The one and only time I’ve ever been on holiday by myself was to Lanzarote, in the Canary Islands, for a week in 1995, when I was thirtysomething and BritPop ruled. I’d pre-booked an excursion to the Timanfaya National Park where the vast volcanic landscape is quite something. However, if you’ve ever ridden on a camel you will know that the motion it produces, as it carries you aside it’s hump, is a combination of side to side sway with a simultaneous up and down jolt. This is not the most pleasant of experiences, the morning after you were a playing a darts drinking game with some Germans in a bar, late into the night before. The camel was probably not over-thrilled either.
I was paired up with a Spanish girl who was holidaying with her parents. As we sway-jolted along, I gamely did my best to chat up the young lady on the other side of the hump, as you do. Not easy when you’re queasy and language is a barrier, with her strict catholic parents in front, within earshot, on their own beast of burden, which is farting loudly right at you. But as Randle Mcmurphy said: ‘ But I tried, didn’t I, goddammit,? at least I did that’.
Aside from this daytrip and the boozy Germans, I spent the week reading Charles Bukowski on the beach and listening to Different Class and (What’s The Story) Morning Glory? on my Walkman.
Whenever I hear Roll With It, I am always reminded of the Spanish girl and the camel..