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"Going here for the first time in September. Has anyone been and got any comments please?" I’ve not been but you have a marvellous cock. | |||
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"Going here for the first time in September. Has anyone been and got any comments please? I’ve not been but you have a marvellous cock." What he said. | |||
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"Shithole like Blackpool but with Sun full of d*unken Germans Dutch Russians and British ass holes " When was the last time you were there? Torremolinos is a great place to go for sun and fun, it's got one of the best sea fronts and classy chirenguitos ( beach bars), fabulous restaurants and a really good gay scene. Lots of money been spent on the area. | |||
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"What's the point of going abroad if you're just another tourist carted round in buses, surrounded by sweaty, mindless oafs from Kettering and Boventry in their cloth caps and their cardigans and their transistor radios and their 'Sunday Mirrors', complaining about the tea, 'Oh they don't make it properly here do they not like at home' stopping at Majorcan bodegas, selling fish and chips and Watney's Red Barrel and calamares and two veg... ...and sitting in their cotton sun frocks squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy raw swollen purulent flesh cos they 'overdid it on the first day'! And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellevueses and Bontinentals with their modern international luxury roomettes and draft Red Barrel and swimming pools... ...full of fat German businessmen pretending they're acrobats, forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging in the queues and if you're not at your table spot on seven you miss the bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the first item on the menu of International Cuisine, and every Thursday night the hotel is a bloody cabaret in the bar featuring a tiny emaciated d*go with nine-inch hips and some bloated fat tart with her hair Brylcreemed down and a big arse presenting Flamenco for Foreigners. And adenoidal typists from Birmingham with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying to pick up hairy bandy-legged wop waiters called Manuel, and once a week there's an excursion to the local Roman ruins to buy cherryade and melted ice cream and bleedin' Watney's Red Barrel, and one evening you visit the so-called typical restaurant with local colour and atmosphere and you sit next to a party of people from Rhyl who keeps singing 'Torremolinos, Torremolinos', and complaining about the food, 'It's so greasy here isn't it!' and you get cornered by some d*unken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic and Dr Scholl sandals and Tuesday's 'Daily Express' and he drones on and on and on about how Mr Smith should be running this country and how many languages Enoch Powell can speak and then he throws up all over the Cuba Libres....." Lol | |||
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"What's the point of going abroad if you're just another tourist carted round in buses, surrounded by sweaty, mindless oafs from Kettering and Boventry in their cloth caps and their cardigans and their transistor radios and their 'Sunday Mirrors', complaining about the tea, 'Oh they don't make it properly here do they not like at home' stopping at Majorcan bodegas, selling fish and chips and Watney's Red Barrel and calamares and two veg... ...and sitting in their cotton sun frocks squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy raw swollen purulent flesh cos they 'overdid it on the first day'! And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellevueses and Bontinentals with their modern international luxury roomettes and draft Red Barrel and swimming pools... ...full of fat German businessmen pretending they're acrobats, forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging in the queues and if you're not at your table spot on seven you miss the bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the first item on the menu of International Cuisine, and every Thursday night the hotel is a bloody cabaret in the bar featuring a tiny emaciated d*go with nine-inch hips and some bloated fat tart with her hair Brylcreemed down and a big arse presenting Flamenco for Foreigners. And adenoidal typists from Birmingham with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying to pick up hairy bandy-legged wop waiters called Manuel, and once a week there's an excursion to the local Roman ruins to buy cherryade and melted ice cream and bleedin' Watney's Red Barrel, and one evening you visit the so-called typical restaurant with local colour and atmosphere and you sit next to a party of people from Rhyl who keeps singing 'Torremolinos, Torremolinos', and complaining about the food, 'It's so greasy here isn't it!' and you get cornered by some d*unken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic and Dr Scholl sandals and Tuesday's 'Daily Express' and he drones on and on and on about how Mr Smith should be running this country and how many languages Enoch Powell can speak and then he throws up all over the Cuba Libres....." This post is a work of literary wonder. I loved reading it. It’s a poetical diatribe of a post! | |||
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"What's the point of going abroad if you're just another tourist carted round in buses, surrounded by sweaty, mindless oafs from Kettering and Boventry in their cloth caps and their cardigans and their transistor radios and their 'Sunday Mirrors', complaining about the tea, 'Oh they don't make it properly here do they not like at home' stopping at Majorcan bodegas, selling fish and chips and Watney's Red Barrel and calamares and two veg... ...and sitting in their cotton sun frocks squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy raw swollen purulent flesh cos they 'overdid it on the first day'! And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellevueses and Bontinentals with their modern international luxury roomettes and draft Red Barrel and swimming pools... ...full of fat German businessmen pretending they're acrobats, forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging in the queues and if you're not at your table spot on seven you miss the bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the first item on the menu of International Cuisine, and every Thursday night the hotel is a bloody cabaret in the bar featuring a tiny emaciated d*go with nine-inch hips and some bloated fat tart with her hair Brylcreemed down and a big arse presenting Flamenco for Foreigners. And adenoidal typists from Birmingham with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying to pick up hairy bandy-legged wop waiters called Manuel, and once a week there's an excursion to the local Roman ruins to buy cherryade and melted ice cream and bleedin' Watney's Red Barrel, and one evening you visit the so-called typical restaurant with local colour and atmosphere and you sit next to a party of people from Rhyl who keeps singing 'Torremolinos, Torremolinos', and complaining about the food, 'It's so greasy here isn't it!' and you get cornered by some d*unken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic and Dr Scholl sandals and Tuesday's 'Daily Express' and he drones on and on and on about how Mr Smith should be running this country and how many languages Enoch Powell can speak and then he throws up all over the Cuba Libres..... This post is a work of literary wonder. I loved reading it. It’s a poetical diatribe of a post!" NO WONDER! I’ve just googled it and discovered it’s a Monty Python sketch | |||
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"Shithole like Blackpool but with Sun full of d*unken Germans Dutch Russians and British ass holes When was the last time you were there? Torremolinos is a great place to go for sun and fun, it's got one of the best sea fronts and classy chirenguitos ( beach bars), fabulous restaurants and a really good gay scene. Lots of money been spent on the area." I love the place | |||
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"I was there last September for a week. I’m no snob but I was ready to be critical as I thought it a step down having spent the previous ten days in Puerto Banus / Marbella. I thought it was great. Lively evenings with great bars and places to eat. Mind you, I made the current girlfriend say we were ‘east of Malaga’ and not in Torremolinos when friends asked. We will probably go back this September." Puerto Van is is just dire and pretentious. Hate it . | |||
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"What's Torre like in winter? " Like an arsehole in Winter - all shut up! | |||
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"What's Torre like in winter? Like an arsehole in Winter - all shut up! " Lol,Not like Benidorm then,going next week cant wait! | |||
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