you took away all the discos, bars and drunken Brits it would be a lovely resort. After a little un-packing it was time to get some lunch and check out the beach.
Lunch Time.