Sahara part 4

Today was the longest drive I have ever done. 5am - 8:30pm including camel ride

I was woken at 4am to make our camel trek before the sun rose to avoid the worst of the heat. My camel got up before I had managed to climb on properly, nearly sending me flying. But my rodeo skills came through and I held strong.

My first error of the day was at breakfast. I mistook the butter for scrambled egg so piled half a block on my roll!

The tunes kept rolling as Mohammed our driver popped in his mix tape after 4 or 5 hours. First track, Lionel Richie Hello. Awesome.

We also played plenty more games including writing our bio's as if we were characters from the tv show Pete vs life.

Mine was as follows:

Gary Nicholson

6"2.5

85kg

Likes:

The philosophy of Rock Balboa

Dancing when no one is looking

Malt loaf

Dislikes:

Pandas

Hippies / vegans

Un-necessarily spicy food

We also had a tyre blow out in the middle of the dessert. I honestly thought we were toast as we careered towards some stone bollards but Mohamed kept it under control. 

The funny thing was everyone was really pissed off and worried until Richard jumped out and said lightly "well it could be worse, we could be in the middle of nowhere."

After the tyre was changed we drove on. We went back over the High Atlas Mountains. They were tiny little roads, that Mohamed insisted on flying round at high speed to get back in time for his Ramadan breakfast.

We made it in one piece, got some dinner and chilled out in the hostel.

Sahara Part 3

So I climbed on my Camel, we bonded instantly. I will call her Porsche.

We trekked for 90 minuets into the desert, 48 degrees in the sun but it was beautiful. The vastness of the desert really took my breath away.

Obviously I could not be sensible for long, every time Richard or I passed each other we posed like we were gansta's riding a pimp mobile. Guess you had to be there.

We arrived at a small tent camp in the middle of the desert in between the dunes averaging 160m. I decided, as you only live once that I wanted to go to the top of the biggest dune I could see. So I set off running up it. Oh my god! Worst idea ever! Such hard work and I inhaled so mush sand puffing and panting that I was coughing like a 60 year old seasoned smoker for the rest of the evening.

I still got to the top like Rocky 

When we got back to camp it was dark, we had some Burber whiskey and dinner of Tagine.

After dinner entertainment included playing bongo drums ad singing Burber songs. I got everyone up and gave them a burst of the old scouts song Henry the camel.

At about 10pm it was pitch black and although the clouds were out in force the stars were still pretty cool. Shame it wasn't a clear night as I have heard that the night sky in the Sahara is magical.

The guide light some of the dry brush on fire and some of us braver guys took turns in running and jumping through it.

We then hiked back across the dunes and spent the night giving each other riddles and jokes before sleeping under the stars!

Sahara part 2

We started the day again at the Monkey fingers in Dades Gorge. One of the best views of my trip so far, and plenty of time for some posing on the cliff!

We then drove further into the desert stopping at Todra George. Here we had a tour of the oasis with a Local man. We walked through their dense gardens of figs, peaches, courgettes and cabbages and he  talked us through the irrigation system that allowed water to be used conservatively to allow plant life in this harsh environment.

We then went to one of the villagers houses and had a demonstration of how a loom was used to produce rugs from different materials, my favourite was the baby camel fur. We watched whilst sipping on Burber whiskey. Unfortunately this is a type of tea, not liquor as we hoped!

Back on the bus, we played some shag, marry or cruise. This game involves having a choice of three people and shagging one for one night, marrying one (kids and dog included) and spending a year on a cruise ship with another.

My favourite selection was ursula from little mermaid v ms piggy v mrs potato head.

Richard decided that he couldn't cruise with ursula as she would be constantly plotting. He would walk into the cabin andcauldrons  be everywhere because she wanted to win the rhumba compitition or something.

We continued until we ran out of road by Merzuga and started into the desert, on camels!

Sahara part 1

An early start to our three day tour into the Great Sahara Desert! 6am, ready to rock!

