Embarrassment: when your portfolio says all the wrong things about you… ;o)
(Geeky stuff ahead) When you’re applying for jobs as a web designer, it would seem logical to make sure that it shows you in a good light. For example, when you’re telling people you can design websites which work well in all the common web browsers, most potential employers would be justified in shredding your CV when your portfolio actually looks more like a broken Etch-A-Sketch than a web page on Microsoft’s favourite internet mangler, Internet Explorer.
Oops.
Anyway, lesson learnt - my portfolio now doesn’t look a *total* mess in Internet Explorer, although I’ve had to do a bit of simplification to make sure it’s working (I don’t have all day to rebuild it, unfortunately), and hopefully I haven’t missed out on too many good positions as a result of not testing in Internet Explorer.
Life goes on :o)
Posted by Alex on Fri 21st November 2008
Ross/Brand - how not to let a molehill become a mountain (version 2,137)
This thought-provoking blog entry by the BBC’s Steve Bowbrick on how the BBC might have been able to avoid the media storm is well worth a look:
This is interesting for me: in my last job at Portsmouth students’ union, I remember trying - and failing - to express as eloquently as Steve has exactly why openness in a crisis is A Good Thing, and this school of thinking - be open and honest with your stakeholders and always maintain a dialogue - is one I really do believe in (uhhm, unless you’re MI5…).
Well worth a read, especially if you’re in a position of power in any company. Or if you’re bored ;o)
Posted by Alex on Tue 18th November 2008
Faceberk: you need this in your life
… or, more accurately, on your back - click through the image to buy the Very Reasonably-Priced (and possibly abuse-causing) hoodie:
Posted by Alex on Tue 18th November 2008
Tuneage for sale!
I’m slowly listing my whole vinyl collection for sale on discogs.com. If you’re into your house, trance, hard house or progressive from 1990-ish to 2006-ish, please take a look here.
There’s 40-something vinyls up for sale at the moment, and more will be added over the next week (the plan is to have all 1,000+ vinyls online by the end of the month - scary…).
Another shameless plug: I’ve also knocked together a “stuff for sale” page which I’ll update with new randoms as I put them up for sale. Go on, take a look - you know you want to… :o)
Posted by Alex on Mon 17th November 2008
Ok, wtf - is Facebook taunting me now? ;o)
Look, just because…
… doesn’t mean this is fair:
… especially the second “get a girlfriend” one - I mean, c’mon! That’s just targeted advertising at its most cynical ;o)
Posted by Alex on Tue 11th November 2008
Random: fireworks wallpapers for download
Fancy some new wallpapers? Since some of the photos I took at the Alexandra Palace fireworks display last Saturday weren’t *toooo* massively appalling, I’ve knocked some of the best ones out into desktop-friendly sizes and uploaded a zip file with them all in.
Download the zip file here:
- Fireworks wallpapers - clicky here :o) (9MB download)
(Info for non-geeks: to get the pics out of the zip file, find the zip file on your computer in Explorer (if you’re on Windows) or Finder (if you’re on a Mac). Often all you’ll have to do is double-click the file and your photos will either be “extracted” automagically, or a new window will open asking you if you want to extract the files. See your computer’s help file for more help, or you can Google for info on zip files or Google for info on changing your desktop wallpaper).
Posted by Alex on Mon 10th November 2008
Why did no-one tell me about this??!
So I’ve been listening to a lot of Last.FM’s chillout station lately, mainly as I still don’t have my own laptop back, complete with all my stuff - photos, work, programs, music, porn… err…
But don’t mistake the tone of this post - I’m not complaining (for once); oh no, this is a genuine “happy moment” post, ‘cos Last FM’s magical radio station widget has been throwing all sorts of previously-undiscovered audio goodness in my direction, which is how I stumbled across a little-known group from a few years ago called “Frou Frou” and their spine-tingly “Let go” (you’ve almost certainly heard it, even if you don’t know the name). “Breathe In“’s another luvly bit of tuneage, too. Think The Cardigans meets Opus III. Maybe…
Oh, and Frou Frou is/was 50% Imogen Heap, an artist I quite like (feel free to laugh - see if I care), but there is no way she’s 31 already. Is she?
