We're all Guys
Magaluf 2003
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Magaluf 2003 - The Review

When you wake up on the 5th July and your genital friend is saying come and exercise me, you know it's going to be a good week. As it happened the genital friend of the we're all guys squad was exercised a lot in the next seven days...yet still not enough.
So it's down to 'the shakes' (probably the best looking, dancing and humourous guy in the world) to write up what was an extraordinary seven days. What happened when yet again escapes my memory but all I know is that the tour was full of sex, semen, dirty food, dirty girls and eroded palms. That to me is a success.
We went out there as a squad of ten, but luckily utilised the transfer market well to bring in Mrs GuyGas and a teen recruit from Burnley who managed to succeed in the goals for column. Well done. So what exactly went on where and when?
As Shakespeare would say 'Twas' Friday evening, and tensions were high. Was there conflict? Not between any of the team but between these hormones in our body that deem us responsible for seeking any form of sexual gratification, whether by self or with hotties or with plain stinkers (take note Battered). So sexual tensions were high.
From what I remeber the journey from the west country was ok...until we got in Battered's car (joke)...the journey was ok until we got to Reading. It wasn't ecause Reading was a shithole and full of roundabouts but because the second leg of the West Country journey was by midnight train. After sinking a bevvy at the Forum in Reading and meeting Raymonds equally seedy yet reassuringly hospitable acquatences it appeared pretty quicky that our worst suspicions were confirmed. Raymond was hammered and the plane wasn't even in our minds.
Anyway, we boarded the train and took up half of the whole carriage with our luggage and strips. Here we met our first celeb a Huw from Sandhurst who obviously just escaped from boarding school. Anyway, as we rode the train and took in some porn (mostly straight although we can never rule anything out - even skinhead porn) we began gearing ourselves up for the big kick-off.
Heathrow soon emerged from the horizon and all we knew is that we were to wait about ten hours until we boarded. The idiots from the dover end were okay as literally heathrow is a jog away, the coventry proverbial Little'st Hobo was always in the running to be the last arrival. So after consuming some junk food and sneaking off for quick, innocuous beats in the airport WC's the squad all gathered for the first time. The fags were on the scene immediately...the Kent boys had arrived!
So the plane took off in the early hours of the morning on Saturday. It was so early that we could all hear cocks singing. Our genitalia were indeed making noises and rising to the occassion!!! The journey was set in an odd atmosphere of knackeredness and euphoria - one would describe as ambient (although that term went out with the ark).
Arriving in Palma airport we were greeted by a wave of heat. For a second I thought it was the remnants of the airport breakfast (cheers Thomas Cook for my 12 beans, egg thing and value sausage) but it was the glorious heat of Mallorca. On boarding the coach it was good to see Cotton working on his Spanish pipeline by trying to tap into some ill scottish holiday rep. She looked a bit like Carol from Hollyoaks but lets face it, she was a pike. It was still good to see we were hitting the floor running.
After four hours in probably the coolest coach in the world ever (the temperature gradient between outside and inside the coach was incredible doe to some superb air con) we arrived at the hotel. The Aqua Sol was our base, no air con as promised but the pool was full of birds. We knew we had the advantage being from the south and brainy whilst the birds were from the north and typically not brainy. All we had to do is talk the talk.
It may have not been wise to set our personal goals. There were quotes of over 100 points being netted by the squad but I knew I would be happy with a single notch of the finest instead of a handful of the rough and ready. It was a bit like choosing either a single thorntons chocolate or a handful of Asda's chocolate covered peanuts and raisins. Most people chose the peanuts and raisins. Well ill!
So we arrived at the Hotel, the Kent connection holed themselves up in a chalet a million yards from the rest of the group whilst  six of us waited four hours for the Spanish Cleaning pikes to finish with our room. Obviously we were annoyed at this so come the end of the holiday we all ensured that we trashed our apartments. In Battered's case he just ensured he left his trainers in there!!
Come night time, after feasting on crisps and chips, we were roaring to go. It was 8 o'clock and we were going out. What idiot was in charge of scheduling? It would be like starting a night on a weekend at 4 o'clock. It was good to see that there was no holds barred drinking going on. We went straight in to Lennons, later to go on to be our regular, and then diverted to Alex's bar. As soon as the doors opened to us it all went off. We were hammered on drink, we were hammered on euphoria and we were hammered on Norweigian Dance. It was decided that there was only one option from here and that was to get the bucket in. What was in it? Probably a concoction of Bleath, Flash and Vodka but it got us hammered. Stunning, and then it was only 10:30. People were starting to go out and we were starting to flake out. From there I think we went to Banana's and from then on it for all you lot to update me on that nights events...

           Day One       Day Two       Day Three       Day Four       Day Five       Day Six       Day Seven