Gran Canaria 2015

February 2014

During an evening spent with the neighbours John and Anne, who got to know us when we were living temporarily in Mitre Court with Emma, the subject turned to holidays. They told us of a really good hotel in a resort called Mogan in Gran Canaria. They’d been a few times and were suitably impressed with John telling us the hotel welcomed you with a drink and even took your luggage to your room for you. We hadn’t the heart to tell him that most hotels we’d been to did this so it wasn’t that exceptional. We thanked them for the advice and I immediately forgot about it.

September 2014

Pauline said she wanted to book a short break early in 2015 and thought she might try the hotel and resort that John and Anne had recommended earlier in the year. This she did.

March 2015

During another evening with John and Anne as the talk of his allotment slowly dried up along with my interest, the conversation turned to the old standby of holidays again. Pauline told them that we were going to the hotel and resort that they’d told us about the previous year. “Oh, when are you going?” asked John. “First week in May,” said Pauline. “Well guess what?” said John, “you’re going to be there during our second week. We’ll see you there!”

That’s when I reached for the third bottle of wine…

Highlights Of A Week In May 2015. Gran Canaria

Monday Day 1

We were met at Las Palmas airport by Paul, the Thomas Cook rep who immediately annoyed me during the coach journey to Mogan, our resort, by speaking in sentences that ended as if he was asking us a question all the time. 

He used the words ‘cool’ and ‘beautiful’ at every opportunity. He told us about the welcome meeting tomorrow. 

Well he doesn’t, he asks us, “There will be a welcome meeting tomorrow morning at 10.30?” 

Oh, will there Paul? Are you sure? You seem to be asking us, the people who’ve just bloody arrived and have no idea where they are or what’s going on yet. If you wait until we get to the bloody hotel I’ll ask someone for you. Will that be OK with you?

Tuesday Day 2

It’s time for the dreaded welcome meeting. 

Oh how I hate these things but Pauline likes to go just in case she stumbles on a pure nugget of interesting information hidden amongst the constant drivel pouring out of the rep’s mouth.

Paul was waiting for us with his clipboard. As we approached he glanced down at his board and said, “Your names are?” I said, “You should know, you’re our rep after all. If I can remember your name Paul, the least you can do is make the effort and remember ours.”

There were only three couples there including us!

Paul continued to ask us questions with every statement he came out with. “This part of the island is the most cool and beautiful? It can be as quiet or as interesting as you want it to be?” and so on…and so on. Then he said, “Next week in Puerto Rico it’s Gay Pride week? So if you want some excitement it might be an idea to pay a visit? It can get a bit fruity in the evening though, so you’ve been warned?”

What a strange word to use. Fruity.

If it were me Paul, and I was addressing three couples, all of whom were obviously over the age of consent and past their sixtieth birthdays I don’t think I’d have been so coy when describing Gay Pride week as fruity. More like the evenings will be one long homosexual orgy wherever you went and if you don’t want to watch tattooed poofs with pony tails, stubble and piercings having sex in public then best stay clear, would be my advice.

Most of the rest of Paul’s talk concentrated on encouraging us to go to the Aeroclub. A ‘famous’ comedy drag dinner and show that he promised would be the funniest night of our holiday.

By this time I was having serious doubts about Paul’s sexual orientation.

Paul continued, “This show is so good in fact that Denise Welch of ‘Loose Women’ has been to see it? She was so impressed and thought it so hilarious she invited the three drag queens to her wedding? She even got them a spot on ‘Loose Women’?” 

Well far be it from me to interrupt your delusional presentation Paul but a recommendation like that only goes to reinforce my idea that this evening out will be one of crap of the highest order and should be avoided at all costs. Just in case we needed any further evidence Paul handed out the publicity flyer which managed to convince us even more of the inordinate amount of shit on offer during this ‘hilarious evening out’. 

Here’s what the brochure says so you can make your own minds up:

‘A truly magnificent night of dazzling costumes, side splitting laughter and a cast of unique characters singing and dancing all night long! All achieved by three poofs in dresses!’

I made that last bit up. There are also pictures on the brochure of one old tart wearing a pair of comedy ‘big ears’ and gurning, another one wearing outsize sun glasses…and gurning and another wearing a comedy false moustache…and gurning. Need I go on? 

Paul seemed to think it was all cool and beautiful and I didn’t want to disillusion him so I kept quiet with a wry smile on my face the whole time.

Paul’s parting shot was to inform us, “Don’t forget there are free tea, coffee and biscuits every day at 3pm in the library area? I recommend that you all get there early as all the good biscuits disappear fast? That’s the end of my little talk? If you want to book any trips just come and see me? I’m around the hotel most days and times are pinned on the notice board?  Any questions about anything I’ve said?”

