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This is a question Expensive Weekends

Chthonic says he's still reeling from a trip to a wedding that cost him nearly £600; while a friend of ours hazily presented his credit card to the bar staff in a shady club in the Baltic states. You know how that one ended.

(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:03)
Pages: Popular, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

thirsty
When me and Mrs RoF were planning our wedding we spent money on the good things like a great band, good grub and politely turned down the venue’s wedding arranger’s assertions that we must have flowers everywhere and a wedding cake etc.

The thinking was that we’d take these savings and put them towards a free bar for the day.

And that’s what we ,did.

So. How much can nearly 200 Scots and Bajans drink in an evening, have a guess.

The answer was waiting for us in an envelope when we returned from our honeymoon. £8242, that’s how much. The greedy ungrateful freeloading bastards.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 15:47, 6 replies)
Glastonbury 2005
£500 in 4 days. I barely drank, smoked others' weed - for once - and didn't buy much 'stuff'. So I'm forced to concede I spent it on numerous sausage and egg baps from the nearby burger tent, hash cakes from the stone circle, and NOS balloons.

Money well spent, I say.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 15:33, 3 replies)
2 grand
in 3 nights in Vegas. Never even gambled. Drunkenly paid for us all to go in a helicopter to the grand canyon at 6 in the morning.

Its really weird to go in a helicopter when pissed. I recommend it.

Best/worst city ever though.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 15:29, 1 reply)
Stag weekend in Bournemouth
My mates stag weekend to sunny Bournemouth around 9 years cost me around £500. The hotel was £96 for the 2 nights so the rest was spunked on booze, cigarettes and lap dances.
Classy!!
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 15:26, 2 replies)
The £187 screw
(Please @beard take no offense - we had a lovely time!)

Getting to a wedding in deepest Dorset isn't easy if it's just you, but it's a whole level of harder when you've got 3 kids under 4 coming too.

So:
1) Place to stay. Well we'll have to stay at the wedding venue or we'll be leaving halfway through dinner to put babies to bed. And we'll need to stay the night before as we'll not get there in time once wee-stops and feeds are factored into the journey time. (oddly, no route planning software will do this for you). It's £177 a night. Ouch.

2) Car. I don't own a car, I hire one and let the wee lovelies throw up on that. It's cheaper in the long run, but it's still £215 for the w/e to hire something wide enough to get three baby seats in and long enough for their luggage.

3) Speaking of luggage, managed to forget my bag and only remembered 40 minutes into the journey. Luckily wedding-suit is in the car, but toiletries, clothes for the next day and SHOES need buying. Manage to do the lot for £25 by not buying any shoes. If Dr Who can wear Converse with a jacket, so can I.

4) Arrive to discover air leaking from rear tyre. Massive screw right through the tread. The car has less than 1,000 miles on it and the tyre is fucked. This is where I really start to lose it. It cost me £187 for a new one to the spec laid down by the hire company.

£187 for a sodding screw. I didn't even get to keep it. Or have sex with it.

Add in £40 quids worth of petrol and it cost us £831 for the weekend.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 15:25, 2 replies)
A Friends Engagement Party
Not even a full weekend, just a friday night! I only knew the girl who's party it was, but she was & is a very dear friend of mine so I kinda had to go. My plan therefore, was to stand at the bar all night, keep them coming & hope for the best. Anyway, Here goes;

Present- £35.
Train ticket to rural Cheshire- £22.
Taxi from train station to hotel- £13.
One night in the Hartford Premier Inn- Not fucking £30 a night like the brochure says, but £68.
Amount spent on booze at said party £180.
Taxi Back to the station the next day- £18!!!

Total I'm gonna beat out of them should they ever split up- £336.

