In these ‘How the hell…? posts, I’m going to explain how I ended up doing what I did during various stages of my rapidly diminishing time on this planet. Some things may have already been explained in my series of Ketchup books, most have not.

As I pondered these swivel points in my life, it became apparent that there were two glaring common denominators: 1. an opportunity, and 2. An innate inability to realise that I was wholly unsuited.

So to kick off, how the hell did I go from working on Bolton fish market to borrowing £160,000 so I could buy a business I knew nothing about 2,000 miles from home, having never worked behind a bar, nor cooked anything more challenging than buttered toast.

It was whilst holding aloft a not altogether pleasant-smelling mackerel that the decision was made. Blood dripping from a rabbit dangling overhead tinted the cold water from the fish and rolled down a white sleeve. The March rain hammered on the rotting tin roof high above the stall and where there was more rot than metal columns of water plunged onto the shuffling shoppers below. Their faces were drawn and bleak like a funeral cortege following the last remains of hope. From life they expected nothing – save a nice piece of cod at a knockdown price. Northern England in March. Northern England for most of the year, in fact. I was 28. There had to be more. I lowered the fish to eye level, ‘Is this my life?’ The fish said nothing but I already knew the answer.

More Ketchup than Salsa.

And while I was elbow deep in fish giblets, my brother - who is infinitely more intellectual than me - had made full use of his university degree and secured a position in Manchester’s Palace Theatre box office selling tickets to see Widow Twankey played by Keith Chegwin. In short, we were going nowhere at great velocity.

Happily, our stepfather, whom I shall call Jack for no other reason than that’s his name, was a minor pioneer in the development of Tenerife south as a second home destination. During his time on the island, he spotted a bar and restaurant for sale on the El Beril complex.

The Smugglers Tavern had been open for two years and was doing brisk trade in selling beer and burgers to those marooned in the complex or in the Altamira aparthotel opposite El Beril. Faced with a 45-minute scramble across rocky terrain to reach the next purveyor of alcohol, they were drawn to the bar not by the warm and friendly ambience (of which admittedly there was very little), but by the simple fact that there was completley no competition.

However, the current owner at the time, a rotund Italian who cooked and served topless had had enough. His relationship was on the rocks, his children had become feral, and he was doing a magnificent job losing patrons through both vocal, and occasionally physical, abuse.

Jack suggested one evening that my brother and I take over the bar. The Italian was willing to sell it for £160,000. Someone more adept to making sense of numbers looked at the books on our behalf and declared that it was “a very good business.”

The decision was made. My brother and I would become bar owners in Tenerife. There was just one problem (actually, there were many, but this one provided the biggest pressing concern), after a totting up of confined funds, we concluded that this was 159,960 pounds and fifty pence more than we could afford.

Undeterred by our financial standing, Jack offered to act as guarantor on a loan, and to also introduce us to his bank in the Canary Islands, who he assured us would be very keen to finance the remainder as they were backing every tourist-related venture going.

And so it was. We abandoned our lofty careers in fish filleting and pantomime seat allocation and became the proud owners of three beer pumps, two urinals, and a bar cat called Buster, as well as the rest of the accoutrements that made up The Smugglers Tavern in El Beril, Tenerife.

How hard could it be, we thought, as we boarded that plane to our new lives in the sun complete with five mismatching suitcases, a plastic Tesco bag, and a 160k debt? It didn’t take us long to find out.

Want full access to all my travel insights and confessions? Subscribe for exclusive posts!"