Hurrah! I’ve finally booked my summer holiday with the girls – we’re off to the Mediterranean party island of Ibiza for a week of mentalistic, hedonistic, debauched shagorific fun.
I wanted to go to Ibiza when I was around 16. I was heavily into trance music and my biggest ambition then was to go and dance the night away at Cream. Then it all went a bit crap. Crap music and total chavs descending on the island. But now, it’s picked up again and I am raring to go. So much so that I’m even overlooking the fact that I’ll be flying with EasyJet (gawd help) and that despite having emetophobia (a fear of vomit. Nice) I will be spending the week surrounded by pissed up Brits (for those of you who don’t know, we have THE worst reputation abroad for drunken, lewd, pukey behaviour).
By rights, this should be the kind of holiday that I’d do my utmost to avoid. But you know what? Fuck it. I’ve spent far too many years feeling boring and never doing anything and now, I am raring to go. I can’t wait to spend a week in the sun with my girls and generally misbehaving. I’m hoping I’ll have a ton of stories for my blog too 😉