Saturday morning is a late start for me as I stroll down to the pool in last nights’ outfit, unbrushed hair and shoes in hand. My dear Vick sees me and upon entering the pool simply says ‘Mess‘. This is a word she then uses for me, everyday, for the next ten days as my hair gets bigger and I seem to lose track of time in the morning, turning up later and later for our 11am pool-side meets. We spend some of Saturday morning (what was left of it) with the Welsh boys as the Derby boys sadly leave and talks of hiring a boat are mentioned, as are visits to the beach. All dramas from the night before are quickly forgotten too as its holiday rules and the hotel is too small to awkwardly avoid anyone. We also begin to befriend the rather yummy lifeguard, Raoul, who’s level of understanding English is worse than my understanding of Spanish, however this does not deter me and I make several attempts to have ‘Flanter’ (flirty banter) with him in the worst broken English- Spanish and even French conversation probably ever had. Still, he gave me his lighter which I took as a sign of commitment and the girls and I always made sure to keep Raoul on our side (more on him in the next post)
Not much time to hang out on Saturday as we had a busy afternoon/ evening of drinking as animals. Yes, this was the day we girls would enjoy an infamous boat party. That’s a party on a boat. Ours was zoo-themed, ending at the famous abandoned zoo in the middle of nowhere on the Island of Ibiza. We had all decided what animals to be whilst back home and as I went through the trouble of ordering furry leopard ears, I felt it rude not to wear them. As we trundled down to the dock in the afternoon, cheap ciders in hand, we didn’t really know what to expect from a boat party-come zoo thing. The bar we were instructed to meet at had professional (if there is such a thing) body artists, i.e. people who paint you in nice patterns to resemble some sort of animal of your choice. With glitter. The wild is full of glittery tigers, leopards, snakes, you see.
Once painted up (we were a Parrot, Tiger, Leopard and Zebras plural) on the hottest day of the holiday so far (34 degrees) we stood in the afternoon sun trying not to accidentally rub against anyone else and attempting to stop a delicious mix of sweat, suncream and paint running in our eyes. Once we boarded our boat for a party we were offered free sangria (gag) which isn’t worth it, even if it is free. Pizza and Melon were also involved as was staying upright whilst trying to make use of a dance floor, on a boat. This was far more difficult than first thought and after awhile I was strictly banned from standing near the edge whilst some of our group remained seated for the rest of the trip as the dancing against the sway became too much of a challenge. Once back on dry land we hot-footed up to the abandoned zoo with a crowd of rather elaborate and well-thought out costumes, not before by-passing the hotel for a sneaky ‘Hiya’ to showcase the costumes (I was told I looked ‘wild’ and not in a good way.) and snack-stop of massive sandwiches and a bottle of 2 euro wine for our long walk (about 5 mins) to the taxi rank.
The zoo itself was packed and as it was still daylight (before 9pm) it felt odd partying but, when in Rome! The music wasn’t great and after I had insisted on walking through a couple of swimming pools (old animal enclosure style) Handled some of the random animals at the zoo (Real snakes and birds) and admired a few more costumes we decided to return to our old faithful West End.
Delilah’s became our meeting point for the holiday and as a result meant we would always bump into the Welsh boys. This happened that night, except somehow they had multiplied by 20 and now there was an actual gang of them we had to make small talk/ awkward introductions with. This went on until about 4am and an executive decision to go home was made. I wish it hadn’t. On arrival to our hotel I stumbled up the girls’ side of the hotel and found a rather messy site which needless to say helped sober me up instantly. As it doesn’t just involve me I won’t go into details but I will say; Drugs are bad kids. Apparently somebody, somewhere decided that when you’re in Ibiza it’s socially acceptable to pop pills like sweets and pass cocaine round like sherbet (Its not, by the way) but in some cases, especially when you are only 19 and slightly stupid, you should always just say no.
I will say after that night that the word ‘Shit’ was banned in my presence and my dearest mummy was about ready to either pack me up on the next flight home or come out and join me (love her) but it was fine, Sunday began with many a necessary apology and after a few hours’ sleep I felt better about the whole thing. After all- what happens in Ibiza, stays in Ibiza.