Richard and I set out on our adventure, first crossing the High Atlas mountain range. We stopped in a few places to admire the amazing views of sweeping dusty mountains and deep sandy valleys.

At one of these stops I was hassled by a street vender selling crystals and fossils, I was really polite. Refusing his shitty wears but he was very persistent. Demanding i name my price. 

Eventually I said 2 derham (14p) a price too low to get rid of him.

This did not work, he told me to 'eat shit' but in such a calm manner like saying 'fancy a pint'

I had to confirm, "did you just tell me to eat shit?"

"Yeas" he said nodding and continuing to show me his stone.

Very strange!

We passed the time playing more 'would you rather?'

Highlights were:

Constantly be hounded by hairy ugly middle aged women for sexual favours (like their Justin Beiber) 

V

Constantly having a boner

Live ground hog day

V

Wake up in a different place in the world every time you sleep

Have a tail

V

Only eat snack food

Some interesting stuff I think you'll agree!

We also stopped at more of the spectacular canyons and also at a Kasbah on top of a mountain, it was so windy I could hardly stand, but the views and the houses around we're spectacular.

For lunch we stopped near Morocco's answer to Hollywood, a film set were a few sevens from gladiator were filmed and errrrr.... A bit of the mummy... And err... Plenty of b grade 60s movies!

We went to the museum any way and had a great time pissing around on the sets. Unfortunately we did not have time for the fancy dress section, that's right FANCY DRESS SECTION best museum ever. 

Well, so shit it's good.

We then hopped back on the bus for a cheeky 4 hours and arrived at our first hotel near the Monkey Fingers. A rock formation that looks like thousands of monkey fingers with a oasis of dense vegetation and palm trees.

We then had a lovely meal with some guys on our tour from china before Richard and I played cards for the evening. 

To Marrakech!

Richard and I took the long bus to Marrakech, arriving and going to the famous food courts in the main square with a couple of girls fom the hostel, Rachel and Louise.

The food stalls are crazy! There are around 100 stalls selling full meals, snail soup, juice and dried fruits. Each stall has two or three members of staff to try and hook tourists in.

They have a lot of ploys, from putting on ridiculous cockney accents to physically pulling you into a seat.

There also a bunch of street sellers selling things. I was in the square five minuets before a guy put a monkey on me!

After dinner we found a tour office and booked onto a Sahara tour for 7am the next morning!

Exciting!

Whilst getting ready for bed that night we had a deep discussion about a serious issue...

What would you rather? 

1. Have no hands

2. Have a fat naked dumb man follow you around for the rest of your life?

After the question I was a little foolish:

Me "you know I think I would have no hands. The bonus would be I think it would drive me to get into the Paralympics."

Richard: "oh yeah what sport?"

Me "I think I would be quite good at wheelchair rugby..."

Richard. "Ummm, I'm pretty sure that's aimed at people in wheelchairs."

Me "oh shit yeah, I reckon they would still let me though?"

Richard "even though you have no hands to push the chair or catch the ball.... Idiot!"

Epic fail

So, windsurfing is not like a bike.

I remember being pretty nifty on the board back in my early teenage years. So I sauntered out to the surf hire shop, laughed in their face when they offered me a beginners sale and selected a 3m beast got my wet suit on and went out to sea.

I then spent around an hour trying to stand up. 

I was thrown off in every direction, hit with every part of the board and sale, fun.

I did get up once and managed to hang on long enough to shoot around 100m. Just a shame that 100m was straight out to sea.

The wind and waves combined were too much for me to tack or jibe so I had to swim the board back in from around 300m out. That's a long way to drag a board and sale.

I finally got back in and a small Moroccan boy took pity on me and helped me carry my board in.

With my tail well and truly between my legs I paid for an hour and scarpered.

I am in essouara now by the way, we came here on Fraser's advice as it was supposed to be awesome. The hostel is nice enough but it's just full of pot heads, I don't mind an occasional sample but not my seen.

