James the Twat

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Tuesday, 4 August, 2015

Boracay, Philippines

What a week! I took a trip to the Philippines with Christy, a dear friend from the Kim Yong days, and we did it all. In fact, so many stories have come out of this trip that I’m not even sure what to lead with. After careful consideration, I’ve decided I’ll kick start my tales with the coppers that wouldn’t stop staring at my pee pee. Prepare yourself for a weird one.

The night was going as expected – beers, shots and a pool of ladyboys at the bar hoping to Lola your life away. The place was great at twelve, but by one I was looking at a club drenched in sleaze, and if you know me, you’ll be fully aware that I ooze class, therefore, this scene was no longer mine. I made like a foetus and headed out.

As I made my way across the beach, I suddenly realised that I really, really needed a slash and my bladder was not in any sort of waiting mood. I hadn’t been to the toilet in hours, and considering the amount of booze I’d already consumed, I sensed that this might be a year-long whazz. The beach was simply too crowded for such continuous peeing, so I made my way to the outside mall area – this place is busy throughout the day but dead at night – a perfect spot, or so I thought.

I found a deserted wall, and made my bladder the happiest bladder in the world, we went at it – everybody’s been there, that feeling of letting the yellow stuff out after a lengthily wait is pure satisfaction. However, all great things must come to an end, and my moment of sheer joy was destroyed by three uninvited guests. From the distance I heard, “Hey, you can’t do that.” I had been rumbled – I could see the boys in blue walking my way – but as I said, I had a lot in the tank and couldn’t stop! What could I do, walk off weeing?

The old bill wandered my way – one stood to my left, another on my right, while the third took a stance behind me – I was surrounded. In a nutshell, I had three blokes checking my junk as I was mid-flow, they kept demanding I stopped, but I couldn’t. It was very awkward – they were looking at a three minute slash too, which of course, at the time felt like thirty minutes. Imagine taking a leak against a wall while a semi-circle of dudes surround you and keep telling you that you are the worst. Well, that was my reality.

I was finally done, fly zipped up – I didn’t think they’d appreciate a handshake, so I apologised and started making moves on my walk to safety. “Where are you going? You must clean this!” Said the guy that observed my privates from the left. I was puzzled, and informed them that I would be needing some materials, as there is no way on earth that I’m going to be cleaning up piss with just my bare hands. They understood my concern, and therefore, walked me to the police station. The station?! Damn, maybe I should have taken option wee-wee-hands.

Oh, they were just sorting me out with a huge bucket of water. I was then left to throw this big bucket of water (which was heavy, so the accuracy of my throw and sway skills were a little off) over mostly my own clothes but also occasionally my urine too.

I was then told to use a toilet or the sea next time, before they walked away with their empty bucket, ready to stare at the next Johnson ready to step out of line.

Ok, let’s move things away from police disturbances and instead towards pretty little sandcastles. Christy and I spent most of our week as a four piece – we made two cool new friends, James and Aaron. We’d spent most of our day boozing and decided to get some tasty Mongolian food on the beach before heading back to the convenience store for some more drink. Seating arrangements meant that James was facing away from the beach.

On the beach not far from our table, we could see two little boys making a sandcastle – this is fairly common to see through the day time as it is a bit of a tip gainer. They were about to carve ‘I love Boracay’ into their sandcastle, until we saw James go up for a second bowl of Mongolian and a light bulb went off on our side of the table.

We’ve just got to get them to write something about James into the castle, haven’t we? But, what? Something offensive that can be neither too long nor obvious – for instance ‘James the Fuckhead’ just wouldn’t work, you know? So, after a short discussion, ‘James the Twat’ was born and it was go time.

I went up to the kids and made the team request, but they were having trouble with the spelling of the surname. Time was against us, he was coming back – I quickly carved my request into the sand, took my seat and hoped for the best. It was like watching Michelangelo carve David in person – it was truly magical. And all the while, James was just scoffing his face completely none the wiser. The kids had done us proud, I’m usually stingy with a tip but for this they were greatly rewarded.

They had actually already written the ‘I love’ part of ‘I love Boracay’ though, so the finished product was ‘I love James the Twat’. James the Twat, as he was then known for the rest of the holiday, absolutely loved it. It was an all-round great moment for everybody involved.

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Boracay is the kind of place that can take away a person’s dignity – the police and a bucket robbed me of mine, while a couple of kids and a sandcastle took away James’s. So, how did the seas of the Philippines mop up Aaron’s pride?

He took that step too far, when it came to cliff diving. If you’re in a restaurant and you are offered three versions of a dish, but you’re not entirely sure about what you’re ordering, always go for the middle option – that way you get the safest, most neutral version. Well, that pretty much applies to cliff diving too.

Ariel’s Point gives you three planks you can jump from – 3 meters, 8 meters and 15 meters. I did the 8 meter jump, felt the impact, glanced at how bloody high the 15 meter one was, and told myself I’ll watch the rest from the bar. Not everybody was so easily put off though.

Aaron went big, and could barely walk for the next two hours – his landing seemed very painful indeed, and the bruises he later showed us looked extremely painful. His agony was probably not helped by the guy that went moments after him – he did one of those tuck your body into a tight ball and spin in the air dives, before hitting the sea in a flawless way that would make a mermaid proud.

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