Didn't even cop off or nothin'!
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 15:21, 5 replies)
money and free time
It was a dark windy night…no hang on, it was a sunny Saturday afternoon when my wife and I, OK my wife, decided we should have a baby.
Obviously terrified by the prospect, I kept calm by hanging on to the belief that years of drink, drugs and cycling would have rendered me functionally sterile, and I’d have at least few dirty months to get used to the idea.
We did it twice (yes I’ve had full sex) that day and I bleedin’ well scored a direct hit straight away.
8 years later and spare cash is a distant memory, a legend that perhaps I only dreamt about during a fever.

Actually, more an expensive 3.25 minutes (combined) than a whole weekend.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 15:20, 11 replies)
Taking an ex out for her birthday..
Being 17, with a job I was having 6 hours a week at, this was never going to be a cheap affair for me. I saved for nigh on 4 months for this, as I had to pretty much pay my own way aswell on the grand total of pretty much nothing.
Honestly though, this girl deserved it - home life falling apart, blah blah blah.

Twishite tickets x2 - £16
Solid and Liquid refreshment for said film - £19
Dinner at what is essentially a spicy chicken restaurant? £35 (granted, allowed for alcohol.)
Some video game or other - £45
some drink for the house afterwards - £7.50
Taxi home, because buses arent classy - £20
Grand total : £142.50

Majorly falling out with the girl a month beforehand, and spending said money on getting absolutely monged on your own birthday a little while before hers? Priceless.

(losing your b3ta V in a horribly uninteresting way - priceless.)
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 14:40, 1 reply)
I once visited
a friend of mine in Aberdeen. I was living in Swansea at the time (2003 I think). I only knew her through the internet and had never met her. But she was going through a rough patch, and was rather scarily talking about suicide.

I told her "Right, that's it, I'm coming up there. DO NOT KILL YOURSELF BEFORE I GET THERE." and booked tickets for the earliest I could possibly manage - about a month later. Flying on a Friday morning, Cardiff airport to Glasgow, then train to Aberdeen, staying there for the weekend and coming back by the same route on Sunday. Overall it cost about £250, which is a lot to pay for someone I'd never met, but I felt it was worth the price if it helped her get through her problems.

In the meantime she got herself a boyfriend and a job so when I did actually get up there she wasn't in such a bad state after all. But we still enjoyed ourselves, nice meals, pubs and things and it was a cool trip which I felt good about, and I like to think my original intervention showed her that someone cared enough to stop her doing something stupid.

It was on the way back that everything started screwing up big-time. I thought my (pre-booked) train was 15.08 from Aberdeen station. We turned up there a few minutes beforehand to watch the 15.00 pulling out of the station.

My flights were at about 6.30 pm from Glasgow airport. The next train from Aberdeen was two hours later, and would get to Glasgow at 7. "Shit" I thought. I was not enamoured with the prospect of being stuck in Scotland in January. I enquired after the cost of a taxi.

"£180 mate"
"...oh, er, in that case maybe not. thanks anyway"

I had to get a coach instead at the cost of a mere £55. Left at 4 and would get to Glasgow at around 6, supposedly. Which was cutting it fine anyway, but when we broke down twice on the way, that was the end of my hopes of catching my flight, and now I was not only stuck in Scotland, I was stuck in Glasgow without anywhere to stay.

I went to the train station, where I found the next train was the 12-something sleeper train to Euston, arriving at 6.45am at a cost of £80, and without even getting a bed. I had no other choice though, so I bought a ticket and sat in the cold for the next five hours waiting for my train, followed by another six hours sitting bolt upright, tired and poor. When I did get to London I surprised my parents by turning up at 8am on their doorstep and going to bed for the day. I eventually got the train from Paddington to Swansea that evening for another additional cost of £65. A normally three-hour journey took five because some dickheads threw a brick into the windscreen of the train as we were coming into Cardiff.

I arrived at my home in Swansea 39 hours after leaving Aberdeen and having spent somewhere between £450 and £500 on one weekend, just to try to help a friend out.