Ok, do bear in mind that this recommendation should come with a tiny pinch of salt - it’s not impossible that a reeeeeally cynical disbeliever might label one or two of their tracks as the tiniest bit “lightweight-130BPM-drum-’n-bass-music-designed-as the-soundtrack-to-a-female-sanitary-product-advert/soundtrack-to-a-girly-movie”, but it’s not going to cost you anything to go and find out for yourself. So there :P
Anyway, I’ve managed to waste a couple of hundred words saying what I could have written as “Go and listen to Frou Frou’s stuff. It’s really ace (mate)”. D’oh…
/Al
p.s. watched Deja Vu last night. Had a funny feeling… Yup, I’d already seen the film (this is a true story. No, really, it is).
p.p.s. yes, I know, I’m an idiot. Taxi please… ;o)
Posted by Alex on Mon 27th October 2008
Surviving Ibiza for 2 months without getting arrested, sold into slavery or turned into a sex slave? Done
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. Scary stuff…
So I guess I ought to try and do a mini-recap of my time out here, just in case you missed anything or I forgot to mention what’s been happening the first time around so, well, here’s the last 2 1/2 months* in a nutshell…
* Well obviously there’s been a necessary amount of censorship in my stories: for obvious reasons I can’t tell you about the villa/topless dancers/baby oil/massage incident (but I swear it was NOTHING other than a massage!), the naked gigolo incident, meeting the very gay bouncer whose “Shagged Celebrity” count this season alone is on 21 (allegedly including a cast member from a well known gritty Northern comedy drama set in Manchester… ahem), the sheer number of strippers and dancers I’ve embarrassed myself in front of/drunkenly proposed to (honestly, it’s not like I go looking for them!!), Room 101, and some of the other “standard” Ibiza activities which should be filed under the “what happens in Ibiza, stays in Ibiza” category. Anyway, I digress…
August 2nd: arrived in Ibiza with Steph, booked into a hotel for six nights. I’d left the UK telling my parents that I’d almost certianly be home within 6 days as I wouldn’t be able to find a job or anywhere to stay - plan for the worst, hope for the best, etc. As you might’a been able to guess though, Steph and I both found ourselves jobs - her PRing for Clubland, and me working for a psychopathic Spanish photography chap, and found a pretty nice room with a heyowge balcony in central San An living next door to the Ship Inn with Nathan, Nick and Johnny. Ma and Pa were told I was staying out here, at least till the end of August, and I set out on a mission to find the cheapest food in San An to survive on.
After a week of working for my psycho boss I decided that my mental health was more important than scratching a living - I was acutely aware of the fact I was likely to end up involved in an Ibiza Sun front-page headline story beginning “Photographer Beats Boss To Death With Camera In Portrait vs Landscape Argument”. Maybe. Soooo, I quit my job and spent the next week or two chilling out, bored out of my head. Around this time I had to pop back to the UK to play “Whose Laptop Is It Anyway?” with The Thin Blue Line, and managed to spend more in two days on travel and food than I had done in the previous two weeks in Ibiza. Still, it was definitely worth it thanks to a certain someone… :o)
Back in San An and after my week of skyving off work, I managed to blag a night taking photos for Ibiza Voice (http://www.ibiza-voice.com) at the DC10 Circoloco opening night. Very messy and great fun. Photos at http://greyhead.co.uk/photography in case you still haven’t seen them!
Still technically jobless, a few days after Circoloco, housemate Nathan told me that the laughing gas munki working at his bar had quit the previous night, and would I like to give it a go? The job was 100% commission, so I wouldn’t earn any money unless I could sell the gas, but regardless I went along for a trial night as I had nothing better to do, and fully expecting to hate every moment of the ordeal. Surprisingly though, I actually found the job quite enjoyable - although the boss was, to begin with, very scary - and think it’s probably one of the best non-specialised jobs you can do in Ibiza, ‘cos you’re selling something that gives people an immediate laugh, and there’s very little actual pressure once you’ve got your sales patter down to a tee. Not to mention all the people you get to chat to/be cheeky with, and the free drinks… Oh, and the money was good, too. Which is nice!
