11.30pm What a day! Finally in, fed and ready for bed.
Of course I brought our bedding and covers.
When you are staying somewhere for several months home comforts count.
The flight wasn’t so bad, standard BA Gatwick to Talamanca, Ibiza.
Although travelling anywhere these days is not what it was in my youth (less expensive, but certainly more invasive).
It’s always a shock to see how huge the UK airports have become. I remember Gatwick with only one runway.
Took sandwiches from Pret a Manger onto the airplane, as I object to BA not taking cash – which I tell them, every time!
Not too many people on board, some families but mainly summer workers looking bright and chipper (just wait three months!) but the season has not really started.
IMF, oops IMS, is at the end of the month and that’s when the big clubs kick off.
The moment we stepped outside the terminal building I had a hot flush, told M.M., who calmly said “No you’re not, take the padded jacket off, it’s 25 degrees in the shade”. He was right!
Picked up by our dear friend C.C. (full name Cerubin Cupcake Schwartzkopf-Xi). Born on the island to a German accountant and a Chinese artist. C.C. is a fantastic sculptor whose work (which is very neat and small) has an international following. She has lived here all her life and is the perfect example of a foreigner who has become a ‘new’ local. Children of those who landed or got stranded here in the early 70’s.
These kids, Hippicencos have exotic looks and just as exotic names. One of the parents I spoke to about this blamed ‘the acid’. Most are multi-lingual and just as at home in rural Thailand as they are in the Europe (not so sure how they’d fair on a wet winters afternoon in Scunthorpe though). Rootless anywhere specific, they are modern nomads, navigating their way around the Globe chasing fun, sun and occasionally, work.
Within minutes of landing, out and in the car (I brought the big suitcases last week on an overnighter to collect keys and make sure all was ready – last year the pool had sprung a leak and was nearly empty upon our arrival – it took them 6 weeks to sort it!).
We decided to come a few weeks early to get settled. It’s our third season and we’ve returned to a rural finca between San Miguel and San Carlos, away from the maddening crowds and club culture.
The house comes with a pool, a studio, a car and five cats!
Rural and tranquil, our only neighbours are a herd of sheep and Brian Eno.
This summer I have decided to tackle a big project in earnest.
Have come prepared with papers, pads and computer to finally finish the second draft of my book ‘The One Who Got Away Again’.
No words for the last 3 months. I have been suffering from writers block. The Island is my saviour and inspiration (I hope).
Every time we are here, M.M is always involved in one project or another – compilations, shows and production are all offered at the alter of his musical talent. Guess it goes with the territory literally and figuratively. Normally I am logistics and catering to his music and creativity. However, having read a book about Goddesses and tapping into their energy, I have decided to give it a go. Starting tomorrow morning I will channel Tanit*, naked in the field with offerings of seeds and song (let’s hope she doesn’t mind a tone deaf rendition of ‘Morning has Broken’ and that I don’t scare the living daylights out of the old shepherd with my nudity).
3am M.M still awake ‘whats-apping’ and fiddling with a synthesiser, whilst being a chair to one of the cats. The long haired Maine Coon wearing a Zorro mask, with huge blue eyes and a regal manner, has finally deigned to greet us – only after lots of food and many evil looks (her not us). We spoil them rotten when we are here and willingly go into slave mode, trying to outdo each other as to who opens the door fast enough for tiny Tiggi or hand feeding the Princess.
I am sleepy.
02 May 2018
So lovely and warm.
Missed the sunrise. Was in such a deep sleep that by the time I woke up it was already noon and I felt all groggy for the rest of the day! Did an improvised shorter indoor version (too hot outside) of a Tanit call to creativity. Half an hour staring at the computer. Just as I started to write M.M awoke and I stopped (thankfully). Managed 500 words over the rest of the day, short note type sentences about the content of the chapter.
Used the chi machine (I love my Chi Machine*) and did the five Tibetans*, too hot for anything else. Swam, more to escape the heat than do lengths.
Made dates with a few friends to go to a Baroque Ballet, have lunch in Santa Eulalia and visit a ‘club’ over the next few days/weeks.
These arrangements, as is the way here, contain a ‘base level of vagueness’. A magnificent term that is totally Ibiza. It was coined by my friend, Levi, when someone turned up two hours late to a lunch as if that were normal. In fact my punctual self goes into “Ibiza Time’.
