11th October, Benidorm, Spain – I talked to an Englishman called Tom, he was out walking his dog. Well, the dog was walking, he was riding a mobility scooter. Tom lives in a permanent caravan in the campsite next to the one I’m on.
This is what Tom had to say (this is quoted, verbatim, and contains strong language) –
“There’s an old Scottish woman living down on the same camp site you’re on, she did have a husband, but he died not long ago, they moved into a caravan after their business went down the shit-pan. They bought a pub down in Benidorm about ten years ago, paid nearly a hundred grand for it, which was a fucking piss-take. They put all their money in to it, poor fuckers… worked at it, hard, for maybe four years, but nobody ever went in, he used to just stand outside saying hello to everyone, she’d be inside making butties and British food that nobody ever bought. They even shipped Hovis bread and tins of Irn Bru over… must have cost them a fucking fortune. The silly fuckers lost everything. I felt a bit sorry for them, but you’d do a bit more research wouldn’t you? If you were chucking your life-savings at it? Poor fuckers. They say Benidorm is Paradise lost. I don’t think any fucker ever found it here in the first place!”.