That’s the unofficial motto of the Club 18-30 – where Slippery Nipples, Sex on the Beach and Screaming Orgasms aren’t just the names of cocktails – but the nightly behaviour of the reps and holidaymakers up for anything.
Sun, sex and sand might have dominated the holiday experience – but most party-goers needed another break when they got home to recover from the non-stop partying, drinking and shagging.
But what made 18-30 work was that the fortnight in the sun was usually with a bestie or a group of lads and girlfriends.
While there is now a question mark dangling over the experience – with the brand under threat of being sold off – meet three women who won’t ever forget their 18-30 holiday experiences.
'It was an orgy': Ibiza San Antonio, July 2008
Gina Clarke, 31, is a married mum of two aged 3 and 6. She runs her own marketing business and lives in Wiltshire.
"I was 22 when me and three girlfriends booked to go to Ibiza. We went in July when San Antonio was heaving with Brits on the piss and up for anything.
One of my girlfriends was getting married and this was her last hurrah as a single woman.
We mocked up some t-shirts and a tutu for her hen night. We were without a doubt the most popular girls in town that night.
At times we’d get annoyed with the constant attention. The idea of personal space does not exist on an 18-30 holiday.
It would start with the hen. When the blokes realised she had a ring on – most would move on to someone else without a backward glance.
Admittedly Ibiza was beautiful during the day – we’d spend sun-drenched afternoons by the pool topping up the tan and sweating out the hangover.
Cafe Mambo and the beach scene was really relaxed. But after dark the beach area was seedy.
If you went for a walk along the sand – the odds were that you’d get touched up.
While we didn’t sign up to all of the holiday excursions – we still went "out-out".
Typically we’d dress up and strut along the main drag looking for the best offers, such as vouchers for drinks and free entry into bars and clubs.
We did go on one excursion – an organised boat trip. It was more like an organised orgy.
I played along with some of the games.
A memorable one was passing a balloon back and forth without using our hands – instead we were expected to use our inner thighs.
Then there were the games that involved downing shots.
Unsurprisingly these soon got physical. The prize for the winning girl was to give a b*****b to the winning boy.
When I clocked what I was danger of winning I soon dropped out and went to find the bar.
On the boat trip partygoers were encouraged to be hands-on with the opposite sex.
The games were constant – from how many sex positions can you imitate in a minute to drinking games involving races.
Likewise the drinking was non-stop. One game involved passing bottles of beers back down a line, gulping what you could, as fast you could and whatever was left the last one had to finish in order to win.
After dark the whole place was just a mass of bodies.
You would see girls all over one guy one night and then moving on to another the following evening.
Even so it is a rite of passage for a young 20-something woman.
I returned home with loads of happy memories and a half-decent tan.
Looking back I shudder at the scant regard we had for our safety.
But I have zero regrets. I firmly believe you are only young once.
I was a twenty-something, ready to party and up for a good time.
We were sensible and didn’t go OTT – all we came home with were great memories.
If I was 22 I’d do it all over again!"
'I left my daughter at home and let my hair down': Palma Nova, Mallorca 1988
Hayley Garbutt, 50, a health care assistant, is married and has three grown up kids. They live in Hunmanby, Yorkshire.
"My twin sister and I booked a week away to Mallorca. We’d found a last minute cheap deal.
We didn’t even realise until we got there that we had paid up for an 18-30 holiday!
When we landed in Palma it was only when we clocked the reps with the clipboards it dawned on us what we had done.
I’d left my two-year-old daughter at home with my mum. I was a single mum at the time and determined to let my hair down and have a good time.
We’re both broad-minded and go with the flow in life so we said "let’s do it!" – and embraced the fact we wouldn’t get much sleep and our livers would take a massive hit.
The reps were ace – they’d whip up the guys and girls into going out each evening.
We’d still go on excursions in the daytime – we even went to a bodega to taste different types of booze.
The most outrageous night was a booze cruise champagne party on a boat. It probably wasn’t even champagne – not that anyone cared.
After it got dark the reps started calling out, "Who wants a bottle of bubbles?"
Hands went in the air and that’s when they chucked the bottles into the Med.
