Ibiza Blog Day Six: The one with glowsticks

After a rather sedate (for San An) evening of cocktails and an early-ish bedtime we welcome Monday morning rather positively. Again, we remain poolside and watch the new arrivals (mainly Scottish) come in dribs and drabs.

Now, not to rant or appear in any way racist re. The Scottish, but us girls experienced a ‘unique’ breed, shall we say, of Scottish LADS (include the girls in this LAD approach) abroad. They are loud  (ok, we all are after several sherbets) they are incredibly blunt and do not screen anything between thought and mouth, eg. “Mum, I’ve just taken my first E pill. I feel GREAT!” followed by “This is MY pavement. Mine!” and “I bet when you look in the mirror you just think ‘I am a winner'” Errm….ok.

They also love, I mean love, to use extreme expletives as adjectives and even replace normal everyday words with ‘F this’ or C***ing that.  The girls are just as filthy when it comes to swearing, overheard by the poolside, a Scottish girl loudly said “I’m so drunk my ‘See You Next Tuesday’ is hanging out” before her friend jumped to her rescue to avoid her falling in. Nice! Just what everyone wants to hear when floating about mindlessly on lilo’s. What happened to Scotland!? I mean, I ‘ve been to Scotland. A lot. In fact, that’s where we spent our first five girls’ holidays and we were the noise. We were the chaos arriving, not the other way round….The Scottish are, apparently, mental.

I can only assume there was a memo sent round Scotland that had the words ‘Ibiza 2012’ and ‘compulsory attendance’, followed by a littering of hotel contact details, Mar I Vent (incidentally, our hotel) being the top one, and off they all went. We predicted as the flight took off with thousands of young Scots on-board the rest of Scotland breathed a huge sigh of relief as their streets would be clear of aggressive tones and dreadful singing for at least seven days. Oh, and of people who think they own pavements…..

It was also becoming very clear by day six that our hotel was mainly occupied by boys. And just us girls.

At this point we were not complaining about this one bit as everyday brought new muscle (and tattoo) and saw a few more make-up clad, well-heeled girls swiftly exit, hair-flowers and false eye lashes still in tact. Although by day 10 you will notice a slight change in my view of this sausage fest, more on that soon!

So, super club of the evening was to be Space and for some reason we assumed this was a more ‘old school’ superclub- a veteran if you will, of the white Isle, and so glow sticks seemed only appropriate. After a home-made meal of crisps and pasta-chaser, we warmed ourselves up with some 2 euro wine ready for an early (11.30pm) rush to Space. Complete with glowsticks hanging out of every possible area on our torso and making up most of our jewellery for the evening.

Space was, in my opinion, awesome. Awesome and sweaty. One part of the club had no roof so when dancing away with the DJ in front, you could see the stars etc. I’d like to say and ‘appreciate the breeze of the evening’ but alas there was no breeze. Ever. So sweating away we test the next room in Space which is a huge, two-floor open plan club, with amazing dancers on podiums and mean bouncers who are clearly only hired based on their super-human size. The DJ’s play proper rave music with some ‘radio friendly’ songs thrown in (Otto knows and Florence + the machine became our songs of Ibiza 2012) and then it came to home time.

There had been murmurings of a free bus about this side of the Island, and not only was the bus free but it was also referred to as the ‘Disco Bus’. Excellent. This is exactly my type of transport, especially when I’ve had a few litres of 2 euro wines so you can imagine our disappointment when this old, rusty bus pulls up- SANS music- and we have to pay (ok, only 3 euros) to sit for 25mins in a non-discoing, non-free, free disco bus. This was not on so the girls and I took it upon ourselves to bring the disco to the non-disco, disco bus and we sang our little hearts out. We did requests, we sang in unison and solo (by this point in the holiday my voice had started to go so I was encouraged to sing with the group) and we sang very popular Rhianna and Flo Rida numbers until we forgot the words and had to repeat our back catalogue. Only stopping when the bus pulled into San An again,  we were met with a rather appreciative (if you ask me) round of applause. We even gained some hangers-on who followed us back into the West End, very much in a bus formation but of people, who kept singing with us until we got side-tracked by 2am ice cream sellers and bought ice creams.

Another brilliant night out and unscathed, drama- free and until that moment we stepped back into Delilah’s, Welsh free too.


thoughts please..

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