In the following years she firstly came down to visit me, met a friend of mine and got together with him, moved down to Swansea and enrolled on a uni course she didn't finish, following by cheating on him, breaking his heart and moving to Cardiff with the guy she'd cheated on him with, starting another uni course which she didn't finish, before deciding she had some kind of mental problems which meant she couldn't work but was perfectly fine to smoke weed and play bass guitar in a band. Eventually he broke up with her and she moved back up to Aberdeen, eventually getting her old job back something like 5 years after she left it. At all these points she ignored any advice I gave her. I even have a log of an MSN conversation where I typed in the middle of it "You don't read a single thing I say, do you?" and received no reply.

I would not really call her a friend any more.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 14:35, 4 replies)
Copenhagen
Stag Do
Strip Club
£15 a bottle of beer
£75 a lapdance

Worth it?

Totally
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 14:31, 5 replies)
One of the dates with my ex
around 270 quid.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 14:09, 3 replies)
last weekend my wife went out with her brother
to pick up a couple of £25 wheel bearings for her car. I went to a rugby game with my brother.

When I got back there was a new car in the drive. "Whose car is that?" I enquired "Mine!" she replied proudly! "How the fuck did you pay for that?" I enquired in a slightly less calm voice "I took out a loan"

She tried to reason that she could sell the fucked car and get some money back on it. I pointed out the interest alone on the loan is more than her other car is worth in its present condition. I also pointed out that when I wanted a new sound card you told me "No more than a tenner" We are now paying £50 a week on a car we didn't need and can't afford. She's hot though so what can you do?
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:55, 15 replies)
It's Grim Up North
Derby County vs Arsenal, 1989

Petrol: £20
Pub: £20
Turnstile: £5
Crapburger: £3
Programme: £1
Phone call to 999 after finding your car reduced to its individual components by various local scrotes and arsonists who saw an ill-advised "Go Go Gunners" car sticker as an invitation to wanton destruction: FREE
Help from Old Bill: NIL
Help from insurance company: NIL
Night in the Hotel Fleapit: £35
Train fare home: £30
Taxi from station: £10
New car: £770 (an Austin Allegro! WOO!)

Match result: LOST 2-1
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:53, 3 replies)
Went out to london for my Mother's birthday last weekend
I'm at uni, so didn't know whether I could go until the last minute, and as such didn't know where we were going.
Turned out to be a food fair.
I'm somewhat of a foodie, managed to spend about double my normal weekly shop (on stuff where I still had to do my weekly shop on top of that), on wild boar, salami, ostrich (if anyone knows a good recipe for ostrich casserole meat, gaz me, current plan is to rework a good beef in red wine I know), kangaroo burgers (disappointing, filled with enough flavourings that they could have been made from anything), 5 different types of pesto (2 of which are "indian pestos" (i.e. posh curry sauces), and 3 different chilli sauces.

So to compensate for this excess I decide to use up my odeon reward points for my weekly(ish) cinema trip. And then promptly proceed to book the tickets for the wrong day, so I have to pay anyway...
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:51, 13 replies)
Having spent an all-expenses-paid week in Las Vegas as guests of a multi millionairre, on returning to Blighty and buying a curry
Mrs V and I kind of resented having to pay for it.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:44, 2 replies)
I wasn’t even conscious
My missus borrowed my car to drive to the theatre with a friend, it was going to be a late night so I left her to it and went to bed.

I woke up to a text saying “really sorry, I’ve crashed the car” and nothing else, so I put it down as a crap joke.
Then I got a phone call saying the same.

Turns out she’d rolled the car going down a pretty straight bit of road. We’re still not sure how.

She and her friend were fine but the car was a right off and, unfortunately, she only had third party insurance to drive my car.

As we were saving for our wedding I decided to buy an older car for about 3k with the plan on buying a newer one after the big day.

I’ve since had to replace the gearbox and repair the engine after the cam belt went.

The value of the old car and the cost for purchasing and subsequent repairs on the new car are around 12k.

So my most expensive weekend was spent sleeping in my own bed. I think it works out at about £1,500 per hour of sleep.

But the wife was fine and had a nice time seeing that there David Tennant in Hamlet.
Which is nice.