Everyone started stripping off and jumping in to find their bottle – I was speechless.
There was zero regard for anyone’s safety – it just wouldn't happen today.
Make no mistake everyone was encouraged to strip off and indulge in skinny-dipping – I doubt if anyone even found a bottle of fizz.
It was party night every evening – the following night we were encouraged to strip off our beds and use the sheets for a toga party. No wonder the hotels took a £500 deposit. Most of the sheets never made it back to the room.
Us girls were encouraged to get up on stage and eat food off blokes' body parts.
When you’re on an 18-30 holiday you assume everyone is going to be in their late teens or early twenties.
There were definitely blokes on our trip over thirty looking to get their end away – I reckon the company wasn’t that strict about who signed up.
Each night it was a given that everyone would end up with a different guy. You know it’s going to happen on these types of holidays.
I didn’t go further than first base and a snog – but it was the norm for others to do the deed with different blokes.
My motto is what happens on holiday stays on holiday. I’ve zero regrets.
Besides the holiday was that good that we ended up staying on an extra week!"
'We played the "don't be sick" game': Malia, July 2004
Annie Belasco, 34, is an author who lives in Windsor with her and their two children.
"On the last night of my holiday I took stock. My best mate had suffered third degree sunburn. I calculated I’d spend over a hundred quid on booze alone. I’d even had to phone my mum asking her to stick some cash in my account.
In my book back then that is the sign of a good holiday.
Now I wonder – what on earth was I thinking?
It sounds like a disastrous trip but it was par for the course on our first ever 18-30 holiday.
We were only 21 and had no idea that a holiday is precious rest and recovery.
Everything was centred on alcohol, meeting single people and getting off with them – regardless of the consequences.
At Gatwick airport everyone dumped their morals as they went through security control.
Seeing other women snogging randoms on the plane – I realised it didn’t matter if anyone was married, engaged, or in a relationship.
Walking out of the arrivals terminal, I was agog to see a half naked girl – our rep! – waving to us to jump on board the bus.
We sat quietly at the back of the coach praying the group of noisy lads would not be staying at our hotel – of course they were.
This was the whole point of 18-30 – to take over a hotel.
Ours redefined "cheap and basic". When we opened the bedroom door we saw we had a double bed – naturally we'd asked for two singles.
During the day Malia was dead quiet.
Occasionally you’d see clubbers doing the bare-foot walk of shame back to their hotels.
Then there were those who were still so drunk they couldn’t make it back to where they were staying.
You'd see them having half of last night’s clothes on while draped across the sun beds or by the nearest pools they could find.
There were no quaint Greek tavernas in town.
Everything was geared towards us Brits – everywhere flogging booze and takeaways with music pumping out 24-7.
Most mornings we’d be by the pool at 10am – recovering from the previous night.
Then someone would crank up their stereo blasting out their music, the rep would jog round saying hi and everyone would be encouraged to crack open the first bottle of booze of the day.
My mate got badly sunburned. We spent a day waiting to be seen by the resort medical centre doctors.
It was like our local A&E. Crammed with Brits suffering the consequences of alcohol-related injuries or alcohol poisoning.
As 18-30 holiday virgins we restricted ourselves to just flirting with blokes.
The female reps were the worst – they would spend every waking hour chatting blokes up. It was terrifying to watch.
We never even went out for one meal – let alone used the hotel restaurant. Instead our main meal of the 'day' was grabbing a kebab at 6am.
Drink 'til you're sick
We’d always need to eat at the end of the night because of the amount of alcohol we'd been encouraged to knock back.
The reps put on a "don’t be sick" game, where you had to mix your drinks with as many varieties as possible.
You then had to down as many as possible within the time-frame of a song.
If you were sick – you had to start again. It was relentless.
On our last night we only had a few euros left.
We had to decide whether to buy a bottle of vodka or two baguettes – of course, the alcohol won.
I realise now it wasn’t okay to have to recover after going on a holiday.
My 30-something self shudders that I shelled out for such a horrific experience."
Annie Belasco is author of breast cancer memoir Love & Remission out June 18th.
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