I was here five minuets before I got in an argument with some hippy wanker who suggested that all army's should be disbanded and disputes should be settled with words. All I wanted to say was that I'm pretty sure they do try that first and fighting only occurs when that doesn't work... This gained me 20 minuets of very poorly reasoned, un-referenced and badly presented description of how sustainable living can be done by planting veg in drain pipes and other such unfeasible ideas. 

I tried to be polite, I really did.

But this dosey stoner tosser got cut down by the sharp edge of reasoned logic.

Anyway, I digress. 

I met up with Fraser, Mat and Rich again.

 Matt, Rich and I went to play football on the beach. We met some locals and ended up playing a 7 aside game. My eye was in and I was scoring for fun! As always, just a shame about every other aspect of my game. 

Epic fail

So, windsurfing is not like a bike.

I remember being pretty nifty on the board back in my early teenage years. So I sauntered out to the surf hire shop, laughed in their face when they offered me a beginners sale and selected a 3m beast got my wet suit on and went out to sea.

I then spent around an hour trying to stand up. 

I was thrown off in every direction, hit with every part of the board and sale, fun.

I did get up once and managed to hang on long enough to shoot around 100m. Just a shame that 100m was straight out to sea.

The wind and waves combined were too much for me to tack or jibe so I had to swim the board back in from around 300m out. That's a long way to drag a board and sale.

I finally got back in and a small Moroccan boy took pity on me and helped me carry my board in.

With my tail well and truly between my legs I paid for an hour and scarpered.

I am in essouara now by the way, we came here on Fraser's advice as it was supposed to be awesome. The hostel is nice enough but it's just full of pot heads, I don't mind an occasional sample but not my seen.

I was here five minuets before I got in an argument with some hippy wanker who suggested that all army's should be disbanded and disputes should be settled with words. All I wanted to say was that I'm pretty sure they do try that first and fighting only occurs when that doesn't work... This gained me 20 minuets of very poorly reasoned, un-referenced and badly presented description of how sustainable living can be done by planting veg in drain pipes and other such unfeasible ideas. 

I tried to be polite, I really did.

But this dosey stoner tosser got cut down by the sharp edge of reasoned logic.

Anyway, I digress. 

I met up with Fraser, Mat and Rich again.

 Matt, Rich and I went to play football on the beach. We met some locals and ended up playing a 7 aside game. My eye was in and I was scoring for fun! As always, just a shame about every other aspect of my game. 

Caves, coast and currant!

We made it to Oualudia at around 8pm. And we got hustling about 8:05. 

As we got off the bus and went to cross the road we were hailed by a lad in his twenties asking if we wanted to buy anything or needed somewhere to stay.

We didn't actually have anywhere to stay so we agreed to see what he could offer. Richard, Matt, Fraser and I followed him over the road to a corner shop. Here we met the owner who took us to an apartment above his store room. 

The place was lush, two bedrooms, kitchen, living room wash room the works. The best thing was that we had him over a barrel, as he wouldn't be finding anyone else to stay there so late at night.

We got him down to 200 dh per night (about £17) bargin!

We had a brief walk down the beach, some food at a seafront restaurant and off to bed.

The next day we headed off to the beautiful golden beach, aside from fishermen by the natural harbour the beach was pretty much left all to us. Amazing.

We strolled along the sand with the sea lapping our feet and along onto some cliffs.

We met a fisherman who had built a little house on the cliff top to protect him from the elements. We had a bit of a chat with him and he encouraged us to follow him towards the cliffs edge.

We followed, at the edge he pointed out a small hole and disappeared down it.

When in Morocco and all that!

We followed him into the rabbit hole. After a short corridor it opened out into a cave, there were no man made supports but it was clearly man made. The coolest thing were the man made windows letting in the bright white light and looking out to sea.

We saw two other caves with the kind fisherman and went on our way.

After chilling on the beach we headed back to the town. Enroute Matt and I decided it would be rude not to swim through the lagoons that were draining into the sea.

