SOME Brits Abroad (an observation)

First there’s the prep, the fake tan and waxing, weight loss, hairdos, no time for relaxing

Book your appointment with top stylist, Gillian, shaky of hand as she starts your brazilian

Taxi is booked for early AM, alarm clock is set, you’re in bed by 10

Knocks at the door at quarter to 3, alarm not gone off, & no time to pee

Quick, grab your luggage, your passport and keys, taxi man mad as a great swarm of bees

“To the airport me duck”, “stick your foot down, get moving” (taxi man throws a look quite disapproving)

Speed thru Arrivals, now we’re checked in, it’s on to the bar “can you make mine a Gin?”

Dreaming of warmth in the Mediterranean, bartender clueless cos she’s Lithuanean

You order a pint - Artois of Stella, she sets down a Coke, you smile but don’t tell her

Quick as a flash, she speeds off like a Harrier, blissfully unaware of this language barrier

Oh well, not long till we board the plane, we’ll soon all be trollied in sunny old Spain

Where Waiters called Pedro serve full English Breakfasts, washed down with beer, whilst they look on steadfast

Woo hoo, we’re here, in old Benidorm, the Brits have arrived in their masses and swarms

Hey you, watch out, us Brits are about, with white socks, brown sandals, & guts hanging out

White bits, & sunburn, just look at the state, beer swilling monsters, make Britain look Great!

What’s on the Menu?, Spanish cuisine? – (think I’ll just stick to me egg, chips and beans)

Fat, hairy blokes in Union Jack shorts, Pensioners in Speedos, not sparing a thought

Dad sat there staring at topless young ladies, thinks he looks cool, but Christ, he looks shady

Mum feeling flattered at Julio’s advances, she knows there’s no way, but he fancies his chances

Sangria flowing so free and so easy, a lunch made of liquid, you start to feel queasy

Staggering back to the hole that’s your room, collapse on the bed, fall asleep all too soon

Wake up in darkness, away with the fairies, jetlag + booze - food = lary

Then it’s down to the buffet, for all you can eat, plates are piled high, with fried eggs and meat

Sit down with Chantelle, Britney and Earl, all tats and taches, & that’s just the girls

This is the life for the next week or two, alcohol, squits, in need of a loo!

Complaints of the heat, the hotel & food, the Rep and the Germans in Room 22

It’s time to go home now, (you’re secretly glad), you exaggerate tales of good times that you had

Fooling yourself that you had so much fun, on your shit package holiday in Costa Del Sun