Sorry for the random "I know everything" post - I really don't, but a friend just made me extremely jealous by telling me he's moving to Ibiza to work for the rest of the summer. I went out there and survived a couple of months last summer, and he asked me for any pointers or advice I can offer.
Having had one too many Red Bulls this evening, my reply to him, which was only supposed to be a couple of lines long, ended up looking like this.
Well folks, tonight's my last night on the White Isle, and I've got to admit I've got mixed feelings about going. On the one hand, pretty much everything's closed and everyone's gone home, so there's less than feck all to do out here now (not to mention the fact that I'll have nowhere to live come tomorrow night anyway!), but on the other hand I've now got to go back to London, sort out my shit, a job, some money, and somewhere to live.
"Get out of the fucking taxi so I can fight you, or I'll fucking glass you right there" shouted the irate London-accented man to my friend Neil*.
Rewind two minutes and my latest new friends Louisa and Neil had decided, after leaving it far too late to get a taxi to El Divino before their guestlist closed, that the only possible way of getting there was to jump in the front of the 40-string queue at the taxi rank at the bottom of the West End strip in San An.
Hola cheeky-cheekies! It's been a long time since I've actually gotten off my lardy posterior to let you know what's been happening on the madness that is the white isle, so this is probably going to be a helluva long update. Here goes... ;o)
Since I last wrote to you all, I've made it back to Ibiza, and blagged myself a job as a laughing gas sales monkey at one of the bars on the West End strip. The pay was 100% commission - 1 euro per balloon sold (each balloon is 5 euros), but it turned out to be one of the easiest jobs I've ever done:.
I've finally got the Shit Party photos online - check them out on my Flickr photostream (here), or on the Shit Party website (mixed in with the other photographers' photos) here.
For those of you who are missing the updates from the white isle, there will be one along very shortly - I have LOADS of stuff to tell you about.
For those of you who hate being spammed by me, watch out: there's an update coming shortly, and I've got LOADS to annoy you with...
Ibiza is a land of contrasts and change. That's probably a tired old cliché to anyone who's spent more than two weeks in a row out here, but I thought it might be worth re-emphasising it anyway.
Last night I went from selling tickets (well, trying to), to selling photo keyrings (well, again, trying to).
Ok, one other thing: I need some advice - there's a remote chance that I could make a tit of myself on national TV, courtesy of Living TV. I received a call earlier today from Adam - one of their cameramen who I got chatting to at Hush on Sunday night - who asked me a few questions about what I'm doing out here, and a bit about my background.
Obviously, I lied through my teeth and told him that, having been raised by a pack of wolves - who also, coincidentally, invented Facebook and space travel - I was abducted by aliens with and teleported to Ibiza with only my camera and a laptop.