Bloody hell. Is that the time?
Sod going for breakfast. This bed is where I’m staying. Yeah – no sleep in about 40 hours had taken its toll on most of us – the devoted had gone and grabbed the sun loungers before returning to bed, but I don’t think anyone was up before 11, and even then – we had a snooze on the sunbeds. Lunch was most inviting though. A selection of salady bits, chips and some strange looking chicken things, which Ben complained weren’t cooked as they were “a bit pink”…so that put everyone off that idea. Conversation revolved around the rules of shotgunning on holiday and how many Brighton were going to lose by that afternoon against Tranmere (they lost 2-1. Shame.)
Killer darts was again on the menu, along with nobbing around in the swimming pool. Cult Hero John was once again working his topless magic and calling out “funny” things to put people off and generally engaging in banter. If he wasn’t always topless, I’d call him a bit of a knob – but
that’d be ever so harsh on someone who carries off his look so stylishly, and effortlessly. Good on him.
Bishop’s cat-like reflexes in goal at water-polo caught everyone’s eye, Kev’s goal-to-shot ratio kept going up (I think he ended the holiday on a goal every 46 shots) whilst I couldn’t be arsed because I couldn’t touch the bottom. Still – my contribution was priceless, naturally…
The second evening was fun though – the evening at the hotel, nondescript. Bit of food, free drink and a bit of a chat. Bishop took the invitation of free drink too far and must’ve had a double measure each of vodka and tequila (and other spirits) in his coke. When we reached Down Under – Bish’s drink of death consigned him to providing entertainment for all. Attempting to walk in a straight line through the bar degenerated into a game of how many bar stools he could knock over. Then there was the matter of the shrieking of “GOAL” at the TV screen whenever something remotely interesting happened. I didn’t know late-night Greek TV was so exciting, nor did I think that Bishop spoke the language. Is there no end to the boy’s talents?
London 2012’s on the horizon, and Britain are a shoe-in for a gymnastics gold medal. That is at least if Bishop’s competing. Demonstrating superb coordination, coupled with excellent posture – all under the influence of alcohol, he cartwheeled down the road. Well, at least that’s what he said he did, looked more like a log roll to me. He celebrated the feat by falling in a ditch by the hotel, which he maintained wasn’t his fault. Hmmm….
Day three was much like the second. Round the pool though the small matter of Palace’s game with Ipswich took control of me for mid-afternoon. Wish I hadn’t bothered…then watching Ben and Bishop squirm when ManYoo just about squeaked past Spurz was good fun. Not to mention John’s memorable commentary at the darts board. To be frankly honest, this is how much of our days were spent, chilling by the pool – having a laugh in the pool and just doing whatever. Worked for me.
That evening….Down Under again. Cocktails flowing. Bishop wasn’t with us because of the previous night’s antics. Poor love, couldn’t handle his shandy. I hear there was a shandy back in his hotel room though, but let’s not go there. Nice image though…
Monday was
the day we’d all been waiting for. That’s right, we were so keen of what was ahead that some of us got up for breakfast. 18 hours later, we were finally in Laganas. One of the best clubbing spots in Europe we’d been told. Led by Tess and Jaime from our favourite bar in Kalamaki, we couldn’t go wrong…well – we didn’t get there until gone 3am for various reasons which meant that everything was just starting to wind-down. Not to worry, we made the most of it – cheap drinks, lots of dancing and chatting to random people, usually commenting on Kev’s height, and then the conversation tailing off – before being stopped by someone else “Blimey, isn’t he tall?”. 20 seconds later and it was the same again. Still, I prefer being short…you’re at a good height to look at boobs that way. At least that’s my take on things.
Needless to say that no-one rushed up on Tuesday morning. Lunch was breakfast, no-one could stomach the chicken because Ben complained it wasn’t cooked again, though perhaps our stomachs weren’t ready for that. Stick to the salad. By this day, Bishop’s shotgun of the holiday in Dutch girl (Alicia) was impressing us all with her English, everyone’s Dutch improved by two words, being able to say “Goodbye” and the number 88. Well, you never know when it might be useful. We thought we were going to have a quiet night in at Down Under that evening, but were persuaded by the promise of free shots at “Fire Bar” with other people from our hotel. We were out until about half 2 having sworn to each other to be back at the hotel, playing cards by about 1. Lovely…
However, I’m bloody glad we didn’t go back to the hotel. John, of no shirt and crap at darts fame was in Fire Bar, topless and drinking from an (air conditioned) fish bowl. John was seriously breaking down the barriers of cult hero status – almost a demi-god I’m telling you. Some crazy lady started poking me with a straw in Fire Bar, frizzy hair, about 40 and probably very drunk. Swiftly ignored, we ‘tagged’ the walls with the felt tip pens, danced around a bit (well, Bishop didn’t, sat in the corner dreaming of Dutch girl) and headed back.
