E30 Zone

Does anyone know what street in Marbella The Garage tv program is filmed in.They sometimes have the odd E30 and as I'm here I thought I would have a look.

Are they the guys who tried to drop an E36 M42 straight into an E30?

I though that place had closed down !

No its still opan if you go throo the marbaya arch past the petrol stashon on left cum to the ferst set of ttafic lights tern right on to the industarall estat .follow the slip road along sidee the mane road then tackk the ferst posabal right follow that road up anb over the hill as you start to drop down the garaj is n the right. Bludy usles gareg tho. I hope you are going ther to tack the piss out of him

If you do find it, Make sure that you give the wanker owner a good kick in the balls.

They seem to be a bit amateurish, from what I've seen, though they muddle through in the end!

They make the area look ok on the tv but it's an absolute dump, romanian gypsies etc. Surprising really as it's only a couple of minutes from the wealthy part

well Jock was doing ok the last time i watched, with a brand new M5 (TV money?)

adit wrote:well Jock was doing ok the last time i watched, with a brand new M5 (TV money?)

Nahhh - asphalting

Your better off at the garage in calahonda behind the gym for e30s. The owner and his son love em, also if you go to la cala there is a decent garage next to the big tire place on the main round about. But you will need to speak spainish for them comprende cornio.

zaust wrote:, also if you go to la cala there is a decent garage next to the big tire place on the main round about. But you will need to speak spainish for them comprende cornio.

La Cala would be my call, they serve exellent guiness in Biddy Muligans bar

He brort that with the muny from descuvery chanall he wos aproched the next yer but he got to greadey and tolld to go f himself. I now sum of the custermas hos cars wer on the show. The onley reson thay took them ther wos for publisaty for them selfs or wer told thay cood have it for frey to make the show with the farares and over exsotic cars. By the way the name of the rode is calle pirita . Will you are ther kick him in the nuts for me

Zaust if you are talking adout clive he sold the garaj in calahonda about 4 yers ago. Capasa amgo

Beun e tu ? Pofavor tu numal, soy apager mi phono e no tengo no mas. La Nino beun ? La nobia ? La e30 ?

mat e Anne Mari e dos ninios not beun pero borracho mucho

yamma me

e30topless wrote:

zaust wrote:, also if you go to la cala there is a decent garage next to the big tire place on the main round about. But you will need to speak spainish for them comprende cornio.

La Cala would be my call, they serve exellent guiness in Biddy Muligans bar [/quote

lol I worked there for a week, but then served there fir a year

Jocks a twxt,the only good bloke to ever work there was a Geordie!

zaust wrote:

e30topless wrote:

zaust wrote:, also if you go to la cala there is a decent garage next to the big tire place on the main round about. But you will need to speak spainish for them comprende cornio.

La Cala would be my call, they serve exellent guiness in Biddy Muligans bar [/quote

lol I worked there for a week, but then served there fir a year

i stayed there for quite sometime while working in Fuengirola, it's a lovely little town I think i was in Biddy's more than the Pension !

e30topless wrote:

zaust wrote:, also if you go to la cala there is a decent garage next to the big tire place on the main round about. But you will need to speak spainish for them comprende cornio.

La Cala would be my call, they serve exellent guiness in Biddy Muligans bar :D

But avoid the golf courses - they're shite.

Off topic, but worth relating IMO -

Driving up there on our first day, we are amazed at the number of cars parked at the side of the road selling golf balls,

"Look at those fannies, not a hope", says Golfer one whose missus has bought him three dozen balls with his name stamped on them for his Christmas, to Golfer two whose own wife has kindly supplied him with a similar number with his nickname, "Beat The Bus" stamped on them.

As an aside, he's called "Beat the Bus" because he would take bets at school that he could run to school quicker than the school bus could get there. Kept him in fags until fifth year as I understand it.

Anyway, myself and Golfer three point out plainly that the poor chaps are only trying to eek out a living and anyway, anybody with their name on their golf ball is, by definition, a fanny.

