Palma Hilton

or I married an heiress.

As I alluded in my last blog, Jaki inherited some money, and whilst she's not in the Paris Hilton bracket, she did give me 500 quid to spend on anything I wanted.

Being the man who has everything he needs and wants for nothing I decided to forego buying trend monkey treasures - anything beginning with i and suffixed with pod, pad or phone, and instead book a holiday.

Paseo at El Molinar heading to Ciudad Jardin

So I'm off to Palma again! Booked into the Urban Sea Portofino where I stayed in March, for the low, low price of €32 a night - that's a beer and two Martinis in the Teatro Pereyra, Ibiza. The flight cost €48 (less than 5 beers in you know where) so I reckon I've got about €450 to spend on Fosh Food, Wineing tasting, and my long promised gastro-alcoholic tour of BoHo barrio Santa Catalina, and of course Jazz Voyeur club where a beer will set me back a mere €3, less than a third the price of that other place I went to in Ibiza the other night.

Jazz Voyeur, check it out, check it out, check it out now, come on!

A Night in Ibiza

No, you're not gonna believe this but Jaki and I stepped out on the town the other night and celebrated her 'coming into some money' when an elderly and previously unknown relative died in Australia, by going into 'spin city' for a bite to eat and a few bevvies.
A short but nevertheless scenic taxi ride (€21) brought us to the throbbing metropolis and having a few minutes to spare before our table at La Plaza was given to someone else I snapped a few scenes of the ambience in Dalt Vila's Plaza de Vila.

We'd calculated that it was 20 years since we last dined in La Plaza, drawn in by the elegant wine glasses and place settings and we'd often noted that it was one of the few rezzies in the square that hadn't succumbed to packing punters in cheek by jowl to maximise profit during the short season. I can't think of anything worse – other than being serenaded by an unwanted accordionist – during dinner than having to hold your elbows in and listen to a total stranger's conversation.

Our meal was superb, scallops, duck breast and duck liver, sea bream, beef Bourguignon, two fab desserts, a couple of aperitifs and a bottle of Marques de Riscal from the Rueda region came to €106 and was worth every mouthful. Nice unobtrusive but efficient service and a pleasure to spend time there.


OK, so when in Ibiza town, you have to comply with the laws of tourism by gawping at the posh yachts in the harbour, oohing and aaahing about what the owners are watching on their giant screen tellies (like you do when you're a billionaire on holiday in Ibiza, watch the frigging telly.)

So here's the obligatory photo of a mega yacht with a humorous name.


Then we walked up to the port to see the trendy bars that every dance music mag says you must go in. Obviously not many folk read Mixmag these days as trend monkey fave Base Bar had not a soul in it. And then doubled back along 'Mother of God Street,' (Ibiza Gay HQ) where, they'd obviously forgotten they were glad to be gay judging by some of the miserable faces perched on bar stools.


Still, the upside of gayness, unlimited sex whenever and wherever you want it, is more than matched by having to listen to Hazell Dean records, sing songs from the shows and take your mam out shopping.


So, two down and up comes number three – people watching. This means that your terrace table is surrounded by a stream of awkward looking tourists scared shitless of being ripped off and wondering where to go. It's about as interesting as watching Escape to the Country.

A quick headcount at our Mar y Sol table in the time it took to quaff a G&T and Cuba Libre (€12) revealed that no less than 5,876 tufty haired skinny youths wearing vests and penguin style shorts (waist round the crotch, crotch round the knees) passed by. Either that or the same gang of 5 did the circular route about a 1000 times. Ditto, the 342 skinny, brown, high-heeled, saggy French women.

Anyroad there was some light relief when a gaggle of geishas gathered to promote a Brazilian night at an Ibiza disco (like you do) who were wearing very little under their kimonos!


Even better was the promotion for Pure Platinum our local (non gay) gentlemen's club – here's a video. For some reason girl number 3 seemed to attract my attention.

Penultimate one on the list is getting absolutely shafted in a place you'll never ever visit again in your whole life. Fortunately for the Teatro Pereyra, there's more than just me in the world and millions of mugs just waiting to hand over their hard earned readies.

Tom Worrall was on keyboards and voice, and we got about 15 minutes of him for our €21 (yes TWENTY ONE FREAKING EUROS) beer and Martini. It's amazing how quickly you can sober up innit?

Last law of tourism in Ibiza is waiting for a taxi. We were quite quick on this and sped home through the hot night air (€23) and got back just in time to go to the toilet before bedtime!

Ibiza Races: Chips v Tapas

To celebrate the return of my shift key we decided to have chips made in the JML wonder oven for tea. To liven up the proceedings I decided to carry out one of those pointless experiments American boffins are prone to do.

It was this - If I put the chips in the oven for 20 minutes, have I got time to get to Es Galliner, buy my tapas, have a beer, get back and heat them in the microwave so that everything's ready at the same time.

Here's the phonecam photolog

T minus 20: The McCains are in

T minus 16: Tapas in Es Galliner

T minus 14: A cold, frosty beer

T minus 11: Tapas packed, beer drunk

T minus 2: Get the wine opened

T minus 1: Floyd has a drink

T plus 1: Voila! Crispy chips, meatballs in sauce, chicken curry, and spicy chicken wings in the microwave

Q.E.D.

power ibiza

after a series of power cuts last friday in the early hours ranging from a nano second to 20 minutes - they all screw up my sky plus box - the powers that be decided to do something.

luckily they gave us a few hours notice that our leccy was going to be cut off most of this morning and we managed to get our breakfast in first, just before the power went off from 5 past toast to 10 to tea and biscuits.

it somehow seems to have affected my keyboard which no longer has a left hand shift key so no higher case letters for now.

