Ibiza: when the cracks begin to show

Like with most things in this modern age, there’s quite a gap between marketing and reality.

Ibiza is always advertised as the crazy party island where young people rave on the beach, get laid and enjoy the sun.

Yet, this photo for example…

A smiling beggar with a Defected Records fan and a million-dollar yacht…. We are the world, we are the children – as MJ once sang.

… is quite different from the pictures you see on Instagram.

If you look in the background, you’ll notice a yacht with sleek blue neon lighting on its sides. That yacht belongs to a Russian oligarch and cost him $300 million. Peanuts.

No time to dwell for bleach blonde girl though. An oblivious stroll through the whole scene with eager eyes set on the multiple bars ahead. I’m not blaming her. That is what we all came for.

Moments before that, an athletic bar tender had brought the drinks ordered by my friends and I to the table. She has the most amazing ass but her front two teeth noticeably protrude out of her mouth. Like a sexy rat. She was cool and told me she might visit and stay with me in my bed in London…if I pay her to. Anything for that butt, babe.

Top knotch out-call escort services from the Med right? Ibiza rocks.

But back to our dear old Defected lady:

“You’re asking me if I have a bit of cash for you?” I said, as I held my iphone up to take her picture. “A bigger smile and I say Yes.”

Get the girl and the job in Lisbon

A moody Lisbon on Jan 1st: balmy air to soothe the hungover

Spending New Years in Lisbon was tempting. To flee the icy Northern temperatures with a good friend and to head out without a winter jacket on December 31st. It was also a great opportunity for me to take a break from the endless job hunt, the tedious process of writing cover letters and the applications to graduate schemes.

Fast forward three nights and we had spent the past 72 hours either drinking, eating or sleeping. (Actually, we walked around town a lot too.) But guess what? We’re doing it again!

We end up in a techno club at 4 a.m, quite intoxicated. I spot a girl by the wall, I go to say hi. Kissing ensues and intimacy grows.

‘Wanna chill at my hotel?’ I ask.

‘Yes’ she answers ‘but there’s something you should know: …. I’m a transsexual.’

And boom, that’s one I hadn’t checked off my bucket list (partly because it was never on it in the first place.)

I step back and feel the shock run through my body. But I repress that and act polite.

‘Ummm really!?’

Honestly – really? Well actually, her hands had felt quite big come to think of it.

‘Yes, I take hormones. I will have an operation soon.’

Oh, I see, the operation to remove the willy, right, of course.. *scratching chin* So I’ve spent a quarter of an hour snogging a girl who has a willy. Excelente!

‘Umm, this is very new to me… It was great to meet you, you are a really nice person. However, I’ll be heading off now.’

In the cab back to the hotel, it dawned on me: “Oh my, I accidentally landed on the lady-boy graduate scheme.”