It would probably of been cheaper to hire him personally to read her a book.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:42, 4 replies)
Just recently...
I had a day's work in the Seychelles, then a few days wait for a flight back. No problem, chill out on the beach (the hotel and flight were paid for by the customer), then back to work in time to get paid Friday and finish early for the weekend - what an awesome week this was gonna be...

So, job in the Seychelles went well, burnt myself by not appreciating how powerful the sun is when you're that close to the equator, and found myself flying back Thursday morning.

All was well, until our scheduled stopover in Zurich, where we were told that no flights were going anywhere because of some ash cloud, and that Air Seychelles were paying for hotel accommodation overnight.
"Oh well," thinks I, "Better let the office know I'll not be in tomorrow..." and turned on my phone to be greeted by 3 or 4 messages from the boss telling me not to get on the plane from Seychelles...arse.

And so, the entire flight is packed into coaches and sent the the 'local' hotel - in Egerkingen, just over an hour from Zurich.

Ended up we stayed in this (admittedly) nice hotel until Sunday morning, rooms and meals paid for by the airline - all we were paying for was the beer...and I made a point of not starting before 10am (how English huh?), and not finishing before 3am. A group of us were having an competition on who could run up the highest room bill. Sunday morning we were told coaches were being supplied for the trip back to Heathrow via Calais - and that we'd each have to pay 100 Swiss francs (about £60).

So, there was £210 bar bill, £150 phonebill, £60 coach fare and a good £40 for various refreshments on our drive back across Europe...total of £420

Got to know some really good people from the flight while stranded though - hi to anyone from flight HM010
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:38, Reply)
Mrs Spimf can’t do drugs...
not at all, she’s tried coke a few times and it always went like this...

"Want some of this coke baby?"

"No I cant, I cant, I really cant"

"Sure?"

"Well maybe just a wee bit"

Snnnnnnnnnnnnnnort!

FFW 6 hours... and we have a raging Hoover nosed maniac with one eye going to the shops and the other one coming back with the change - demanding more sex, coke,porn,sex,coke,porn - you get the picture. She even got so off her face on a bottle of poppers at T in the Park she had to be carried a good mile or so back to the bloody tent. But that's just the preamble...

A good few years back we went to a really nice hotel in a wee fishing village in Scotland - Portpatrick to be precise. With some time to kill before dinner, lolling around in our room, I decide to roll a joint.

"Want to try some hash babes"

"No I can't smoke"

"You can eat it though"

"Hmmm? Ok - not much though!"

A small piece of hash the size of a pea is consumed then we took the dogs for a walk along the beach. Drugs? No effect. An hour later there we are in the rather posh hotel bar, Mrs Spimf in a LBD looking leggy, demure and pretty damn hot.

"Would you like a drink before dinner darling”?

"Yes, sherry please"

Now I don’t know what sort of fucked up constitution my Mrs has but it would seem a tiny speck of cannabis can lie dormant in her tumblyboos until one small sherry is sloshed down there, then it begins...

Giggling - fair enough
Talking Pish - fair enough
Sudden loss of short term memory resulting is said pish being repeated on loop - fair enough
Attempt to get off bar stool and go to the loo resulting in KO style collapse in the middle of the room - erm no.

To make matters even better she had landed smack on the floor at the owner’s feet who was chatting with her daughter. Soon revived and seemingly now ok (ish) while rubbing a slight bump on her head, Mrs Spimf (brilliantly) explains to the hotel owner she might have had an adverse reaction to some prescription medicine. Owner promptly offers to call a doctor; she even offered to act as a witness in the lawsuit she had conjured from nowhere that was going to 'ruin' the 'idiot' doctor that would prescribe such powerful drugs without proper warning. Suddenly Mrs Spimf is fine and dandy again so we decide to proceed with dinner. She's now hungry - celle surprise! A sip of wine and a nibble at her starter and she’s off again. Talking pish, swaying about, stuck on a Groundhog Day loop - the lot!