Wednesday. Olympic Day again. Pyramids, table tennis, spaghetti eating and all that jazz was the order of the day. Kev had befriended a 9-year old and started pulling him around in the boat. The police were on the verge of being called, but George was really rather cool for someone of his age. Shame about the hair. Laganas called again in the evening. Waikiki, Bad Boyz, Kamikaze, some other place and Wackabout took our money – we collected the stickers, we drank a lot of alcohol, we danced with some pretty girls, we danced with some not so pretty girls, we got in late. What else is to say? Oh, well Jez and Kev stayed out later until about 7 in the morning and walked back to save themselves €7 in a taxi. Cheapskates.
Thursday. Home day. It took Kev nearly the whole day to pack because his stuff was strewn all over the room, the hotel and Kalamaki. The pool called again, I realised I lost my sunglasses. Shit. Claim on the insurance beckons there (note to self: must do that). Our flight was at 7.45am on the Friday morning, but we were getting picked up at 4.30am so we killed the evening at Down Under and getting a power nap. Magic.
A few goodbyes to various people. Little George, Lil’ Chris, Big Josh, Gareth Bale, Paul McShane, Dutch Girl, Mark, Hannah…and of course, topless John whose antics are enough to write a book about. I’ll just leave you with the memories of the ones in the blog, but that’s the tip of the iceberg.
Off to Zante airport, herded around like cattle for a bit because the Greeks can’t organise themselves…look at the Olympics in 2004 for such an example. Then came the awards for pisstakes of the holiday, within about 30 minutes of each other. Baggage allowances, Jesus f*cking Christ – we were ‘way’ over our limit on our return home, yet having bought barely anything – on the way out, we were totally fine. Charged €90 for the pleasure. And then Kev’s American Football actually got confiscated by Greek customs because it could pose a threat on the plane. Blimey. I reckon they just wanted to set up an American Football team myself, they couldn’t be serious…
Flight home, 3 hours of dozing to sleep and then waking up again. Not very comfortable. Landed, home by half 11. Magic….
What else is there to say? Honestly – an absolutely brilliant week with four top fellas who I hope enjoyed it as much as I did.
Dach.
(That’s goodbye in Dutch, I told you I’d use it….)
Sod going for breakfast. This bed is where I’m staying. Yeah – no sleep in about 40 hours had taken its toll on most of us – the devoted had gone and grabbed the sun loungers before returning to bed, but I don’t think anyone was up before 11, and even then – we had a snooze on the sunbeds. Lunch was most inviting though. A selection of salady bits, chips and some strange looking chicken things, which Ben complained weren’t cooked as they were “a bit pink”…so that put everyone off that idea. Conversation revolved around the rules of shotgunning on holiday and how many Brighton were going to lose by that afternoon against Tranmere (they lost 2-1. Shame.)
Killer darts was again on the menu, along with nobbing around in the swimming pool. Cult Hero John was once again working his topless magic and calling out “funny” things to put people off and generally engaging in banter. If he wasn’t always topless, I’d call him a bit of a knob – but
that’d be ever so harsh on someone who carries off his look so stylishly, and effortlessly. Good on him.Bishop’s cat-like reflexes in goal at water-polo caught everyone’s eye, Kev’s goal-to-shot ratio kept going up (I think he ended the holiday on a goal every 46 shots) whilst I couldn’t be arsed because I couldn’t touch the bottom. Still – my contribution was priceless, naturally…
The second evening was fun though – the evening at the hotel, nondescript. Bit of food, free drink and a bit of a chat. Bishop took the invitation of free drink too far and must’ve had a double measure each of vodka and tequila (and other spirits) in his coke. When we reached Down Under – Bish’s drink of death consigned him to providing entertainment for all. Attempting to walk in a straight line through the bar degenerated into a game of how many bar stools he could knock over. Then there was the matter of the shrieking of “GOAL” at the TV screen whenever something remotely interesting happened. I didn’t know late-night Greek TV was so exciting, nor did I think that Bishop spoke the language. Is there no end to the boy’s talents?
London 2012’s on the horizon, and Britain are a shoe-in for a gymnastics gold medal. That is at least if Bishop’s competing. Demonstrating superb coordination, coupled with excellent posture – all under the influence of alcohol, he cartwheeled down the road. Well, at least that’s what he said he did, looked more like a log roll to me. He celebrated the feat by falling in a ditch by the hotel, which he maintained wasn’t his fault. Hmmm….