I started well, working my arse off but about half way across. Unfortunately here the current really kicked in. I was flying down towards the sea, my horizon changing fast. I gave it one more burst, emptying the energy tank. I made no progress at all. The land was flying past and the lagoon was now more of a river making it wider and wider, and me further from safety.

I decided to cut a different line and swam a longer distance, with the tide, diagonally to shore. I didn't even have energy to front crawl, but I knew there were no life guards, no boats around, and the only way back to shore from the sea was via the waves crashing against the jagged rocks at the feet of the cliffs.

I got my head down and finally made it to the shallows, were the current was still so strong I couldn't walk straight. 

I made it, but what a bloody stupid thing to do. I could have died.

I coached Matt in, he was having the same problem I had had with the change of current, I knew I didn't have the strength to help him if he needed it but he was a far weaker swimmer than me. Once he changed direction he made it, utterly knackered.

We walked back towards the land, another river, we couldn't get around this one if we wanted to. Bollocks.

It was However far shallower and slower, still frigging fast but not quite as deadly as the last.

We made it.

After a quick shower and change I prepared and cooked dinner. 

Lamb in a cumin rub, fried with orange and lime, Mediterranean vegetables and rice.

We whiled the night away playing go fish.

  

Carry on bussing

Today was probably my most eventful day of bus travel.

Our first bus went smoothly enough, except a cow would not get out tof the road so the driver and ticket man had to get off and wrangle it out of the road.

Then we were stopped by the police on a drugs bust, who kicked off one guy.

Unfortunately after 5-6 hours on a bus I needed to poo. We stopped briefly in Rabat so I sprinted to the bus station loos. Here I encountered my mortal enemy, the stand up toilet. This time in flip flops.

I made my chosen technique, you will be pleased to hear all went smoothly.

I then did my best barter ever, maybe I'm better under pressure. 

I put down one Durham and the toilet warden kicked off wanting more, so I slammed down one further Durham as hard as I could on his desk and gave him an icy stare. This seemed to work / terrify him. I then sprinted back to the bus just in time.

We changed busses in Casablanca, after some sneaky secret eating due to Ramadan.

We boarded our next bus with the help of a hustler were we were greeted by 45 minuets of walking market.

Every kind of market good was walked through the central isle like some kind of shit rip off catwalk. Everything from food and chocolate to rugs and electrical's were paraded for us.

Then after 15 minuets of travel we stopped to top up tyre pressure in one of the wheels. Suddenly every man became a mechanic and about 15 guys got off shouting and threatening the driver at the wheel.

Eventually the driver kicked off and just got up and left.

So now we had a shit wheel and an even angrier driver who returned to drive on.

Further on down the road one of the male passengers saw someone eating so went crazy trying to fight them and was spurred on by half the bus.

A young Moroccan girl who kept smiling at me also came up to give me her number without a word of conversation, well, you can't blame her I guess.

At the other end we haggled a taxi driver and after 12 hours on the road made it to Oulidia. 

 

Chasing waterfalls

We chilled out most of this morning on our roof terrace.

While in Chef Chaouen we didn't actually have a room. We were paying £4 per night to sleep under a canopy on the roof.

We then went to the main square to pick up supply's for our hike into the Moroccan hillside to a large oasis where there was supposed to be a really cool waterfall.

While shopping we met Chris, a fifty year old guy from Cairns Australia we had met on the bus the day before. He wanted to come to so we recruited him.

After an hours drive in a beat up old merc with some very aggressive driving we arrived at the start of the trail.

We hiked around 1 hour before arriving at the three pronged waterfall. It was very beautiful, and bloody cold too!

We then decided to run back. This was great fun and definitely something I want to get into in New Zealand.

That evening we found a tiny little restaurant owned and run by a little old Moroccan fella. It was aces, great fish tajine.  

Smurf village

Today we went to Chef Chaouen on the bus.

Chef Chaouen is a mid sized Moroccan town, it's stand out feature is every house is blue.