Tits.

Quietly, I ask the waiter if he could sent the rest of the food up to the room and try to make as dignified an exit as one can with Ken Fucking Dodd in a cocktail dress waving and belming to a room full of bemused diners. So there we are back in the room - immediately Mrs Spimf strips naked. No idea why, the only thing I was intending eating at that point was my bloody steak, which was supposedly on its way up.

Knock knock - "room service"

"Come in" coos my idiot bloody wife, naked as a Tory MP in a boys dormitory.

The poor bloke trundles in with a splendid tray of delights, complete with comedy silver dome things on them. Give him his due he barely batted an eyelid as I hastily tried to cover my mad as a bat butt naked wife. He left with a smirk and large tip. After ten minutes of watching my wife struggling to use cutlery (she seemed to be knitting an imaginary scarf from invisible wool) I suggested at that point she might well be better in bed. So in she pops.

Thank. Fuck! Peace at last. Just as I finish my steak the convulsions start. Yes fucking convulsions.

Su-fucking-perb.

So there she is: Portpatrick's answer to Jon Belushi writhing around in bed like Linda Blair's epileptic understudy. After some 'discussion' Mrs Spimf decides it is in fact...

"Nothing to do with the drugs - it must have been when I hit my head"

She then panics - decides she has a 'brain clot' from her tumble earlier (I had a few choice words on that one). Nevertheless Mrs Spimf demands a doctor be summoned.

"Head injuries must be investigated!"

So there I am - no choice. I called the owner and asked if she could discreetly request a local doctor give us a quick call just to reassure my idiot wife she is not destined to spend the remainder of her days communicating with one eyebrow. Ten minutes later an ambulance with full blues and twos rocks up.

Fuck.

All too soon the paramedics enter the room, along with the bloody owner and her daughter as well for good measure. After I managed to tactfully ask them to get the fuck out I had a quite word with the paramedic.

"Don’t think its the bump to the head mate" (looks around conspiratorially) "she's actually eaten a little bit of cannabis"

Paramedic looks confused,

"How much"

"Erm maybe enough for two fairly miserly joints"

Paramedic scratches head.

"What’s she doing eating it - your supposed to smoke it, at least that's what I do (winks), having said that if she's had a bump to the head we should maybe take her in for observation"

Tits.

So they go to lift the pale and shaking Mrs Spimf out of bed

"Wait!"

"She’s naked"

"Oh right, fine where are her clothes"

I gather up the frilly black undies, stockings heels and LBD and realise the chances of getting her dressed without more drama were, to even the most optimistic observer, bugger all.

"Fuck it, wrap her up in the duvet, I’ll take the clothes with me"

And so they did. Then popped her on a little chair with wheels affair and lifted her up....

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" cries my lunatic wife - "I'M SCARED OF HEIGHTS!!!!"

"Erm your only about 6 inches off the floor love"

"OH? ...Well it felt a lot higher"

*faceplams*

So we process through the hotel lobby - the entire staff and guests it would seem had now lined up to see the drama unfolding with 'my lovely wife' now back on a high waving like a mong on a day trip to a window factory.

Kill me now, please God - end this now.

So we sat in the ambulance - it was at least 40 minutes to the nearest A&E. Mrs Spimf cracking jokes all the way. Me sitting there with a face like thunder. They treated Mrs Spimf and I like we had been up all night smearing methadone on a baby, they grilled me on what she had 'actually taken' then eventually they let us home at around 3 am. So on top of the cost of the fancy hotel, meal and a ruined LBD, the taxi back to the hotel cost nearly 50 quid - about 15 years ago.

I don't allow my wife drugs anymore. Muppet.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:33, 21 replies)
Coming back from Hungary one weekend
The plane developed a problem and they couldn't get a spare part until the following Monday.

We were put up in the Hilton in Budapest, the only place that could take a plane load of us. My wife and I avoided the mini-bar, went out for a meal and had a lovely night's sleep.

