Monday, 15 June 2009

Spanish balcony tale

It's July 1988 and I'm on my first holiday without my parents. I'm a 19 yr old Jack the lad, with only 2 things on my mind, girls and beer, not necessarily in that order. The destination says it all, Calella Spain, that bastion of tackiness. The place is full of English lads from Wolverhampton, Luton, Derby and other provincial English towns. At least 20 percent of them are wearing Union Jack shorts and 10 percent wear the full Union Jack regalia, including socks. The English girls bronze by day and show off their sun blessed breasts by night.

Being rather repressed in my teenage years, I am finally off the lead and my libido is running wild. Drinking commences at Manchester airport and a delayed flight and subsequent drinking session, almost sees the holiday ending at Manchester airport. I am warned three times about my raucous behaviour and told that I will not board the plane if it continues. Eventually we board the plane and my last memory is of walking down the aisle of the plane shaking every one's hand.

I wake up in my hotel bedroom with only a vague recollection of how I got there. I am on holiday with a work colleague that I hardly know. Due to a cancellation by one of his friends, I have stepped in at the 11Th hour and consequently I am now upside down in bed, steaming drunk and lucky to be in Spain at all. With intentions of lots of sexy action we have taken 2 single rooms so as not to intrude on each others nocturnal pastimes. I compose myself and go to bang on Adrian's door (the names have not been changed to protect the innocent). It turns out that I have slept for half the day after apparently making a complete fool out of myself on the guided tour from the airport to the hotel, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you care to look to to your left, you will see a semi naked, comatose teenager strewn all over the coach seats with his penis hanging out of his shorts".

We head off to a bar called the "Frog and Toad" for the usual holiday rep spiel. This is to become our very nonspiritual home for the next 2 weeks. Arriving late for our cheesy holiday rundown, I emerge into the crowd of tattooed, dart playing, Sun readers to a rather hostile reception. It is obvious that I have offended many people and it's still the first day. We are given the holiday rules and regulations with all the sterner points being cast in my direction. It would appear that I have become public enemy number one on all fronts. I don't really care because I have hit the Pernod and lemonades already (somehow my drink of choice for this holiday and something that I have never indulged in since). Within 30 minutes I am totally pissed and remain in this state for the next 2 weeks.

Adrian and I stay out all night and pull these 2 girls from the Wirral. We end up back at theirs and amazingly achieve our aims on the first night. I say amazingly because up till this point I have only ever slept with one other girl. I fall asleep in her bed and I am awoken
some hours later
by a drunken fracas in the street. I stagger to the window and stick my head out. What I see below can only be described as a running battle. English guys are running down the street throwing tables at the armed police who are rather vexed by their actions and proceed to beat them with big sticks. I am excited by my findings and decide to fill a condom with water and throw it at the Spanish riot squad. I am both jubilant and scared when the condom explodes on a policeman's helmet. My fear is intensified as I hear a dozen pair of jackbooted feet running down the hotel corridor. Fortunately the riot squad pinpoint the wrong room and consequently end up dragging some innocent victims from their beds, depositing them into the back of a riot van. Rather perturbed by my close shave I retire to bed.

The holiday continues in similar vein for the next 2 weeks although Adrian is sick for 12 out of the 14 days and spends the holiday in bed. The first 7 days he has the shits and when he finally emerges from his pit on day eight he ends up with severe sunburn to his feet. I spend the latter part of the holiday covering his feet in yogurt every night before I head off on my teenage endeavours.

It seems that I have befriended every single person in Callela and cannot walk down the street without being stopped a thousand times. The closest group of friends that I have met it is a trio of guys from Wolverhampton who have taken upon themselves to refer to me as Boysey, "Alreeet Boysey theer, yam doing ok"? On about day 8 of the holiday I am staggering back from a club at 5 am and chance upon one of the boysey boys. Until this point I hasten to add I have pulled every single night (no idea how, this was an unprecedented time in my life),however tonight I am returning home alone. The Boysey boy calls me over and during the conversation it transpires that one of the girls in the room underneath his, has been making enquiries about me. I need no encouragement and decide to follow Boysey boy back to his room.

Ten minutes later and much to the alarm of the Boysey, I am hanging over the balcony of his room and trying to drop into the girls room below. He is sober enough to know that this is a really bad idea and urges me not to do it. In retrospect I should have listened to him, although I would not be writing this tale now if I had. As it turns out I am lucky to be recounting this story at all. I am a man possessed, I've had a taste of the female form and I am addicted. Boysey's words fall on deaf ears and before you know it I have scaled the balcony fence and am descending faster than Linford Christie towards the Spanish street below. I forgot to point out that this is all happening on a 10 Th floor room which is approximately 100 ft in the air. If I was a cat, what happened next would have used up 8 of my 9 lives.

The balconies of this hotel are not cantilevered, there is nothing to catch my fall at all. I am heading towards the ground at rapid rate of knots and from a bystanders point of view I am going home in a body bag. Fortunately, I am so drunk that I am oblivious to my possible fatal ending and quite enjoying the feeling of the wind rushing through my hair. My feet actually hit the intended target of the girls balcony, but they hit the balustrade with such force that I am sent reeling backwards. It is only when I am flailing at a 45 degree angle that I sort of realise that this was not in the script. If I didn't believe in destiny before this night I soon changed my mind afterwards. In some bizarre act of divine intervention, my flailing out stretched hand manages to latch on to a cluster of telephone wires and my descent is arrested in a very abrupt manner.

It's around 5.30 in the morning, the sun is rising on another beautiful Costa Dorado morning and I'm hanging by one hand from a telephone wire, completely drunk out of my mind. I am in blissful ignorance of the situation and have a big grin upon my countenance, as I happily swing around in an Orangutan type fashion. In the corner of my eye I spot boysey who appears to have turned green. I shout "boysey" , but he is in too much shock to return my conversation. He eventually regains his composure and says "I can't believe you just did that Boyse". At least I think that's what he said because his voice is shaking like a shitting dog. Although he in shock his next question raises some alarm bells; "what the fook you going to do now boysey?".

My next feat of superhuman endurance would not have been possible without veins full of alcohol. I tell Boysey to brace himself and begin to swing on the telephone wire. Soon I have enough momentum and let loose of my life line. I fly through the air with the greatest of ease and my feet crash through the shutter blinds of my intended targets room. I land half in, half out of the girls bedroom. In hindsight I really wish I had made the effort to buy some Milk Tray to finish this act off in style.

There are 3 beds in the room occupied by 3 girls. Upon hearing their shutter blinds forcibly opened, they virtually leap from their beds to be confronted by yours truly, with grin still firmly etched upon countenance. I bid them good morning and introduce myself as room service. I let myself out and after letting boysey know that all is good I retire to my pit. I become known as superman for the rest of the holiday.

The shock of what occurred that night in Callela only hit me 6 months later and has cost me several sleepless nights since, as I have flashbacks to what could have been.


Dave said...

I never get tired of this story. I think we have to move into video though as your facial expressions and voice make these epic tales every more hilarious! a penultimate blog!

Anonymous said...

To see the animated version of this story, click below

Anonymous said...

oh no, no link, click on the word: anonymous

Anonymous said...

I love this story every time i hear it! Debs x

Anonymous said...


J Hitchmough said...

Classic Mitton! I want to hear the one again about the Guatemalan pirates or the job interview were you manage to climb out the window.