“Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way”
That was the point I wasn’t. After the grape picking and with the help of a pin and a map we headed for Javea and two became four the Master, myself, John (older Aussie) and Maggots (younger Aussie). Our two vans with the Floyd as company hit Javea beach after driving through the night and so it was Speedos and the sea. An effeminate voice called out. ‘I wouldn’t swim there dear, it’s where the sewer pipe empties.’ Remember this was 1976, a blue beach could actually be blue contaminated by chemicals and sewerage, but this one looked ok. Apart from that, for spear fishermen sewerage is good, where there’s s*** there are Grey Mullet
Anyaways, enter Ronnie and Laurie, two ex-merchant seamen, an Englishman and yes, an Australian who owned the Cave Bar, to which we were duly invited that evening. We found a place to camp by the harbour and it wasn’t long before the Guardia Seville informed us, “No es posible acampar aquí.” Upon which the Master quite simply said. “Pesca submarina.” apparently if you catch fish underwater you camp wherever you like, they smiled and walked on. They later returned and informed us they would visit our vans throughout the night to ensure we were safe. Roughly translated it meant leave a bottle of wine and two mugs out. A little like leaving a glass of whisky for Santa, but every night. The Cave Bar was decorated like a Cave (strange that) Ronnie and Laurie had been together for years and were fun chaps except when one of them bit my bum one night. Maggots explained that I didn’t need to worry it wasn’t a Gay thing it was an Australian thing, needless to say i explained it wasn’t ‘my thing.’
It was around this time that Maggots and I formed a duo, not an entertainment duo, we were a, ‘hearts and minds’ duo. We set out to win as many as we could. There were a lot of beautiful girls in Javea and our support of the local vineyards was legendary, to such an extent that the Master and Maggots’ older brother, John took our money away purely so we could survive the winter in Gran Canaria. So a cunning plan was devised. The barman in the Cave agreed to swop wine for light bulbs. There were a lot of light bulbs in the Cave, there were even more in Javea. We appropriated many, many light bulbs, so our decadence continued.
I’ll have to leave you there as I need to get to Manchester Airport in three hours for a flight to Cyprus, they have vineyards, don’t they? 🙂