The next morning at reception we just had to hand the keycard back, but there was a bit of commotion at the other desks. Apparently most of the flight thought it was "all expenses paid" and had hammered the mini bars, restaurants and services. The hotel wouldn't let the coach leave until all bills were paid.

I should think that one weekend cost most people more than the rest of their entire holiday!
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:33, Reply)
I once went on a date with this classy bird
We'd already had a few drinks when we decided to order our meal, of course, being a gentleman I was paying...

The bitch wanted onion rings AS WELL as fries!
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:30, 3 replies)
Once on a biz trip
with a collegue in Russia, we were in a shithole called Kaliningrad, where the only hotel was an old East german cruise ship, permanently moored.

It was filthy, stunk of diesel, bar always full of 60 year old German tourists who insisted on having Richard Clayderman playing at full blast.

Anyway, we had booked 2 single rooms but when we arrived, I got a single room, my collegue was given a double as 'we don't have any singles left'. Fine, no problem.

Check out time, she gets her bill, it's double mine.

When we asked about it, they said to her 'you had 2 beds'.

'So what?' she says 'I booked a single, and I was the only one in the room'.

'You put your suitcase and clothes on the other bed, therefore you used it, therefore you pay for it. Would you like to have it explained by security?'

I seem to recall the 2 days we were there came to a rather ambitious £1,100 or so, but that did include about £150 I spunked at a rather dodgy casino.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:18, 3 replies)
Night out on Glasgow
A few months back I had been press-ganged into staying in Glasgow for 2 nights by my GF. We were meeting friends the first night and the next day was a roller derby tournament and post game party.

I got a great deal on a hotel, it was 60% of the usual price.

It wasnt until we arrived I realised why. I actually, booked it for the following month. And as it was Valentines weekend the real room rate was through the roof. However, they said we could have the room.

I just smiled and handed over my credit card, sobbing silently on the inside
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:15, Reply)
Strip Bar in Liverpool
Stag weekend in Liverpool, horrendously dodgy strip bar on the less than desirable street in the City Centre (kind of street that's busy, but nobody really stops on it), mate of mine spent £400 for the services of two strippers.

He had an odd fetish that he liked his women to bark at him, so fair play the women did, but they later admitted to one of us that it was a strange request and "never really priced a job like that before" (exact words), so they charged him £8/bark.

That's business.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:14, 4 replies)
A homosexual bloke where I work
had to get private surgery for an anal prolapse. It proved to be an expensive weak-end.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:13, 3 replies)
Damn!
6th
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:10, Reply)
Marriage
I got married on the Saturday 13th October 2001 and I'm still paying...
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:09, 1 reply)
Expensive weekends to come this year...
Just booked in to some vintage vehicle rallies. Luckily I only ride bikes so I can't buy owt too big!
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:06, Reply)
I usually fill my car with petrol at the weekend.
Doesn't get much more expensive than that.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:06, 6 replies)
first
EDIT: I really wish I hadn't done that. I now hate myself for it. But screw it, I might as well tell a story whilst I'm here.

Not so much a weekend, as a pre weekend. But it was expensive nonetheless.

A few years back, two of my friends, Rob & Tom, and I thought it'd be top notch to go and take in "all the culture" of a holiday in Ibiza, for a second time. As liabilities go, us three together are some of the biggest.

We flew out on the Wednesday and we reaallllyyy did it on our first night. Here's our tale of alcohol and woe.

Obviously on our first day, we did the usual stuff of checking out the room (dive), the pool (no diving) and the surrounding area. After the mistake we made in our first year of going out at 11pm, which is the equivalent of going out at 2pm in lovely Blighty, we took a bit of a siesta before picking up some pre beers and getting warmed up, and then going for a meal to soak up the inevitable water park of booze we were no doubt going to consume.

For those who have never been to Ibiza, let me first tell you about the West End. It's basically a strip of what I could only fathom as millions upon millions of bars, with ridiculous offers of petroleum and orange cocktails to entice you in.

