Showing posts with label cala milor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cala milor. Show all posts

20110315

Wednesday July 14, 1976


Bastile Day: Marlene and Frank call to see us at 7pm or so and I play in the garden with Mark & Debbie. They leave at 8 and for the remainder of the evening the three of us sit glued to the TV watching the 'Horse of the Year Show' or something. A sun-tanned Princess Margaret was in the royal box taking a few drags on a cigarette before presenting the King George V Cup and the Queen Elizabeth II Cup. At first I thought Lord Snowdon was with her but soon realised it was Lord Linley. Roddy Llewellyn was nowhere in sight.

A (post)card in Lynn's handwriting from Cala Milor, Majorca. They're having a great time.

Retire to bed at midnight after compiling a long letter to Lynne. Mum mentioned her again tonight. I think she's taken a great liking to her.

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20101117

Sunday May 16, 1976


4th after Easter. A long, typically tiresome Sunday. Watch television until 5pm with Mum, Lynn and David. Kept enthralled by 'The Best of Upstairs, Downstairs' and part 96 of 'World at War'. Fall into a nice bath at 5 and wallow listening to the radio until 7.

Worried about my photo albums. Should I dismantle them and send Carole a selection? She did pay for some of them after all. Can't make my mind up what to do.

Chat with Lynn and Dave about the holiday. They question me about Cala Millor.

To the Clapgate at 8.30 with Chris and Peter. Chris drives to Bramhope then we go the rest of the way in Pete's van. A good time. My first visit to the pub, somewhere near Sicklinghall or Kirby Overblow. They (C & P) were both out with John and Maria last night. Home at 11. Ugh, Monday tomorrow.

-==-

20100504

Saturday August 23, 1975



Homeward bound. Up with the larks at 7am, and sit about nervously for one and a half hours until the coach comes. John and Chris went down for breakfast, but I couldn't possibly face it. I sat in the empty lounge watching the rain and the waves crashing upon the beach, and the wind howling around the swimming pool and thinking to myself 'Oh God, will the plane make it?' We leave for Palma on the coach at 8.30 and we sit on the back seat along with Gary, Beaky, and Casanova, which is quite a laugh.

On our arrival in rain-soaked Palma we are met by Prince Juan Carlos who says he's sorry that General Franco couldn't come in person to see us off personally, but at 82 years-old he feels too frail to chase about airport forecourts, which is quite understandable really. After the military band send off we're flying at 27,000 feet over Europe at an air speed of 480MPH. We have whisky on the flight, and I feel quite sick over France, but the highlight of the whole thing was landing. Over the Channel John and Chris wanted to go to the bog, and so I pinched Chris's window seat and saw the south of England and London from 30,000 feet up. A tremendous sight. A few people looked queazy, but I managed to keep everything down.

Chris got a coach to King's Cross and John and I were left to find our own way out of Heathrow, which was an aggravating hours chase. After getting a bus to Victoria we find we have four hours to kill in London. Buckingham Palace, No 10, Downing Street, the Houses of Parliament, St James's Park, and God knows how many other places came under our exhausted gaze, and we were so glad to see the coach at 6pm. Four hours and 10 minutes later Mum and Dad met us in Leeds, and 20 minutes after that we were at Pine Tops. Lynn and Dave, Sue and Peter came on the scene minutes later, and we all tucked in to a decent bit of Mama's cooking. After dishing out the bottles (of duty frees) we proceeded to empty a few, and I rolled into bed at 1.30. To quote Casanova: "Well, it's certainly nice to be here." And I think that sums it all up.

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Friday August 22, 1975


Our last day here, and what sort of weather do you think we had? Well, I'll tell you. It rained, and rained, and absolutely pissed it down all day long, and the three of us sat around in the bar ridding ourselves of our last few pesetas on drink.
The German party got themselves into a drunken state, but I suppose they do it without thinking. The licensing laws in 'bier' swilling Hamburg will differ somewhat to those in Harrogate.

After dinner we sit with Sue and Jackie (the sheilas from London) but John and Chris tire easily of their company, leaving me with two drunken women on my hands. Before I know what is happening they have me on my feet and are dragging me off to the Caracola Club, where they proceed to pay my admission. I didn't really want to stay long because of the travelling tomorrow and so I sneaked out at about 1.30, knowing I'd never see any of them again. Sad, really.

