Sunday July 15, 1979

_. 5th Sunday after Trinity.

I pissed the bed, like a three year old. I'm not in the least bit embarrassed because if you can't pay £180.70 to piss the bed once a year, when can you?

We stayed around the pool until about 11 and then I went with Garry by ferry to San Antonio where we walked in the harbour before making for a bar and drinking pints for five or six hours. Discussed all manner of things. He says that Billy will kill himself when his aged mother dies. He says Billy is not enjoying the holiday because he cannot keep up with us younger ones. At 40 he's bloody past it.

Back at the Galfi we had just missed a full scale drama. Billy had been thrown, naked, into the pool and as he is unable to swim he caused a major brouhaha. He had been banished to his room by Philip II's ambassador to the Court of St James's. Poor Billy had almost drowned and Dave was close to hysterics.

Tonight we met a couple of new inmates at the hotel - Janice and Nicola, from Snaith near Goole. Janice isn't a beauty, but is pleasant, and Nicola is simply monstrous. We all went out to the Los Gatos together. Billy did his Ian Dury routine and then collapsed. We put him into a taxi and packed him off to the hotel in one Hell of a state. A party of Swedes mistook him for Marty Feldman.

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Saturday July 14, 1979

_. Up at 8:30 and out before any of the bars had opened. Something of a 'first' for me. I felt ghastly from the booze and cigarettes and could not have stayed in bed a minute longer.

Went to the cheapest bar in San Antonio - Los Gatos. Met up with a crowd of drunken Glaswegians, vomiting in the streets after an excess of Herbas. Saw Ian Wallace, the Coventry City and Scottish international footballer. He was pink and pissed, and on the arm of a revolting tart. Why do footballers always marry at 19, and to some ghastly painted whore? Evidently, Wallace has been to Argentina and made a dreadful mess of everything.

Scotland 0, Ibiza 36.

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Friday July 13, 1979

_. Friday the Thirteenth. I think Ally is going home to Itchen Abbas for the weekend.

To my favourite beach - Cala Conta. On sunbeds eating coconut and cherries and trying not to stare too hard at the naked bodies.

We met some girls from Nottingham, and tonight Dave and I took two - Anne and Lorraine - out on the town. Went to the OK Coral and the Project Bar and Es Paradis.

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Thursday July 12, 1979

_. The beach party. We went to Cala Moli, and not the usual Tarida. These parties are obviously doomed. Made friends with a party of Swedes who gave me a lump of tobacco to insert under my top lip. ___ Messy.

Cala Moli is a nauseating little beach. Covered in rocks and gravel and most unsuitable for sunbathing or swimming. Rick organised juvenile games such as passing the peseta, and finding the cucumber. I steered well clear.

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Wednesday July 11, 1979

_. Stayed at the Galfi pool. The flies are troublesome and drive me stupid. Ate over the road at Es Muli (?) - onion soup, and cannelloni, &c. This half-board is splendid. Eating when one wants to eat and not at the sound of a hotel gong.

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Tuesday July 10, 1979

_. Travellers cheques are such a good idea. Why haven't I used them before?

To Cala Bassa. Beautiful girls and hundreds of coloured umbrellas. You have to see the ocean here to fully appreciate the beauty of it. Only Lord Byron, and perhaps Pam Ayres, could describe it adequately.

Back at the Galfi we ate at a local bar. I did not enjoy my runny omelette. It resembled the 1966 Abervan disaster, only it was yellow. All sludgy and sloppy. Purchased a couple of bottles of cheap wine (70 pstas each) and it must have gone straight to Garry's head for when the battery of his camera failed he made his way to his balcony and lobbed it into the field where the goats gathered. "It let me down" --- Oh I did laugh.

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Monday July 9, 1979

_. Woke up, which wasn't easy. To Cala Tarida on the ferry. Billy enjoyed the trip. Buildings are going up everywhere on the hills around Tarida where only pine trees and shrubs could be seen three years ago. Beautiful though. The topless ladies are as numerous as the new buildings.

To the OK Coral for pizza tonight and the endless round of bars. El Capone is now a ghastly bar. The Project Bar (formerly the Pavement Bar) is now our favourite boozer. Prices are no different to last year.

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Sunday July 8, 1979

_.Went to the airport, just a few miles away, who took £8 each from the four of us. I snoozed all the way. We were due to fly at 8:15 but the flight was delayed until 10:30.

To the Hotel Galfi in San Antonio where the manager looks like someone from a 1950s epic about the Spanish Armada. You know the type. Philip II's devious ambassador to the court of Queen Elizabeth I. His wife, hereafter called Madam Commandant, is German and resembles something like Eva Braun with a hint of Cruela de Vil.

To the beach, baring our white, purulent flesh. Rick spots us almost immediately and makes out that all is well, when it is obvious that he is on a downward, slippery slope. We can, he says, go on one of his confounded beach parties at a reduced price of 500 pesetas.

To Tony's Bar for chicken. Out in the "west end" tonight. How wonderful it is. Drank Pernod. Spewed up back at the Galfi.

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Saturday July 7, 1979

_. To the YP from 8:30 to 1:30. Ally drove me to Leeds with my luggage and a hangover. It was so very good of her. I wish she could have climbed into my suitcase and come along too.

Took a train to Stockport and got there at about 4pm. Dave G was in holiday mood and raring to go. I can never see us going anywhere but to San Antonio. And to think I laugh at people who holiday in Blackpool year after year.

Went at 5pm to collect Garry with his permed hair and shy aspect. Joined by Billy, Neil and Steve. We went to Didsbury (Steak Kebabs?) and for one of the nicest dinners of my dining-out life. My T-bone was succulent. Back to the Hollywood until about 4am. The lads played pool whilst I sat smoking with Jim and Lily. Billy is going to be absolutely fatal.

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Friday July 6, 1979

_.Out tonight to the Hare and Hounds with Mum, Dad, Sue, Pete, Ally, Lynn and Dave. When was the last time we had such a meeting in a public house? Probably Lynn's birthday at the Coniston back in March.

Judith R was floating around with a new hairstyle and acting like Marie Antoinette & refusing to acknowledge my frantic gyrations and yells. Obviously, her new found position (as the pub landlady) renders it impossible for her to converse with her former acquaintances. Tim must be the jealous type. Mum told him to have a juke-box installed and he bleated some excuse. Judith seems to like the Mike Sammes Singers going round on a musical loop.

Lynn looked pale and showed some strain. Back home I went to bed leaving Lynn and Mama having a weep together.

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Thursday July 5, 1979

_. Quiet day at the YP and at home. I packed a few things into my suitcase in readiness (for the holiday), but feel a definite lack of enthusiasm. I put it down to the fact that nobody else is going from this end. I bet the excitement in Stockport is gripping them all. I suppose the thrill of the Ibiza '79 expedition will sink in on Saturday afternoon when we all get together.

I won't be meeting Miss Catherine Rhodes until after my holiday when she'll be a month old. I met JPH on the very day that he made his entrance into the world, and shall never forget that bundle of tranquillity. There is something magical about new born babies. No doubt some people have other ideas.

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