Belfast Telegraph - December 2009
When you go on your holidays abroad, no matter how short haul, you have an idea in your mind that you are travelling a million miles from home.
Malaga or Maldives, it doesn’t matter. Once you’re in international airspace, distance doesn’t matter. As soon as you step on that plane, that’s it, you’ve left the old country and the miseries and drudgery of daily life are instant history. For some really desperate headcases who loathe their normal existence, a foreign holiday is not just a chance to drop tools for a couple of weeks — it means a new identity can be assumed.
I’ve seen guys from north Belfast at the bar in Aldergrove transformed three hours later into hedge fund managers, brain surgeons and international soccer agents by the time they’ve ordered their second cerveza in the beach bar at Magaluf. There are good reasons for this change of identity. For one thing, it’s easy because you’re abroad and nobody knows you. For another, it helps your pulling power if you replace your profession as a chicken sexer at Moy Park with something a bit more glamorous like, say, Beyonce’s European tour head of security.