Stereotypes and microcosms
We, obviously, think that we are totally normal and that everyone else behaves in a fairly similar way to our own, until...... you suddenly find yourself at a Robbie Williams concert in Fuengirola
David Andrews
Friday, 23 June 2023, 12:15
Everybody has their own Spain (Andalucía, Costa del Sol, insert name of preferred town/area). We all live in our own little reality and rarely ... venture out of our closeted world. We, obviously, think that we are totally normal and that everyone else behaves in a fairly similar way to our own, until...... you suddenly find yourself at a Robbie Williams concert in Fuengirola.
I crossed the Rubicon (Malaga) and travelled to the "other" coast, last week, to see the singer at Mare Nostrum. There are plenty of reviews and comments about the performance ; so I will let the experts discuss whether it should have been longer, less talking, more songs, etc... What really made me write this piece was the other show. I should mention that I was standing in an area close to the bars and therefore I was in the midst of the most hard-core party-goers. I didn't have a ticket for the more expensive and, probably, more subdued seating area or want to be "squished" nearer to the stage.
What really amused, disheartened and befuddled me was how drunk certain members of the foreign community were. I am not one to turn down a drink and I am hardly a tee-totaller; however I'm not talking about being a bit merry, pished or whatever you want to call it; I'm talking about being absolutely wrecked, hammered or paralytic. Some of the fans were actually staggering, falling over and unable to articulate a coherent sentence. "Ah", I hear you say, "the boring old codger". Firstly, I need to say that most of them were older than me and, secondly, I'm not talking about being a bit tipsy; I'm referring to people that were falling over, and on top of, other revellers; being carried off in an ambulance-style wheelchair, semi-conscious and walking around with a bloody handkerchief to their nose. Picture the aftermath of a crash between a bus of inmates from Wormwood Scrubs and a hen party in Magaluf and you can imagine the scene. The "phrase du jour" was, "sing another f***ing song, you c**t" vociferated at 50 metres behind my ear by somebody old enough to know better.
As we walked out to our cars, while some stumbled, passed out on the grass or walked around aimlessly trying to remember how and with whom they had come to the concert; I heard two groups of Spanish commenting about how some of the "guiris" had been behaving. One group had, first, had their toes trampled on by a sizeable lady who had knocked one of them to the floor; another group were lamenting about how much of the beer, which they had tried to drink, had actually been spilled over them from the various stumbles and knocks of different groups of partying sixty-year-olds.
His Majesty's Diplomatic Service would have been proud of the endeavours to strengthen Anglo-Spanish relations!!
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