Rating:

I admit it, I’m getting on a bit, and so are my mates.

Phones, you see, to us are for ringing each other. We don’t have full blown conversations over text and we’ve not a clue what Raspberry Messenger is. If we do send a text, it’s consists of “Pub at 8?”, and the reply is usually “Aye go on then”. Every so often, we’ll send a random, one word insult.

Which is why, when you’re on your jollies with 11 of your closest friends, you need a local. Just like you have at home. Somewhere to meet your mates and have a couple of sharpeners whilst you’re waiting for the vain ones, somewhere to take in the totty, and somewhere you’ll be greated like an old mate when you walk in, where they’ll start pouring your favoured tipple before you even utter a word.

Somewhere the female bar staff will get their boobies out for you. Sorry did I say that aloud? Last time I looked, that never happened in the Stag, back in Wigan, but it sure as hell happened last time I was in Lush Bar!

You see, we’d been going in all week, doing exactly as I said above, meeting there before progressing down the strip. The owner, who’s name I can’t recall sadly, (but who recognised us from the year before, and several years prior) realised that it was our last night, and got all the barmaids to give us a flash of their breasts. Good man.

Lush is one of the few bars that opens for longer than just the traditional peak season, though I understand it’s not open all year round. It was a colleague’s 40th birthday a few years ago and he managed to get – I’m not kidding – FIFTY people over there for a weekend in early March. Lush was open then – the shot sellers were notable by their absence, but they put the Super League on for us. So, some brownie points there, then.

Speaking of Super League and shot sellers – in 2008, my mate and I were trying to remember the words to a Wigan Warriors chant, so I texted another mate, who was at home, for a reminder. He duly complied but asked for, in return, a picture of “you and Joe biting a fat bird’s arse”. In the same breath, Lauren, the principle shot seller that year came by – I have to say, she was in no way shape or form fat, but we asked her to pose for the picture anyway. Up went the skirt, and Joe and I sank our teeth in!

And that’s the beauty of Lush – the staff are like your mates for the week. The bar itself only looks tiny when you walk in, but go towards the back, down the steps, there is another big bar area, so there’s plenty room.

Our favourite bit, though was the external terrace, which makes the place ideal any time of day or night. During the day, it’s a nice, relaxed place to be; warm but in the shade. At night, it’s a fabulous TVP.

TVP? Sorry – that stands for ‘Totty Vantage Point.” Given Lush’s position on near the top of the strip, and close to hotels and other bars, you could be forgiven for wondering why the hell Magaluf has a lap dancing bar. If you want to see beautiful people – just sit in Lush for an hour or two.

Another selling point is that the drinks are not badly priced. Depending on who served me, I paid between 2 and 2.5 euro on a pint of the local lager, which is as good as, if not better, than the pisswater we get at home. A vodka and mixer is about the same price, I’m reliably informed. Either way, much cheaper than further down the strip.

The downside is that it’s very much a moderate ‘bar’. It’s no Chaplins’ or Revolution, for instance. It’s very much somewhere to start or end your night, or have a drink during the day. But that’s its’ charm. It’s not big or banging, it’s just a good, friendly bar,with friendly people who possess a sense of fun and a sense of humour, without being dickheads.

And I’m sure, people of all ages, not just us thirtysomethings, appreciate that.