Spanish night out

Alarmed by my reports of house confinement, Pilarin calls to invite me out with a large group of unknown Spaniards.  Normally I would decline, but my need for a conversation not consisting of: "Get into the fucking shower!!!" or For God sake! Tidy your room!" compels me to accept what otherwise I would consider an invitation to hell.

Pilarin is there at the appointed time sitting outside on a table in the worst pub in Weymouth.  Next to her a group of people with magnificent names such as Azahara, spend half an hour kissing each other.  Amongst such exotic bunch of pear-shaped girls with pretty faces a tall blonde girl named Kate.

The bastards  have invited along a poor 19 year old from the Czech Republic who can't speak a word of English or Spanish and that looks about as lost as a sardine in a bowl of piranhas.  

I tell her not to worry, that the only words in Czech I know are Kafka and Kundera and she looks at me as if I was talking Chinese.  It's hard work, but someone has to babysit her and I take my role of Guardian/Mime/Translator with all the gusto I can muster.

Inside half a band is playing, the other half, I'm told are in Essex getting a tan. But they are not doing badly and I find myself dancing like a whore with the dentist from Irun who is as mad as a box of crickets.

I make friends with his perhaps? very unclear friend with benefits, Laura, a creature from Barcelona with half her hair shaven who is mistakenly wearing a belt for a miniskirt.

Attracted by all the revelry, a native drunkard joins our group and pounces upon poor Kate, whom I have abandoned in a moment of distraction.

The alpha males on the table eye each other waiting to spring into action, and in the moments of indecision that follow, the crazy dentist delivers a speech to the drunkard that leaves him so utterly confused I don't know whether he wants to kill him or marry him.

The alphas, equally confused and with their decisiveness thwarted decide to call security to remove the offending drunkard.

People come and go, some impossibly handsome, all full of the kind of charm only possible to find in the South of Spain.  But I keep asking myself:  What am I doing here?  I'm 44...  I want to go home...

The crazy dentist fondles my arse and kisses me in the lips as a way of goodbye while the teenage Czech watches me go with the expression of one who is losing her saviour.

I'm far too old for all that and I trot back home happily.  I never have to do this again.