Fuengirola buying Ecstasy

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Fuengirola buying Ecstasy

A TAXI driver has been arrested after allegedly falsely claiming he was kidnapped and forced to spend his earnings on drugs and prostitutes. The VTC driver told police in Fuengirola that a customer stole his daily intake and held him at knife point. It was then, he claimed, that the customer forced him to drive to a strip club, take drugs and pay for prostitutes. Both men had sex with several women that night, they claimed. Police believe the men, who knew each other previously, had decided to spend the night at the club. The driver, who spent all the money destined for the company he worked for, decided to make up the kidnapping story to justify the stolen funds and to account for not turning up for his shift the next day, police allege. He has almost a decade of experience and previously worked as a senior reporter for the Mail Online in London. You must be logged in to post a comment. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed. My Account. Subscribe Login My Account Close. NICE TRY: Driver allegedly tried to cover up night in strip club with fake kidnapping story A TAXI driver has been arrested after allegedly falsely claiming he was kidnapped and forced to spend his earnings on drugs and prostitutes. Tags: Costa del Sol fuengirola news spain newspaper olive press newspaper. Related Articles 21 Oct, Contact newsdesk theolivepress. Leave a Reply Cancel reply You must be logged in to post a comment. Emergency services received calls from The overcrowded vessel, known as a cayuco,. Go to Top.

