I’d bumped into the lads from Chang again, a couple of days after moving from Hornbill. Andy had gone to one resort, and his mate (the guy who’d be more suited to a shag-anything-that-moves holiday in Spain) another. I was sunning myself one afternoon (for a change) when Mr Magaluf roared up the beach on his scooter.
“Eyup, mate” I greeted him.
“Awight, mate. What’s happening?”
“Nowt much, just taking it easy. You coming to the party tonight?” I gestured over my shoulder at the sign.
“Might do. Who’s going?”
“Should be plenty there. A few cute girls too, I hear.” I said.
“Well…like I say, some nice girls…” I looked around, hoping we were out of earshot of most people.
“What, like proper pussy? English pussy?” The charm of the man; James Bond, eat your heart out.
“I think you’d better come see for yourself, fella.”
“Nice one, better bring me johnnies out, eh?”
Likely unnecessary, one would say. As I say, I think Magaluf’s more him.