By day three, Golfers one, two and three were so concerned by the rate of dimunition of the golf ball supply that a stop at one of these ad hoc roadside vendors was deemed necessary.

Picture the scene - a perplexed local trying "to eek out a living" is confronted by three Scots trying to buy golf balls as cheaply as possible.

The banter was good, but it soon became clear that the language barrier might be the first problem. His stock was going to be the second.

"That's ma ba'. Look, it's goat ma fucken name oan it, Jose.", doesn't translate well into Spanish (except the "Jose" bit). Nor does, "Thirty Fucken Euros for a bag o' ba's an' three o' them's mine anyway. You're huvin' a fucken giraffe, Jose." (again, except for the "Jose" bit).

By this point the other three of us were perilously close to embarrassing bladder control issues caused by the laughter created by the scene unfolding in front of us.

It was exacerbated when Golfer one went back to the car for identification in the form of his passport to prove to the poor perplexed Spaniard that he was, indeed, the fanny named on three of the balls being offered for sale.

As he's pointing to his face and then pointing to the picture on the passport and then his name on the balls and then on the passport in turn, it all became too much for the three of us, laughing uncontrollably, tears streaming down our faces, saved from pissing ourselves by dehydration only, Golfer one brings the curtain down on the whole episode, as a minibus full of bemused golfers heads up the hill to the courses, by turning to Golfer two and saying,

"What the feck are you laughin' at Thommo? There's four o yours here an' a'. At least Ah can prove who Ah um. How the f uck are you gonny prove you're "Beat the Bus", ya prick? Chase that fucken Transit?!"

The moral is, if you're going to play at La Cala, take plenty of golf balls.

When were you out there ? I came back to the uk late 02. I used to run bar trafalga in calahond for nearly 5 years. Lived in calahonda too. Fengi is the best town there as far as im concerend. best bars clubs and pizza place that opens at 2am whish i never came back to this s*** hole but needed grandperants anround for alex and the one in the oven ;)

Still go back to see friends well the ones that arnt back here now anyway. Costa cliff i have not seen for 4 years now. his little boy is most likley the same height as me now !

Was the chicken shack (la cala) still open when you were there ?

cecotto479 wrote:

e30topless wrote:

zaust wrote:, also if you go to la cala there is a decent garage next to the big tire place on the main round about. But you will need to speak spainish for them comprende cornio.

La Cala would be my call, they serve exellent guiness in Biddy Muligans bar

But avoid the golf courses - they're shite.

Off topic, but worth relating IMO -

Driving up there on our first day, we are amazed at the number of cars parked at the side of the road selling golf balls,

"Look at those fannies, not a hope", says Golfer one whose missus has bought him three dozen balls with his name stamped on them for his Christmas, to Golfer two whose own wife has kindly supplied him with a similar number with his nickname, "Beat The Bus" stamped on them.

As an aside, he's called "Beat the Bus" because he would take bets at school that he could run to school quicker than the school bus could get there. Kept him in fags until fifth year as I understand it.

Anyway, myself and Golfer three point out plainly that the poor chaps are only trying to eek out a living and anyway, anybody with their name on their golf ball is, by definition, a fanny.

By day three, Golfers one, two and three were so concerned by the rate of dimunition of the golf ball supply that a stop at one of these ad hoc roadside vendors was deemed necessary.

Picture the scene - a perplexed local trying "to eek out a living" is confronted by three Scots trying to buy golf balls as cheaply as possible.

The banter was good, but it soon became clear that the language barrier might be the first problem. His stock was going to be the second.

"That's ma ba'. Look, it's goat ma fucken name oan it, Jose.", doesn't translate well into Spanish (except the "Jose" bit). Nor does, "Thirty Fucken Euros for a bag o' ba's an' three o' them's mine anyway. You're huvin' a fucken giraffe, Jose." (again, except for the "Jose" bit).

By this point the other three of us were perilously close to embarrassing bladder control issues caused by the laughter created by the scene unfolding in front of us.

