Did I really get back from Ibiza two weeks ago?
In some ways it seems more than a fortnight ago. The memories from this year are already getting mixed up with the memories of last year's Ibiza holiday, and the year before that.
I'm imagining a pretty pool of ink, that to begin with is all blues- sky blue, the darker blue of the sea and the turquoise of a swimming pool. The surface of the liquid begins to bounce as thin, glittery strands quickly unfurl, silver and gold twisting through the blue. Then the beat stops and all the different coloured inks are still. A spread of sunrise-pink moves slowly from one side of the pool to the other, billowing up around the other colours until it's too late to separate them.
Was that too poetic? Do you feel a bit betrayed? Calm down, let's just roll with it. Let me just make a cup of tea and then I'll tell carry on telling you about Ibiza...
Are you sitting comfortably? I'm not, my chair is half-balanced on a squished up ballet pump. One sec. O.k.
There were no dramas at the airport this year. After all my soul-searching about whether to check a bag on or not (perhaps one of the most important questions man has ever had to ask himself- surely it's up there with 'Who am I?' and 'Why did God make AIDS and why did he give it to humans and not some other species, like pandas, for example, who only have sex once a year anyway and so wouldn't spread it about as much?') I decided to check a bag on, so I didn't have to worry about liquids and not taking enough clothes. In the end I wore about a quarter of all the shit I took with me, so I probably could have got away with hand-luggage after all. I realise my baggage dilemma is not interesting to anyone but me (and I'm only fractionally interested) so I'll stop this train of thought now.
Apart from all the perfectly-coiffed Scouse girls in their maxi skirts and wedges, making me look like a pasty-faced Scruff, my flight was fine and I arrived at a very hot Ibiza Airport a little after 1pm.
Everybody else was flying in from Gatwick on a flight that was supposed to get in an hour before mine, and I was a bit worried that they'd forget to wait for me and I would have to sleep outside the airport for a week, crying and trying to work on my tan whilst fending off robbers. Luckily, I saw them as soon as I walked through Arrivals, sitting in a heap near the entrance/exit...
I'd known there was going to be sixteen of us, but somehow it didn't seem like such a big number until I saw us altogether at the airport- we were going to be one of those nightmare groups that everyone swears at as they snake through the crowd to find a dancing spot.
Sixteen, however, is a perfect number for taxis. From the airport we got cabs to the villa which was called Casa Carolle. It was really hard to get to as there was no street name and we were worried that all holiday we'd have a nightmare trying to get taxis home. Fortunately, it was just down the road from Amnesia and on the corner was a really big restaurant called Dos Lunas that all the taxi drivers seemed to know.
The villa was a lot better than I was expecting, and I was expecting it to be really nice. There was lots of outside space- obviously there was a pool and sun loungers, but there was also a shaded, outdoor eating area, a little grassy garden with a pond (not that we really wanted a pond but it's just nice to be nice, isn't it?) and a veranda with benches and cushions. There was a also a roof terrace and at night time we could look across to Ibiza Town, all pretty and twinkly against the black of the sea.
Ah-ha! I've just found it on the internet, so you can see exactly how nice it was! Click here if you're curious.
On the first day we just drank beer and bobbed about in the pool all afternoon, knowing that we didn't have to go out until really late. It made a nice change from last year when we went on the Mixmag deal and were given Early Bird tickets as part of the deal (which meant we had to get ready for 8pm some nights); whereas this year we had luxurious amounts of time to play with and that first night we didn't leave the villa until about midnight.
We went to see Heidi at Sankeys (also playing were Waifs and Strays and... I dunno) which should induce a little nod and smile from any Manc readers. I actually got talking to a girl from Manchester in there because I went up to her and said 'You dance like you're from Manchester!' (For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, she was kind of lifting up one foot and then the other whilst swinging her arms from side to side... I'm pretty sure it's where the term 'Northern Monkey' comes from.)
Sankeys opened in Ibiza last year and I think it's normally full of workers, but everyone wanted to see Heidi and there was nowhere else we really wanted to go that night. It's a really small club and so dark- you can barely see the raver in front of you when you're on the dance floor. I like clubs to be dark though, so you can get straight into the music with no distractions. It wasn't too busy either; I think someone mentioned that there was a
big worker's party on somewhere else that night so the usual crowd wasn't there.
It was a really good night to start the holiday with, it felt like we were jumping straight in to our seven nights of raving.