Oh, by the way: the big, blue lounger with Queen Anne legs was deposited by me into the lift and despatched to the ground floor in the early hours of Aug 23rd. It finished off my evening nicely.

-==-

20100430

Thursday August 21, 1975


Another real scorcher. I shouldn't even bother mentioning the weather because a good climate is the only thing possible in Majorca.

As usual I'm up well before the others and after drinking my traditional cold drink I go rouse them and demand immediate liveliness from both the defendants. At 12 we set off on a walk round the bay which takes us to a desolate spot miles away from all life and civilisation. The scenery is fantastic, and the cacti grows in profusion. The heat was unbearable though and when I staggered back two and a half hours later I could hardly force my lunch down. Flaking out on a bed in a darkened room is hardly the proper was to spend an afternoon on holiday, but hey, if you can't do it on holiday, when can you?

After the traditional evening in the Manchester Arms, Chris and John went down to the Don Jaime Discotheque, whilst I, accompanied by Diane and Denise of course, trotted off to the Charlie Felipe Cafe. After consuming endless pints of lager I dragged the girls to the Don Jaime where we passed a miserable couple of hours. Not a particularly thrilling place. John and Chris left before I did, and when I did eventually roll in I brought with me a 6ft long sun lounger (blue, with Queen Anne legs) and I deposited it slap bang in the middle of the balcony.

-==-

20100429

Wednesday August 20, 1975


Up at 8.30 - long before the other two and I find that it's a really hot morning. After sitting with a drink for a few minutes I decide to go for a walk along the beach, which takes about one hour. Th sun burns my shoulders, and the pain is unbearable when I had to put a shirt on when I came back for lunch.

See in the papers that the phone calls to Princess Anne are just anonymous, and not obscene. The full extent of the popularity of the British Royal Family is brought home when one sees headlines about Princess Anne on a German daily newspaper.

On my favourite subject, I don't think I've mentioned the fact that the Queen will celebrate her Silver Jubilee in 1977, in the style celebrated by George V in 1935. She (the Queen) has made it quite clear, however, that no due expense will be lavished upon the pageant which will take place in the summer and not on February 6, which is the actual accession day.

Went to a few different bars in the evening and didn't see Diane or Denise. Came back to the hotel at 10.30 to bid our farewells to Ivy, Cyril, Ken and Doris, who leave Palma at midnight. Chris, John and I then move on to the Caracola Club for the last time - we're doing something completely different tomorrow.

-=-

20100416

Monday August 18, 1975

I seem to be waking up even earlier this week. 8.30am today! Lay in bed contemplating the ceiling until 10.30 when I rouse the two sleeping beauties from their slumbers.

We get a cool drink in the bar before nipping off to the beach, which is far too hot.

Back at the hotel we sit around in the sunshine until lunchtime with yesterday's Sunday Express. Not a very nice newspaper by any means, and I do wish they wouldn't give so much publicity to Reginald Maudling. The little creep is just as much involved in the Poulson Affair as Pottinger was, and I do think his criminal tendencies tend to colour all and everything he says.

The worst thing about this holiday is the food. I realise that we British are a fastidious bunch, but all the same I do think the menu could be improved. Oh, for the joys of Mum's cooking!

After lunch we go downstairs for a drink, and whilst I'm paying the barman John and Chris do one of their disappearing tricks. After searching the hotel from top to bottom I take a beer upstairs where I sit on the balcony to spectate at yet another storm. These Continental storms are only short-lived affairs.

Out on the town as usual after dinner. I meet Diane and Denise in the Manchester Arms, and John and Chris go off on a piss-up. We eat chips galore, and I bring them back to the hotel where, to our amusement, John and Chris crawl past us in an attempt to escape from the two women.

-==-

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.

-=-

20100414

Tuesday August 5, 1975

Eek! It's only four days until the holiday! My first ever aeroplane journey! Two whole weeks away from all those worries!! Oh, the sun! The sea! The women! Aaarrgghh!! All these exclamation marks are too much to bear!!

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Sunday April 1, 1984

 4th Sunday in Lent Mothering Sunday New Moon Sunny, bright, &c. Smothering Sunday. All Fool's Day. Busy. Rob came and so too did th...