Return to Cancun | Scouse Bird Problems

So I’m sat here in the airport lounge (VIP obviously it’s the only way to fly) waiting to board our flight to Cancun and got to reminiscing about previous adventures to the Mexico party capital.

Like for instance the time a couple of years ago when I was coming out of a club and I fell off my own foot. Not the kerb, not my heels (I was wearing flats….NOT KITTENS…flats), my actual foot. I sprained my ankle quite badly – to this day I’m not sure I may actually have broken it. Rather than go home, the copious amounts of tequila I’d consumed acted like an anesthetic and I partied on all night, dragging my leg behand me like Quasimodo. “The bells! The bells!”
I woke up the next day and actually couldn’t move, like seriously couldn’t get off the bed. I ended up swerving going the hospital cos after speaking to my insurance company while hungover it all sounded a bit complicated. I got the seedy lifeguard to strap it up for me while batting off indecent proposals from him and joined the other walking wounded proudly sporting disco medals and hobbling around on crutches. The bandage seriously fucked up my tan, I was fuming. 
On the plane home the air pressure cause my ankle to swell up so bad it actually got it’s own roll of fat. I’ve never felt more attractive. Even now 3 years later I have a fat ankle that clicks. Boss.

Or there was the time we went on the Pirate cruise and ended up going partying downtown with the Mexicans. I mean their actual job description is Pirate of the Caribbean, how could we not? We ended up in some divey karaoke bar drinking 90p bottles of bud and singing the only songs they had in English – Simply the Best and Like a Virgin – while they tried to offer us weed. Nah mate I’ve got no wish to end up in Mexican jail.

The only problem with Cancun really is the swarms of dickhead Americans. One time we were goin out to the club on the hotel minibus and a gang of said American dickheads from New York were sat at the back. Five major “douchebags” from New York who were fuckin made up cos they were allowed to have a bevvy and their “mom” couldn’t ground them. They were sat at the back goin “WOOOO!! YEAAAH!! WE’RE HAVIN SUCH A GOOD TIME YEAH!” – really? Who you tryna kid? Anyway they swilled me mate in the club cos they couldn’t handle their ale an I nearly got into a proper scrap with them. I pushed one fella and floored him. “Woah! Who are you? I don’t even know you? Back off!” …..”Listen you little prick you just swilled me mate, go and fuck off over there, then when you get there, fuck off a bit more. Ta.”

Now as I mentioned we’re sat in the VIP lounge – it’s well worth it, £20 (or free with some bank accs) an it’s free ale, scran and Wifi – obviously we’ve been sneakin mini cans of diet coke and copious amounts of vodka for the plane in our bag – handbag vodka is a way of life. I won’t risk any scran cos last time I got stopped at mexican customs and searched cos I was trying to smuggle in cheese. Cheddar to be precise. Ooops.


@boobleyboo AKA @scousebirdprobs


ps Them five Geordie lads playin the Baywatch theme (Soooo Zante 2007) on loudspeaker turn it in or you’re gettin me free vodka an orange lashed in your grid.


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