Steph and I also discovered the Shipwrecked boat party, a mainly-workers’ sunrise boat party which left San An harbour at 6am on Wednesday mornings, and which was the scene of many of my most embarrassing moments. Well, it’s got to be done, hasn’t it? ;o)
Fast forward through many messy nights and lazy days and we get to the truly amazing workers’ Shit Party, held at the Old Zoo near Ses Paisses (close to where I’m living at the moment). It’s organised every year by the enigmatic Loco, and is a fancy dress-compulsory, workers-only event which raises money for the Spanish equivalent of the Samaritans. Want photos? http://greyhead.co.uk/photography Going next year? Join the Facebook Group and sign up to the Facebook Event!
I’ll skip over the incident with the angry tourist/glass/my lip/lots of blood and pain, but if you heard about it when it happened a couple of weeks ago, I’m sure you’ll be completely disinterested to know that my lip is now completely healed, there’s only a tiny scar, and as a result my youthful good looks have returned (errm… maybe… ahem).
As a side note, if any of you caught the “Ibiza” series on Living TV this year, I don’t think I’m libelling myself too much to point out that, while Sam was and is indeed a numpty of the highest order (just ask his housemates), there is little doubt in many people’s minds that huge amounts of the controversial parts of the series were complete fabrications designed to boost ratings, causing a great deal of upset among the Ibiza workers population. More information and discussion here and here. Grr….
Fast forward a bit more and, as the end of the season drew close, the closing parties started to come round. I finished my laughing gas job at the end of September as the number of customers in the West End dropped to a fraction of their August numbers, and was all set to fly home on the 4th October after making it to a couple of great closing nights when my friend Kate suggested I cancel my flight home and stay at their villa a couple of miles out of San An in Ses Paisses for a couple of extra weeks, do the closing parties and generally chill the hell out. So, I accepted her offer - I mean, it’d be rude not to, really - and that’s how come I’m still here in Ibiza now instead of freezing my bits off looking for a McJob back in the UK tonight.
The villa is very nice, living with seven other bods (and the world’s coolest kitten called Bruce), comes with its own hammock, and is in a quiet enough area that I could actually sleep at night. I made it to almost every one of the closing parties, spent far too much of the money I’d saved from my laughing gas stint (oops, sorry!), and saw some of the craziest, weirdest, and most amazing nights on the planet. My favourite closing night has got to be Space’s truly immense closing fiesta. Good times :o)
Yesterday was the last opportunity for a day out together for most of us in the villa, so five of us headed over to Atlantis, a beautiful natural sandstone feature on the coast in a very secluded part of the island just round the corner from Es Vedra, the third-most magnetic rock on the planet, and an outstandingly beautiful area. When I get the photos online you’ll see that getting there - descending around 900 feet on a stony, sandy, extremely steep footpath (like, a 1 in 3 gradient) and then shimmying down a 50 foot sandstone cliff-face to get to Atlantis, was nothing compared to the challenge of climbing back up the incline to the car park a couple of miles away. Still, totally worth it…!
I also have a shedload of other photos to put online, including the day and night down at Cala Gracio, and our visit to the island’s highest point (also yesterday), so I’ll send a message out once they’re online so you can take a look if you’re interested.
I guess that pretty much wraps up the last couple of months, although I guess I could write volumes about what I’ve seen and done (but that would take most of the fun out of finding out for yourself what it’s like out here!). Also, Ibiza is different for everyone who comes out here, and you really should try to “do” it at least once as a holiday - even just for a couple of days - if you possibly can.
Also, if you happen to be one of the bods I met in Ibiza and I didn’t get to say goodbye to you, sorry! My last few days have been… well, interesting, and I haven’t had a whole load of time to do anything apart from the running around I’ve been concentrating on. Stay in touch, and maybe I’ll see you back out here/there next year (if it didn’t scare you too much to meet me for the first time!) - who knows?
Anyway, that’s pretty much all from me, so those of you who have found my updates depressingly boring can now breathe a sigh of relief, and I guess this means it’s about time I buggered off to find a real McJob back in the UK. Yey!
… Well, assuming I don’t miss another flight home, hee hee… ;o)
Hokay, last of all, a short list of Ibiza highs and lows, in no particular order.
