Hall Stag, Puerta Banus, June 27th -30th.

Hepburn got the ball rolling with a 7.30 Gamston pick up, to kindly escort Tuckwell, Horsburgh and Hefter to East Midlands, and meet up with the other 10. Tuckwell had some early bag issues, the wheels not suitable for the terrain from airport to terminal and ended up carrying.

Straight to the front of the queue and formalities exchanged, £12 to check the bags in a bit of a shock, apart from Hepburn, who was above the law. The usual beeping and frisking ensued through check in. Tuckwell obviously catching the eye of the male attendendant, who didn't quite go as far as a full body search.

With the time barely 8.30, Tuckwell and Horsburgh filled their boots with a large fry up before joining the party, and countless other knuckle dragging ameobas, in the airport bar - please don't be going to Puerta Banus! A couple of liveners, as you do before 9.30, eased the nerves of the non-fliers.

Take off was without hitch and the refreshments soon arrived. Hefter wondered if they were actually catching the pig, for his bacon sarnie. Hepburn provided the confectionary as the temperature of the destination was relayed from the flight cabin: hot, hot, hot.

All bags accounted for off the carousel, although Horsburgh suffered his first setback, some obvious heavy handedness causing a buckled wheel and significant case damage, sure to cause some wrath on the return to Saltby Green.

Alleged police activity on the roads, caused a delay in the minibus, so all ahead to the airport bar for some strong lager - great... Not the time to be waiting with thousands of tourists so a pre booked minibus just the ticket. The 45 minute transfer proved tricky for some with a make or break next couple of hours coming up. A cracking hotel and the 5th floor for the TGS boys. A steady view with a sizeable palm tree, that Tuckwell measured he could leap of faith into, why?!?

Down to the pool to release the tin foil bodies to the world, and tuck into some San Miguels. Stats' went off to do some networking as Horsburgh debated how Hefter could be launched into the pool, invariable using Tuckwell's long levers.

The gamblers could resist no longer, with the call of Vinny Samway's sports bar across the road and the thought of swelling the kitty whilst Notts tonked Youuurksherrrre in the 20/20. Great plan on paper... 80 euros later of screwed up betting slips and an abject performance by Notts, greatly enjoyed by the stag and best man, the strength of the gin measures began to sink in.

10pm was the agreed meet with the rest of the party as the TGS quartet bolshily hit the front at 7.30, very cock-a-hoop. Food was the order of the evening, as even if eating maybe cheating (whoever made that up!) the alcohol needed absorbing. The Red Pepper was the resting place on the harbour front, as all the beautiful people and high rollers sauntered by and sidled round in their flash cars, again and again and again...

Chris, do you think I can hit that clown with this bowl of olives?

Lobster, prawn cocktails, steaks, lamb and beer were all greatly accompanied with some vino and more beers in a most leisurely of evenings, until Horsey took great offense to the pillock at the table next who wanted a paella and wanted it NOW, before being obnoxious and asking to be moved just as his food arrived. With Horsey completely riled, 'knobhead' rang out frequently through masked intervals as olives began finding their way to its intended target. Tuckwell hit the wall.

It was maybe not more than 9.30 as the bedgraggled foursome hit the weary route back to the hotel, vision blurred, tail between legs and snaking all over the road... to be tucked up before the agreed 10pm meet! It's all about pace...

Tuckwell did manage to wake up at 2, and promptly locked himself out on the balcony trying to cool down from the sweltering room temperature, as the palm tree began to look more and more makeable. The disturbed sleeper was up and out again at 4 in search of water, the vending machine not accepting a 1 euro coin a mighty blow as the failure to be completely prepared finally sunk in. 3 more restless hours were recorded before a banging headache could be contained no longer and up and out in search of H2O. The strays were still trapsing in as the ladies of the night were still in inquisite nature for one final score. A garage, a mile out, provide salvation as the vendng machine began working on the return! The quartet then realised that the air-conditioning in the room worked when the doors were closed which would also shut out the noise of the M25!

Still, a 10 hour kip, and all steam ahead for a full powered day. Pool side beckoned, just space in between a sea of towel laden sunbeds and prime spot to decide what story to concoct to the others, as to the evenings no show. Not necessary as the first trio arrived informing a 20 minute power nap at 9 o clock lasted til 3am and a similar no show. The 10pm TGS wipeout seemed in good keeping especially backed up with the vast amount of euros spent. Hall looked in fine fettle, from a 4 o clock return as 2 were still missing in action. At 2 euros a pop for San Miguels, the pool bar seemed the option as the remainder of the party hit the heights of the Ocean Club with Cheryl and Ashley Cole.

