Every week I write and article for the Euro Weekly News, an English-speaking newspaper covering all the major resorts of Spain and the Balearics. You can pick up a copy on a Thursday ... or read it here every week. |
Thursday 30 August 2007
Two more 'when are they gonna's', to kick-start the scribble this week. One. When are they gonna finally manage to bang up that totally waste of space Pete Doherty and give us all a break? And two. When are they gonna legislate as to an increase in the height of hotel and apartment block balcony railings, that yet again this season have caused the death and injury of an unforgivable number of our young holidaymakers - Caught sight of any flying bacon recently? How was your week? Personally mine was rotten (including three days of total heat induced exhaustion) so I am delighted not to have to relate it here, but simply endeavor to finish off the saga of 'the fight in the Red Lion' that culminated in my unfortunate incarceration in the early seventies. You may remember last week - assuming you hadn't nodded off by then - that the temporary landlords wife had rushed into the public bar screaming for her husband to get these 'expletive deletive' pop singers and actors out of 'her' pub?' If you can bear it, now read on..... It was all her short - fused husband needed. Rushing from behind the bar, he wielded in front of him, what I at first conceived to be the regular landlord's shillelagh, normally displayed on the wall. At this point Lake simply vanished. I had no time to ponder his whereabouts because at his sudden inexplicable disappearance the mob immediately turned their entire concentration onto me. Punches came from all directions. I glimpsed the barman's hand raised to bring down the weapon he was holding. Throwing the remains of my beer in his face I turned to run. As I did so, he brought it down across the back of my head. Not the shillelagh as I had at first thought, but what later turned out to be a loose beer tap handle he had wrenched off from behind the bar. I went down, dazed but not unconscious. With blows now raining down from all directions, I scrabbled and crawled my way frantically to the door. Finally reaching it I thrust out my hands to push it open. As I did so, the door suddenly swung back. Blocking my escape route there now appeared two fairly large young men who, on hearing the mêlée from the saloon, had rushed around the outside of the pub to the public entrance. Whooping and shouting they began to push me back into the mob. Desperately I lashed out, catching one in the face and causing him to fall back, but it was too late - they were now all on me. Punched and pummeled I fell out of the door into the car park and was soon beaten to the ground. There I lay, curled up in the fetus position as the blows and kicks continued thick and fast. One of the mob had grabbed a large Martini umbrella and was stabbing and hitting me with it.... I was now in real trouble. At this point I may add there was still no sign of 'hard man' Lake! Through all the chaos, numb, and by now almost resigned to the amount of savagery raining down on me- to my astonishment and disbelief, sounding like the very devil himself, I suddenly heard Lakes voice in my ear. 'Use this Leapy' it hissed - use this'. In all the confusion and darkness I couldn't actually see him; however, as I was on the floor, he must also have been at ground level somewhere outside of the circle of my assailants. Now, not only was he in contact, but actually, through my attacker's legs, managing to thrust a knife into my hand...... And that is I'm afraid where I must bow out for another seven. I can hear the 'thank the Lords' from here! Keep yer chins held high. Keep those gum sprouts glinting. And whatever ya do, always - Keep the faith. Love Leapy |
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