Thursday, July 12, 2007

Going to Ibiza

The Colonel, larging it inna de area.




Word up, dawgs. I trust you all be gettin' plenty stank on you hang-lows, what?


Anyway, as Alan Sugars might say, to bidness:


You've probably noticed the glorious summer weather we've all been having. The sunshine splitting the stones, sales of Funny Feet lollies through the roof, the Sun photographer who takes picture of "stunnas" in bikinis on Brighton Beach on call twenty four seven. All good stuff, the very thing that summer was made for, I trust you will agree.


Just one tiny flaw in all of this: British people.


A dreadful shower of rat soup-eating oiks, aren't they? Whether it's shaven-headed thugs clad head to toe in Lonsdale and Bench, corpulent single mothers with vast expanses of hanging stomach flesh unwisely exposed before a cringing world or their dreadful offspring getting under one's feet, all snotty noses, half-eaten pasties and foul-mouthed attitude.



Not the sort of company a refined boulevardier such as I enjoys mingling with. The answer? Head off to the continent for some sophisticated good living.


With this in mind I shall be shortly be leaving for three days in the salubrious San Antonio district of Ibiza. In Spain. Pretty darned swanky, eh?


Yes, it's a jet-setters life for me. Relaxing with a cool drink and watching the sun go down, chilling out to the strains of some vaunted DJ johnny playing downtempo heavy hits, trying unsuccessfully to persuade some Dutch eurobabes to "get their rat out", stuffing my fat maw in Kentucky Fried Chickens, all that. Such modish european cultural exchanges are what this mid-20s trustafarian was built for.



I know some of you who read this aren't exactly as well-travelled and worldly wise as I am, so here is a quick rundown on the dos and don'ts of foreign travel.



  • Do as the Romans do. I don't mean build roads and aqueducts, that would be the way of the fool. I mean try to harmonise with the social and cultural mores of the place you are visiting. Visit the local shops and buy some of their rustic peasant artefacts. Obscene playing cards, flick knives, high-powered water pistols and t-shirts with amusing slogans are always present, so make sure you try at least most of them.

  • Music sounds better with you. Wherever you go in your holiday resort there will be all kinds of sweet, sweet music being pumped out. However, most of it will be emetic foreign boyband monkeyshine, dull, grinding trance bollocks and tacky holiday novelty megamixes. Not the thing at all. With this in mind, you will be carrying at all times a masseeve boombox/ghetto blaster of the type carried in 1980s breakdance movies. Whether it's round the pool at 10am, on the beach in the mid-afternoon, or in your hotel room at four in the morning, never be without your trademark soundtrack of foul-mouthed gangsta rap, early 90s cheesy house, ironic soft-rock anthems and The Greatest Hits of Living In A Box. Select-ah!

  • Try the local food. The British abroad have come a long way since the bad old days of the 1970s and refusing to eat "foreign muck". These days Brer Englishman will try all manner of exotic cuisine. You can now get pizzas, kebabs, curries and Big Macs in Spain, so be adventurous.

  • Vive la difference! Take advantage of the more relaxed pace of life overseas. You can drink around the clock thanks to the enlightened licensing laws and simply drive home when you've had enough. This is because there is no law against drink-driving away from fuddy-duddy old Great Britain. Also, all drugs are legal so get on one and have it large!

  • The early worm catches the birds. Never mind this "chilling out in the apartment, going out about midnight" tommyrot that seems to have become en vogue in recent years. What are you, some sort of cockney metrosexual, eh? Ask yourself, what would a Geordie do? It's a little known fact that if you go out on the town at half-past seven, the only people you will see are Geordies, dressed in their finest Bigg Market tapping uniform of horrible shirt, stonewashed jeans, black shoes and chunky gold jewellery. Oh, there will also be a smattering of bleary, unshaven Glaswegians who haven't changed out of their football shirts and bermuda shorts since their plane arrived a week ago and who will remain drunk throughout their entire stay. Who has more fun than Geordies and Weedgies, eh? Nobody, that's who. Get yourself out early before they drink all the beer and shag all the women.

  • Get jiggy with it! Go on, you're on holiday! A bit of no-strings adult fun will always be on the cards wherever drunken northern slatterns gather to eat chips and drink suggestively-named cocktails. No need for intrusive birth control measures either, as you will never ever have to see them again. Bareback mountin'!

  • Have fun with it! International travel is a great way to meet new people and broaden one's horizons. What better way to achieve this than with a bit of playful banter with John Q. Foreigner? Whether you are breezily reminding some squared-headed krauts about their dubious head-to-head record in World Wars and World Cup finals against England, airily reminding Dutch fellows that they are all druggies, perverts and wearers of unorthodox wooden footwear or making snide remarks vis a vis cuckoo clocks and Nazi gold in the direction of Swiss fellows, feel free to explore the broad spectrum of customs and traditions in today's Europe.

  • Live on the edge. You're away from home for the first time, it's a rite of passage, a trial by fire, if you will. Take some risks, you only live once, right? Express your individuality and renegade status by getting a tattoo. Who cares about the risk of hepatitis B? You're going to have a great big Celtic band round your arm, angel wings on your back and "Sham 69" across your knuckles. These aren't just examples of tasteful body art, these are fanny magnets! Get stuck in there. Once you're all inked up, show off your tatts by hiring an incredibly noisy moped and fleeing around on it, wearing only shorts and flip-flops. Did Carl "Foggy" Fogarty die in vain? Of course not, rev it up and show those donkey-eating dagos how to give it some welly!

There we have it then. Wherever you go, whatever you do, remember that you are representing your country.



Make us proud.



Adios, hombres!

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