Day Seven is an amazingly ill day to experience on any holiday. The we're all guys squad were already starting to feel
a bit ill and exhaustion crept in after six continuous days of incredibly dirty drinking. We all knew that Flight 101 was
leaving early and that wake up time was an incredibly stupid 07:00 hours. What idout who looked like a member fromthe now
disbanded 'One True Voice' arranged that?
Anyway, it was decided that, following gentlemen's tradition, a nice sit down meal would be a smooth way to finish the
holidays. i was a bit gutted as I missed the Gay Cowboys that the hotel had provided the kids for entertainment but I still
nonetheless made my appearance at the restaurant overlooking one of the polluted beaches of Mallorca. I, like many others,
felt absolutely ruined but still proceeded to try and force some comparatively good food down my throat. It was much better
than Lanzini's and it was more official than the pilot mean the night before.
Because I am sucha legend I chose duck and pepper sauce and it was probably nice. The only thing was that all I
could taste was either sick or the double egg baguette I made myself an hour or so before. Not really the greatest of moves
but I was starving.
I started day seven off with a lye-in then later joining the pool side analysis of the previous night. It was good too
see us mingling with the foreigners ( a couple of pikes from Essex) with whom ironically Battered and Ethel road tested the
previous night. Apparently Ethel has a huge one, of Horse proportions!
I later krept off to check my e-mails as I am of course the most popular man apart from the big eyebrowed one from Busted
and then did a bit of shopping with Fister and Smaegol. That hour around tack city literally killed me and I had to cut it
short before I literally had a fit and started stabbing everyone with all the knives that were on sale in the tourist shops.
*(Note Mallorca Police: Pikes + Drink + Cheap Knives = fatalities).
We then got ready, I wanted to wear something light as it was literally hotter than a school boiler room in summer so
I had to re wear something that had already been worn. Sweat meister general I felt. Got to the restaurant, ate my food. Sam
departed early to rejoin us in Pascha's. Pascha's was a nightclub that was full of Rigobert Song's relatives on the last night.
There were some fitties but they were probably taken by Song, Eto and pals so we left for Lennons. Here we chilled, drank
and watched battered alarmingly jump around like a right weirdo. We didn't know if he had been on beans but later found no
evidence of any heinz cans in his room. Anyway, I departed with Jimbo and Top gun at that time to conduct our own mini review
of magaluf. We're we too old for the island? Maybe, buit I can't wait to get absolutely hammered on the next one!
After incurring the worst stomach pains since I had my appendix out (I haven't actually had my appendix out but I couldn't
think of a parody) I was releasing so much methane in the Airport. I was so ill and yet I knew i had to eat airport food on
the plane. It was so ill. The plane journey ended and we said goodbye to the kent crew only to discover we had to train back
to Reading. I had a ticket, Big Shot had a ticket, Raymod had a ticket but Battered illegally made his way undetected in the
greenhouse-like train. I was so hot but well ill. I also had ill stubble-ish things on my face.
Got in the worst taliban taxi to Raymonds house, reviewed his accommodation, checked out whisky and Oscar (or whatever
his dogs are called) and then drove back with Fister, Battered and Big Shot in the car. Fell a sleeep and sweated all the
way home. The come down had arrived and illness was to beset us for the next couple of weeks. Well ill!!