Man about town: Whoah! We're going to Ibiza
It's truly an island of extremes
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Your support makes all the difference.Climbing the steps to the plane for the Friday flight to Ibiza, was like stepping onto a school bus for grown-ups who could do with a little more education. Unapologetically ageist, there was barely a grey hair between us.
Everyone regressed - the rows became gangs, there was singing, a spot of dancing and mischief in the aisle: the stewardesses’ bar trolley couldn't keep up with the drinks demands.
The mood was buoyant, as the passengers were about to spend several days revising the one subject they had undoubtedly excelled at while at school: nightclubbing. Among this group was the stag party I had organised for Joseph, for whom I am returning the favour and playing best man.
The villa had been booked, complete with pool, and the heavier items in our luggage swapped for Jägermeister and vodka and our friend DJ Tom Crane, had arranged for a couple of our club trips. I won’t regale you with the gory details as I believe that what goes on tour should, if it can be remembered, probably stay there. But what I did note was an island of extremes.
From those who go out every night, to those who barely leave their villas. From the super wealthy at all the right places, to the nightclub reps in San Antonio, who look like they were permanently auditioning to appear on BBC 3 reality shows. From the delights of white sangria on Salinas beach to spending eight euros on a tiny bottle of cheaply produced water at Space nightclub on Sunday night (over at Amnesia, it costs an unforgettable 12).
Nowhere, however, were the extremes more evident than between the flight out and the flight back on Monday. Walking on I spotted gaunt, twitching faces, many of which, despite the sun, were probably paler than when they arrived. Others look like wounded soldiers returning from a losing battle between their brains and mind-altering drugs. In one corner a girl was being sick, though there was no turbulence. Nearby a man had a spontaneous mid-flight nosebleed. A couple of rows back, another man slept, but he didn't use the head rest, instead his face was planted awkwardly into the seat in front.
Despite this, most looked like they were counting down the days to when they could get onto that Friday afternoon flight out there again.
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