The Bad Leprechaun of Levante Beach

Once, in a time long distant, faeries, giants and other creatures lived side by side and the names Titania,
Oberon and Robin Goodfellow were as well known to the few men alive as those of Posh and Becks are
now. This was a magical time, when islands grew or sank overnight and countries moved at will, joining up
for a time then leaving to meet up with another.

One such time, Spain and Ireland were joined. Their fling was short but long enough for a wandering
Leprechaun to hike over the lush, forested hills of his beloved emerald isle and stumble onto the barren
sands of Levante Beach.

There, he found warmth and dryness away from the roaring fire of his hometown pub. The air was clear and
fresh not hung with the chill morning mists of his valley.

“I quite like this, ” he thought to himself as he ran the dry sands through his fingers. He decided to stay
awhile, to see what else this sunny, sandy land had to offer.

He sat on the sand, poured himself a tot and opened his bag to count his gold – as leprechauns do.

“One hundred and fifty five…one hundred and fifty six… one hundred and…” he stopped, distracted. A
woman was singing a mournful song. He looked around but could see noone else one the beach.

“To be sure, m’lady, that’s a sorrowful tune,” he shouted, looking around for the singer.

Suddenly he saw her, sitting on a rock, brushing her long, long golden hair. She stopped singing and
turned to look back at him. Now, our wanderer was as randy as any Irishman you’ll meet – in fact, he was
known in some parts as “the lepre-horn” – and when the singers face came into view it wan’t just his heart
that leapt. She was beautiful… stunningly beautiful… and she had her boobies out.

Gathering his gold, downing his tot and brushing himself down the wanderer did what he did best (apart
from the “other”) and wandered over to where she sat. He was slighty surprised, when he drew close to
her, to see that was a sea faring mermaid, “but, ” he thought to himself, “I’ve been legless myself often
enough and sure if I’m not a handsome devil even then so what difference does it make?”

They got to talking. It turned out that she was being courted by a giant,and whilst he had enough in his
trousers to flatten a mountain, the fact that his face was a mile away when she sat at his feet made
communication difficult. He, unfortunately, though didn’t get it and wouldn’t leave her alone.

The leprechaun listened, then he poured the mermaid a tot of Irelands finest dew. Then another. Then
another. Then another. Soon, her sorrow had left her and they were laughing and joking and singing
bawdry songs. The night drew close and they drew closer. And closer. And closer.

The Leprechaun worked his magic and the old Irish charm and soon they kissed. And kissed. And kissed.
The Leprechaun was falling in love. The mermaid was more beautiful than any other woman he had ever
seen. The mermaid too was falling in love with the kind, charming, rich leprechaun.

By the morning their love was consumated. The Leprechaun woke and taught himself to walk again. The
mermaid woke and tried to swim.

The ground shook. “Oh no!” cried the Leprechaun, “Ireland is leaving me. Will you come home with me?”

The mermaid said she could not. The beach was her home but she would remember him always.

The Leprechaun gathered his bag of gold and bottle of potjeen and ran into the widening sea. He was
swimming hard for the shore when he felt the waves rise madly around him and he heard a scream from the
beach he had just left. He looked back, over the whipping waves and saw a giant man, a mile high on the
beach. “Fek!” he swore. It was the mermaid’s suitor.

He couldn’t clearly hear the argument. He couldn’t hear the mermaid but he did hear the giant’s roar, “I’LL
KILL HIM”

He turned and swan ever harder for the shores of his homeland, but the delay had been too long and
Ireland was slipping away from him.

He didn’t see the giant reach around and tear off a piece of a mountain. He didn’t see the giant hurl the
enormous piece of rock at him. He didn’t see the rock flying swiftly through the sky. He didn’t see it fall and
land on him but he did feel it. Briefly. The rock stands there to this day, just off Levante Beach and there is
still a gap in the mountain behind Benidorm where the giant’s hands clawed a huge piece away.

The mermaid was distraught. She swore she would kill herself too and crawled onto the beach to die in the
sun. The giant took his chance. He siezed her up, carried her back to his lair and kept her in a goldfish bowl
the size of Wembley Stadium.

Months later, the mermaid gave birth to a baby Leprechaun boy. Obviously, the giant was furious and in a
rage he threw the baby out. He was rescued by a passing group of harpies who took him for a pet.

They taught the boy Leprechaun anger, and magic, to play the bodhrán and how to hate and bedivil the
menfolk settling on the shore. Over time he bacame known as the “the Bad Leprechaun of Levante Beach”
and many stories were told about him.

Now he has calmed down, cut his hair and is often to be found sitting in the Bodhrán Bar, supping on the
best pint of Guinness in Benidorm. Occasionally he takes down his bodhrán, from behind the bar, and
beats a timeless, rhythmless rhythm until the bar staff threaten to take his pint away.

If you want to meet the Bad Leprechaun of Levante Beach, just stick your head into the Bodhrán Bar and
ask if Pepe is about…