Google+ Badge

20100415

Sunday August 17, 1975


Up at 9am, or at least I was. John and Chris remained asleep until well after 11, but me being the athletic type makes staying abed all morning an impossibility. Sit in the hot sun with a lemonade, and Sue and Jackie from Chiswick join me later.

See in yesterday's Daily Mail that the Birmingham Pub Bombers got life imprisonment. Also saw that London had its worst rain in 100 years. Over six inches fell in under 24 hours!! It makes going abroad seem well worth while when reading items like that.

Chris and I take out tradition dip in the Med after lunch, and at about 4pm it begins to rain & does so for about an hour. We stay in the sea for the major part of it and watch the thunder and lightning crack and flash over the Majorcan hills. Return to the hotel greatly refreshed and the place feels a good deal more healthy for the cool rainwaters.

Don't go to the Caracola Club in the evening, or at least Chris and I don't, and instead we stay in the Manchester Arms until after 1am with Diane and Denise, from Carlisle. They drink pints of lager and I'm on straight pernod. Diane goes home to sleep at about 1.30 and Chris goes off for a walk with Denise. I make my way back to the hotel and clamber into bed where I sleep soundly, undisturbed by the drunken arrival of John at 5am.

-=-

--==--

Saturday August 16, 1975

Once again to the Caracola in the evening. Dance with a beautiful German girl, but we fade out because of language difficulties. If only I'd taken in all that rubbish Mr Martin used to reel out to us at Benton Park. But alas, you don't think of things like that when you're cooped up in class.

Chris leaves early and Denise and Diane from Carlisle come after he's gone. I'm astounded to hear from Denise that ______went round to her hotel room this afternoon, had a few drinks and stormed out after an argument. Why didn't he tell us? ______.

I leave at 2 and come back and sit with a couple of birds from Salford and a drunken bloke from London. They are all stoned, and when a woman from the fifth floor yells down at us to be quiet, one of the girls screams: 'piss off!' at the top of her voluminous voice. I laughed at the crudeness of it all.

-==-

Friday August 15, 1975


The telephone in the hotel room wakes us at 8.50. The coach is waiting downstairs to take us to the Caves of Drach, Majorca's answer to Stump Cross Caverns. I've never seen anyone get out of bed more quickly. Dashing out of the room we locked ourselves out, leaving the tickets for the excursion on the bedside table. The coach driver was sympathetic and said he would collect them on our return.

After a ten minute journey we arrive at the caves in almost tropical heat. They are really outstanding and beautiful - the caves that is - but it's hard to appreciate them after having had only one hours sleep. We emerge one hour later after being serenaded on an underwater lake by a chap playing a piano in a rowing boat. Offenbach and Chopin I think it was - we laughed and giggled throughout. What a ridiculous sight.

Grotesquely hot day, and after spending the remainder of the morning in Porto Christo, a coastal resort near Calla Millor, we drove back to the hotel for lunch.

Out on the town in the evening.

-==-

Thursday August 14, 1975

A really hot day, and I fear we've been doing too much sunbathing. My chest and legs are white hot, and I'm on the verge of collapse. Why have I spent over £100 to burn myself and see my flesh fall off?

Meet two girls from Chiswick called Sue and Jackie. Down at the Caracola Club we are in the midst of a nasty incident when all the women we've had this week arrive on the scene at the same time. John ends up with 'Chiswick Sue', Chris has 'Carlisle Denise' and I have 'Carlisle Nameless'. I was so intoxicated I cannot remember her name. We had a great time and Chris and I go back to the Carlisle girls room in a local hotel. I end up falling asleep until 7.30, and then me and Chris stagger back to our hotel to the jeers of the Spanish cleaning ladies who are just starting work. Fall into bed with the prospect of one hours sleep ahead of us.

-==-

Wednesday August 13, 1975


Feeling rough and grotty I awoke fully clothed on top of the bed at 11am. John and Chris are lecturing me in a sarcastic manner on the subject of 'burning the candle at both ends', and making belittling remarks about me in general. I told them that John had been a good deal worse on Monday, and lied my head off when I said at least I hadn't been sick. They didn't know I'd deposited my vomit over the balcony.

At 12 we have an appointment with Doris and Ivy on the terrace, and after one Coca Cola Doris persuaded me to return to my bed. I do so readily, and sleep until 3pm, missing my lunch. Recover sufficiently in the afternoon to take a dip in the sea, and then the pool, and by dinner time I'm OK.

Back to the Caracola Club in the evening and meet a completely new bunch of women. They're from Carlisle this time. The ones we had on Monday incidentally were little Kent dwellers. John and Chris depart at 3, but I stay until 5am doing Spanish dancing with the locals and smoking my bloody head off.

-==-

Tuesday August 12, 1975

A terrible drunken occassion. At 7.30 we, that is John, Chris, me and 30 others from the hotel went to the Barbecue. When I say 'the barbecue' I mean the weekly piss-up in the open air for the tourists - the sort of thing that's the same at resorts all over Europe. John and Chris didn't get drunk at all, but I made friends with two sexy over-50s named Doris and Ivy, who bought me a bottle of local champagne, &c. Didn't feel too bad on the coach coming home, but after having had a pernod in the bar followed by a black coffee, I was quite ready for anything. Getting up to our room I happened to bump into the lads from next door, and they gave me a large glass of Tequilla. That finished me off, good and proper. After yelling abuse at a crowd of Germans I went on to vomit over the balcony and then fell through the french windows onto the floor. Insensible just isn't the word for it.

-==-

Monday August 11, 1975


The pattern now seems to have set. We lounge around all day without a care in the world. In the pool for half an hour, and flat out on a camp bed or lounger for the next half an hour, and then repeat.

John drank too much and was violently sick all over the bedroom after returning from the Caracola Club at 3am. Not a pretty sight.

-==-

Sunday August 10, 1975

11th after Trinity. A lovely day, but not as warm as we imagined it would be. Laze around all day in and around the swimming pool, and spend just a bit of time on the beach.

The Caracola Club once again in the evening where British women seem to cry out for good British men. The German population seems to have arrived in Majorca like a plague of locusts, and a nice Yorkshire accent warms the hearts of millions of our fellow country women.

-=-

Saturday August 9, 1975

Get into Victoria Coach Station at 5am and immediately make enquiries about how to get to Heathrow. An amiable little porter directs us to a British Airways terminal and we get a bus direct to the airport at 6 o'clock. We make our way to the departure place, and what a relief it is to find Chris waiting! Success! We'd made it! (Forgive the Queen Victoria style punctuation). You have no idea what it meant to know that no hitch had arisen.

Fly at 8.05am. Unforgetable experience. The plane was quite smaller than I imagined it would be. John was near the window, Chris in the middle and I was in the aisle. The sun was brilliant above the thundery London sky, and two hours later we were in the heat at Palma airport. John's case came on another flight, and we messed about for hours waiting for it.

The hotel was reached by about 3pm and we were impressed by it. After all, it is a two star one.

Have two great meals before going out on the town. Find a discotheque called the Caracola Club, and stay until 2am. I am asbolutely sure we shall all have the time of our lives here in Majorca.

-==-