OH was on a cycling trip to Mallorca, and I went along for the holiday. The group he joined (by experienced cyclists who guided the routes through the mountains) had a mixture of Irish and British people. Very few cyclists of other nationalities in the hotel. A Scandinavian or two. Early in season, so probably the more ‘sunburn resistant’ continentals such as the Dutch and Germans arrive later.
One day he stopped for a little rest, a Scottish member of the group joined him. He regaled OH about an English woman who had moved to one of the western areas of Scotland, and she went on to complain about how many foreigners were there. Can you believe the irony and gall of that, sort of thing.
Another day we were having breakfast, and an Irish fellow was absolutely mithering one of the waiting staff for something that either wasn’t on the menu, or to get it along with what he had paid for. It wasn’t available. He was so irritating as he was doing ‘I am so charming, schtick’. She had said she couldn’t do it.
On one of the evenings, we were walking around, enjoying the balmy evening. A group of around four English lads started coming towards us. They were loud and obviously pissed. I was obviously a little wary of them. They yelled at us asking if we were having a good time. We said we were, they yelled that they were too, and then just moved on.
Story of an Irish man, a Scots man and an English man.
p.s. The cycling groups are so funny. They go to bed really early, and don’t really drink as they have to get up at cockcrow to start cycling at the cooler part of the day. The opposite of how you’d imagine a Mediterranean holiday.