A Pair of Interested Ears

I just got back last night from spending five days in Spain with my cousin, Will. He's been one of my best friends for years, and we had a blast. His parents have a house in a place called Cambrils. It's right beside the tourist area of Salou, but it has virtually no tourists so it's really relaxed and just a great place to be.
We divided each day between soakin' up cosmic rays during the day, and drinking a lot of beers during the evenings. The first night we were there we went to a bar on the beach that was just across from our usual beach. Will has a fair bit more Spanish than I do so he tried to order some beers from the barman. He stumbled through an order but the barman seemed to understand him well enough. Will then asked me a question in English which the barman heard, and he said "You guys speak English?! Guys, come on! Everyone speaks English here".
"Oh, we know, I was just trying to get better at my Spanish..." Will sheepishly replied.
The Barman told us his name was Mauri and that he was from the Dominican Republic. He was a super cool guy. He had an amazing level of English and was able to converse with us comfortably, which he did almost every night we were there.
That first night, we got quite drunk and started up chats with everyone around us. We got to know this German couple and a lad from Luxembourg. We couldn't ever remember any of their names, which is totally rude I know, but we were super drunk. Well, I was. After talking to 'Lad' from Luxembourg (which is what we christened him), he told us he had some weed. I never really smoke weed or do any sort of drugs at all, but being drunk, I got really excited and smoked a lot with him. It was a terrible idea. Or terrible weed. I found myself sitting with a group of German kids for about an hour while they chatted in German. I just sat there saying nothing, staring blankly. Eventually I realised how thick I looked and went back to the bar to find Will.
Unfortunately that night, Mauri only had half pint plastic glasses to offer us. When we said we'd really love a pint, he decided to give us a two litre jug of beer for the price of a pint. Being the intelligent consumers, we took full advantage of this offer. Four times. I hadn't been that drunk in a good few months, and eventually of course, I needed to get sick. According to Will, I was adamant that I wanted to get sick into the sea, and not on the sand. Apparently my reason was that 'kids be playin' on that n' shit'. I got thunderously sick into the sea, and then we went home.

The next morning I woke up with a crash. The steel pot Will had placed beside my head, in case I got sick, fell to the floor with a horrible loud noise. I had an awful hangover. My head wasn't so bad, but my stomach felt like a few rats had a shit party in it. In an attempt to get my blood sugar levels up, I tried to force down a cereal. I had about two soggy spoonfuls and couldn't manage anymore. I had a glass of apple juice which went down ok, and then about two spoons of a strawberry yoghurt. I sat back and admitted defeat. I just could not eat anything. Will gave me a bottle of water which I wolfed down. Then I felt that old feeling. I ran to the toilet and got sick again. Only when I had finished, I felt amazing. I could eat the full yoghurt!

We did this for a few days, and then on Saturday we went into Salou for a night on the 'tiles', except there was mostly pavement. I still don't get that phrase.
We got a taxi there, and as soon as we stepped out, some lad from an Irish pub cringingly called 'Danny Boys' came up to us and desperately tried to get us to go inside. He was from Northern Ireland and said things like "Free shots with your first drink! A live band playing great hits from bands like Snow Patrol and Oasis! You love them, right!". In spite of his off-putting enthusiasm, we went in for one drink. There were too many Iirsh people inside. Who the fuck goes on Holiday to be with the people they were trying to get away from in the first place? Irish people, apparently. We drank up quick and moved on. We went into various clubs which were all the same really, until we ended up in a club called Kiss. The whole place was shaped like a pair of lips, with the bar in the middle. It was kind of small but it was great. There were a lot of Irish and British people in there though, but I suppose that's what Salou is made up of. We got talking to a good few people and started having a great time. We met this English lad called Henry at the bar and he was a bit sleazy, going around feeling up girls. One girl he tried to feel up turned out to be Irish, and I got talking to her. Well, very limited talk since it was very loud. We started dancing anyway and things got very close. She took me outside where we talked a bit more and started kissing. It was great. Having just gotten out of a serious relationship a few weeks previous, it was so liberating and uplifting just to be with someone again. We stayed outside for a while getting to know each other and kissing aswell.
At one point we heard a bit of commosion going on from the door of the club. Two lads were knocking the shit out each other. After a minute or two I realised one of them was a bouncer. Another bouncer came along to help, and they both threw this guy straight into a wall. He tried to get up, but stumbled and fell. He had blood on his face. The bouncers just stood there with their arms folded. The guy's friend stood face to face with the bouncer, screaming at him that she was going to call the police, but the bouncer didn't budge. It's weird how they can do that, but I guess it's their job. This guy was obviously causing trouble, he looked like he was seriosuly drunk.
After that, we went back inside for some more dancing. We were together for ages, and it was amazing to have that closeness back again. I knew it wouldn't lead to anything serious and I wasn't even looking for that, but it made me so happy.
Will came and found me. He said he'd been with at least six different girls while trying to find me. I didn't doubt it, I'd seen him do similiar things myself. He was with two girls at the time, and they wanted to go to another bar. The girl I was with wanted to stay with her friends. It was just a fling, so we said our goodbyes and I left.
Will, two girls (who turned out to be Irish aswell) and I went to another bar called Snoopys. It turned out that one of the girls was actually a barmaid around Salou, so we got into the VIP area. It sucked. It was so boring and we were probably the most Important People there. We stayed for fifteen minutes before they wanted to go back to Kiss. I got a bit shifty. I thought that if the first girl I was with saw me come back with two other girls she might slap me or something. When we got back, I saw her with another guy. I was relieved. I'm still in a relationship frame of mind, so it still feels like I'll get in trouble if I'm with another girl. Although she was with someone else, I still tried to avoid her, because I had told her I was going home...
It was a great night in the end. I needed something exactly like that to help me get over my ex-girlfriend and it made me feel great. The whole holiday, even though it was just five days, was so relaxing and helped clear my head. I had been slightly depressed before I went but I was feeling great now. We spent our last night hanging out with Mauri on his beach bar and we exchanged emails and the like. Our last morning was spent on the beach, diving off rocks and trying to get some colour into my pasty Irish skin.

We got back to London that evening, had some pizza and went to bed. We spent a good eight hours traveling, due to using the remote airports Reus and London Luton. I hate English trains already.

Holidays are class. It felt weird coming 'home' to London though. I'm still not used to it. It made me sad not to be in Dublin. I'm still homesick, but I'm sure when college starts I'll get over it.
New people will never replace the old ones, but it'll be nice to make some friends. London will never be my home, but it will be a nice three-year holiday.

Chris