by Limmy
I went like that: ‘No, you’re fucked,’ not even knowing what I meant. I was fucking buzzing.
I looked at Scott. He hidnae taken his eyes off the ground. The cunt was a million miles away. I said to Peter: ‘Look at the state of Scott, man, you cannae let Scott take the hit. Look at him!’
Peter was like that: ‘It’s not my fault.’
I said: ‘It is your fault. It was your fucking turn.’ I looked to Andy and went, ‘It was his fucking turn, win’t it?’, pure trying to get him onside.
Andy went like that: ‘Aye.’
Peter was looking at us like we were mental, the smile wiped right off his face. He was like that: ‘What the fuck yous on about?’
I went: ‘That was your turn, Peter. Scott widnae have shouted that if it was your turn, would he?’
Peter was like that: ‘You’re talking fucking shite,’ and I was, but the polis were getting closer and I could see the panic getting to him. And remember with Peter that if you just keep at it, he’ll buckle.
I said: ‘Peter, just tell them it was a joke, tell them it was you, tell them it was a joke and they’ll be alright with it.’
Peter was like that: ‘Fuck off, Kenny. I didnae say it, I was the only cunt that didnae.’
Then Andy chips in with: ‘But it was your turn!’
Daft Andy chipping in, that was funny. Cos I bet you any money he didnae really know what was going on. If I had went like that to him: ‘What d’you mean, Andy? How was it Peter’s turn?’ he widnae have known.
But I said: ‘He’s right, Peter. Andy’s right.’
I could hear a woman say ‘Over there, officer’. And that made me shite it.
I went up close to Peter and said: ‘Look. Scott’s maw’s in hospital, Peter. All right? Just tell them you were joking, talk your way out of it. For fuck’s sake, man, do the right thing!’
I was trying to look pure considerate, but inside I was nearly hitting the giggles.
Peter looked at me, then he looked at Scott and Andy. Then this voice comes from the side of the queue, pure deep: ‘Okay, can I ask who caused the disturbance just then? Can you step out, please?’
It was the polis. It wisnae the kind of polis that carries a gun, but still. And next to him was this other guy with a name badge thing hanging from his neck, with this look on his face, this pure serious look to let us know that the situation was severe.
I looked at Peter. Then Peter went like that to the polis: ‘It was just a joke.’
The cunt got dragged from the queue. And that was that. We all looked away like we barely knew him.
He’s a fucking goner, man. I’m telling you. That company he works in, that accountant place, it’s one of they big places, the type with all these surnames joined together. Bigshots. They willnae be putting up with that behaviour, no way. Funny as fuck, though. I like Peter and everything, but it was funny as fuck.
So we gets to the hotel.
We gets there about 4, 5 o’clock. Nice hotel. 3 stars, I think it was, cheap as fuck, and a lot nicer than I thought it would be. You could see the pool from the reception. Big fucking pool. About 20 people were standing around the edge of it, all doing this dance to some song, with some guy on a mic telling them what to do. It was a kind of Macarena thing, except the song was one of they old ones about doing the twist. It looked good.
I was like that to Scott and Andy: ‘Look at this, eh?’ Cos it was a surprise to me, how good the place was. I didnae look at the place when I booked it, I never really do. All I’m interested in is that it isnae too far from the action, that it’s cheap, and that we can all get a room together. That’s important, that. Getting a room together.
It’s not cos we’re all shagging each other or anything, it’s because it’s more of a laugh that way. I remember we all used to get separate rooms. Everybody split into about ten different rooms. I didnae like it. Like if we were out at a pub and I’m pure ripping the piss out of one of them, they could just fuck off to their room in a huff, and there was nothing you could do about it. So I started booking rooms where we could cram about six or seven of us in at a time. No escape. If you fuck off in a huff, we’ll turn up later when you’re sleeping and fart on your head.
It was a room for four this time. Except, obviously, it was just for three, cos of what happened to Peter. When we checked in at the reception, the receptionist lassie went: ‘And, uh, where is, uh, Peter, uh, how do you say this? McKinnon?’
I just went like that: ‘Guantanamo.’