I put my hand up. 

“Yes?” said Paul.

“What are the good biscuits Paul? I personally prefer a Hob Nob...”

Wednesday Day 3

John and Anne Watch.

We’ve been here three days and I’m a nervous wreck. We haven’t bumped into John and Anne yet so it’s so far, so good. I’m keeping a low profile by moving around the hotel in a stealthy and secretive manner. I’ve calculated the distance from our hotel room to the pool as 2 stairwells and 6 large Palm trees. 

Modus operandi as follows: 

 1. Rush from room to stairwell. Stand flat against the wall and breathe deeply. 

 2. When coast is clear, Rush downstairs to ground floor stairwell, stand flat against wall and calculate distance to 1st Palm tree. 

 3. Look to left and right, ignoring passing guests and using my old SAS training, snake crawl on my belly to first Palm tree. 

 4. Suddenly spring upright when reaching tree and standing stock still, get 2nd tree in sight. By this time Pauline is already over by the pool and is using the binoculars I brought with us. She's scanning the horizon. 

5. Using our pre-arranged set of signals, I emit my 'curlew on heat' bird cry and wait for Pauline's reply. One owl hoot from her means the coast's clear, two owl hoots mean hang on a minute I've dropped the binoculars and three hoots mean it might be dangerous to move at this time. 

 6. Getting the right owl hoot I suddenly sprint full pelt for the 2nd tree knocking any OAPs, the disabled and any cute children out of the way into the surrounding bushes. 

 7. At the 2nd tree I emit my 'all's well' monkey scream and wait for Pauline's next hoot. 

 8. Repeat until safely by the pool. 

 During the evening I wear all black clothing and smear black boot polish on my face and hands to merge into the night.  We always seem to get a table to ourselves at dinner, don't know why.

As we went into dinner tonight we were greeted at the door by a man dressed as some sort of Spanish cowboy. I have no idea why. He was just there.

Thursday Day 4

John and Anne Watch

I spent breakfast hiding behind the coffee machine. No sign of them yet. Then I spent the rest of the day by the pool disguised as a beach umbrella. Still no sign of them. I’m beginning to think I'm wasting my time.

During our evening stroll we found a very small bar, four tables outside, two tables inside. No English being spoken, always a good sign. At one of the outside tables sat an elderly man and two friends. He was playing the guitar and singing in Spanish while his two friends were encouraging him. Free entertainment? Why not. 

We sat at a table near them, ordered two brandies and a coffee. Pauline opened her bag and suddenly said, "Oh, I've not got my purse. I've left it at the hotel." 

She said to the girl serving us, "I'll have to go back to the hotel to get my purse." The girl said, "No problem. You stay. Pay us tomorrow."

Bloody hell. How trusting is that?

Pauline said, "No, I'll go,” and nodding at me, “I'll leave him here." 

And off she went. 

The hotel was about 10 minutes’ walk away. When Pauline got back after about half an hour or so, I'd finished the two brandies, made three new friends and was buying drinks for the guitarist and his mates. 

I was standing on a table with the guitarist singing "Bombalero", while I flamenco'd next to him. I shouted to Pauline, "Get the brandies in quick. We're doing his greatest hits next!” 

Then fell off the table.

What a night...

Friday Day 5

At breakfast I saw a man eating a huge bowl of muesli with a knife and fork. It took all my self-control to stop myself going over to him and saying “What the hell are you doing you really stupid person?”

The evening meal buffet area is absolutely huge. I can never remember where everything is. I always get back to our table with a plate of assorted bits only to find Pauline’s plate has things on it I never saw at all. 

I need a bloody sat-nav to get around the place.

Saturday Day 6

Saw Larry David eating breakfast at the next table to us this morning. Pauline said, “Don’t be stupid.” It wasn’t until I heard him speaking German that I conceded he might not be the famous comedian/producer/script writer. 

Still not sure though.

Monday Day 8

Time to go home. 

The coach is arriving to take us to the airport and we’re waiting outside the hotel with our cases trying to have a good time with John and Anne. We got to the airport around midday and our flight’s at 14.15. We’d already booked our seats and printed our boarding details online so we joined the much shorter online check in queue. 

Finally we’d checked in and we were handed our passports and boarding passes. From there we walked through the departure lounge and out to the security area. A woman was standing there looking at passports and boarding passes and ushering people through to the real security area where you have to submit to the usual indignities before you’re deemed not to be some sort of terrorist.

The woman took our passports and boarding cards.

