Sometimes, when you've walked into a smoky pub and then left, your clothes smell a bit rank don't they?, well Albatera is a bit like that - you drive home thinking "what the fuck is that smell" At this point I need to extend a profuse apology. To the people who frequent smoky pubs!
Inbred number one, who, I think goes by the name of Gregorio, (initially I mis-heard and thought it was Prickorio), works in the football club ticket office at the ramshackle El Calvario stadium, which, if it existed in the United Kingdom would have been condemned some time ago. Dear old Gregorio it seems, has only one mission in life, namely to take ten Euros from anyone who passes within fifteen yards of his glass window. Aided and abetted outside on the gate by the ninety four year old bastard son of two cousins, G even tried to gently coax the Santa Pola Club de Futbol players and their Delegado, Rafael Fuentes, into parting with a few quid, (can you call Euro's that?), before letting them in to take part in the game. Next time, I'll suggest they call the dumb cunt's bluff, don't pay up and let Albatera C.F. explain to the Federation why the game couldn't take place. It's well worth mentioning that on the afternoon Gregorio tried in vain to trouser some cash from the Santa Pola players and technical staff, the visiting coach broke down en route and everyone aboard the stricken bus was mighty pissed off when they eventually arrived and in no mood for that old malarkey.
Top - the City of Manchesters resident knuckler scraper
Middle - the excellent German
Bottom - Carlos Teves' most recent one night stand - his sister!!