It was a wee joke, because Peter was probably getting questioned by the counter-terrorism lot. I looked at Scott and Andy, thinking I’d get a wee smile, but I got nothing. I know, it’s shite for Peter and everything, but it’s funny. It is funny. But not so much as a smile from Andy. And Scott wisnae even listening. He was still in his trance, holding his phone. And I was thinking: is this my holiday? Is this what the whole holiday’s gonnae be like?
These birds went walking by.
So I went like that to Scott: ‘Scott, mate. Scott,’ and I nodded my head to them. I looked at Scott to see what he thought. I wanted to inject a bit of life back into him, via his cock. Get the blood pumping, get some energy about him. He looked at them for a second or two, with no expression, then he just went back to looking at his phone.
I was thinking: that isnae good. That isnae a good sign. It’s Scott that I go pulling with. It’s always best when you’ve got somebody else with you, a bit of company, a bit of a crowd. But it was looking like I was on my tod, cos I wisnae exactly gonnae go pulling with Andy. He’s about 60, remember. A daft wee alky.
But here’s what happens.
There were three of them, three of these lassies. They were wearing shorts and flip-flops and they were carrying their bags, cos that was them finished sunbathing for the day, but they still had on their bikini tops. So you’d think I’d be looking at their tits. But naw. I was looking at this lassie’s belly.
It wisnae because she had a pure flat belly or anything. It was because she didnae. Her mates had flat bellies, they were all slim, like they go to the gym a lot. But this one, she was short and a wee bit fat. She looked like she didnae give a fuck.
Her shorts were tight, making her midriff stick out, that whole muffin top thing, and she had a piercing in her belly button. You’d get lassies that would try to hide a belly like that, guys as well, but there’s her with it on show, with this wee sparkly thing in it like a belly dancer. That’s like the opposite of hiding it. She didnae give a fuck.
I looked back to her face, and I saw that she’d seen me.
Caught.
I said to her: ‘Excuse me, where is there to go here?’
That’s a wee thing I do if I do get caught looking. I just start talking, about anything. I just pretend that I was looking at her cos I wanted to ask her something.
She went: ‘Sorry?’
She was English. And she smiled. I wisnae sure if she had seen me looking at her belly after all, or if she just didnae care. I went: ‘We’ve just got here, where is there to go tonight, d’yous know?’
And one of her pals went like that right away: ‘TT. Typically Tropical. Cheap drinks but the staff are shit.’
And the lassie with the belly was like that to them, ‘Fuck off,’ and gave them the finger, still smiling. She told us that she worked there, that’s what that bit of patter with her mate was all about.
I looked at Scott to see if he was taking an interest in all this, but no. Looking at his fucking phone. It looked pure ignorant.
I looked back at the lassie and went like that: ‘Where? Tropical?’ cos I only made out the word ‘Tropical’.
She went like that: ‘Yeah.’
But I meant that I only heard the word ‘Tropical’, and I was wanting her to fill in the blanks. I was gonnae ask again, but I didnae want to push it, I didnae want to come across as too keen. I liked her and everything, but I didnae know if she liked me, I didnae want to freak her out. So I went like that: �
��Awright, we might head round on Sunday, see how it goes,’ like I could take it or leave it.
She said: ‘All right. But it’s the karaoke party tonight, you don’t wanna miss that!’ Then her and her mates left the hotel.
I looked out the window to watch them, and heard the one with the belly say something like ‘Yeah, I love that accent’, and then ‘Scottish accent’ or ‘Sexy accent’.
Ooooof. What a start to the holiday.
I looked at Scott and said: ‘We are going there. We are fucking going there tonight!’ But the cunt was looking at his phone. I went like that: ‘What did she say, Scott? Something Tropical. Scott, mate. Scott,’ snapping my fingers. Scott kind of tilts his head up like he’s about to look at me, but he didnae take his eyes off his phone. So I was like that to Andy: ‘Andy, what did she say the name of that place was?’
Andy was like that, steaming: ‘I don’t know. Tropical, I think. Tropical.’ Alky cunt. They gave him one drink on the flight but they widnae let him have any more, that’s the state he was in. They could tell he was out of it, even with him sitting down.
