Anais and Oscar

The Magaluf Job

The evening did not start auspiciously.

A lot of people working in the bars and clubs are suspicious of journalists.

Magaluf has a certain reputation and that reputation is salacious enough to even get decent coverage in the serious press; some light relief for the chattering classes.

Finally Will (the writer) found someone.

As any working photographer knows the best cure for the stress is to just get shooting, to get into the groove.

He had found a tattoo parlour and the owner Oscar and his friends were very happy to pose; they were perfect, the location was perfect.

Oscar then introduced us to Anais and the picture I got of the two together is probably my favourite.

We were on a roll…

Earlier in the Week.

The job came up last minute,  a call on Tuesday evening from The Sunday Times to fly out the next day.

Perfect. Another job from them as well!

Just like the good old days before  Covid, work and travel; a combination that can still give me the buzz that most airline travel has lost these days.

First time I have stayed at a hotel for a while as well.

I arrived very late and Marco the concierge was there to greet me, an Italian guy I instantly liked, even the cheap complimentary sweet cava did not make me like him less. We really should have interviewed him as well, he had some good stories to tell, I reckon. He had  been there a while.

The room was ok… but the view was great. And so was the water pressure. Soho House in Barcelona have turned their’s to a dribble (under the pretence of water conservation), I bet prison showers are better than theirs.

I woke up early. The sun was coming up and it was all so very pretty. Even later, looking down at the sun loungers to see a spatchcocked woman on one looking like she fell from the sky, seemed like local colour.

So too were the two pigeons that snuck in whilst I showered, trying to make out under my bed.

I had assumed we would get cracking straight away but Will said he was not free until midday. so I went exploring.

Magaluf at 9.00am gives little indication of its alter-ego come nightfall.

The beach is decent, hardly anyone was around, just obligatory joggers and

three Scots guys with a plastic bag full of Desperado beer, they seemed harmless.

So Magaluf? Perfectly fine, I could not understand what all the fuss was about…

(To  be continued)