With The Essex Crew on The South Bank…

Great day out Saturday on the glitzy South Bank. Seeing the fantastic Middle for the second time at the Dorfman Theatre by the equally fabulous David Eldridge. And then an afternoon (and night out) with the Essex lot. Better friends you could not ask for.

Jerusalem @ Apollo Theatre...

Last night Stuart and I went to see the revival of Jerusalem at the Apollo Theatre in London's glitzy West End. It was a long play with three acts, two intervals but gripping and very, very funny throughout. A sort of 'Shameless in the Woods'.

We'd last seen in in 2010 at the same theatre.

In Jerusalem, Mark Rylance portrays Johnny Byron, a local man who finds himself in high demand in all corners of the community and not for any good reasons. The story takes place on St George’s Day in which a fair has arrived in town for all to enjoy – but with everyone wanting a piece of him, it is only his child that wants him to go on the rides. The local police are after Johnny to put him behind bars for what they perceive to be the activities of a modern day Pied Piper. Elsewhere, the local council wish to have him evicted from his home; Troy Whitworth is lookind for his lost daughter and wants to provide Byron with a good beating. Even his friends are in on the action, wanting to get hold of him so that they can provide him with the normal cocktail of booze and drugs.

The staging involved live chickens, a live tortoise and a goldfish and several real trees surrounding an onstage caravan. And a lot of blood.

Rylance is superb. Highly recommended.

Farewell Torremolinos…

It’s been a real tonic having a week away. 

On way back home now - refreshed and a bit sun-kissed. Thanks guys. 

Beach Day, Bar Night…

Yesterday we were chilling on the beach. Well, when I say chilling…. It was a toasty 29C.

We spent pretty much the whole day there. Scorcio. When it all got too hot Stu & I went for a swim. No one else was in the water so we thought it must be really cold. But it wasn’t it was lovely.

A few metres off shore a woman started waving at us from the beach. “Ignore her” we thought. Then we heard what she was saying. “JELLYFISH!!”
The penny dropped. That’s why no one was swimming. We motored back to beach!

Back at the hotel after showering and putting on our glad rags we met up with boys for sundowners on the roof. By 10pm we had headed up the steps into town for some supper before hitting the bars. Aqua and Men’s Bar.

A couple of honeymooners from our hotel - James and Craig - joined us too.

Oh and we were all given free shots at Aqua. All good fun.

Malaga…

Yesterday we all took a little day trip to Malaga. Just a 25 mins train ride up the coast, it’s a bigger town than Torremolinos, has an historic centre, a palace, a cathedral, lots of old streets and a nice centrally located park.

We were there to see the Pablo Picasso museum though. All squashed faces and discombobulated bodies. I think they have missed a trick by not calling it Eyes To The Right - but maybe that’s just me.

The weather was hot, the town pretty cool, but the exhibition merely luke warm. Some nice stuff, a couple of famous works, but few of the really big hitters. PP works are many, spread far and wide, and much sort after. So it was unlikely any one museum could house it all. We enjoyed it though. Especially the smiling owl.

After the art came the tipple. And the tapas. We ate near the centre and enjoyed some people watching to boot.

The heat rather got the better of us by 5pm so we headed back to Torre for a brief siesta then out to meet Matty for 9pm dinner at El Gato on the seafront.

I bumped into Philip and Nigel en route which was as much a surprise as it was a delight.

The food in El Gato was good. But the table management less so. We were each rewarded with a free glass of wine and a free starter for our wait which more than compensated for any delay. The bookcase of tapas went down particular well.

A lovely day out which giggles, tipples and nibbles. Just what holidays are all about.

Mijas…

Yesterday Darren, Vince, Stuart and I took a break from partying and headed to the hills.

Mijas is a delightful mountain town lightly floating way up in the hills with a view back down towards the heavily built-up coast.

Painted white the town is chiefly a tourist destination. Music was drifting from the main plaza as we arrived, a smattering of partially filled restaurants were serving tapas to order, charming narrow streets gentle lead the curious up to equally charming little squares. Gaily coloured flower pots, pretty little blue doors, and delightful alleyways completed the chocolate box vibe.

Less delightful were the line of exhausted little donkeys waiting to pull tourists round. Flicking flies away with their ears they looked sad and uncared for. Some looked on their last legs. Literally. Shaking to stand.

At the top of the town was a small bullring. Seeming now used for symbolic dance shows with pictures outside of women dressed in fine black dresses being bullish and brightly festooned matadors going through their prancing motions. Red flag if ever I saw one.

After a few hours we hopped on a bus back down to the coast stopping in Fuengirola. We’d taken the hour long journey up to Mijas direct from Torremolinos by bus so thought Fuengirola would make a nice pitstop for some sundowners on the way home. How wrong we were. Fuengirola is a dump. The worse version of Brits abroad. Sports Bars blaring out rugby/footy at full volume. Drunken gangs of men. Gammons sitting outside The Irish Bar or The London Pub moaning about the Spanish and the heat. We couldn’t get out fast enough. Well, after a cocktail in Lola’s. After all she had lost her youth, her Tony, and her mind; she wasn’t going to lose our custom too.

Boarding the train back to Torremolinos we noticed how basic some of the tower lock hotels were in Fuengirola. Many even had barbed wire fences. We played the game “Prison or Hotel?” Yes, that bad.


Back in Torremolinos we looked around with fresh eyes and thought, actually it’s quite nice here.

Torremolinos Pride… “slightly chaotic, crazily loud, wildly enthusiastic, and delightfully unregulated”

Pride was great fun. It all kicked off about 6pm. 

The parade consisted of a dozen or so floats. Festooned lorries over-packed with revellers with water pistols, skimpy outfits and buckets of good cheer.  It was slightly chaotic, crazily loud, wildly enthusiastic, and delightfully unregulated. We saw one police man. And 10,000 spectators. The Spanish pretty much know how to have fun unsupervised. 

The jamboree snaked its way around the town and ended up in the celebration car park. The main stage had the usual mix of miming drag, worthy speeches, and low list dance acts. It was fab. 

The voucher system for drinks meant we couldn’t get too plastered. But we danced and chatted and laughed. People-watching at Pride is always fun. Some of the costumes, and some of the bodies attempting to fit into them, had us screaming with laughter. 

About 11pm we headed back into town and settled at Aqua bar to nurse some epically strong free-poured G&Ts, singalong to the tacky disco songs, and chat to all the passers by. I think I could pass an A Level in Spanglish now. 

We retired to our hotel about 1am. Weary after a fabulous evening. Some of the boys headed to an all-night disco party but we were content with our beds. 

Tomorrow is another day. And Sunday Pride is another bucket of glitter and rainbows to be upended.