Bounder: Yes, yes but why don't you use the letter 'K'
instead of the letter 'C'?
Smoketoomuch: What, spell bolour with a 'K'?
Oh, thank you! I never thought of that. What a silly
Bounder: Anyway, about the holiday...
Smoketoomuch: Well, yes, I've been on package tours
many times, so your advert really bought my eye.
Bounder: Ah good.
Smoketoomuch: Yes, you're quite right, I'm fed up with
being treated like a sheep, I mean 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...
Smoketoomuch: ...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...
Smoketoomuch: ...and sitting in their cotton sun frocks
squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy
raw swollen purulent flesh...
Smoketoomuch: ...cos they 'overdid it on the first
day'! And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and
Bellevueses and Bontinentals...
Bounder: Yes, yes...
Smoketoomuch: ...with their modern international luxury
roomettes and draft Red Barrel and swimmingpools...
Smoketoomuch: ...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,...
Bounder: Shut up.
Smoketoomuch: ...the first item on the menu of
Bounder: Shut up, please!
Smoketoomuch: ...and every Thursday night the hotel is
a bloody cabaret in the bar featuring a tiny emaciated
Bounder: Please, will you shut up.
Smoketoomuch: ...with nine-inch hips and some bloated
fat tart with her hair Brylcreemed down and a big arse
presenting Flamenco for Foreigners.
Bounder: Shut up!
Smoketoomuch: And adenoidal typists from Birmingham
with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying to pick up
Smoketoomuch: ...bandy-legged wop waiters called
Bounder: ..shut up!
Smoketoomuch: ...and once a week there's an excursion
to the local Roman ruins to buy cherryade and melted
Bounder: I can't bear it!
Smoketoomuch: ...and bleedin' Watney's Red Barrel, and
one evening you visit the so-called typical restaurant
with local colour...
Smoketoomuch: ...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 drunken 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...
Bounder: Stop it, please.
Smoketoomuch: ...languages Enoch Powell can speak and
then he throws up all over the Cuba Libres.
Bounder: Will you be quiet please.
Smoketoomuch: And sending tinted postcards of places
they don't realise they haven't even visited, 'to
Bounder: Shut up
Smoketoomuch: ...at number 22, weather wonderful...
Bounder: PLEASE, SHUT UP!
Smoketoomuch: ...our room is marked with an "X". Food
very greasy but we found a charming...
Bounder: Take it off! TAKE IT OFF!
Smoketoomuch: ...little place hidden away in the back
streets, where they serve Watney's Red Barrel and
cheese and onion...
Bounder: For God's sake, take it off. TAKE IT OFF!!!
Smoketoomuch: ...crisps and the accordionist plays
"Maybe its because I'm a Londoner"'...
(Sound of pick-up skating across record)