There are some things in life that typical blokes can't do without. For example, and in no particular order, football, the occasional shag, cash and a cheeky ale or two once in a while. Perm any three from those four and a manly smile is virtually guaranteed. I think I might be a typical bloke!
 |
| Yes they do apparently |
Every now and again, quite rarely actually, someone drops something into the conversation that overwhelmingly appeals. Instead of biting her hand off, (it's almost always the wife or girlfriend doing the suggesting), the trick seems to be to appear nonchalant and, if you can, make the whole thing seem like a chore you're happy to help out with. My personal "do bears shit in the woods moment" where I had to pretend not to be dead excited occurred yesterday afternoon, when the girlfriend casually asked -
"Tonight should we check out the beer festival at Elche University?"
"Yeah - can do" I deadpanned back.
And that was that, a proper result!
 |
| Little and Large |
I could hear the Oompah Band about twelve streets away, which, co-incidentally was also about the time I began salivating at the thought of all that lager. But, as John Motson said whilst commentating on Germany's good hiding at the hands of England in 2001,
"this is getting better and better and better."
The reason for my increasingly euphoric state of mind was quite simple really. I caught sight of the size of jars of beer people were necking and nearly messed myself. Visualize a medium sized tree trunk, say a foot deep and six inches round, hollow it out and then fill it full of super strength German alcohol and you'd be getting there. Honestly, I could have used one of these behemoths at home to store our spare bedding. I could tell from fairly early on this going to be quite a pleasant evening out and so it proved.
 |
| Top hat you've got their Fritz |
In keeping with the Spanish way at most large gatherings, the system is simple and it works. You pay for what you want at one place, take the ticket to a second and away you go. Five euros and seventy cents later, the opening couple of bevvies were ordered up not yet collected. Next up, some chow. Same again at the food counter, where eight euros each were exchanged for a chubbing great, spicy frankfurter, another slightly smaller one, a generous helping of french fries and sauerkraut, a first for me. They also threw in a beer for the price. Bargain. Well fed and nicely teased by the first wee drinky it was time to tackle one of the monsters we'd spotted earlier. Full of beer they were bloody heavy so I quickly worked out the best way to make them lighter. Empty them. This I was to do three times, the perfect way to end up feeling no pain.
 |
| Gorgeous. The staff were nice too |
This really was an authentic Mediterranean Oktoberfest, yeah they do exist and they're better than the German ones because there aren't any of those weird men in lederhosen mincing around like Morris Dancers either. Sure, we had barmen in curious pixie hats and couldn't hold a conversation because of the incessant music which grated after about quarter of an hour, but flitting around the place were loads of slinky, Spanish style serving wenches. Not for us those brusque, teutonic German frauleins called Gretchen or Hildegard, on no. All this took place in a cavernous tent with row upon row of trestle type tables, each of which was occupied by young people, old folk, couples like us and complete families, including small children. Stick two and a half thousand Brits in a massive tent, fill them full of lager and fights would flare up all over the place. The only problem last night was stumbling to the bogs and back.
I enjoyed myself so much I think I might go again next weekend.