The receptionist finished doing her stuff on the computer and gave us our keycards and told us where to go. I looked at Scott and Andy while the receptionist lassie was telling us it all, and they wurnae listening to that either. They just wurnae interested in the holiday one bit. We headed to the lift and I pushed the button for our floor and up we went. About halfway up, the lift stops and the door opens at one of the floors, but nobody was there. I got out, just to see what Scott and Andy would do. And guess what? They followed me out. So I jumped back in the lift as the door was shutting. And they didnae find the room for about half an hour. Haha, useless pair of cunts.
When they turned up, we all got ready. I sprayed on some aftershave and we headed out. I was obsessed with finding that bird. Obsessed.
I looked on my phone, searching for ‘Tropical’ and ‘Benidorm’, thinking it would be a doddle, but it turned out that there were about five places in Benidorm with the word ‘Tropical’ in them, dotted all about the place, and none of them rang a bell. It was gonnae be an adventure, but I was up for it. It was a cracking night for it. It was a mild night. A T-shirt night. We walked down the beachfront, this big street with all these restaurants and cafes facing the sea, playing music, with people inside having their dinner and having drinks, watching the sun setting. There were people still on the beach, lying on towels, even though the sun was going down. It was that kind of weather, that kind of night. Warm and busy. There were groups of lads having a laugh, laughing loud. There were families. Old folk. Everybody smiling and laughing. Groups of lassies walking by, all tarted up, hitting you with this big waft of perfume.
And there were these cunts. These cunts I was with.
Scott was still staring at his phone. The cunt had barely said a word since we touched down. As for Andy, Jesus fucking Christ. We’d get to one of these pubs with ‘Tropical’ in the name, and I’d ask the staff if they had a karaoke night on, and they widnae know what I was on about, so I just wanted to keep moving to find the next one. I just wanted to find this lassie. But Andy was like that: ‘C’mon and we’ll just stay here.’ Every time. I’d be telling him naw, cos this wisnae the pub we were looking for. Then it would be another half-hour trek to the next Tropical. Have they got a karaoke party? Naw. And there would be Andy asking if we could just stay and have a drink there anyway. Another half-hour trek. Karaoke party? Naw. Andy asking if we could have one in there. Every fucking time.
I sound like a grumpy as fuck cunt, but I’m not, honestly. I’m the furthest from a grumpy cunt you can get. But see if you compared it to how things used to be, when there used to be about fucking 15 of us walking down the street, having a laugh, pulling birds, see if you compared that to this? You’d get it. You’d get it then. You’d be giving me a pat on the back. You’d be giving me a cuddle.
We got to the second or third last one of these Tropical pubs on the map. Nae karaoke. I was like: ‘Let’s go. Next.’
Andy was like: ‘How can we not just stay here?’
I said: ‘Cos some of us are wanting our hole, Andy. Some of us can still get it up.’ I grabbed his cock and gave it a shoogle. I was laughing, but I was raging.
He stepped away and went: ‘Och, I don’t think Scott’s got that on his mind right now, you know?’
He was right. There was Scott looking at his phone, his face tripping him. So I snatched it off him.
Scott was like: ‘Gie’s it, Kenny. Gie’s my phone back.’
Andy was like that: ‘C’mon, Kenny, give him his phone. He needs it for his maw.’
I was like: ‘Naw. Naw, Scott. Naw. I’m keeping the phone. You’re here to have a laugh. I’m keeping it. You’re maw’s fine, mate.’
He was like: ‘Naw, they’ve not been texting. They were texting this morning but now no cunt’s telling me anything, something’s up.’
I said: ‘Mate, they’re probably sick to fuck of you texting, that’s all. Remember it was you that did it, it was you that stuck her there.’
Andy was like that: ‘Oh come on now, below the belt.’
But it was fucking true, and Scott knew it. It shut him right fucking up.
I stuck his phone on silent, shoved it in my pocket and pointed at the pub they all wanted to go in. I went, ‘Right, there’s your stupid fucking pub. Let’s go then.’ And in we went to this shitey, miserable wee bar full of couples and old folk watching Only Fools and Horses on this projector screen.