Fuengirola Nightlife: All Your Questions Answered

Fuengirola buying Ecstasy

Having processed most of the international subtitled streaming murder mysteries over the last half dozen years on the major streaming channels, I watched the first episode of The Paradise, on Amazon Prime. The problem is that the streaming services such as AmPrime have been offering limited episodes, then sending viewers to related pay channels, in this case, Acorn. Almost certainly. In a normal world, one might complain, but the global media hierarchy has become so complaint-resistant that I subscribed to Acorn. There are hundreds of shows, mostly British, so no worries. It costs far less to subscribe to this newsletter than it does to pay for Acorn. I am aware of Oulu because when I opened an Instagram account, the first person I contacted was a woman living in Oulu. I wanted to make her acquaintance because of my fondness for Bordertown , the first great Finnish TV series to break through to an international audience via Netflix. The woman on Instagram living in Oulu is originally from Portugal. She is a tattooed lesbian stripper who never replied to my question about Finnish TV, did not follow me back, and so I have finally deleted her. For the most part I don't exist on Instagram, except for former students, who all prefer IG to other social mediums. But Hikka misses the action, and when a Finnish family is murdered on Spain's Costa del Sol, she leaves her husband, daughter, and grandchildren, to go help the local Spanish police solve the crime. She radiates a beauty that even much younger men, like Andres Villanueva, her handsome counterpart in Spain, can't help but take notice. She's also tough enough to disarm a psycho who has handcuffed her. She draws him close enough to deliver an overpowering kick to the nuts, retrieve her revolver, and chase him down. The characters speak in Finnish and Spanish or a combination, and when a suspect, or character, speaks neither language, they speak English. The first episode was a little confusing because of the trilingual situation, and the need to introduce many characters and locations, and establish a plot line. Which is: Finland has large expat community in Costa del Sol, for which a new condo community called Paradise is being developed. There are already many Finns there, in RV camps and caravan communities. There is also a powerful new designer drug created in Russia being shipped from Finland through Europe to this party-mad resort area on Spain's Mediterranean coast, knowingly or unknowingly by these Finnish families. The drug, called Sampo, has a design flaw, especially for a party drug. It comes on like ecstasy but accelerates into something a little worse than the Blue Meth in Breaking Bad. It makes the user feel indestructible, manic, crazy, heart-attack hyper, aggressive, paranoid, homicidal, suicidal. Stuff like that. One would guess that the come down is so severe that to avoid those effects, the user needs more, more, more. The Finnish-Spanish connection may be new to viewers, but I have a kind of history with it. I was aware of the large British colony in the Costa del Sol, a fatuous collection of bored pleasure seekers wittily and bitterly depicted by J. Ballard in his novel, Cocaine Nights. It took a few episodes of Paradise to remind me of the Finnish journalist I met in Torremolinos with whom I only spoke Spanish. It was early No plans. She asked if I wanted to go to London and Copenhagen, all expenses paid. No promised coverage necessary. Why not? It was three days and nights of seeing up-and-coming international signings. In London, we drank and dined and saw performances by Sailor and Boxer. British Boxer album cover, which features a boxing glove straddled by a nude model, may have been an inspiration for Spinal Tap's controversial 'original' Smell the Glove album design. Boxer's album was redesigned for the U. It was the era of the 'open return' airline ticket. I went to a bar and had to avoid a fight with a drunk who was so anti-war, his politics so far to the left of Baader-Meinhoff, that simply me being American, albeit a long haired and bearded and Vietnam draft-avoider, made him want to beat me up. Maybe he was on Sampo. The other Danes in the bar were nice, and when I was done drinking they distracted him so I could leave unbothered. It was very cold in Copenhagen. Tivoli Gardens was closed for the season. She didn't want to get together. I had a cold coming on, and I wanted to go somewhere warmer. Malaga, Spain, on the Costa del Sol, looked like it might be warm, or warmer. The travel agent calculated redirecting my ticket home. Sounded good to me! Then she ran in through the system one more time, and apologized. To fly from Copenhagen to Malaga to New York would cost me nine dollars. It was chilly in Malaga, and my cold had gotten a little worse. I took the airport bus to a beach hotel in Torremolinos, full of British and German tourists. It was off season. Most people took package tours that included dinners in tourist restaurants. I tried one night and it was like cafeteria food. The next night I wandered away from the tourist district to what looked like the native quarter: small, narrow, winding streets, restaurants with seafood and paella. From the get-go, I had made one decision: I was going to speak Spanish wherever I went. I knew a lot of words, I had a good accent. I couldn't conjugate verbs at all, the devil in the details in speaking Spanish well. Sod you, poner and pongo! The desk clerks at my international tourist hotel spoke English, of course, and the first thing I should have asked for was a doctor, since my chest cold and stuffy nose were not getting better. A course of antibiotics would have helped, but Dr. Robins had already self-prescribed large nightly doses of Presidente brandy. At the restaurant in the local quarter, I saw an attractive blonde woman with long, lovely nails, dining alone and reading a Harold Robbins paperback. En ingles. I did my 'habla usted ingles? She was from Arizona, just kind of hanging out in Torremolinos. She was a 'hostess' at a club, and gave me her card and a pass to the club. I thought about going, but she told me nothing really happened until midnight. And I was too sick to stay up that late. I did find one place to hang out every night after dinner for a few hours. There was an English pub, called The English Pub. Despite its name, I insisted on ordering and speaking in Spanish, or Spanglish, or whatever it was I pretended I was speaking. To the bartender, who was likely from Manchester: 'Un Presidente, por favor. Someone asked me what my job was. The man who asked me was very excited, since he too was a journalist, from Finland. We became quick pals, meeting there every night, and communicating in broken Spanish. Because he, and the bartender, thought I was Spanish. And he was Finnish, and had a smattering of Spanish. It struck me as odd, because most educated Finns spoke English. Which he did, but he did not think I spoke English, because we kept communicating, and I kept ordering from the bartender, in Spanish. Towards the end of the stay, I was tired and sicker and asked the British bartender for a Presidente brandy and some water. He looked at me astonished. You speak English? What was a Finnish journalist doing in Torremolinos? He was writing a series about his countrymen who were seasonally migrating to the Costa del Sol for holidays. They were even building condos for the Finnish expats down the coast in Fuengirola. So much Finnish was being spoken that even the local police were learning it. Pretty much exactly like the situation developing in The Paradise, the Finnish TV show that takes place in this part of Spain on the British streaming channel Acorn. Not only did I get a middle seat in the smoking section, but the Dutch man sitting next to me smoked a pipe. He puffed that pipe the entire trip. They loaded me up on elephant antibiotics, and it only took about three weeks before I could get out of bed. Critical Conditions by Wayne Robins is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Share this post. Torremolinos, Not Quite Paradise waynerobins. Copy link. Wayne Robins. Apr 14, Previous Next. Discussion about this post Comments. This was fun to read, those were the days of press junkets, for sure. Expand full comment. Ready for more? Start Writing Get the app. Substack is the home for great culture. This site requires JavaScript to run correctly. Please turn on JavaScript or unblock scripts. Rhonda Apr 14, This was fun to read, those were the days of press junkets, for sure. Expand full comment Reply Share.

Fuengirola buying Ecstasy