Whilst I dream of a possibly imminent return to the Balearics or more specifically Ibiza and exercising like hunted pray to try and rid myself of one of my bellies, I thought I would take time to reflect on the memories of the last time I enjoyed a beverage or two on this splendid isle. So picture the scene, it's July 2009, it's sunny as hell so I'm already sweating like a nun, bear in mind we are still sat at Manchester airport. We being, Me, my friend Lauren, her sister Carisse and her friend Ruth. We were in the special luxury lounge suit area thing which considering it only cost an extra £20 was well worth it because it had proper seats, televisions, alcohol on tap and more importantly stem ginger biscuits. After 3 hours of airport loving and eating enough cheese crackers that I'm considering undoing the button on my pants, we board the plane. Now this is the first time I have ever flown so I don't really know what to expect, what I didn't expect was sitting on the plane for over and hour and a half at the airport because 6 drunken fools had also boarded the plane, naturally one of them sat in front of me and instantly put his chair back, now I'm 5' 11" so my kneecaps are taking a right bashing, so I'm not best pleased! Anyway one of said drunken fools decided he was going to start being racist towards an albino gentleman on the plane, which led to him being arrested and led off the plane thus postponing our flight even further, especially since their bags were clearly the first ones on the plane so in turn were the last ones off.
An example of the pure sweatage from myself.
So, after what was a relatively pleasant flight we arrive in Ibiza. By this time I have literally no knees left despite sneakily pushing the fat dudes chair forward every time he randomly stood up to call the Asian woman sat next to him 'Wendy Woo'. Inside the airport, which looks like a bus station, well the arrivals part anyway, some sultry Spanish guards quickly glance at your passport to make sure you slightly resemble the photo then it's onto the baggage collection area thing and then off to the coach and on our way to the Hotel Riviera. We get to the hotel about 3am-ish, we had to drop people off at hotels and such, we are staying in an apartment block seeing as there is 4 of us so we get the key and go on our merry way. Now it was 37 degrees on the first day so I've already lost 8 stone is sweat by the time we're at the apartment then we find there isn't a remote for the air-con so me and Lauren and some crazy bitch from the room next to us trot off to reception to enquire to Jóse, he probably wasn't called that but I called everyone Jóse or Consuelo. So Jóse told us we had to come back in the morning to sort out the remotes because there is only 1 remote for the whole hotel then after a slight rant from Lauren consisting of "It's too bloody hot in that room" her realised we were in a block and that he did indeed have a remote for us, 10 Euro deposit later and we're cool for the week.
Throughout the week it's basic holiday shizzle, extensive beveraging, a little moaning, a few death threats, mainly from me, and 3rd degree burns from the sun, again for me. On one of our ventures to the west end during the day we are approached by 2 southern blonde girls selling tickets to a boat party where the Freemansons will be on board with Sophie Ellis-Bextor promoting their new single. After we've been fleeced of 50 euros each and told to "dress up" we make our way to this magical boat ride. What followed was possibly the worst day of my life. We board this boat, there are 2 boats for all the victims of this scam - sorry I mean holiday goers, we're given a free drink which is very strong and very bad, also we took the option of NOT dressing up as did every other person on the boat. The boat sets sail, we are trapped there's no getting off now. After about 10 minutes of being on the boat we realise that Freemasons are not on our boat, neither is Sophie Ellis-Bextor, who I doubt was even in Ibiza, but we soldier on with this DJ that's already on the boat. We move downstairs to where the bar is, it's 5 euros for a bottle of water! There is some crazy man trying to sell us t-shirts for 25 euros that he had sprayed MJ on, Michael Jackson had died a few weeks prior. So, the boat comes to a stop, it's party time ... not for me, I didn't realise I got sea sick until this day. I was hanging my head out of the window dribbling like a comatose cripple, the only way for me not to be sick was to go to sleep. There's so much more tomfoolery that I haven't mention, pussy pillows, Josefa, Supermarket Jesus, Obamaniqua, the weird strip club, Capone hats...... so much more.
The view I managed to catch despite being a comatose cripple!
All in all it was a really good holiday and I loved it!!
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