I remember our last night in Mallorca, sis and me. I was 22. We’d been there working for 7 months. Working and boozing. Well mainly boozing. We got free accommodation and free drinks vouchers and the equivalent in Pesetas of £7.50 a night. We lived off egg and chips, San Miguel and 50p bottles of rancid red wine. Enough to live on but not enough to save anything to get home.
We were in Palma in a run down little B&B in the old town, and it was a shit hole. Lots of mice and mould. We’d been out seeing my boyfriend leave on the night ferry to Barcelona. We were hungry, skint and depressed and had no interest whatsoever in returning to the UK the next day. It was November.
I cannot remember why on earth we did, but we sat with the Spanish family watching tv. They had a huge Alsatian that was very taken with sis. He decided to try his luck and began to show her lots of affection. So much in fact he was almost straddling her.
The weird thing was not one of this large family batted an eyelid. They just sat like statues staring at the television. Bizarre.
To get our own back we did a runner in the morning without paying. The dog was so grateful for the previous evening’s love in with sis, he pretended not to notice