The people of Chef Chaouen are incredibly chilled, maybe this is due to the calming effect of the blue. Either that or the copious amounts of hash that is consumed by the locals living next to the largest hash production site in the world.

You can not pass a single person in Chef Chaouen without being offered hash. Even the waiter where we ate the first night whipped out ten grams as we were accepting our meals to try and make a quick sale!

After some food we went and got lost in the smurf medina. We found a really pretty doorway so decided to take some photos. 

Fraser, one of the Scottish guys I'm traveling with now (along with Richard, also from Glasgow and Matt from Birmingham) was sitting in the door way when the door sung open, revealing a tiny German woman.

Her house was actually an art gallery she had been tending to independently for ten years. It was very interesting chatting to this lady, although she had caught a touch of the crazies from ten lonesome years it was incredible hearing about her life and her philosophies. Her house / gallery was beautiful.

After bidding farewell to Elizabeth and her gallery we climbed the hill to the edge of the medina where there are ramparts.

We were followed here by morocco's most persistent drug dealer. Even though due to Ramadan he would not have eaten or drank since 3am and probably smoked a small towns worth of hash on a regular basis, he hiked up the hill desperately trying to catch his breath while telling us why his hash was better than the hundred other dealers we had been accosted by in the preceding few hours.

At the rampart it was well worth the climb. The view was beautiful. 

The clean beat down

My bollocks have been knelt on.

I have been spat on.

My entire body has been pinned down and grated with a Brillo pad.

And I paid £15 for the privilege.

Stone and I found a small traditional Moroccan bath house called a Hammam. It was supposedly one of the oldest Hammams in Fez. The locals couldn't actually believe we had found it.

First off we had to strip down to our boxers and enter the large steam room. The room was full of Moroccan men of all ages most wearing soggy translucent pants sagging from their bodies.

We were then each handed buckets with small stones, some black fluid and a exfoliating mitt. We proceeded in cautiously and were greeted by a burly pot bellied Moroccan man. This man spoke no English the whole time we were in there but instead just pushed and pulled us around as he wanted, which was strange enough without his other actions.

We both sat down on the floor with the other Moroccans in the steamier of the two rooms. The hairy pot bellied man then beckoned stone through with a single creepy index finger. 

I waited, very nervously, not knowing what was going on. All I could hear was a man making very load sshhhhhhhh noises in the next room.

Curiosity got the better of me. I had to know what was going on.

I peered cautiously around the wall into the other room.

Stone was lying starfish on his front in the middle of the room with the Moroccan sat on top if him, straddling, and rubbing the black liquid over his back making a sshhhh noise with every stroke. 

I quickly scuttled back to await my turn. 

Stone came through to get me with a face that said "good luck". It was my turn so I went through. The hairy man slapped the floor indicating I was to lie down. I complied. He was very gentle at first, studding me up and washing me down like a 6"3 infant. Gentle except the fact that he was sitting or kneeling on my testicles the entire time.

Then shit got real.

He flipped his pad over and started to get rough.

He pinned my face into the ceramic tiles with one hand and scoured me with the other.

He used my abs and chest like a washboard. 

He scoured my inner thigh repeatedly ball tapping me with every strike.

All the while making the shhhhh noise.

He then told me he was finished, so I asked him about the massage we had paid for.... Big mistake.

His first move can only be described as WWF's walls of Jericho, he stood one foot on my lower back and lifted my feet up behind me quickly like I was going to back heel myself in the head. I tapped out quickly!

He then tossed me around like a rag doll, essentially beating seven shades of shit out of me.

At one point I was sitting on the floor and he was straddling my arm, his arse in my face and his dirty Moroccan balls resting on my shoulder.

We were then taken outside separately, wrapped in dressing gowns and given orange juice. 

I imagine it was a very funny scene but at the time all we could manage for the first few minuets was a knowing look. 

We had clearly been at the receiving end of some kind of crazy assault.

Well at least it was a cultural experience.

 We limped off like broken men.

