The Legendary 'Mad Ass' Hodges
Trip Start Sep 09, 2004
394Trip End Ongoing
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Many many moons ago, two suspicious looking eleven year olds with nothing better to do got on their hands and knees and crawled head first into a filthy concrete water pipe.
They crawled and crawled for ages, through the foul stench and echoey darkness all the way to a small chamber underneath the road which provided enough room to sit and catch a few breaths. Directly above them lay a manhole cover. One of the boys tested it. It gave slightly. They lifted it high into the daylight and poked their grubby little heads through the hole to have a look. After a very near miss with a fast moving Ford Granada, they found themselves sitting back in the grimy darkness wide-eyed and very lucky to be alive. It was then that the rats came..
I thought of this the other day as we clambered around aimlessly over the huge concrete breakers down at the mariner in Benalmádena, some twenty years after the underground pipe incident. Little has changed.
Like many of the seaside villages on the Spanish costa, Benalmádena is classic coastal holiday resort: boats and yachts bobbing in the mariner, tatty 70's hotels overlooking the bay and a vast promenade linking all the resorts together, the majority of it bursting with restaurants, souvenir shops and the occasional lanky tout desperate to offload cheap handbags and sunglasses for a few coins. Not at all representative of Spain. Even out of season, Benalmádena was crawling with British tourists who've totally taken over, pillaging the wonderful custom of one country and replacing it with the petty comforting familiarity of their own.
Normally, you wouldn't have got me within a sniff of such a shit-hole, but Benalmádena wasn't all that bad and happened to serve it's purpose quite well. And there are worse places. The important thing on the agenda was food, drink and a thoroughly good catch up with the little mad ass. This we achieved well, and the five days absolutely flew by.
The only real eye-opener was seeing these holiday-makers going to great lengths to enjoy their little visit with as much fuss and and pandemonium as they could muster. If there was ever a more appropriate saying than 'Some people die at 25 and aren't buried until they're 75', then I don't know what it is. Having seen just a selection of some of the pathetic rituals performed by so many idiots, and hearing some of the complaints, whinges and bickering displayed by others, I'm more than happy to say that I'd gladly end my days right here and now having lived a little.
The other little incident came in the form of a group of dickheads from the South of England, who'd just arrived in the resort this particular day, and who (after only two hours of their arrival) had already attracted a small audience of police officers who had no choice but to flitter around them in a desperate attempt to diffuse the 'situation' which these pommie pieces of shit had imposed on a few innocent locals. We watched from a distance while one of them approached us from behind. After establishing we were English he began telling us how much of a nightmare 'Jozza' was and how he dreads to think what's going to happen over the next couple of days. We were told fondly of some of the people he'd 'messed up' over the years, including one particular 'down's' sufferer and her carer. These boys were ugly, and had come to the very place we were enjoying for a stag weekend. They were in their forties.
Apart from this walking mass of dog shit, the last five days have been quality, and I mean quality. We've laughed hard. We've laughed very hard. As much as things change, some things don't and I was over the moon to feel the relief of this reality. Young Daniel. The legend lives on..
Tapas count:- 46