May 2000. I'd just split up with a girl I was living with. I say split, what I actually mean was she hit me with a Wok and an iron that she used like a lariat. I'd been living and working at my local, was fucking depressed and knew I needed to get away. I applied for an ad in the local paper which, due to Shropshire being a rural shithole, carried ads for Wales. 'Barman required,' it said. I rang them up and they offered me the job. So I commandeered our kid and my Mum's Fiesta, known as the Blue flash, and off we went two days later.
The highlight of the journey down there was in a Little Chef in Welshpool. We (me, our kid and my best mate) had a brekkie. When the waitress came to pick the plates up, the top one slid and, much to my hungover amusement, the egg and bean residue slid off the plate and onto my brother's leg.
He wasn't happy.
Rolling through Barmouth I quickly realised how this was going to go. I was going to get the opportunity to sleep with lots of girls. Or so I thought. Because the campsite I was working on was on a small island, called Crab, off Barmouth. All they way along the Causeway my brother and mate pissed themselves laughing. Then we came to the caravan. "Alright,' said my roommate, 'my name is Dave.' Imagine Gordon Brittas from the Brittas Empire, only minus any intelligence, charm and good looks and you are still a million miles short of Dave. He was a nice bloke, Dave, but he had the personality of David Beckham after a full frontal. Anyway, our kid and Jim left and I had to move my stuff into the tiny room of a static caravan. I wasn't happy.
First night, after waking up sweating on the top bunk, I had a panic attack at the lack of space and walked down the beach at 3am
I'd been hammering the persians before I left and had a bit of claustrophobia. This room wasn't the answer. First night, after waking up sweating on the top bunk, I had a panic attack at the lack of space and walked down the beach at 3am for a hash spliff. The next morning I told Dave, who had the big room at the back and was, I later found out, a stooge for the owners, that I was moving into the double bed in the lounge. 'But what about my XBox nights?' he said. 'Fuck your XBox nights,' I told him, 'we'll play it together or not at all.' He acquiesced, I moved, as did he four days later.
Imagine a really shitty version of the Corelone family, who've lived on an island all of their lives, with a head honcho called George who lived off cider, and you can imagine these cunts I worked for. Because I have a Welsh name but sound like a Brummie, they called me mongrel and spoke Welsh whenever I was in earshot. One of the nephews, Richard, was the biggest cock I have ever met. He had Lobster pots in the bay, considered himself to be something of a looker but, and I take great pleasure in this, was turned down by every A-Level student he tried to pull when they turned up on their weekly trips.
The Job (2)
In the week, Crab Island was one of the most peaceful places on earth. Only the staff were allowed to live in Caravans and the rest of the people camped, we'd go down the beach in the day between shifts, have BBQs with the sea bass we caught, smoke weed, drink scrumpy, play football and general have a fucking riot. If you've never taken acid and swam a mile to a buoy then I suggest you do, Or don't. But really, I made some great friends at Crab. Derby Al, Chef and Geordie Paul to name a few. The weekends though, that was a different matter.
I got pissed every night for free, got loads of tips and, if a night of destruction wasn't in the offing, could pull with ease.
The Job (3)
Due to its geographical location, Crab got flooded with plenty of Mancs and Scousers at the weekends, and fuck me could they drink. In my favour, as a then shaven headed midlander, I got on with them, mainly because I wasn't the the local, ugly, dreamy twins who worked behind the bar and couldn’t pull a pint if their lives depended on it. Jules and something, they were called, but they were shit. I got pissed every night for free, got loads of tips and, if a night of destruction wasn't in the offing, could pull with ease.
Despite my initial reservations, I did alright at Crab. The worst was a girl called Aisha. Aisha was beautiful, 22 and from Afghanistan. I didn't actually sleep with her. Why? Because as I unhooked her bra she hit me with, "I have something to tell you. Owen, I should’ve told you before' 'What's that?' I replied, searching for a johnny. 'I'm nearly 15.' Ah, ooh, on your way.
In fact Julie was the worst. Not because she was rough or owt, but because she was from very near to where I grew up and was friends with two lads who I’d had fights with at school; Adrian Northbury and Carl Quinn. In fact that wasn’t the problem. The problem was she was horsey and I was pilled up when I went back to her tent. If you’ve had sex on E you’ll know that you’ll agree to anything. I was fine with most things but when she tried to stick the whip up me harris I had to leave and lock myself in the caravan for two days while she repeatedly banged on the door.
I’ll never forget that night for watching Grayhead losing his virginity next to me while this huge-titted harridan rode him like seabiscuit
In the end it was a girl who made me leave Crab. I didn’t exactly hate the job, but I was waiting for a knee reconstruction that would eventually lead to a journalism degree and was just a bit fucked off with my knee wobbling for 8 hours behind the bar every night. Anyhow, one night, a Wednesday if I remember, and a group of A-Level students from Bolton were in. There was this one girl, who looked like Aaliyah, who I couldn’t stop looking at. After a while she came over to order a drink with her mate, Jenny, who had tits that could launch battleships. I was half-cut, coming down, and couldn’t stop looking at this girl, Jewel. “You’re a bit of alright, aren’t ya’ she said. And that, pretty much, was that. Except it wasn’t. “You’ll have to sneak back to my tent…..”
After bottling up me and Grayhead, who Jenny had taken a fancy too, were sat in the gorse. I was wearing a bright white Armani T-shirt awaiting the flash of the torch. They came, I stripped to the waist and we rolled into camp past the teachers. As beautiful as Jewel was, I’ll never forget that night for watching Grayhead losing his virginity next to me while this huge-titted harridan rode him like seabiscuit. It was mesmerizing. Of course, I had my way with Crystal, but I also fell in love (lust) with her. Which led to me leaving, going to see her in Bolton, punching her brother after he hit his missus, going home and writing her a love letter on a long comedown.
No, I never saw her again, and no, I’ve never been back to Crab.
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