I ate Benidorm’s Belly Buster breakfast on silver platter with insane document – life’s modified since

Benidorm is defined by excess, but nowhere is this more true than in Uncle Ron’s at the east end of town.

In a place where people are necking more pints in a day than most would in a month, it’s hard for extremes to stand out – and yet Ron’s Belly Buster Breakfast does just that.

The Daily Star headed over to the beloved institution to have a crack at its infamous day starter, served up on a whopping silver platter.

The cafe is set on the Calle de Londres, and as we get there it is hammering it down. The restaurant itself is set back to make space for a seating area where this challenge was to take place, and to make things even more enticing, pints are only €1.

Four toast, two fried slices, four sausage, four hash brown, four egg, four bacon, 10 mushrooms and an ocean of beans and tomato, it’s vast, simply vast, and I’m not ready for this.

And the wildest part? It all comes together for just €12 and it’s free if you manage to pile the fry up down your egg hole below the 20 minutes limit.

On the wall, the faces of the triumphant sit, gleaming, pride in their eyes and defiance in their hearts. It was almost like they were looking at me. The record? Seven minutes.

I’m sweating before I’ve even started eating, the prospect of shovelling so much fried food into my face becomes a daunting prospect and all my drive and motivation fades away.

As I tuck in, there is a loud crash as a bloke stacks it by the front door. The cafe goes silent. “He must have had one on the races,” an old boy treating my breakfast like a spectator sport says. I hate him for saying that. The atmosphere is tense.

Ron’s has become something of a landmark on the Benidorm scene. Georgia Smith runs the cafe and when I ask her how many calories were in the feed she says: “I wouldn’t like to know”, although some unverified reports have claimed it is around 2,760. I think it’s more.

On the social media channels, hundreds of images of punters trying to eat the breakfast have been shared, tales of woe and glory. Now it’s my time to stand up and be counted and I’ve been left wanting.

To level with you, reader, this was never going to happen. It seems like the faces on the wall are radiating disappointment and the race is over before it begins.

Ron’s is a wonderful thing, my attempt to scoff its breakfast, is not.

Not only did the clock sail past 20 minutes, but I don’t eat it all either, with probably around half the food left on the plate by the time I roll out onto the Calle do Londres an hour later.

The shame weighs heavy. I think about heading south, to Algeria, of changing my name and growing a beard. I think of handing in my notice at the Daily Star and never coming back.

Even writing now for these pages which have seen so many heroic food challenges conquered, I feel shame. I’m not worthy of them, I’m not worthy of you, dear reader.

Forgive me.