Lorry Driver Brown
On fantasy island Ibiza it's fashionable to be one of two hues, brown or translucent. Brown because you got the time to lounge in the sun all day, and the other to show that you're a creature of the night, spending all your time and your second mortgage in Ibiza's clubs.
Me, I'm what they call lorry driver brown; tanned face and arms, but a ghostly pale white under my white t-shirt. Ever one to embrace convention we headed for the beach for a UVA top up.
Es Codolar was as busy as ever - 27 people and a dozen dogs on its 5kms of pebbles. We stopped, unloaded the car, traipsed over the ridge to the shore, only to find it populated by those going the extra few inches for an all over tan.
Jaki drove the car down the track while Marli and I did the 400 metre pebble dash to a flesh free zone. Except that our next door neighbours were a couple of gnarled old nudists carved from mahogany.
Any road, the point of all this is that while at Cala Conta yesterday morning I took this picture from the cliffs.
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