We all sat there getting steaming, getting drinks brought to us. Pints, sangria, ouzo, the lot. I would have been all right with it, if I didnae know that that lassie was waiting for me elsewhere. Dancing, maybe. Laughing.
Scott kept asking me if anybody had texted or phoned. Asked me about a hundred times. Every time there was a wee quiet bit in Only Fools and Horses, I’d see him out the corner of my eye, looking over to me. He’d lean over and go: ‘Sorry to ask, Kenny, but anything yet?’, and every time he did, I’d say ‘Naw’. He was doing my nut in. But then I started having a laugh with it.
He’d ask me if there had been any texts, so I’d pull his phone out my pocket and have a look at it, then pretend to be pure devastated at what I was reading on the screen. Then I’d say ‘Naw’.
At one point when he asked me, I looked at the phone and said: ‘Scott, mate, can I speak to you for a second? I’m not joking this time.’ I got up and led him away from the pub, right round the corner away from the noise. And I went like that: ‘Naw.’
I was fucking howling. He stopped asking after that.
So we sat there watching Only Fools and Horses. I don’t know what time we stayed till, but we were legless by the end of it. We’d definitely stayed long enough to watch the episode with the chandelier twice and the long one with the watch where they become millionaires. Plus Fawlty Towers, the one where he does the funny walk.
Nobody had texted or phoned. Nothing. But when we got to the room that night, I checked the phone and there were two or three missed calls, and a text from somebody saying that they tried to phone and that Scott was to phone back. I remember reading it and thinking: I hope she’s fucking dead, man. I just thought: ‘See if she’s dead? Good.’ I know that’s snide, but I was pure giggling under the covers. I fucking needed it.
I woke up the next morning with a cunt of a hangover, a cunt of a headache and a hard-on.
I’d have fucking loved to have woke up next to that lassie, in her hotel room or wherever, with her pulling my knob. I’d love to have woken up with her and talked for a bit, the pair of us slagging a few things off, taking the piss out each other. It could have happened anaw. If I’d found her the night before, we would have definitely been shagging, I’d have been waking up with her, the pair of us smiling, and this would have been a different story. But I knew that wisnae gonnae happen, even before I opened my eyes. The room was stinking of farts and feet, and I could hear Andy snoring.
I opened my eye
s and looked about the room to see if Scott was up. It was a nice room, by the way, a nice big room with everything in it, everything in the one room. A wee kitchen, a couple of single beds, and a fold-out bed couch thing. I was on one of the single beds, there was Andy snoring on the other, sleeping on the covers, his clothes still on. But there was Scott, lying on the fold-out bed. Awake. Looking at me.
How freaky is that?
It’s weird seeing some cunt looking at you when you’ve just opened your eyes in the morning, it freaks you out. My hand went to my hair, then my eyebrows, cos I thought maybe the cunt had shaved my hair off when I was sleeping, for a laugh. I thought that maybe their plan was to pretend they were sleeping, then once they heard me look at myself in the mirror in the toilet, they’d all piss themselves laughing.
We used to do that all the time, back when there was a dozen of us. No cunt wanted to go to sleep. I remember seeing this film once, some old film, where these guys had found all this gold, and they were around a campfire at the end of the night, and no cunt wanted to go to sleep in case they woke up and some cunt was off with their gold. Well, we’d be like that, except everybody was scared I was gonnae cut off their hair. One year they all made me promise that I widnae cut anybody’s hair off, cos they wurnae weans anymore. That’s what they said: ‘We’re not weans anymore,’ the lot of them saying it like they were in a union or something. They said they had to go into work on Monday, serious fucking jobs, like Peter in that accountants. So I promised I widnae do it. Then I’d go ahead and do it anyway. The fucking look on their faces. I’d be in fucking knots. If there’s one thing funnier than shaving some cunt’s hair off when they’re sleeping, it’s shaving it off after you looked them right in the eye and promised them you widnae do it.
But my hair felt like it was still there. I turned to look at the big mirror on the wardrobe. All my hair was there. Nothing on my face either, no swastikas or cock drawn on my forehead. Nothing. So I looked at Scott and went: ‘What is it?’
And he said: ‘Can I have my phone?’
That fucking phone. Another day of that phone. No way I was having that.