Horsburgh and Hefter regretted the hotel breakfast as 10am was the first livener of the day. Some fascinating sights were witnessed as the midday sun grew stronger and Horsey applied liberal amounts of the factor 50. Sun, thou shalt not pass. Hepburn reached for the Hawaiian Tropic. The mood was bouyant, directly linked to the beers consumed. Tuckwell was on beer carrying duty and could feel the weight of expectation on his shoulders, with everyone poolside baying for a stacking. A group of rowdy ladies were having an arm wrestling competition in the small pool along with the sole male representative Craig. Hepburn's cover story of a group of hairdressers with Craig being the camp crimper may have been close, as Craig ordered up a couple of Sherries in the sweetest of sweet voices.

Horsburgh and Hefter had seen enough, not before Hefter spilt his first claret of the weekend scrambling for a thrown lighter which ended up in the pool after a comical juggle. Tuckwell and Hepburn, engaged in a bit of small talk to the hens opposite and delighted that Hall had not agreed a similar 'Fame' themed evening!

Horsey and Hefter were turfed out of bed and once again down to the harbour with food the priority. The garcon was a little taken a back with Hepburn and Tuckwell's burger for starters and extra chips with the lasagne main, but returned for empty plates. Horsburgh was a little disappointed with his breaded veal which resembled more of a breaded shin pad, much to the others amusement. Blood began to boil with the procession of tourist clamouring to have their pictures snapped with the parked up glamour motors, Tuckwell vowing to return with the Fiesta and parking her up! Deja vu once again with a 10pm meet on the horizon and the horizon looking decidely bleary, so a 2 hour siesta was agreed, to the frustration of Horsey.

The remainder of the party had booked in for a curry as the TGS boys reintroduced themselves and settled into to an adjacent bar for some liveners. Altogether for the first time at 11.30, it was time to hit the front. Sinatra's was the outdoor resting place as the first champagne was uncorked and stories relaid. The clamour for Navy bar proved consensus: in essence a tidy bar with dance music and flashing lights with a twist - wall to wall hookers. It was probably somewhat of a suprise to the ladies as possibly the first ever blokes to come and use the place to bust some moves on the dance floor while observing the scenery. Conversation was down to a minimum. What's your name? Where are you staying? Do you wanna F........ Once the message, of not tonight was relaid, interest was turned elsewhere, as time is money! A better showing from the TGS massive with the promise of a life on the ocean waves at 10 the next day. 3.30 was seen by Hepburn and Tuckwell with a 'pizza cardboard and cold jockeys' consumed on the way back.

The legend that is, Mr Matthew Hall, very kindly chartered a yacht, and what a yacht! for Sundays entertainment. Zinedine Zidane the last occupant, class. Amusement started harbour side with the group one by one having to leap 2 foot onto a moving gangway, to board. Especially difficult when you can see three! Horsburgh crawling on was the highlight. With Raul, skipper, and glamourous assistant serving drinks on the beckoning call it was champagne popped from 10. A full powered cruise to moor up off Nikki beach was the order of the day. Horsburgh struggled with his sea legs and was quoted saying he would prefer flying but was not the worst of the party. Things got worse for Jason as he knelt on his glasses breaking the hinges and was seen scrabbling on the deck for the missing pin!

A beautiful 45 minute motor through the waves was followed with a cooling dip before being transported via speedboat to shore. Hefter took another one for the team, leaping out before being buffeted by the boat and grazing the majority of his upper back. Dinner was chewed through, burgers once again the order, as a couple were found head in hands. Tuckwell was amongst a fivesome who swam back out to the yacht dodging jetskii's. Hefter was targetted once again on the return; this getting hit square on the arse cheek and lifted 3 foot out of the water. The San Miguels, and Evian, were uniced as Shackers showed his handy camera work. It was all too much for the 'Sisters of Sleep' - who caught up on some shut eye. Tuckwell went for once last float in the ocean before taking a jellyfish sting on the ankle and splashing around like a demented maniac to get out of the water. Raul prescribed Pi$$, but there were no takers with it difficult to reach for Tuckwell. With the red bits starting to become more angry it was a return to harbour after an absolutely fantastic day and probably never to be repeated for the majority.

The small matter of the Euro 2008 final lay ahead with the Country gripped in Spanish fever. The Sports Bar was again frequented and the usuals served up. A monster pizza was ordered as the first half was viewed amongst a sea of red and yellow. Tuckwell had to head for the airport with school beckoning, paying to check the bags still causing bitterness, as the rest of the party hit a traditional Spanish bar in town. Spain erupted as the final whistle blew but it was all to much for Hefter and Horsburgh, the latter fearing another onset of'Eindhoven Flu' and staggered for an early night with triple vision firmly installed.

Tuckwell had a cramped and uncomfortable, head lolling flight back but returned safely into the early hours and 4 hours kip before school.

Hepburn kicked on with the spirits flagging before another belting gesture of generosity. With the VIP area of a swanky bar accosted, it was ice buckets of beer, champagne and fireworks, actual fireworks, every time the manager raced through the dance floor with the order, to the bemusement of everyone else. On all accounts a perfect end to an exceptional weekend!