Tim Wade's Blog

Stoke Tower’s is on holidays! Yep, we’ve rellocated from the luxurious, monkey filled, penthouse for six weeks. That’s right, bored reader, six newsletters from exotic locations, six cllections of letters, more erratic and nonsensical than before, due to the pina coladas surging through my cerebellum and the hot, hot sun boring into the back of my melon…

And on that note:

This week’s newsletter.

Valencia, a city so orange and round it was named after an orange.

Like the rest of Mediterranean Spain the beaches cover you in dirt, and this time of year the weak potato soup they call the sea inspires more sweat when you’re in it, then when you’re out of it, being relentlessly beaten by that radioactive tomato in the sky.
But it isn’t as dire as my whinging ramblings may imply. It could be worse if it was raining, which it never does here, or colder, which it isn’t. Overcast would be worse, not on my watch buddy. And as for the sea, well a cold sea sucks, and this one is fringed by all varieties of scantily clad senior citizens, and let’s not kid ourselves – a comedy boob or ball is better than no boob or ball at all.

We’ve got more cans on ice than the Russian figure skating championships.

Now everyone observe a moment of loudness and skull a beer for the tragic loss of our ashes.

After here the drunken road trip is heading up to Barcelona. Barcelona is a really good place to get red faced, a root and robbed. Or loose, laid and (have your wallet) lifted. Or smashed, screwed and stolen from. That’s enough. We’ll be having a massive party, an annual event whose name I haven’t yet conjured up. Actually, here is a promotion. Name our traditional annual event and you can win the prize of buying me a tequila and redbull, otherwise known as dancing juice, or, tomorrow’s worse hangover.

Post Barca we leave for Paris. The city of French people. There we will grow little moustaches, wear blue and white strips, hang garlic around our necks, put baguettes in the basket’s of our girls’ bikes. Berets, and snails and arrogance. We’ll dance under the Eiffel tower and head into the Louvre to marvel at how you have no idea why you like the Mona Lisa, and the amazing way that her facial expression suggests that she is aware of this. And, of course, we’ll be eating Gallic deliciousness and sampling the most fantastic cheapest wines by the litre.

After which we roll of into the sunset. Things get weird(er) after Paris. Bruges, which is full of Belgians, Amsterdam, say no more, Berlin, the German capital – Germans, and Prague. I am quite excited by the whole trip, but Prague I am particularly looking forward to. I am looking forward to the vampires, and Russian spies and beer that is cheaper than potatoes, but more expensive than a human life. Yes, life behind the Iron Curtain is sure to be fun.

We still have some seats on the bus, so if you want to either come for the whole trip, or just for one leg, email me, gravy@stoketravel.com, or call me on +34695487602. We’ll also be putting on a party in every city, so if you are around let’s drink too much, dance horribly, be creepy and generally make a fool out of ourselves together.

I’ve already given you a promotion, you greedy bastards, but tell me the shittest thing about one of the cities we are visiting and you can win a free trip from that city to the next one.

Stoke Travel – making nonsense sexy.