It was exacerbated when Golfer one went back to the car for identification in the form of his passport to prove to the poor perplexed Spaniard that he was, indeed, the fanny named on three of the balls being offered for sale.

As he's pointing to his face and then pointing to the picture on the passport and then his name on the balls and then on the passport in turn, it all became too much for the three of us, laughing uncontrollably, tears streaming down our faces, saved from pissing ourselves by dehydration only, Golfer one brings the curtain down on the whole episode, as a minibus full of bemused golfers heads up the hill to the courses, by turning to Golfer two and saying,

"What the feck are you laughin' at Thommo? There's four o yours here an' a'. At least Ah can prove who Ah um. How the f uck are you gonny prove you're "Beat the Bus", ya prick? Chase that fucken Transit?!"

The moral is, if you're going to play at La Cala, take plenty of golf balls.

thats proper funny : cry:

sandy who used to work for him is now back in the uk he lives in blyth , northumberland

Marbella is home to all the East End/Essex gang lords which is where they all live it up.

PS i tell you a garage to avoid West 3, Bollo Lane, London. They claim to be BMW Specialists.

pony wrote:Marbella is home to all the East End/Essex gang lords which is where they all live it up.

PS i tell you a garage to avoid West 3, Bollo Lane, London. They claim to be BMW Specialists.

who would you recommend then?

cecotto479 wrote:

e30topless wrote:

zaust wrote:, also if you go to la cala there is a decent garage next to the big tire place on the main round about. But you will need to speak spainish for them comprende cornio.

La Cala would be my call, they serve exellent guiness in Biddy Muligans bar

But avoid the golf courses - they're shite.

Off topic, but worth relating IMO -

Driving up there on our first day, we are amazed at the number of cars parked at the side of the road selling golf balls,

"Look at those fannies, not a hope", says Golfer one whose missus has bought him three dozen balls with his name stamped on them for his Christmas, to Golfer two whose own wife has kindly supplied him with a similar number with his nickname, "Beat The Bus" stamped on them.

As an aside, he's called "Beat the Bus" because he would take bets at school that he could run to school quicker than the school bus could get there. Kept him in fags until fifth year as I understand it.

Anyway, myself and Golfer three point out plainly that the poor chaps are only trying to eek out a living and anyway, anybody with their name on their golf ball is, by definition, a fanny.

By day three, Golfers one, two and three were so concerned by the rate of dimunition of the golf ball supply that a stop at one of these ad hoc roadside vendors was deemed necessary.

Picture the scene - a perplexed local trying "to eek out a living" is confronted by three Scots trying to buy golf balls as cheaply as possible.

The banter was good, but it soon became clear that the language barrier might be the first problem. His stock was going to be the second.

"That's ma ba'. Look, it's goat ma fucken name oan it, Jose.", doesn't translate well into Spanish (except the "Jose" bit). Nor does, "Thirty Fucken Euros for a bag o' ba's an' three o' them's mine anyway. You're huvin' a fucken giraffe, Jose." (again, except for the "Jose" bit).

By this point the other three of us were perilously close to embarrassing bladder control issues caused by the laughter created by the scene unfolding in front of us.

It was exacerbated when Golfer one went back to the car for identification in the form of his passport to prove to the poor perplexed Spaniard that he was, indeed, the fanny named on three of the balls being offered for sale.

As he's pointing to his face and then pointing to the picture on the passport and then his name on the balls and then on the passport in turn, it all became too much for the three of us, laughing uncontrollably, tears streaming down our faces, saved from pissing ourselves by dehydration only, Golfer one brings the curtain down on the whole episode, as a minibus full of bemused golfers heads up the hill to the courses, by turning to Golfer two and saying,

"What the feck are you laughin' at Thommo? There's four o yours here an' a'. At least Ah can prove who Ah um. How the f uck are you gonny prove you're "Beat the Bus", ya prick? Chase that fucken Transit?!"

The moral is, if you're going to play at La Cala, take plenty of golf balls.