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by Liam Ronan
Kavos 2001. That particular location and year will forever stick in my mind as it was not only my first holiday away without an adult; but it was also the first holiday I came back whiter and spottier than when I had left.
The holiday album happened to be Daft Punk ‘Discovery’ (2001 wasn’t that good for music!) and it became forever memorable, not just because of the several thousand plays on the way to Manchester Airport, but because of the song ‘One More Time’ which played in some Greek club we visited in between loads of plate-smashing music. After listening to track after track of tacky Mediterranean trance and backwards pikey folk music, the synthesised Euro-dance sound of those legendary Frenchmen was like coming up on the greatest pill ever.
Aside from the music, which throughout the holiday was mostly shit, I remember getting burnt on the first day, meaning I couldn’t sunbathe again for the rest of the week. It wasn’t that irritating however, because I don’t think we ever went to lie on the beach again. Our days consisted of lazily awaking at around four in the afternoon, getting a souvlaki to eat (or as I tend to pronounce them: Slovaki….I’m sure that’s a race of people) then going back out on the razz until about six or seven the following morning. This explains the pasty-faced-spotty-ginger lad walking back into arrivals to the surprise of his mother at Manchester Airport. She may have also been surprised by the Mexican moustache on my face as well.
We were that bored waiting for our coach to take us back to the airport, I drunkenly decided to get a henna tattooist to paint a proper beefy Sanchez on my face. Luckily, like most Henna tattooists, he was shit and it came off within a couple of days.
The only thing that disturbed the three of us on that fateful holiday was the fact that none of us got laid. “What!” You may exclaim…“in Kavos?” Indeed, Kavos has more available women per square metre than behind Piccadilly train station, and we still failed to stick our coins in any slots (or should that be sluts?). We were even more paranoid and insecure as we were told by a rep when we got there that, “if you don’t pull here you’re obviously gay!” There was at least a 10cm gap between each of us on the way home.
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