Back in the early 90s I spent a summer working in a very well known holiday resort on Costa Blanca.
An older friend of mine had done a few summers there in the late 80s and had enthralled me with his tales of excitement, adventure and really wild things.
So after I finished college I booked a flight to Alicante and blagged a seat on a package holiday transfer bus to the resort.
Once there I managed to find some very cheap accommodation in a grotty hostel situated in the old town and set about looking for a job.
For two nights solid I was job hunting, going to almost every bar & club in the resort but everywhere was the same story, fully staffed.
I did have a back up plan, which was to go fruit picking in the south of France, but ideally I wanted to stay where the buzz was, I was only eighteen after all.
On my third day there I was sitting at a café near the bullring eating a huge bocadillio and having several ‘kick in the back of the head’ strength coffees when a handsome middle-aged man approached me.
At first I thought he was just some random perv trying to chat me up but he turned out to be a real diamond geezer; after making a few calls to his mates he’d sorted me out with a club propaganda job.
I started sharing an apartment with three of my workmates & although it was bordering on claustrophobic we had a whale of a time that summer.
On a good day we’d borrow some mopeds and head for the cliffs further down the coast, listen to loud cheesy techno music, drink cheap beer and play truth or dare, in which the dare usually involved launching yourself into the sea off a steep cliff.
In the evening we’d head back into town, feast on huge plates of tuna pasta and drink cheap plonk out of cartons.
Some times we had to do special promotions or leafleting on the beach during the day but most days we just worked from 9pm until 2am and after we would join the throng of punters inside and party until sunrise.
The busy season started slowing down in late September and one by one friendly faces sloped off.
By mid October the resort had been transformed into bingo heaven for well-heeled old timers spending the winter abroad.
I bought a bus ticket to London and endured the most excruciatingly long bus journey I’ve ever taken.
My diamond geezer had offered to buy me a flight ticket but I quite stupidly turned it down cause I didn’t want to feel as if I owed him anything.
I think that I must have really hurt his feelings cause I never heard from him again.
Sadly I have very few photos left from this time of my life cause I “lost” them in a particularly nasty break-up from a jealous boyfriend a few years later but I will always have my memories.
The choon that defined that glorious summer…
Lot's of love,