Day three was much like the second. Round the pool though the small matter of Palace’s game with Ipswich took control of me for mid-afternoon. Wish I hadn’t bothered…then watching Ben and Bishop squirm when ManYoo just about squeaked past Spurz was good fun. Not to mention John’s memorable commentary at the darts board. To be frankly honest, this is how much of our days were spent, chilling by the pool – having a laugh in the pool and just doing whatever. Worked for me.
That evening….Down Under again. Cocktails flowing. Bishop wasn’t with us because of the previous night’s antics. Poor love, couldn’t handle his shandy. I hear there was a shandy back in his hotel room though, but let’s not go there. Nice image though…
Monday was
the day we’d all been waiting for. That’s right, we were so keen of what was ahead that some of us got up for breakfast. 18 hours later, we were finally in Laganas. One of the best clubbing spots in Europe we’d been told. Led by Tess and Jaime from our favourite bar in Kalamaki, we couldn’t go wrong…well – we didn’t get there until gone 3am for various reasons which meant that everything was just starting to wind-down. Not to worry, we made the most of it – cheap drinks, lots of dancing and chatting to random people, usually commenting on Kev’s height, and then the conversation tailing off – before being stopped by someone else “Blimey, isn’t he tall?”. 20 seconds later and it was the same again. Still, I prefer being short…you’re at a good height to look at boobs that way. At least that’s my take on things.Needless to say that no-one rushed up on Tuesday morning. Lunch was breakfast, no-one could stomach the chicken because Ben complained it wasn’t cooked again, though perhaps our stomachs weren’t ready for that. Stick to the salad. By this day, Bishop’s shotgun of the holiday in Dutch girl (Alicia) was impressing us all with her English, everyone’s Dutch improved by two words, being able to say “Goodbye” and the number 88. Well, you never know when it might be useful. We thought we were going to have a quiet night in at Down Under that evening, but were persuaded by the promise of free shots at “Fire Bar” with other people from our hotel. We were out until about half 2 having sworn to each other to be back at the hotel, playing cards by about 1. Lovely…
However, I’m bloody glad we didn’t go back to the hotel. John, of no shirt and crap at darts fame was in Fire Bar, topless and drinking from an (air conditioned) fish bowl. John was seriously breaking down the barriers of cult hero status – almost a demi-god I’m telling you. Some crazy lady started poking me with a straw in Fire Bar, frizzy hair, about 40 and probably very drunk. Swiftly ignored, we ‘tagged’ the walls with the felt tip pens, danced around a bit (well, Bishop didn’t, sat in the corner dreaming of Dutch girl) and headed back.
Wednesday. Olympic Day again. Pyramids, table tennis, spaghetti eating and all that jazz was the order of the day. Kev had befriended a 9-year old and started pulling him around in the boat. The police were on the verge of being called, but George was really rather cool for someone of his age. Shame about the hair. Laganas called again in the evening. Waikiki, Bad Boyz, Kamikaze, some other place and Wackabout took our money – we collected the stickers, we drank a lot of alcohol, we danced with some pretty girls, we danced with some not so pretty girls, we got in late. What else is to say? Oh, well Jez and Kev stayed out later until about 7 in the morning and walked back to save themselves €7 in a taxi. Cheapskates.
Thursday. Home day. It took Kev nearly the whole day to pack because his stuff was strewn all over the room, the hotel and Kalamaki. The pool called again, I realised I lost my sunglasses. Shit. Claim on the insurance beckons there (note to self: must do that). Our flight was at 7.45am on the Friday morning, but we were getting picked up at 4.30am so we killed the evening at Down Under and getting a power nap. Magic.
A few goodbyes to various people. Little George, Lil’ Chris, Big Josh, Gareth Bale, Paul McShane, Dutch Girl, Mark, Hannah…and of course, topless John whose antics are enough to write a book about. I’ll just leave you with the memories of the ones in the blog, but that’s the tip of the iceberg.
Off to Zante airport, herded around like cattle for a bit because the Greeks can’t organise themselves…look at the Olympics in 2004 for such an example. Then came the awards for pisstakes of the holiday, within about 30 minutes of each other. Baggage allowances, Jesus f*cking Christ – we were ‘way’ over our limit on our return home, yet having bought barely anything – on the way out, we were totally fine. Charged €90 for the pleasure. And then Kev’s American Football actually got confiscated by Greek customs because it could pose a threat on the plane. Blimey. I reckon they just wanted to set up an American Football team myself, they couldn’t be serious…
Flight home, 3 hours of dozing to sleep and then waking up again. Not very comfortable. Landed, home by half 11. Magic….
What else is there to say? Honestly – an absolutely brilliant week with four top fellas who I hope enjoyed it as much as I did.
Dach.
(That’s goodbye in Dutch, I told you I’d use it….)
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