A Lads Holiday: Part 2

Side note: If you haven’t read A Lads Holiday: Part 1 please read it before reading this post…

I’ve been friends with these boys for years but today I found the Early Bird. Curtains open at 8am, fantastic. After all, it’s not like we drove for twelve hours yesterday. Up early and out early for breakfast, Early Bird, well played mate. As we were not yet sick of takeaway food, we went to a burger shop for breakfast. I ordered an omelette because I didn’t want a burger at 9am, but they did serve it with a burger bun – good one.

True to his name, the Early Bird did indeed have a worm he wanted to catch: a coffee shop (we’ll call it brunch). However, plans were scuppered when the group DJ brought his wallet without ID (why?) So instead he, I, and the group strongman went for a wander. We soon found ourselves in the red light district (we’re not calling it brunch this time). After a liberal upbringing and education, and given all the efforts made to detach women from sexualisation, I found seeing people on display in windows uncomfortable. However, it was interesting; never before had I imagined that a prostitute would tap on a window and wink at me whilst holding a pot noodle (for heaven’s sake, we’re still not calling it brunch).

Today was also England’s first match of the Euros, and we decided to spend it as all English do abroad; in an England shirt in an Irish pub. From this I learnt two main things: firstly, we have little in common with drunk England fans and secondly, that we have little in common with drunk Irish fans. The barman was also a dick. Despite being English, he kept telling us that he hated the English, and England, and, incidentally, us – have a day off mate. I don’t care about your prejudices, I just want a drink.

Deflated, we went out. Along the way, the strongman was mobbed by a Dutch hen-do. Confused over what she wanted, he got on one knee and proposed (as you do). This was not her goal (surprisingly) and he walked off followed by the boos of about 50 passers-by. Later, on our way into a club, we were almost stabbed. Apparently “excuse me” translates very offensively into Dutch and three petty gangster locals went to draw knives before the police strolled over. We had it covered…

After being frisked for knives on the way in (fortunately there were none sticking out of us), we got in. However, having almost been murdered going in, we were then successfully robbed inside: 1 shot + lemonade = €8.50. I should also mention that it was 50 cents to use the toilet and that the smoking area was a cupboard at the back of the club which felt like a smoker’s lung.

Since we were still breathing when we got home I would call the night a success, but then, at 3am, the waffle shop had run out of waffles. So stab-woundless, penniless and waffleless we went to sleep.

To be continued…

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