Snippet from my upcoming novel Flip Flops, Fiestas and Flamenco.


Lou thought the party was going exceptionally well. Everybody seemed to be having a good time, and Abby’s gargantuan spread had gone down a treat. It didn’t matter that the locals were hovered mosquito like nearer the house, while the ex-pats congregated similarly around the pool, the obnoxious Ken centre of attention, as usual. Poor Kylie, having a dad like that. She noticed the girl having a cigarette, talking to one of Bernadette’s daughters close to the donkey. Two giant ears, a James Brown fringe, and enormous teeth. The equine equivalent of Alan Carr was building bridges years of secondary school had failed to do.

“Where are you, my beautiful lady?”

Juan’s liquid velvet voice caressed Lou as he bent towards her ear, his lips brushing her neck and sending shivers to her nether regions.

“Sorry, I was miles away thinking about us making our escape later.” She brushed his hand from her derrière ineffectually, while he tantalised her with all the things he would do when they were alone.

Ken’s booming voice to her left made her raise her head, all sexy thoughts vanishing.

“Fuck off, yer barmy cow!”

Lou looked to see which guest was the recipient of his ire and was surprised to see Sylvia squaring up to the burly oaf while Elaine helplessly looked on.

“I think there’s been a mistake,” Elaine muttered, appearing flustered and embarrassed.

“Mistake? There’s no mistake. He slapped my arse.” Sylvia was fuming. Despite her size, she stood defiant.

Then, all hell broke loose.

Donkeys are extremely social animals, therefore Santos, missing the young girls who’d been keeping him company, decided to join the party. How in the hell he managed to open that bloody gate again, Lou didn’t know. He was like sodding Houdini and tomorrow, she was going to buy the biggest bloody padlock she could find.

Guests were trying to dodge the inquisitive mule. Lou couldn’t see Abby anywhere – she was likely playing hostess again – and God knew she hadn’t been able to shift the stubborn animal in the past.

Sylvester and Tweetie Pie seeing the opportunity they’d been waiting for all evening launched a raid on the garlic prawns. Meanwhile, Jeff, one of the volunteers from the shelter,bravely and drunkenly leapt to Sylvia’s defence. It resembled a scene from a Carry On film.

The clamorous, braying donkey trotted through the party, an unwanted smelly gatecrasher. Stopping at one of the tables, he buried his face in a large bowl of figs. Unfortunately, they’d been marinated in rose infused honey and instead of devouring the forbidden fruits, most ended up stuck round his muzzle or dangling from his long fringe. The sight of his long tongue contorting about his face in desperation to reach the sticky figs had everyone in stitches.

Santos however didn’t see the joke and careered towards the swimming pool, plates of food crashing, as the cats, grabbing their moment, landed clumsily on the buffet table. The great prawn robbery was underway! Remnants of garlic aioli flew into the air and splattered onto Elaine’s fluorescent suit as if a giant seagull had just crapped on her from up above. While ham croquettes dive-bombed, giant green bogies dressed up as olives rained down in buckets. Jeff, the indignant knight in shining armour was still arguing with Ken who seemed oblivious to the ensuing havoc and was still bellowing at Sylvia.

“Don’t flatter yourself, luv!” He snarled. “And you,” he prodded Jeff in the chest as Santos came up behind, “why don’t you mind your own fuckin’ business?”

It all became too much for Tweetie Pie. Spooked, she sprung from the table onto Santos’s back, digging her claws into his fur and causing him to buck. Sylvia dragged Jeff to one side just as the donkey charged into Ken, knocking him head first into the swimming pool still clutching his bottle of San Miguel. A stunned silence – broken only by a couple of muffled sniggers –descended on the partygoers as they looked on.


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