Europe’s finest can be found here on the weekends,
Trying hard to be cool and fit into the local scene,
Weekend warriors hoping to make it in the big city,
Luck may find them the partner of their dreams.
After a long hot lazy day spent on the sandy beach,
It’s time to clean up and hit the city at night,
With sand and sea salt still gritting between teeth,
A few long ice cool beers will go down just right.
By nine pm the clubs and pubs are really rocking,
Beer gardens prove to be a big relief from the crush,
From somewhere wafts the faint remains of a joint
Amongst the smell of cigarettes and stamped out buts,
Loud conversations in many accents excitement as night falls,
Toilets been used in many ways as transactions take place,
The restless crowds keep on moving like lines of flamingos,
Safety in numbers as they meet up with old mates.
As the witching hour approaches nobody wants to go home,
Arrangements are made to find a good spot to kick on,
Soon the taxies are been hailed others decide to stay put,
New friendships been formed some short and some long.
By three thirty am the streets fill up with night revellers,
Some are heading to new lodgings more just want to go home,
One or two have had too much to drink on a big night out,
They will wake up with a huge hangover once again and alone.
Sunday morning finds some awake and on the move again,
Old habits die hard even when they are away from home,
Church calls them together once again meeting old friends,
Hangovers or not for a few their religion is still strong.
Then it’s breakfast and back to the beach for a cool swim,
Lie on the beach and listen to all the stories from last night,
Have dinner and a few quiet drinks later in the evening,
Tomorrow work and reality waits, but for now it feels just right.

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