Nowt to do with Ibiza

Years ago in the late 70's young Jaki used to go dancing round her handbag in Pips, behind the cathedral in Manchester and she's just joined a facebook group for everyone who did likewise.

Here's a photo of some of her contemporaries

No idea who they are.

Anyway, another popular and similar club at that time was Placemate 7 which ocupied the same building as the legendary Twisted Wheel, one of the best Soul clubs ever, and where my brother-in-law Peter Lyon as a young parka clad mod used to go on a scooter.

Sky Arts are currently screening Tony Palmer's history of modern music, All You Need is Love, made in 1977. On the strength of it he was asked to direct a documentary for Granada's This England programme about another Soul club, Wigan Casino.

One of the tracks featured in it is a cracker, The MVPs - Turning my Hearbeat Up.

It's featured (from 1' 30") in this clip of Quadrophenia with a lot of parka clad mods on scooters

 

Fab, innit?

Like You Do:Ibiza

You know how we suffix tales of everyday stupidity with the expression 'like you do?'

Well, here's a phone snap from my 'photos from a bar' series

It's a life or death sprint across San Jose's busiest road against a constant stream of traffic, 10 metres from a zebra crossing, on a blind bend AND wearing frigging flip-flops - like you do! 

Maybe he was running for the bus and pretending not to?

Ibiza Irony II

As I'm just popping out to the pasteleria (cake, bread, coffee shop) for ice I'm reminded of an incident a couple of weeks ago.

As usual the road and pavements were blocked by lazy gets who don't want to park more than 10 metres from their destination.

A bit like this, but much worse. The Guardia Civil, finding their path blocked, jumped out of the car and delivered a lecture along these lines
"There's a big car park down there and it doesn't cost a cent to walk a few metres, now clear off before i fine you all"

The irony is - though nobody pointed it out to the gunslinging jack-booted one during the bollocking - is that every pasteleria in Ibiza has a zebra crossing leading to it and, as often as not, there's a Guardia Squad car parked on it while the lads stock up on doughnuts! 

Ibiza Irony

I went to the SPA today. The information on the Roman Bath door told me that it was hot with 50% humidity inside.

The irony is that our bedroom is hot with 76% humidity inside

It'll be in the high 90's in August!

Third World Cup

Remember my observational post about the flags of different nations - the misleadingly titled Embassy Club?

Well watching the World Cup has led me to believe that there's a connection between the National Anthem of a country and its position in the league of nations.

ie the lower the list you are, the greater the speed of your national anthem.

Compare the dirge-like God Save the Queen to the Uruguayan anthem



Interestingly there seemed to be a connection between the way the teams played after the anthem. Uruguay and Chile were like a swarm of cartoon bees alll over the pitch whereas England appeared like a herd of grazing cows after God saving the Queen.

Trastevere Travel

Ha! You thought I was going to call this post 'Roman Holiday' - well I wouldn't stoop so low as to mention or use anything from that film in my blog.

I've been doing a bit of research and found that we will be inundated by strolling street accordian players, red and white checked table cloths, gigantic pepper grinders and dodgy-accented waiters with a flamboyant way of placing a napkin on a lady's lap.



Better still, our apartment is just down the street from Rome's home of the Blues, the Big Mama club.



Anyroad, I've already started boning up on the lingo and realised that my schoolboy Latin - here's an example I knew like the back of my hand for 'O' level

"Nisus was guardian of the gate,

No bolder heart in war’s debate,
The son of Hyrtacus, whom Ide
Sent, with his quiver at his side,
From hunting beasts in mountain brake
To follow in Aeneas’ wake:
With him Euryalus, fair boy;
None fairer donned the arms of Troy;
His tender cheek as yet unshorn
And blossoming with youth new-born."

Isn't going to do me any good when I'm looking for the bus stop from central Rome to Vermicelli airport (the one Ryanair fly from)

So I'm using this video to get me into the hang of local customs



And finally, as I harboured boyhood dreams of owning a Lambretta SX125, I thought that when in Rome, I'd do as the Romans do, by scooting around on a scooter with Jaki riding side saddle, so here's an image I've Photoshopped up to illustrate what we may look like.

And here's the quiz. What am I saying to Jaki?

The Big L

Jaki is the Big L this year, so I thought I'd take her to somewhere where they understand Roman numerals, the Eternal City, Wome!

Courtesy of Ryanair direct flights from Ibiza to Wome pwetend airport, the one you've never heard of, we'll be downing espwesso after espwesso at about €20 a pop at all the major tourist sights.

We're based in this funky pad overlooking the Tiber in BoHo barrio Trastevere.

So, on my command, unleash hell!

As usual, there's a quiz for all old people who may read this......

How old is Jaki this year in Arabic numerals?

The Great Big SYP Ibiza Tuna Quiz

Well, are you smarter than a ten year old? Here's the knotty problem I was faced with at SYP today which concerns economies of scale, bulk buying and super fast mental arithmetic.

I needed some tinned tuna for use in tuna, sweetcorn and mayo sandwiches. The two options placed tantalisingly on the shelf were

Buy a pack of 3 tins for €1.16

or

Buy a pack of 6 tins for €2.47

What would you do?