Saturday July 15, 1978

St. Swithun's Day. It didn't rain in Ibiza. In fact, from the look of things I don't think it has rained here for years. Never before have I suffered so much from the heat. Even Dave G, who is terribly susceptible to the sun, is in a better state than me.

Have I mentioned that topless bathers are everywhere this year? A few dropped their bikini tops last year but this year it's easier to count the ladies with tops on rather than off. Sue, British to the end, absolutely refused to discard any essential items of clothing, and says she's proud of the fact she isn't a sheep. However, some of the females are ghastly and would look much better covered up. Chippy is very frustrated because he hasn't managed to get his end away with abybody. He says he's been out~classed by the jet~setters. Anyone with such a low opinion of themselves, and with such a defeatist attitude, doesn't deserve to get anywhere.

-=-

Friday July 14, 1978

I had very little sleep. My shoulders are greeny yellow, and pouring with guck. My first action today was to consult Dr Chippy. He came to my room, clad only in his underpants, and carrying a tube of magic, white powder, a series of needles and anti-septic cream. I almost fainted. He burst my remaining blisters and then we made our way to the bar to get properly anaesthetised.

Yesterday "Doctor" Chippy was the hero of the hour on the beach when he put a dislocated shoulder back into position following a 'tug~of~war' accident on the beach. He was immediately acclaimed as the "Beach Party Doctor" and Pam, for one, looked at him with doe~eyed wonderment and affection assuring his chances with her this night.

Why is it that women fall for medical men? Even men like Chippy who only look after mental patients?

I met Jacq a year ago today in the El Capone Bar, or was it the Pavement?

-=-

Thursday July 13, 1978

Beach party again. It's more of a rip off this year than ever with virtually no booze and Rick behaving like Adolf Hitler. Susis, bless her, says quite openly that Rick literally has "no balls". However, Gus and I have decided that he's got a brown painted hollow false leg down which he dangles all his equipment because quite frankly he does seem to be lacking in the trouser department. His voice isn't particularly high pitched, and by repute he seems to have success laying the female talent.

Sue enjoyed the boat trip and hit it off with Jed who called her "Skipper" (she was champ of the skipping contest which took place on the beach).

I rubbed oil into my shoulders (they'd peeled), and played around with a dog on the sand which had pinched one of my sandals. I was slightly sore. Coming back on the boat we got chatting with some ladies ~ one called Shelley ~ and we laughed about a couple sitting close by who were performing strange and wonderful things beneath a towel.

Later we met the girls at the El Capone and I latched onto Shelley. Gus's girl was really pretty and looked like an Edwardian gaeity girl. We took them to the Kings Bar and the Extasis. All was going well and then in a moment of passion Shelley grabbed my shoulders and green slime and pus oozed forth and squelched over my shirt. I was in absolute agony.


-=-

Wednesday July 12, 1978

Orangemen's Day

Bank Holiday Northern Ireland

After deposting Tina at her hotel and arranging to meet her at 10pm tonight I drifted back to the S'Estanyol and changed into my beach wear and flat cap and went out into the sun.

Sue and Pete came down for breakfast and discovered me ~the solitary sunbather ~ quite alone on the sand. Dave came down later and suggested going for a drink. What a bloody good idea. We went to Hilary's cafe and knocked back pints of beer in the shade of a palm tree for the morning.

After lunch we moved to the bar on the beach. I was sloshed out of my brains by now. After all, I'd had no sleep and this Jagermeister is something of an unknown quantity. Pam and Rick were in the bar. They think we are pissed all the time.

I was in no fit state to meet Tina and at her hotel she played 'hard to get' and said she was wasn't leaving the hotel until midnight and going straight to the Playboy club. I waved bye bye to this one. Nobody mucks me about. So once again I'm playing the field. Once again this delectable human being is unattached and on his own.

-=-

Tuesday July 11, 1978

I think we went by boat to Cala Conta. Previous holidays have never been quite so hot as this one. It's unbearable.

Tonight Gus, Chippy and I ended up in Es Paradis again, but when Chippy fell in love and asked one of the local women to marry him I'd had enough and proceeded to set out on foot in a homeward direction. It was after 3am anyway.

Wending my way across San Antonio I had the fortune to overtake what I mistook to be a party of German ladies, and as I passed by the ring leader, in husky tones, said: "Keep on swinging, man", at which they all fell about in hysterics. I immediately set upon them, and they linked arms with me and I escorted them to their hotel. A taxi came to a grinding halt and out leapt Gus and Chippy, who accosted a couple of the girls for themselves. However, I hung on to the attractive spokesperson called Tina with the deep voice, who informed me that they are in fact Dutch.

We went with the ladies to their hotel and Tina emerged into the garden ( or whatever you call the bit of patio around the swimming pool) with a bottle of Jagermeister, a Dutch liqueuer I think. After half an hour or so we were thrown out because of the noise and we took the bottles to the beach and did Travolta-like dancing on the sand. Horribly pissed. Chippy, Gus and their ladies disappeared leaving Tina and I alone to do a spot of of bathing. At 8am I took her back to her hotel.

-=-

Monday July 10, 1978

Chippy decided to take out a bloody massive motor bike and take me round the island. I wanted to see Portinatx to give Lynn & Dave a report. We hired one for the day for £7 each and shot off to the S'estanyol to persuade the others to get one.

-=-

Sue and Dave decided to spend the duration in the bar getting pissed, which was fair enough, and Gus and Pete took out a pair of smaller bikes, and we set off in the direction of Ibiza town. I wasn't impressed with the place, and neither was I all that happy about hanging on the back of Chippy as he hurtled at 60 or so m.p.h. across the rough, unmade roads of Ibiza.

From Ibiza Town we headed out on the Portinatx but stopping at a cafe we were told we were 50 kilometres away and we decided over a Coca Cola that our fuel supplies wouldn't stretch that far. We headed back to San Antonio.

By lunchtime I'd had enough of motor cycling and called it a day. It had been exciting but I had had sufficient. He drove like Eddie Kidd with his pants on fire. Chippy cleared off for the remainder of the afternoon.

Sue and Dave were sunbathing at the hotel and not in the least pissed like they said they would be.

Sunday July 9, 1978

7th Sunday after Trinity

At about 10am we decided it was much too hot to lay around on a beach all day and somebody suggested that we might hire push bikes and go for a tour of the island. We rolled up at the bike place and were fitted up with machines (except Dave) and we shot off in the direction of Port d'es Torrent.

Tonight a wonderful thing happened. In the El Capone bar we bumped into Pam, from Nottingham, who worked with Rick in the 1976 season. We leapt around screaming and laughing and made our ritual trip to Es Paradis. She took an immediate fancy to Chippy, whom she insisted on calling 'Gerald' or 'Gerry'. They wandered off together leaving Gus and I leaping around like fools on the dance floor. Oh it was great.

-=-