Yesterday found your hero languishing in a VIP area on an impossibly cool beach at an improbably beautiful beach club at a secluded beach club called Cinar Beach Club. Ive been to Ibiza once and spent most of the time smashed out of my head on god knows what trapped in a house with pool surrounded by people 15 years younger than me with questionable ethics. God I was hideously paranoid for a full day before I flew home on an awful Ryan air flight back to Manchester (I think), people still boshing pills on the plane, dancing and abusing the air hostesses. That was a real low point if i’m honest, and Christ it took me weeks to recover and come back down, that is not what this wannabe part time writer wishes to experience any more or ever again. And so when we arrived in this beautifully balearic Beach Bar, tunes drifting out over bay and full of not just the beautiful people but the normals, of which I count my self as being, it seemed like a dream.

I think the last time we visited Cinar Beach, there was a small beach shack selling chicken Sheesh and Efes by the bottle, which you could consume sitting on a low wooden pier jutting out into the millennia old azure sea, washing in, washing out, the waves delicately lapping the wooden supports slowly softening the structure until at last it vanished, the only evidence of its existence a photograph in a friends phone. Prior to the Beach Club there was a small freshwater pond with a pebbly bottom which grew out from a waterfall and provided shade for a small family group of freshwater terrapins. Sadly the terrapins have disappeared unless you visit in the early morning, balearic beats and slightly chubby Fathers wading through their habitat probably put an end to their day time activities, its a shame.

So today I woke up refreshed and slightly more relaxed yet bloated by steak and beer, my feet blistered, my body aching, my sunburnt back healing but tingling still and plan to float around my pool for the morning like a bloated walrus rather than a svelte mermaid (merman in my case) which I’m sure in the dim and distant past I would have resembled, in my mind anyway, remembering the dancing at insane Goan raves in the late 80’s and early 90’s. Halcyon days. Right, enough musing over the vague novel i’m trying to piece together, my beautiful daughter is receiving her a level results this morning and i’m going up to see if she’s going to have to get a job in Turkey or get ready for Manchester Uni.