Highlights: workers’ parties, workers’ guestlists, sunsets, friendly people, beautiful people, beautiful friendly people, making a new best friend in under 30 seconds at a superclub, great food, beautiful quaint old towns, Circoloco moving to Privilege?, finding out I’m not the complete social retard I thought I was (I won’t explain further, but it’s a huge thing for me :o), acquaintances who help you out when y’re in need, and loads and loads and loads and loads of other things.
Lowlifes: the proliferation of crap drivers, drunken English lager louts, violent drunken English lager louts, “friends” who lie and/or steal, people who don’t say thankyou, the funny smell in the streets of San An in the summer, the corner of Capone’s bar which always smells suspiciously of sick, not having enough hours in the day, not having enough money in your wallet, “friends” who are only friends while you’re getting them into clubs, DC10 closure (boo!), and just a couple of other things which really aren’t that bad when you think about it :o)
Posted by Alex on Sat 18th October 2008
Getting lippy…
Getting lippy…
“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. So, like a true sheep, I followed them as they jumped into the first taxi to arrive, resulting in 40-odd booze- and other substance-fuelled club-goers shouting angrily at us.
As we got into the taxi, my new best mate - the shouty angry, potentially violent one I introduced you to at the start of this piece - held the taxi door open on Neil’s side of the car and, armed with a half-pint glass, started to try and drag him out of the car.
Now, I knew we were in the wrong - massively in the wrong in fact - and I could well understand that what we were doing deserved nothing less than being pulled out of the taxi and told under no uncertain circumstances that we were to piss off, but threatening to glass someone? To cause them life-threatening injuries? Over a taxi queue? What the hell is it that goes through peoples’ minds to think that this is in any way acceptable?
So, as these threats - and the beginnings of a series of punches - were thrown back and forward between Neil and Louisa, I leant over them and tried to calm the situation down. “Whoah, whoah, STOP IT! That’s enough! It’s only a taxi! We’ll get out - there’s no need for that!” - but my placation fell of deaf ears on both sides.
Turning to the taxi driver, I was amazed to see him dumbly sitting there, an expression of bemusement on his face. As far as he was concerned, we could all get out of his taxi and kill outselves on the street. All he wanted - understandably, I guess - was for us to go away and let him earn his living.
In hindsight, my shock must have registered at some deep-rooted level, as all I could do was taphim gently on the shoulder and say “vamos, por favor - please, let’s go. Just go!”. Eventually, with one of the doors still open, he started to pull away slowly, and it was at this point that Angry Shouty totally lost his rag. As we pulled away, he stood up. I thought it was all over and we’d made it out of trouble intact, albeit with our tails thoroughly between out legs but, no, there was still one final act to be played out.
As I turned my head to look forward and thank the driver, I heard a noise like a car door being slammed hard. Everything went black and then I saw an explosion of stars in my right eye. Suddenly the whole side of my face was numb, and I could feel a stream of how, sticky wetness spreading all over my lap. Instinctively I caught the half pint glass - miraculously unshattered - as it landed in my increasingly bloody lap.
I had no idea how much damage had been done, but the most important thing on my mind at the moment was that the taxi driver was SLOWING DOWN! “VAMOS!” I shouted - well, spluttered. I was vaguely aware of the spray of blood going all over the car’s plush new light grey leather upholstery, and as my hearing returned I could hear Louisa saying “let me look at your face. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my…”. She was panicking big time, and - something you should never do with an accident victim because it only makes them panic more.
Still without any feeling in my face, I looked down to see my trousers, t-shirt, the back of the driver’s seat, the door, ceiling (how I don’t know), window glass and my arms pouring blood. Now, I know that blood and milk can both look like a lot more has been spilt than actually has, but within about 15 seconds my lap looked like it had been painted a dark crimson. Yuk.
“I’m sorry folks. I think we’re going to need to go to the hospital” I managed, and started to probe around my face. One of my top front teeth - the right one - was completely numb. The cartilage of my nose hurt like buggery where it joins my skull at the top of my lip, and my top left front tooth had a large crack running up its back. All of my top right teeth were either numb or hurting like hell, and - worst of all, I could feel two large gashes in my top lip, big enough to push my tongue into. I also had the worst migraine I’ve ever had coming on.