She quickly checked Pauline’s but when she looked at my boarding pass she noticeably panicked, ever so slightly. “No, no,” she said and moved in front of me to make sure I couldn’t move forward. “No, no,” she said again and called over a male colleague. 

He took both boarding passes and repeatedly flicked between them with a worried look on his face. All of a sudden he said, “No, you go back, you go back.” 

It was then we saw what the problem appeared to be.

Pauline’s boarding pass said:  ‘Mrs. Pauline Southcombe. Seat 26A’.

My boarding pass said: ‘Mrs. Pauline Southcombe. Seat 26A’.

“But all they’ve done is printed one out incorrectly at the desk,” we said, showing him the details which we had printed off at home, “Look, Mrs. Southcombe Seat 26A, Mr. Southcombe Seat 26B. We’ve already booked it.”

“Go back to company,” the man said, “Go back to company.” 

What did he mean? 

“Go back,” he said again and led us back out of the security area and pointed to the departure lounge. “Go back to company,” he said yet again. Pauline was fuming. “Oh this is ridiculous,” she said to the man, “It’s just a boarding pass that the sour-faced stupid woman at the check in desk has printed off incorrectly.”

We made our way back to the departure lounge, through the crowds of people queuing to check in and made a beeline for Paul the rep. We told him what had happened and he immediately said, “No problem. I’ll get it sorted.” We stood and waited while he spoke to someone behind the desk.

"They’re going to get the airport manager down,” he said.

“Why?” we said. 

Paul just shrugged. 

He asked us to go and sit down and he would come across to us when it was all sorted out. It would only be five minutes or so. 

Ten minutes passed. No sign of anyone. Paul was keeping himself busy helping passengers at the check in. it was now 12.45. We went back to Paul. “What’s going on? Where’s the airport manager?” Paul spoke to someone else behind the desk. “Oh, she’s apparently busy dealing with something else. She’ll be along shortly.” 

“Our flight goes at 14.15 and it’s now 13.00,” said Pauline, “We are going to get that flight are we?” 

“Oh absolutely,” said Paul, “don’t worry.” 

We sat down again. Time dragged on. It was now 13.20, the departure lounge had emptied out, everyone had checked in for all flights and the airport staff were busy picking up and clearing away all the temporary barriers, signs and equipment scattered about the hall.

Paul and another rep were now standing at the check in desk talking to a man and the sour-faced woman who had  checked us in and cocked everything up for us. 

And do you know what? 

The bloody airport manager never turned up and all we had to do was give our passports to the check in cock-up woman who tutted and immediately printed out two correct boarding passes. No apology from her at all. It was left to Paul to apologise profusely even though none of it was actually his fault. What a fiasco. 

Not only were we made to feel like criminals we’d spent all our free time before the flight in a highly exaggerated state of nervousness and worry. It had all taken an unnecessary length of time to resolve what should have been a quick reprint of the boarding passes in two minutes flat. The bastards.

We finally made our way back to the security area. A woman took Pauline’s boarding pass and placed it on a scanner. It beeped. Jesus, something appears to be wrong. Please don’t say they’ve screwed it up again…please. The woman tried again. Another beep. She gave the pass to another woman who looked at it intently. She finally smoothed it out a bit, placed it on another scanner and it was accepted. I can’t tell you how relieved we felt. We finally got to the departure gate with around five minutes to spare before boarding began.

Bloody hell!

On the plane Pauline decided she was going to buy three bottles of spirit to take home. Now although the Canary Islands are part of the EU, they are outside the EU VAT area which means that all duty free allowances have to adhere to non-EU country rules which means, yes you’ve guessed, only one bottle of spirit per person and we had a total of three. “We’re over the limit,” I said to Pauline who ignored me completely.

The flight was on time and we got to the baggage carousel to wait for our luggage. Eventually quite a few cases came bouncing and crashing down but after a while – nothing. The carousel kept turning but no new bags were appearing. 

We waited and waited. 

Nothing. 

Nobody knew why. 

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes. 

Nothing. 

Then suddenly, with a sudden noise,  all the luggage started to bang and crash down again. After a wait of thirty minutes or so we had our bloody cases. This was the second fiasco and I was beginning to get really concerned that there could be a third before we got out of the damned airport.

Then I remembered the duty free we were carrying...

We went through ‘Nothing to Declare’ and I tried my usual trick of trying to look innocent while all the time thinking to myself, bloody hell, it’s a long walk to the exit isn’t it, don’t walk funny, don’t look too serious, don’t smile, don’t look too casual but don’t look too worried, look natural….

We got to the other end alive and I’ve never had such a nerve-wracking flight in all my life. It couldn’t have been worse…or could it?

Well yes it could and there’s always next time isn’t there?