Well... I actually did five nights (technically four because on the last night I went home early but don't worry, I wasn't sick on the dance floor or anything. In fact, I wasn't sick all week this year, not even a little bit!) but I knew before I went that I would have to opt out of a couple of nights due to Budget Issues. I'd love to say that I've really learnt my lesson this year and that from now on I'm going to be sensible and Save Up... but I'd just be lying. Last year I didn't have enough money and it didn't do anything to curb my spending habits, so why should this year teach me anything? I'm 23 years old, it's too late to change my personality now. Besides, have I told you about my Money Pores theory? About how our bodies are covered in invisible money pores that let wealth in and out? We have to keep them open at all times so that Money Karma can float in and out freely.... Erm. I've gone way, way off topic now. What was I talking about?
Ibiza. Staying in. Saving money. Blah blah blah.
On the second day I decided to stay in on my own whilst everyone else went to 'We Love...' at Space. Once everyone had gone out, I realised I was pleased to have the villa to myself for the night. I sat outside for a bit and a MASSIVE dragonfly came and went round and round the pool like a helicopter. I listened to the noise coming from another villa hidden somewhere in the darkness... I think they were LADs On Tour because I heard a lot of cheering and then male voices singing along to the Stereophonics.
When it came to going to bed, I did worry a little bit about burglars. Maybe they prowled the area, knowing that the villas would be empty for the night and full of cash and phones... I went in the kitchen and found the pan with the heaviest-base. Then I hid it in the cupboard next to my bed and practiced grabbing the handle suddenly if anyone were to come in the room. I stayed up reading for a while, with the pan handle in easy reach, but no burglars came in.
After an hour or two, I still didn't feel sleepy and it seemed silly to sit in bed when I had the whole villa to myself, so I decided to do a patrol of the whole place, tiptoeing around with the pan held expertly midway between my head and my shoulder, ready to swoop down and deliver a heavy smack to someone. I think that perhaps I'd been slightly influenced by the Chuck Norris film someone had put on the day before when we were trying the television out.
I had a little fantasy that everyone would come in from their night out and they'd see two bloodied bodies lying face-down on the tiled floor, with me stood between them, still with the pan in my hand, maybe with a split lip or a cut on my eyebrow (no unattractive injuries like a broken nose or a knocked out tooth). Little would I know that there was secret CCTV in the villa and news channels the world over would get hold of the footage and everyone would see me battering the criminals to death (in a cool, stylish way that didn't make me pull any unflattering facial expressions) and looking bewildered at my own strength and I would become a world-famous, real-life super hero who everybody liked because while I was a Deadly Killer, I also had a vulnerable side that made me like-able and approachable and more importantly, I wouldn't get sent down for murder because it would be clear to see it was self-defense.
Unluckily for me, we didn't get robbed, so the pan remained unused and I'm not, to date, a world-famous, real-life superhero. When everyone came home at about 6am, I actually got up to say hello and felt really awake. I considered staying up and doing useful things like reading by the pool and sunbathing, but that would have been RIDICULOUS.
I did, however, get up relatively early to put my hair in velcro rollers. As the day wore on I got a bit nervous because everyone knew I had been sitting in the pool all day with these bloody rollers in, so if it Fucked Up I couldn't pretend I hadn't tried. Everyone would know that I had made an effort and my hair still looked shit.
I kept them in until the very last minute. The moment of truth came and... they'd worked! Kind of. I don't have any layers in my hair so it wasn't very curly, but it came out in big, bouncy waves. I know that sounds like I am bigging my own big, bouncy waves up in a very Vain and Big-Headed Way, but, shut up. Listen to me- Chris said that my hair looked like Cheryl Cole's hair. He did! You can even ask him! Why would I lie? I would show you a photo (from the back, to keep my Top Secret Identity a secret, of course) but then you would see that...actually... it didn't really look like Cheryl Cole's hair, so you'll just have to use your imagination.
This was the Monday evening, when we went to DC10. I was really, REALLY looking forward to DC10 and I hate to say it because I don't want to be negative about anything to do with the holiday, but it was not enjoyable. Seth Troxler was playing so the place was packed and people were being idiots, pushing and shoving and generally behaving like dickheads. It was so hot and sweaty and there was no room to dance or even breathe. Sarah got in a fight with some Spanish people, Kat had to be taken outside because she was going to faint. Within five minutes of getting in there my hair was a big, sweaty mess.
And that's all I'm going to say on the matter because there's no point moaning.
After DC10 we went to Sven Vath's Cocoon Heroes at Amnesia which made up for DC10 being a Dickhead Convention. Cocoon is one of the biggest nights on the island. The night we went, it was really techno-heavy with Adam Beyer and Daniel Stefanik joining Sven Vath. All night we just kind of danced with our heads down, in a dark headspace of techno. When the night came to an end (and it always comes too quick) we moved from dark techno beats into the quiet morning light and a pale sky. As we walked the short distance home the sun came up and with it the night faded away...