Posted by: pascoesabido | June 6, 2008

Back from Party Town (Blog exclusive)

Life is slowly returning to normal after a long weekend in Ibiza… via Barcelona. Think i should stop mentioning it as the common response appears to be dirty looks accompanied by snarls.

‘Improvised’ would best describe the trip. But then you come to expect it, owning the organisational skills of a blind-folded donkey adrift at sea wishing for at least one opposable thumb – and an uncanny optimism reserved solely for suicide bombers.

The morning of departure, procrastination made me her bitch, and packing was the scarificial lamb. Nothing was found and nothing of use was taken – clothes and inflatable mattresses included. North London finally bid me farewell via a short hour-and-a-half detour to an outdoor party, much to the bemusement of its guests: when most were suprised to learn i was finally back in the country, news of my next ‘plan of action’ was greeted unanimously with the words ‘you lucky…’ followed by an expletitive.

Barcelona was there to welcome me back with open arms, but the farewell left a doubt as to whether she was ever happy to see me. A city that has introduced hose-pipe bans and is shipping water from North Africa should not rain. It should most certainly not rain when i am forced to be outside with no jacket, and definitely not in a way that would get Noah on the phone to his carpenter. Or perhaps Barcelona was acting like a woman scorned, left for a second time, and as she couldn’t humiliate me by throwing all my clothes off the balcony, she pissed all over them instead.

7am arrival on no sleep to find Ibiza in the same dreary state was not needed, but then neither was my phone deciding it was xenophobic and refusing to work abroad, nor finally getting hold of my friend to be told his apartment was completely full and I would have to take three busses to the other side of the island. Life goes on. At least there was a bed at the other end. A non-free one, but a bed.

The Ibiza clubnights will be covered in an article to be banged out tomorrow (hopefully), but lets just say my experience there was also ‘improvised’. I blame dick-headery, my habitual downfall. Turning up to the opening of a super-club which has squeezed 18,000 people into a space whith a maximum capacity of 10,000 – and not having a phone nor friend’s phone number – is not the best plan when you are by yourself and planning to meet people ‘inside’. This problem is compiled by the fact that said ‘friend’ was under 4 ft – or at least in the mental image i had concocted – so I spent most of the day searching aimlessley between people’s legs. I considered disowning him except I realised the only blame I could lay at his door revolved around him not having grown for nearly 10 years, and why the hell did he have such small genes?! It turns out he was actually 5″7′ and my flimsy argument fell away. He nor any of the others were ever found, and after 2 hours looking, a decision was made to get on with it: there were 18,000 people – a few of them had to be nice. Despite the set back it worked out amazingly, although now back in England my body is taking its sweet revenge.

The final ‘pascoeism’ was at the airport (there were many many more over the weekend, but no time to list them all) when I was duly informed I wasn’t on the flight. Memories of the year before flashed before me: a semi-inflated mattress on the cold stone floor, surrounded by pygmy Latino grandmothers with hoovers that gravitated toward one’s head every time sleep crept up on you. The memory was enough to spur me into offensive mode (think i was literally offensive as well as being tactically offensive), and a bit of hard-line “i’m a very important journalist” speeching worked wonders.

Journey accomplished, another sleepless night in the airport avoided, and now a return with a bump to the real world…

Let the ‘serious’ life begin.


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