España

Hola!

Here I am, sweating into my seat, in an internet cafe sans air-conditioning, realising that - as fucked as my existence is - things could be a whole lot worse.

Being here in spain has made me realise something. As a general species - and a particularly sub-human species at that - young Brits holidaying in Spain are a large coven of cunts! We drink far too much, we make little effort to mix with the locals, we know the price of everything but appreciate the value of nothing - especially when those values involve the unceasing race to get pissed as quickly as possible.

When I go abroad I know I drink like a fucking goldfish swimming in a liquid slurry of pure alcohol but... I like to try and mix with the locals. I eat in the local restaurants, drink in the local bars (and pay less than the stupid shrieking motherfuckers on the sea-front) and attempt to converse (pitifully, I might add) in the local tongue. But at least I make the effort!

The other evening, Fweng Ebola and I went for a stroll along the seafront. However, we were not out just for the sea air and the balmy night. No: we were looking to pull. The reek of desperation was emanating from our pores like a particularly powerful pheromone. In fact, if John Merrick (aka The Elephant Man) had been in possession of breasts and a vagina I think I think I´d have been tempted to say, "Grab yer coat, EM, ya´ve pulled!". But as we walked soberly along the seafront we were presented with a vision of hell almost Dante-esque in its increasing levels of horror. Each bar we passed looked ever more hideous: drug-dealers offering a lung-busting concoction of crushed glass and polo mint masquerading as cocaine; shrieking, staggering Brits fuck-shuffling their way to the nearest discoteca; bar after overpriced bar of places offering ten-year-old chart hits for a six pound (nine euro) glass of gin and tonic. And then came London Underground, Tramps and Heaven´s Gate. The lowest levels of Dante´s Hell can´t even compare with these places when they are spilling their lobster coloured customers out onto the street. Swarms of cackling, bellowing, swaggering, staggering, fucktarded guirris fuck-shuffle around the streets in an aimless search for fried flesh and carbs... or a fight - as Fweng Ebola very nearly found to his cost!

I looked around at FE, whose face was a mask of grim determination mixed with horror, and said, "Fuck this place. It´s shite. Let´s go!". For a second I could see him hesitate, possibly wondering if this place was really that bad. Then he saw something that made him change his thinking: before us was a fat British girl on her knees, fat arse in the air - showing her whale-tail off to the world - as she dry-heaved onto the vomit spattered floor in front of her friends.

Fweng looked at the scene in front of us and then at me and said, "Yeah. Fuck it, let´s go!"

Which is why we´re going back tonight. Viagra-ed, pissed and insensible.

We should fit in perfectly!