On the way back we picked up some goats heart burgers, as you do, and went to the hostel to sleep off the abuse.

The adventures of Ali Baba and Cous Cous

Today I met up with Stone again to explore more of the city. 

Stone is an American guy from Tennessee who grew up in Las Vegas. He has been sculpting a beard and bought the moroccan get up in the attempt to pass as a Moroccan, there by evading touts. 

Unfortunately, instead everyone we walked past just called him Ali Baba. I was however referred to as Cous Cous as I strolled around the medina (narrow streets within the city walls). I didn't mind to much, even if I was being jibbed for my pasty skin. Personally I think I'm rocking a bit of a tan!

After a short walk around the Medina we took a bus to the grand palace. 

When we were looking around for a bus a tout came up to us, as they do every 20 seconds in Fez, we tried our newly acquired Arabic phrase 'na back sheesh' which we thought meant 'we don't have any money'. He hit the frigging roof. Shouting and swearing. So like strong men that we were, we apologised like school boys and scuttled away.

He saw us later in the day also and took the opportunity to climb out of a bus window to have another shout at us.

This was a very large Arab style palace (think Aladdin but with square roofs). We sauntered through the garden area and up to the main gate to go in. 

As we did this an armed guard stepped out from beside the door. Through our joined terrible French we found that this was not actually a tourist spot but a fully functioning private palace, we swiftly slung our hook.

We then waited for about 45 minuets for a bus only to be told we needed to get that bus but from a different spot. Followed by the phrase we were hearing a lot: "welcome to Morocco" which roughly translates to: "I've just mugged you off and there is nothing you can do ha ha haa".

Eventually we got a kilo of dried fruit and got in a taxi. 

We wandered around for a while in the Fez medina again and met a Moroccan guy called Tony with a huge neon blue turban -I suspect Tony was not his real name- we spoke for ages with him, his friend and two girls I had met previously on the plane about the economics and politics within morocco, including the pros and cons of having no tax or state benefits.

After this Stone and I found the Hammam, or Moroccan bath house. 

Funky Fez

T I A bru....

After a very smooth boarding process I got my first flight of the trip to Fez, Morocco. The landing however was anything but smooth and I was convinced we would shortly be plowing into the Tarmac as instead of circling down the pilot went for the 45 degree descent technique then hit the run way at the highest speed I have ever known.

I spent my first night eating at a tower top place over looking a bustling market and a giant blue Arabian gate. The food was good, as was the company in the form of two Dutch girls called Anna and Lise.

We then headed through the maze like streets of the medina to our hostel. To chill out on a lovley roof terrace to hang out with a bunch of other travellers. 

The next morning after a hearty Moroccan breakfast and mint tea I met a American guy called Stone. We headed off with a local lad to show us around the medina. I cannot explain this place, it is like nowhere I have ever been. It is a labyrinth of tiny narrow streets. To top it off there are all the local shops, camel heads hanging in butchers doorways, live chickens in cages, madness!

We went to a tannery, where leather is treated and made, I gots a little caught in the moment and bought not one but two belts, that I really don't need, for the same kind of price I would pay in the uk.

We then went to a cloth factory where I got to try using the loom (I won't quit my day job). Stone and I also visited a pharmacy where we got to smell all kinds of perfume and spices, I was very tempted to get ripped off here too but I refrained. Then we went to a roof top cafe and had a 3 course meal for £8 each.

Come the evening I met up with a couple of the other lads staying at the hostel. We shared a stew they had prepared and over dinner decided to travel around morocco together to a host of places I cannot pronounce, so therefore must be good!

After dinner we went for a late night hike up the side of a big hill to get to a castle. The views were fantastic and we spent a while making slow release photos. This attracted the attention of the military police. After a few questions we persuaded them we were all good. Took a couple of photos of them too to email and said our goodbyes and hiked back to the hostel

Cooking my way to friendship

In my new hostel Be Marr I met a bunch of really cool people. One of whom was a 79 year old man called Tio from Bern, Switzerland.