By the time we arrived at San An hospital, the bleeding was subsiding. The taxi driver kindly gave me a tissue to put over the holes in my lip, and all I could do was apologise repeatedly for all the blood on his car - his reply? “It’s ok, don’t worry”.
To add insult to injury, my EHIC card - the mandatory E111 you’re supposed to keep on you at all times - was safely tucked away in my apartment, so the hospital refused to treat me, despite nearly blacking out twice in the waiting room so, with my broken Spanglish and the night nurse’s broken English, we established that I was going to have to head home and get my card. By this time I was getting the feeling back in my lip, and I made the mistake of trying to flush the blood out of my mouth with water. That was the point that I realised that I didn’t have two separate cuts on my lip - it was in fact an entry and exit wound, where my top tooth had gone clean through my lip - but I only realised when I tried to wash my mouth out with water and it sprayed out of the hole in my lip. The pain was like nothing I’d ever experienced, but worse was yet to come…
Back at the apartment, having had to walk through San An covered in blood and looking like a train wreck, I cleaned up the wound with some vodka and water, and examined the damage. The entry wound was faily straightforward, and had stopped bleeding. Just a hold about half a centimetre wide, but the exit wound was a different story (gory details ahead, kids): my lip was torn in three different directions, and the swelling had pushed the edges of the cut right out, distorting my lip into a gruesome mess. Yes, it was “only” a cut, but the damage looked so severe that I began to really worry that there might be some long-term damage.
A quick change of clothes later, one much cleaner face, and I was back at the hospital where the night doctor - with the use of Google’s translation service (Google is bloody everywhere these days, isn’t it?!) - decided that my migraine was nothing important (yeah, bloody cheers mate), my teeth were fine (despite the numbness, crack and throbbing pain), and that I needed A stitch in my throbbingly-painful lip.
Oh, and they weren’t going to give me a local anaesthetic. Bloody cheers.
Ten minutes later and I’m lying on the couch in the next ER room, with an old boy tugging and prodding a stitching blade through my torn lip. I’ve never felt pain like that before and, I’m not ashamed to admit, I had tears streaming down my face.
You can probably imagine then, like a prisoner being subjected to torture, that I nearly died of fear when the old boy decided that one stitch wasn’t enough, and that he was going to give me a second one. This one hurt even more that the first, and to add insult to injury, he then had a good old prod to realign the edges of the cut into something resembling the shape of a lip again.
Still, despite the pain, I thanked him for his efforts as I woozily made my way out of the hospital, obsessively feeling my new stitches with my tongue (something which I continued to do without even realising for the next couple of days, making me look like a gurning freak even at ten in the morning, hee hee).
I have no idea what it is that makes people think they’re somehow invincible, above the law, and/or that it’s perfectly acceptable to act like deranged animals on holiday, but it’s something I have seen an awful lot of while I’ve been living and working in Ibiza: holiday makes, more often than not British, being incredibly rude, starting fights, being unbelievably racist - listening to a Bromley wide-boy describing a Spanish club-goer at Space as a “dirty spick” who he could “easily take [beat in a fight]” just because he was “standing next to me, innit. I want my own room - I’ve paid to be here”. Err, yeah, right mate. Has it maybe not crossed your mind that he has far more right to be here and enjoy the place, given that this is his country you’re besmirching?
The levels of violent crime in San An - particularly robbings, knifings, and (thankfully usually with less human injury involved) burglaries, is scary, and much more noticeably towards the end of the season as the income streams dry up and the more desperate will resort to robbing their friends, employers, or people in the street in broad daylight.
All of this said, I don’t want to put anyone off visiting Ibiza. It really is a fantastic place, and everywhere in the world has its problems, but like any town centre on a Friday or Saturday night, the combination of alcohol, drugs, testosterone and venues packed so full you can’t move, is an explosive combination. The responsibility here is on none other than the licencees of venues, and those that oversee the smooth running of the streets - the police - to ensure things don’t get out of hand. The police in Spain are much more capable of dealing with problems, as anyone who’s been on the fast-moving end of a police baton will know, as the polica local and, to a lesser extend, the guardia civil, have no hesitation in kicking ten bells out of anyone who thinks it’s a good idea to get lippy with them.
