‘Written at The Cork and Bottle’. Why? Because I can, or should I say was able to, at least to begin with.
It started in my toes.
I thought it was the dregs of the jet lag, perhaps DC (our glorious leader) waving his wand over our illustrious London Mayor, or maybe I’d been sitting cross-legged too long.
Had the gout returned? Was Monica Bellucci thinking of me? Was lilac the new black? Was I playing spin the bottle? Were the heels cutting off my circulation?
I mean, I can understand that. I passed Izzie Eddard in full drag in the street last week and my senses are yet to recover! He was in drag, not me. Wait, come to think of it; I was post gym and may have slipped into a little Lycra.
No I won’t post a photo
Anyway, whatever it was, it was making my toes tingle, and yes; roll over Sarah your expertise with toes may have worked on others, but this little piggy’s been to the market and back again.
Then I realised, it was the sand I could feel between my toes…..
Ibiza was beckoning me. The beacon that is Es Vedra was calling me.
I felt Neil’s need, a primordial vibration: was Eugene invoking the puppies? Was, Wes not Was.
Somebody walk the dinosaur and then out come the freaks!
Right, that’s it! I’m no longer throwing away such brilliant jokes. As if I continue to humiliate myself for the good of 113 nations, always prising a tiny piece off myself into my prose.
It’s like Dear Silvio giving up a hair follicle.
A couple of weeks ago I went to see “Fashion Victim” the Musical starring, in no small part, Nancy dell’Olio. I had almost, I say almost, forgotten about Nancy of the Oil, and then I was reminded of Sven and then Ulrikaka, those memories came flooding back. It was one of those things that was so bad it was almost good, as I say, almost; high camp indeed!
I’m going to have to step up my regimen if I’m going to remain that well preserved.
Keeping it on a football related theme, I spent a Sunday afternoon at the Emirates watching Arsenal and Chelsea fight it out. I took a friend Sam, who is an ardent Chelsea fan. I have never known them to be so quiet, admittedly there was a momentary lapse and a bit of a girlie squeal when Courtois (the Chelsea goalkeeper) lost control of the ball outside the area, but silence was resumed once they’d put their finger back to their mouth. By full time the finger was bleeding.
What Emi rates?
The political potato is hotting up. In the interests of fairness I will give of the leaders a similar amount of space. Which is not a great deal.
Dave is telling us we will never pay tax again, on anything, that we will all own our own homes and pass the debt onto our great, great, great grandchildren, that a referendum will be held on a reformed European Union by 2017. I can only assume that Dave will trawl out that fact later, that if the reformation of the EU doesn’t take place, neither will the referendum! Slippery when wet!
I want to like Ed Miliband, but then he involved Russell Brand in all this, and frankly he’s a nutter. Then I think about Ed and zzzzzzzz. Wake me up in a line or so.
Nick Clegg is the reason why we have bottoms shaped as we do. He sits astride the fence as if it were made for him. Grimly hanging to one of his shoes is NF, pint in the other hand, fag in his pursed lips. From the other shoe is a weird cross between the Donkey in Shrek and Wee Jimmy Krankie, I think that’ll be Nicola Sturgeon.
So in essence those are our choices. Perhaps I should go and live in a country with a more stable political structure, like Italy or Greece!
On the politics of subjects, I went to experience an interactive Alice in Wonderland extravaganza in the vaults at Waterloo. It was great fun. I was the five of diamonds which apparently in playing card terms means I have to accept reality, like that is so accurate, and so pertinent to Alice in Wonderland.
I chose EAT ME (yes, I am feeling OK), which given my diminutive stature was not necessarily a good idea, however shrink I did momentarily. I then found myself in a tin in the kitchen where they were making the tarts for the Queen of Hearts.
I could see the kitchen was not a happy place, but they placed some ‘erbs around my neck, after a sardonic stare from Marco Pierre-Blanc and a jab with a pitch fork from Tom Baking-Tin, I legged it.
5 of Diamonds
At least now I have arrived on the island. Who knows how. One moment I was at a wedding at Claridges, and I must say many congratulations and thank you to Daniel and Simon for a spectacular evening.
……..and then as if no time had passed I awoke on a cliff overlooking Es Vedra, like one of those dreams or nightmares that you are never sure which is which. Time travel or too much champagne?
So from Team Volpe to Team Ibiza. Sunday was the opening at Amante Beach Club, I was reunited with Neil, Eugene, Peter, Isaac, Vin and about 2000 other people.
It’s funny how midnight turns into 4.30am, time travel indeed!
Opening at Amante, green eyes and no absinthe.
As the clock struck 5am, Medusa was waiting at the exit turning partied up people to stone.
I will leave you to savour a panorama of Salinas yesterday.