These chaps had seen fit to bring two likely-looking girls from Ranong with them. Probably not Ladyboys, but certainly paid for by the looks of things. I'd given each of the lads a nickname for my own amusement. There was Rutger Hauer, Sting With A Mohican, Jimmy Five Bellies, Droopy, White Bob Marley and Johnny Rotten. The latter seemed to be the biggest nob of the lot, half shaved head with one stumpy dreadlock. Big mouth. All their tats seemed to be fantasy figures, dragons and space monsters and the like, too. They'll look great when you hit 60, lads. Mum must be proud.
So, while most people on the island are lying in the sun, then watching the sun go down and having a few relaxing drinks in the bar as the shadows grow longer, this lot are getting hammered. In the same spot. Who said that Variety Was The Spice Of Life?
The gang looked a little more than grubby. Same kilts, tee shirts and football socks on each day. I bet their clothes actually crawl to the washing machine themselves when things get too much for them. One of the hookers put ice down Rutger Hauer's back, and he cursed away in German. "What did he say? she asked. He said, said Rotten "Fresh air and cold water will be ze death of him."