If you’re anything like me, you don’t like heights, planes, people, hot weather, paying lots of money for drinks and nightclubs. Oh and I’m claustrophobic, very introverted and if you put me in a public place I’ll assume the fetal position and cry until I’m killed by the Koreans. So it was to my utter joyous pleasure that I got a weeks vacation in the lovely, drunk fuelled giant nightclub that is Benidorm. So, I thought I’d document this vacation and share it with all the lovely person that will read this.
The first thing I noticed when I got there was that everything was in a different language. Some foreign dialect, maybe it was Russian? Who knows, I did try and say Gracias once, and it came out as “Cheers”, the bartender looked at me as if I’d just sacrificed a newborn child right in front of him, so I never said anything again while on holiday, unless it was in good old English. It was scary not hearing any Northerners running round screaming “FUCKIN HELL GREGGS IS SHUT”, and only hearing very fast paced noises that I can only assume were comments of mockery, at the expense of my appearance.
So one of the things you don’t do in Benidorm is go sightseeing, mainly because after about five minutes of walking you get really bored, notice that the sewers in Spain smell like a rats arse and then you want to drink. But I did do a little bit of sightseeing. I stared at a rock and then walked to the other side of Benidorm. Because when on holiday, the most relaxing thing to do is walk five miles and then get the bus back. I also saw one of the main attractions to Benidorm, the automatic sex shop. Nobody was using it, mainly because a homeless man was using it as his home and people probably thought it was a bit of a faux pas to use it while he was sleeping or crying about the debt he was in.
More surprisingly than that, I thought I’d accidentally walked to Scotland for a very brief moment in which I came across a Scottish Pub, which was across the road from an Australian Outback restaurant, right next to an English cabaret club, which was below an American War bar (which was genuinely quite a nice place).
So with my time in Benidorm, I think maybe on the second day I was there, me and my family decided to go golfing. I lost. Because I can’t do golf unless it’s on GameCube, but still, I spotted Heisenberg, realised that I was living out my retirement of being a golf player, and then my brother started calling me Tiger Woods, who I’m 80% sure is President of the United States.
Funnily enough I went back the day before we went home and he was wearing the exact same clothes. But to be fair there aren’t any decent clothes stores in Benidorm so fuck it, let him dress up as Walter White if he wants to. Oddly enough there was an odd-looking Mario Kart thingy there too. It wasn’t a game, it was sort of just a kart that you could sit in and do fuck all with. Not sure why it was there to be honest. Genuinely if anyone has any idea what that is then please let me know.
There’s a small bit of my shoe in that photo, maybe you’ll track me down. Wouldn’t blame you, I’m a dickhead.
There’s three C’s of things I’m good at. Complaining, being a Cunt and Claw Machines. No word of a lie, I’m extremely good at them. I think I won eight or nine different things on the claw machines, not including the ones that were giving out blind bag stuff. I’m giving all the plushy things I won to a friend of mines niece, because to be honest I’m a bit old to own a monkey plushy. I got the entire Simpsons family in plushy form and probably spent about 70 euros on claw machines, oh well I suppose.
I won a Clash of Heroes blind bag, which gave me some sort of Griffon looking thing. It genuinely is quite cool to be fair, and it’s in one of the drawers scattered around my room. I also got a Smurfs blind bag thing, which I can’t use because I’m allergic to Play-doh!.
I wish I was joking when I said that.
So while swimming, I cut my arm open. Very badly, blood everywhere, it was like a special effects man had gone literally fucking mental on the set. But instead of bandaging it or putting a plaster on, I very stupidly got back in the pool. The chlorine in the pool got into the wound, and now it looks like a rabid dog molested my arm. I should be fine though, the doctor said it’d only cause emotional, physical and mental damage.
I’m no good with heat. It was basically 30 degrees non stop while I was there. Needless to say a milk bottle like me will not flourish in this lovely weather, so I genuinely stayed inside for a lot of my holiday watching Back to the Future and Guest House Paradiso on my DVD player. And when I was outside I was either in the shade reading Charlie Brooker books or was lathered up with enough suncream to make it look like I’d rubbed myself in mayonnaise.
But that was that. I did have an enjoyable time. I guess.
Here, I dunno how to end this article, so have some It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia Placards I made that weren’t included in the article: