Fish, Pussies and
Ice Balls (aka Torremolinos 2003)
July 2003 saw the start of the fishing season in Torremolinos (that’s the bottom right hand corner of Spain for those who failed their Geography). The Spanish holiday resort boasts many fine attractions and caters for all shapes and sizes which is a good thing as Shane “built for comfort” Jones, Luke “untouched” Munt, Matt (Luke’s small and hairless “friend” ) and Steve “Weeble Wobble” Bruno headed for the Sun, Sea, Sangria and of course fish.
The first few days seem to pass in a kind of drunken blur or was that because Steve didn’t turn up until mid-week and miss the fish (speak to Shane), the late night taxi rides into the wilds of Spain (speak to Luke) and the follow my leader game (speak to Matt). But not to be deterred, fun was still to be had. So with tackle (that’s fishing related) in hand the intrepid foursome headed for the beach for a little light exercise of beach football and Frisbee before getting down to the tackle, sorry task in hand. After some splendid English footballing skills on the beach, Shane “magic foot” Jones ended the round with 8 fours[1] and 2 sixes[2]. The others failed to score although a late run from Matt provided some useful “love it”[3] comments but no runs on the score board.
Next on the agenda was the old favourite, The Iced Balls Game. To play take one frisbee, four blokes and one very cold Mediterranean sea. The objective of the game is to stand in the sea and toss the frisbee to each other in turn until all semblance of manhood is completely reverted back to boyhood. Given the quality of the tossing (for the avoidance of doubt this refers to the frisbee) then it would be fair to say that the transition from boyhood to manhood had not yet occurred in most. So no points scored in that round for the abysmal wrist action witnessed.
Following a quick cold shower (to
warm up), the lads took a deserved break in the local sea side bar for a little
light refreshment and some grilled sardines before embarking on the main event
of the day, the fishing. So tackle
correctly placed on the rod, a quick flick of the old wrist and the first cast
was away by the youngster Matt.
Followed by Steve and then Shane.
Luke sitting this one initially to recover from the exertion of the Frisbee
throwing. Several rod discharges later
the pussy cats were looking very hungry 
as the fish were not forth coming. Changes to style, bate and technique
produced no more than several lost hooks, weights and the most biggest fish
ever to escape in the history of man!
It is at this point in the proceeding that it is worth mentioning the
coaching lesson received by a very helpful local who believed the whole of the
beach was his by letting his line float across the path of other fishermen,
words were exchanged, gestures made and undeterred the lads continued to cast
out completely “unawares” of the said local fishing line. It is also at this point that the theory of
standing upright on two feet was put to the test by Steve, and failing
miserably, promptly fell over whilst walking on a level piece of ground. Had a large amount of alcohol been consumed
beforehand the resulting severely twisted ankle would surely not have
occurred. Nurses Shane and Matt could
do nothing to stop the beach ball size
swelling from coming up and Steve was resign to hobbling around for the rest of
the trip. Following more fruitless
attempts to feed the pussy cats with fresh fish by the four pretending to be
fishermen, the deflated lads with tackle in hand retired for the evening to
follow more sedate activities of drinking, singing and performing feats of
magic.
So onto the bars. First on the list was The International Bar which is a little like “Cheers” – where everyone knows your name well at least they did Shane’s – had Shane been here before? The bar claims to host the best karoake in the square and things were looking at a little desperate until Luke “the untouched” exchanged a quick and strained hello to the tour guide he had used early in the week for his midnight mystery tour. Even after the story was re-told it was still a mystery to us as to the ups and mostly downs of it all. This provided a little light relief from the howls on the mic before the next round of drinks. Beer was flowing quite well until the power was lost – no Shane was not singing at that point, his magical effects comes later – and so with the place in darkness it was decided to head for another quiet (that soon change when we arrived) bar, called Des’s, to continue the night’s enjoyment.
It was on one of the trips to
Des’s that Luke accosted, was accosted or partook in a bit of one on one
outside one of the local single’s[4]
bar. The details are a little sketchy
at this point to protect the innocent but points were awarded for style and
speed. At Des’s bar the usual “Cheers”
welcome was given to Shane – had he been here before? – and the first round was
brought. Little did we know that a few rounds later, following a very
unconvincing session on the mic by one
of the locals the intrepid Fishermen would be called to the aid of the lowly
Des the bar keeper. A few punches and kicks by the fishing heroes, separated
the out of tune local and Des who were rolling about on the floor pretending to
be acting out the last act of the Karma Sutra and with a final heave ho the
peace and order was restore and normal service was resumed. Or so we thought! Word had gone out that the last act of the Karma Sutra was being
re-enacted out at Des’s and so the crowds came rolling in. Well one drunk local at least who decided to rearrange the furniture to more
his liking before being calmed by the sultry voice that is Shane “Barry
White” Jones. Being by
the sea all day certainly had an affect on Shane as he
sang like a mermaid, lulling our new found friend to the dance floor to give us
his rendition of the Full Monty; going all the way! (editor note - How Shane resisted from putting shower gel into
the hair of a naked man was a feat surely never to be repeated). Act I over, it
was time for Act II - The Magic Act.
Aided and definitely not abetted by the glamorous assistance Shane “I am
not going into the toilet to take off my clothes with you, I only do shoes”
Jones. This was somewhat of anti-climax
as the evidence of Shane being a big girls blouse for not taking part will have to keep for another day. So with the Magic Show over and with all the
magic shoes firmly back on feet, the foursome headed for the local club, The
Palladium.
The Palladium is a unique place where one can drink, dance and take a swim in the indoor pool, clothed or not. Having had a full day already and not wanting to get into the middle of Anglo-Spanish talks over the future of who was taking the local girls home we headed for a place to hang our hats up for a well earned rest and a few hours shut eye.
So at the end of the day, Shane had a few points for singing, kicking the football like he meant it, Luke had some for looking most like a fisherman and for delivering the decisive parting whack at Des’s, Matt for the most terrible Frisbee tossing ever witnessed by man, anywhere on this planet and Steve for proving that webbles do wobble and they do fall down!
The next day was another day in
the sun trying to charm the local pussies out of their hiding with our
miserable attempt to catch some mackerel, the only problem was that the
mackerel was not playing and so the pussies stayed empty. Ce la vie or as they say in Spain “youz
english bastardz is always tryings to nickings our fish” So deciding to cut our losses – four floats,
halve dozen hooks, a box of bate and that gargantuan fish, we headed in land to
the local amusement centre for a game of cricket, with out bats, stumps, a
wicket but we did have a ball, and a club (I can’t say it was crazy golf
otherwise Doc is likely to say we are converts to the game). So having worked our way through the Little
Mermaid on the fourth, up Big Ben on the 15th, we finished at
the18th with Shane requiring a hole in one for the jug and just like on the
cricket pitch, a jug was avoided. So the final scores were Shane 52, Luke 58,
Steve 76 and Matt 87. Steve and Matt suffering badly with a couple of
disastrous holes putting them out of contention in the later stages.
So on to the pubs for the last
time via the shops (for the usual cheap cigarettes, designer sun glasses and
belts and of course the famous cream topped waffle[5])
and the fast food sea bar. This is an
experience never to be forgotten in a hurry – basically two completing owners
within spitting distance of each other selling fresh sea food that is cooked
while you stand at the counter. Having
never peeled a prawn before Matt and Luke certainly acquired a taste for the
little hard back crustaceans. So having
stuffed ourselves on prawns – small and large (we are talking the size of size
12 shoe) - Octopus, and other sea life we made our way for the last time to The
International Bar. This evening was a
somewhat subdued affair with only a few four up on stage singing performances
by the lads (how many times did we sing “we must hang sally”), blue cocktails
that were borrowed (mainly by Luke) from the party next to us and lots of beer
to drown our sorrow for letting the local pussies down by not getting much
fish. This continued until we were
finally thrown out which meant it was time for the airport via 
a quick detour
to pick up our bags. And so here endth the story of four boys who went to
Torremolinos looking to become fishermen, got slightly drunk (unless you name
is Luke or Matt in which case you were very drunk), caught no fish to be proud
of but had a jolly good time in trying.
Some of the facts are true, some have been distorted by the abuse of drink and time and others are complete fabrication to make the story more interesting. The names have not been changed to protect the guilty and no animals were hurt (unless you count the 14 tiddlers that had to go to the cats) in the making of this adventure. If you are keen to find out which is which then book your place on the next trip - the closing fishermen’s party - coming to a date near you soon.
Best Regards
The
Fishermen of Crawley Green.
p.s All words, figures and people were correct at time of publication and may change without notice. Oh and by the way the pictures are still in the lab, otherwise this could have been a totally different story.
p.p.s final scores, oh who cares. If you have read down to this bit and you are not yet bored or lead a boring life with too much time on your hands to read this far then you couldn’t give a hoot that Steve won by a whisker. Remember judges decision is final and no correspondence will be entered into – even if your name is Graham Hull and you think the umpire has had both arms removed at birth. A wide is still a wide when you are swatting flies.