We both needed to post letters so we went to the post box and then on to the supermarket. He offered to buy all of the groceries in exchange for me cooking so I got my Jamie Oliver on!

We had rosemary seasoned turkey steaks with potato, asparagus and fried tomatoes. I clearly did a good job as we followed a similar arrangement for the next two days!

During the next few days I went on a walking tour and bicycle tour on consecutive days and a big run up the side of the hill fort and along to the olympic stadium. i have however flopped the last two evenings after four days of no more than 4hours per night and copious amounts of absinthe.

Barcelona is a hive of activity and just wondering around the city has lead me to a samba music festival, which was awesome, and an Indian national pride event which included market stalls and groups dancing on a giant stage.

On my last afternoon I met up with my friend David, who I had met in Sorrento, for a nice glass of juice and caught up on all of each others travel stories since we last met. 

Unfortunately on my last night in Barcelona the cookery course I wanted to do was fully booked. Even worse news was it was fully booked with some of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen. Damn! I should have bought a ticket!

But it was ok as I came back for the 8 o'clock class and this meant I could fully focus on the cooking and how sangria is made rather than on the harem of hotties!

The Big Night!

After moving out of the awesome hotel to plant my feet back on the floor at a budget hostel I met up with Casey, Alex, Erin and Daniela to go out to Razz Matazz, one of the biggest clubs in Europe.

It was an amazing night, I danced so hard that it had achey DOMS legs all the next day. At one point I started doing the puppet master dance and I got a group of spectators cheering me on!

I also played the funniest joke ever. Not to be big headed but the comic timing was spot on. In type I'm sure it's not that funny but to be there was quality.

I was wearing a flashing light ring. After going to the loo I found the gents didn't have any taps for hand washing so I went in the lady's. some girl came up to me asking for my ring, I really didn't want to loose it so I tried to talk her out of it. The girl got more and more persuasive and demanding, a little aggressive to be honest.

So I took a knee, held the ring as to propose and said, in my best Hugh Grant accent something along the lines of "since the moment we met I have known you're the one for me. You have changed my life. Will you marry me?"

She smiled, finally getting the ring, held out her hand and started to slip her finger into the ring. As she made contact with the ring I jumped up as fast as I could flicked her the v's shouted 'not really you silly cunt' and ran out of the bathroom.

Yes it's crude, yes it's both juvenile and nasty. I'm not proud of myself.

But it was hilarious!

The rest of the night was quality, the samba band in one of the rooms were wearing zebra heads, a sign of a good band I feel.

My life as a high roller

After the craziness of Pampalona it has been excellent to have a few days of sophistication.

I have been staying in the W hotel, the best 5* hotel in Barcelona. Alex has to stay in hotels a lot with his work so has been building up the points to stay in this place for a while. Normally this room would be £500 per night. Class does not cover this place.

Our room was majestic, a corner suite with sweeping panoramic views of the golden Barcelona beach out of one room and out to see from the other living room area.  

The first evening we were there we met with Daniela and Eirean two girls who used to go to college with Alex. We went to the best Tapas place. It was down a little side street with no sign or anything outside but inside was heaving with spaniards. The food was fantastic even if we had no idea what we were ordering!

Afterwards the others went out but I decided to have an early night 1:30am watched an episode of New Girl and went to sleep. Before being woken at 4 by the girls who had lost the boys. Then the boys who had brought back two tall Swedish girls but due to the other girls already being asleep in their beds they found somewhere else to get up to mischief.

The next day I took advantage of the gym facilities, amazing, and went for a walk around the city before re-joining the Gang for a paella supper. we then went to a novelty shot bar. we had a few flaming shots called 'the Harry Potter' and 'flaming lambogini' then back to the hotel for room service champagne more absinthe and a group bubble bath. That is how to live!

I do not remember how I got to sleep but somehow we all woke up (the three boys) sharing the giant master bed, we must have looked like Bert and Ernie.