More On Magaluf

I had a couple of comments yesterday suggesting that I’d made Magaluf up. I seriously wish I had. But then all the burglars and muggers would have nowhere to go on holiday. For those of you who don’t know it – try to imagine all that is bad about Britain, then shovel it up in a giant pooper scooper and dump it on an unsuspecting Spanish island. Rows and rows of British cafes, British pubs and British louts having British fights – the only reason that the Spanish put up with it is because there’s none of them there. Seriously. I don’t think I saw one Spaniard the entire time I was there. They’d all gone on holiday to Luton.

Fortunately for us (the law-abiding, morally upstanding types of lout), high season hadn’t yet hit and the area was reasonably trouble free. On the day that we left, a party of 120 lads from Manchester turned up at our hotel. Our rep told us that several days later, a party of 100 Leeds boys would also be arriving. Glassing, anyone?