Tuesday brings a certain sadness with it as it dawns on us this is our last 24 hours in Beefa, so to cheer us up we decide to check the fund situation (reduced to pennies by now) and spend our last bit of money on one last super club night; Labrinth was on at Eden and it was rude not to go.
We began Tuesday with an awesome breakfast at Savannah’s, which included coffee and cocktails before midday (it was Ibiza after all) and agreed to visit the beach for one last boob-and-fruit-filled day on the white isle. The weather out to sea had looked a tad grey and cloudy as we sat drinking our cosmopolitans but we chose to ignore this, thinking nothing of it until we hit the quay-side looking for our beach-boat. The storm out to sea was apparently actually quite big, cancelling all other boat trips except ours. This should have concerned us but as no-one in our group got sea-sick we didn’t bat an eyelid and without thinking much of it we climbed a-board. Although sea-sickness may not have been an issue for us it became apparent that it was quickly becoming an issue for two severely hung-over Lads and a rather sweet (abit dumb) girl…..
Subsequently the boys spend the whole boat trip either silently throwing up or doing a very obvious ‘I’m going to chunder but nothing’s happening yet’ routine every two minutes over the side of the ever-so rocky boat whilst the sweet (but dumb) girl decided to sit next to me, away from the ‘Chuck-up brothers’, and ask me stupid Q’s. One of the questions asked was
“Why does the boat not sink when big waves hit it?”…..
Remember, dear reader, that I now had to answer this rather scientific (sort of) Q on a collective 30 hours’ sleep over 13 days and a constant hangover, so this was my response-
“Well it has something to do with the shape of the boat accommodating the natural rocking of waves”.
Now, I would have been happy with this answer, or even if it left me unsatisfied I would have googled up later, in the privacy of my own apartment. However this was not enough for her and she came back with
“Yea, but HOW does it not get knocked over by a big wave”…….
I simply pause for effect and come back with
“Because…… its science”
Luckily this seems stems her curiosity, or just gives her a short enough answer to get the hint, and she stops asking me stupid stuff as we continue on our boat trip without sinking or being hit by a big wave and avoiding being puked on by various sea-sick casualties. Bonus
Beach day’s were excellent, when we actually bothered to make the journey, and armed with a picnic and various reading material (i.e. British magazines) we were set for a day of luxury and sand-dodging. Our last super was to be pasta, cooked in the apartment and eaten like bosses on the balcony whilst absorbing the crazy and vibrant air of the crack den. It would have been rude of us not to have one last night in West End before going to Eden, so we head up to Delilah’s for one last Grandslam and some Welsh goodness. We had also collected tokens for another bar so we pooled together on the last night for some free drinks and UV fun before walking, yes walking, to Eden. No free buses to endure for our last night at a superclub as some genius had decided to actually have a superclub IN San An where the party-goers were! Amazing!
We may have had to wait til 4am before Labrinth came on stage but it was worth the wait and we sang the night away, literally. 6am comes round far too quick, especially as check-out is 9am… awkward. We stroll back to the hotel, a few men down now, and re-join some of the Welsh boys who decide that we don’t need to sleep for two hours before our flight and drinking wine on the balcony will prove to be far more productive/ fun than sleeping. Who were we to argue!?
When we eventually get to nap before check-out, we re-appear from our rooms two hours later looking worse-for-wear but just about ready to leave this party Island along with all its glory, and head for home comforts like our own beds and neighbours who don’t insist on trying to kick down your door at 6am. Talks of needing a McDonalds breakfast were on as we stood waiting for our transport to the airport in the warm morning heat.
Unfortunately the ’24-hour’ lifestyle claimed one of our dear girls’ and as we began the epic journey back, including a two-hour delay and too-many closed toilets, it all got a bit much and she began to get veeerrry sick. Running about Ibiza airport looking for an open loo with nine girls and hand luggage the size of small children became rather stressful on two hours nap and eventually were allowed to leave the Island. The flight back was, as you can imagine, a rather sombre affair- much like the flight over but this time there were a few more people spending a bit too long in the loos….
Landing back in the UK and all looking very tanned but also slightly ‘puffy’ (as my mumma called it) missing a few toe-nails and a bit mal-malnourished, we amble through arrivals, unbrushed hair but smiles all round. The nine of us all agree that despite the muggings of both purses and toe-nails, as well as the ‘incident’ involving a large Welsh boy which resulted in the word shit being banned, we would definitely- without hesitation- be returning next year. Next time round with clutch bags and steel toe-capped boots. Oh and perhaps not at the same time as half the male population of Scotland decide to go to….