Ibiza’s opening parties and a DC10 tattoo

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Ibiza’s opening parties and a DC10 tattoo

A weekend of uninhibited clubbing bliss begins. Ibiza’s opening parties have landed and Talulla, Dwayne and myself are off to the White Isle for three days of revelry in the sun.

It’s an annual pilgrimage and normally we go to the closing parties, but this year we thought we’d do both.

Flying through the cotton wool clouds somewhere above Barcelona, the excitement of returning to the island pushes me into a place I thought I’d never go.

“I’m thinking of getting a tattoo,” I blurt out to Talulla, the unexpected declaration comes from the same feeling that is making my knees feel a little weak.

Talulla sits for a moment in silence sipping on her Bloody Mary.

Then she sneers: “You better be joking, tattoos are sooooo tacky, what are you going to get?”

“Maybe I’ll get a DC10 tattoo,” I say with a smile.

There’s a special place in my heart for the Ibiza club.

“What? That’s so vulgar. Everyone has got one.”

“No they haven’t. I bet you 100 quid that you’ve never in your entire life seen a DC10 tattoo,” I say, a little offended by her attack on my tattoo plans.

“I have, loads of people have them,” she continues.

“Rubbish I bet we won’t even see a DC10 tattoo this trip,” I respond.

“Well even if we don’t see one, I won’t be hanging around with you ever again if you get one,” she says viciously.

I reply, “Fine, then perhaps I should just go and sit somewhere else if you think I’m so vulgar,” before standing up and walking down the gangway towards the back of the aircraft.

I find a spare row and plonk myself down next to the window in a huff.

Talulla can be such a bitch sometimes, but the truth is, I value her input and feedback more than any other person because she always speaks her mind.

Talulla doesn’t fanny fart, she shoots straight.

And on this occasion the bullet has gone straight between my eyes.

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