He stayed in Magalluf, the main town on the island. It was full of bars, clubs and other entertainment places. He’d booked his trip with Club 18-30, a company that catered for young people. Travelling alone, he was put in a room with some other English guys. They all got on and went drinking together on the first night. That night set the scene for what was to come. Drink and drink and drink.

Joe liked music so he went to the Hard Rock Café. He went there a few times. On the last occasion, there was trouble of the German kind. Being English, there was a thing about two World Wars and a World Cup. Joe was one man, the Germans were several. He was head banging on the dancefloor when someone tapped him on the shoulder. At first, being drunk, he ignored it. Then he opened his eyes and looked. He saw a chest. And then looked up… There was a Nazi Stormtrooper from Hell! The enemy bastard was six foot four and broad. In guttural English, the kraut shouted: ‘This is our bar! English! You leave now!’

Joe left, the dancefloor, and went to the bar for his beer. He took a drink and ordered a new one. When the first was finished, he started the second and went head banging again. Time passed and songs played, nothing happened. Then there was the same tap on the shoulder; Joe opened his eyes and now three enemy kraut bastards were there. Joe looked at them, at the big glass ashtrays on the bar and then at his beer. He made eye contact, nodded and watching his back, went to the bar.