Obviously back in the UK, the police’s obligation to adhere rigidly to the EU’s interpretation of the human rights laws means that, unless you’re waving a loaded gun around - and even then, it’s not a guaranteed excuse to do so - they can barely ever use any kind of force to calm down violent people. It’s a rock-and-hard place conundrum, but given the comparative levels of trouble in Ibiza, I sometimes wonder whether the Spanish police might have got it right.
Mind you, I don’t know if I’d be saying that if I had ever received a kicking from them myself, but then I hope I never will, either…
Life in Ibiza continues, and talking of crime, I’ve got a great tale about the two girls who tried to rob me in Privilege last night, but I’ll save that for another day I think… ;o)
* Names changed to protect the guilty…
Posted by Alex on Wed 8th October 2008
You’ve not done Ibiza until you’ve missed your flight home… ;o)
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:. You get to talk to loads of people, make a shedload of friends - many of which I’m still in touch with - and the money works out really, really well. All good! Oh, and I got as many free drinks as I could manage throughout the 5 hour shift, and free entry to every Eden night. Bonus!
In other “news” (well, it’s news to me), I’ve discovered that saying “yes” instead of “err, nah” to every invite to every party has turned out to be a lot of fun. I’ve made it to the Cream, Amnesia, Space, Tiesto, Monza, Eden, Wonderland, and a shedload of other closing parties. All were incredible - especially the Space party on Sunday night - and I’d recommend that everyone comes out to Ibiza for the opening and/or closing parties each year. The absolute highlights of the season.
Shipwrecked - a mainly-workers boat party - which sets sail from San An harbour every Wednesday morning, was definitely one of the highlights of the season, and again I’ve made so many new friends through it I’ve been finding myself bumping into someone I know every time I turn around in places like Privilege, Amnesia and Space for the last couple of weeks. Only problem is, with my terrible memory for names and faces, everyone’s been christened “mate” or “fella” for the last couple of weeks. Still, I don’t think anyone’s noticed.
The most random thing to happen over the last few days was seeing two absolutely stunning blonde girls escorting two very wrinky old guys (rent-a-date perhaps?) on the beach at Playa des Agua Blanca on the north-west of the island on Saturday afternoon. Thinking nothing more of it apart from the eye-candy value (hey, I’m still a dirty old git at heart), I was gobsmacked to find myself being asked to vacate the sub-box/podium I’d declared my own in the main room at Amnesia’s closing party that night so that the exact same two girls - wearing barely any more clothing than they’d been wearing on the beach - could have a dance on the sub box. I even survived the slightly awkward moment when one of them recognised me, turned to her mate, whispered something, and the pointedly ignored me - gotta feel the love there. Hee hee… ;o)
So, what’s this about missing my flight you ask? Well, a few nights ago I was complaining to my friend Kate - who I met at the DC10 opening party in August and ended up walking all the way to Bora Bora afterwards, that I was a bit sad to be heading home in the next couple of days. “Why don’t you come and live in my villa for the next couple of weeks then?” “Err… Argh! Decisions!” Still, 12 hours later I’d notified the two most important ladies in my life that I was going to stay a bit longer (and they were incredibly cool about it - thankyou ladies :o) and so, at the point I was supposed to be boarding my BA flight home - complete with courtesy meal and drinks - I was actually dancing my arse off with my new housemates at the Hust closing party. Woohoo!
So, the plan for the next couple of weeks is to chill out in the new villa with my new housemates Emma, Kate, Dan, Xander, Mark, Nicky, and the world’s coolest kitten Brucey, spend some time in the hammock (we have a hammock - woot!) and do some reading, chilling, and visiting remote parts of the island with the camera (loads of pics to follow - hell yeah).
Hopefully you’re all doing well back in Blighty. I’ll be back on the 19th October to face the inevitable music, but until then, let the randomness continue.
Love you all! Hope you’re all well.
Much love,
Alex - still lost in Ibiza and loving it :o)
Posted by Alex on Tue 7th October 2008