The three of us considered ourselves fine connesuirs of booze (read monster drinkers) and were in the middle of our fair share of drinking when disaster struck for me! The Mexican chicken I'd just eaten was making its presence known at my colons expense. So after quickly slurring to the lads "DON'T MOVE, I'M OFF FOR A SHIT" I made my way back to our hotel, as it was only 2 seconds from the west end and I didn't fancy getting my bum covered in the 'substances' usuall found on Ibiza public toilet seats.

And yep, sure enough, as soon as I returned, the bastards had disappeared. So, doing what only a young sensible lad could do in Ibiza, I got royally battered with a load of strangers and then went to gawp at some boobies in a strip club. A few hours later, after not being able to find my hotel even though I probably walked past the thing 5 times, I woke up in a random hotel room lying next to a fat bird.

After making a sharpish exit, I left that hotel, walked LITERALLY 10 metres around the corner to find where I was staying. The trudge to the 4th floor was quite unpleasant (scared of lifts, couldn't be bothered with the cocktail of hangover/fear). However not nearly as unpleasant as what I found when I got to our room door, which had been kicked damn near off its hinges, with a broken lock on it.

Rob was lying there on the bed. I stood there in silence, baffled by how unshocked I was at the current turn of events.

Rob told me that he had no idea what happened after I'd left the bar, but somehow he managed to lose Tom, and realising that I had one key and Tom had the other, he had no way of getting back into the room (of course in his state he couldn't comprehend that the hotel would have a spare). So he wondered aimlessly around the West End, very similar to myself, and then, with the main chunk of his night missing, woke up at around 8 in the morning from what he could tell, on a sunlounger, in a hotel he had never seen before.

Being still under the influence from the previous night, he could not for the life of him work out how to get out of the hotel. So he climbed over an 8ft wall to get out, gaining a nice long cut but losing a mighty chunk out of his leg at the same time. Then walking out towards the beach, he realised he was a good half hours' walk from the hotel. How he got there is still a mystery.

"But what about the room?!" I asked. "Why is the door off the hinges, were we robbed?"

"Well..." said Rob, in an ominous tone, as I notice all of Toms' belongings are firmly stuffed into his bag. And this is where the expensive part comes in.

Turns out Tom, on losing the pair of us, had decided that he was bored of the West End, so took a wander to one of the nearby clubs (either Es Paradis or Eden, I forget). This is where the spending begins.

Now, down the West End, drinks are cheap. Very fucking cheap. Hand over €15 between three of you, you'll get 3 beers, 3 shots, a pitcher of cocktail and the rest of the bottle of vodka that was left over from the cocktail, which is never a great deal anyway. But get to a club in Ibiza, prices are so high you need to get a mrtgage for a Vodka Red bull. So Tom, in his infinite wisdom, gets ruined on vodka and coke, a snip at €20 a glass. After this, he leaves the club much the worse for wear, when one of the locals becomes very friendly with him on his walk back to the hotel. Putting his arm round him.... Calling him mate.... Rummaging through his pockets... Stealing his wallet... Phone... Passport... Camera... Room key....

Tom, of course, did not notice this at all, and thought the bloke was just being nice!

Until he got back to the room. "CUNT" he thinks. And in his fury, standing outside our room, no key, puts his size 12 through the lock.
Then packs his bags.
Then goes to get a taxi.
Then arrives at the airport to get a flight home.


Then gets told to fuck off, because he doesn't have a passport.

So in one night of madness, Tom managed to spend:
Around 100€ on drinks, 20€ on getting into a club, About €120 on taxis to and from the airport and British Consulate, €70 on a temporary passport. 120€ on a new door/lock for the room, £80 on a new passport and god knows how much on a new phone and camera.

And because he was so annoyed at himself for nearly leaving the holiday on the first night, he bought me and Rob breakfast.

The rest of the holiday, in comparison, was quiet.
(, Thu 13 May 2010, 13:05, 5 replies)

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