BEN-I-DORM: RUMBLE ON THE RIVER

Songtext

Benidorm 2026 [Intro – spoken] We met at the airport the night before. Which, looking back, was mistake number one. Because apparently the best way to start a family holiday is to get absolutely wrecked before you’ve even left England. [Verse 1] Next morning, six adults looking like death, kids buzzing, nobody’s had enough rest. Lisa’s got pig glasses, Chris looks ready for a sunbed, me and John in Minnie Mouse — dignity dead. Hannah’s gone steampunk, Helen’s disco-ball bright, and somehow this is before T-shirt night. Mine said “Slippery When Wet”, completely see-through, John’s said “Who’s Been a Good Boy?” — clearly not you. Lisa had a bloke in a mankini across her chest, Helen had Madge saying “Frig Off” — probably dressed best. Chris had definitions, Hannah was dressed as mince, and nobody questioned any of it since. Ten in the morning, beer cracked open, BuzzBall beside it — tradition had spoken. Pool bar opens eleven, but that felt a bit late, so we started an hour early. Obviously. Great. [CHORUS] BEN-I-DORM! HERE WE FUCKING GO! Ten in the morning and the standards are low! BEN-I-DORM! GET ANOTHER ROUND! Twelve Baby Guinnesses coming back down! No sleep! No shame! Nobody knows anybody’s name! “Who’s that?” DUA LIPA! Where’s Ben gone? FUCK KNOWS EITHER! BEN-I-DORM! HERE WE FUCKING GO! Six grown adults putting on a show! [Verse 2] And Ben kept disappearing. You’d say, “Where’s Ben?” Nobody knew. Five minutes later he’s back from the shops with a knife and a lighter like that’s normal teenage loot. So after that it became: “Where’s Ben?” “Buying nunchucks.” “Where’s Ben?” “Probably a bazooka.” “Give him another ten minutes, he’ll come back with a flamethrower.” Meanwhile Chris, Ben and Kai couldn’t keep a room key alive. One stopped working, then another, then five. By the end Chris had enough plastic cards to single-handedly wipe out the Mediterranean. Mundomar rang. The dolphins had filed a complaint. [CHORUS] BEN-I-DORM! HERE WE FUCKING GO! BuzzBalls high and the standards are low! BEN-I-DORM! GET ANOTHER ROUND! Twelve Baby Guinnesses coming back down! No sleep! No shame! Every tribute act has got the same name! Michael Jackson? DUA LIPA! Vengaboys? DUA LIPA! Pitbull? Chris: MR WORLDWIDE. [Verse 3] Then John lost Chris at pool. Simple deal. Lose the game, get the tattoo. “2 Can Chew 69.” John lost. And suddenly John had questions about the legal enforceability of verbal contracts. Day one: “I’ll get it tomorrow.” Day two: “We’ll see.” At which point his honour was formally under review and we discussed placing him on zero-alcohol beer and mocktails until he complied. And as if Chris hadn’t done enough damage, he also bit one of John’s bollocks through his shorts. Not sure there’s a smooth transition out of that. [Breakdown] Catch me if you can — zucchini! Catch me if you can — Houdini! Catch me if you can — Mussolini! Who is it? DUA LIPA! [Verse 4] Family day at Mundomar. Fourteen of us. Dolphin show. Wholesome. They only sold cans of beer. Now, six adults probably means six beers. We bought twelve. So there’s a family walking into a dolphin show with a handbag that sounds like a recycling bin. And Hannah — it is all-inclusive. You do not need to smuggle prawns and mussels out in your bag. Nobody is coming for the seafood. Elsewhere, Helen and Hannah got absolutely mashed, made friends with two gay lads, that escalated fast. Then two lesbians joined and basically moved in, hugging, chatting, following them everywhere. Went out for a drink, came back running their own social club. [Bar Break] “What can I get you?” Two strawberry daiquiris. Two mojitos. Two Malibu pineapples. And twelve Baby Guinnesses. “…How many of you are there?” Six. [Verse 5] Foam party. John decides he’s Klinsmann. Throws himself forward, slides about three feet, gets up looking like he’s aged twenty years. And me? I spent most of the holiday sleeping on a roll mat in the bathroom. Not because Helen and I had fallen out. Because apparently my snoring sounds like a fucking container ship starting up. Half-eight every morning, though, we’re back downstairs racing for sunbeds after getting in at one. That’s the thing with Benidorm. You don’t recover. You just restart. [FINAL CHORUS] BEN-I-DORM! HERE WE FUCKING GO! Ten in the morning and the standards are low! BEN-I-DORM! GET ANOTHER ROUND! Twelve Baby Guinnesses coming back down! Room keys! Seafood! Pool bets gone wrong! Foam-party Klinsmann! Still going strong! “Where’s Ben?” BUYING A FLAMETHROWER! “Who’s that?” DUA LIPA! Chris! Lisa! Hannah! John! Helen! Dave! Still fucking going on! No sleep! No shame! Every night exactly the same! BEN-I-DORM! HERE WE FUCKING GO! Six grown adults who should fucking know! Catch me if you can — zucchini… Catch me if you can — Houdini… Catch me if you can — Mussolini… This is Mr Worldwide, Dua Lipa signing off. See you later sluts.