No matter how hard I try I am never on time when I am here – mind you neither is anyone else!
On that note – fixed diary dates with M.M.
He has a weekly residency at a sunset place, a compilation and one of his own albums to finish. There will be several, yet to be confirmed, persons varying from journalists to fellow musicians needing feeding and ferrying around whilst visiting.
OMG, he is already ordering a new synth and we have only just arrived!
Popped out to La Choza fruit and veg market, bought tons of fresh produce. They grow a lot of it themselves down the road.
Made huge bowls of couscous and sautéed veg with leafy green salad.
M.M has proposed hiring the chef from the Paleo restaurant down the road to do a raw food cookery demonstration for me and some of my friends for my birthday. Great idea. I show my appreciation by not making him take me out tomorrow night!
I am muse to a musician.
03 May 2018
Wow, the dawn is phenomenal.
Pinks swirling clouds litter the sky, interspersed with candy floss white and that Deep Ibiza Blue (there’s my attempt at creative writing for the day 🙂
It’s early and I am in the garden with cats rubbing around my ankles.
Tiny red breasted birds are hovering around the huge palms.
After a winter in the UK it’s wonderful to be surrounded by the sounds of the campo with not a human in sight. The occasional plane leaves a trail (chem-trail – according to the flyers at the hippy market) across the sky, but otherwise there’s nothing to disturb the magnificent sun rise. Breathed it all in for a while, fed the cats and decided to visit Kew (an old hippy friend of ours, who has been living here since the seventies) before M.M gets up, which is usually between 1 and 3pm.
Kew is always delightful. Tall, well dressed & silver haired, a true gentleman of the old school. He is a charming host, witty speaker and always smoking mothers natures finest.
His little house is set in it’s own grounds and he has been here since what seems the dawn of (Ibiza party) time. If you visit him someone interesting always pops by. Today there are identical and identically dressed twins in lederhosen and braces complete with hats sporting feathers, age 60, from Bavaria. Once tea and cakes have been served more people arrive. This time a young female carpenter from Berlin and two women around my age accompanied by their offspring (whose ages range from 18 to 32!).
Beer and sparkling wine appeared on the table and much laughter ensues as a multi-cultural discussion on topics varying from Trump’s hair to the best way to prepare cactus jam takes place in many forms of English/Spanish/German/French. Time passes unnoticed.
There is a call for me on Kew’s phone (as usual I have not been able to hear mine ringing). It is M.M asking if I could bring some more ginger on my way back. Which of course do immediately – it is 6pm by that time.
No words written today but I feel totally inspired by the vibe of being around all those creative people. Actors and artists – none whose name I recognise. This gives me an idea for a book of short stories, of those people, how they ended up here and what they are doing now. I float the idea past M.M who kindly points out that I have not finished THE book therefore would it be wise to be distracted by another, even if it would be a collection of short stories. I frantically research short stories, number of words required for a book, a novella, a paper, a blog, a piece of flash fiction and a poem.
Then under a clear moonlit sky, whilst M.M is working on a track for his album in the studio, I write a poem. I actually write a poem.
OMG I have written a poem. It is not 1,000 words for my book, but it is a genuine stand alone piece of poetry (that I think is quite good).
It is called ‘Far side of the Pool’.
I am a poet (self proclaimed)
04 May 2018
Wake around 8am, straight on the chi machine (lying down), whilst meditating to a track by M.M with subliminal thingies for better something or other. Follow that with a few sun salutations by the pool, damn cats make me fall over several times, much swearing and a grazed knee – not very Zen! I call the exercises my ‘ablutions’.
Bake oat cake, burn my hand, drink too much coffee, burn my tongue, whilst e-mailing THE poem to all my friends, then waiting for them to answer immediately for a while. Wonder why no one loves or cares about me when I have no reply from anyone an hour later (9am, 8am UK time). Go for a walk before it gets too hot and to stop myself looking at the computer.
Ah, my Dad has got the poem – he has kindly sent spelling corrections but no comment on the thing itself. Hmmmm !
Hope M.M wakes up soon then he can tell me what he thinks of my poem. Ironically, write 1,200 words of next chapter on book while waiting for him to wake up and bake potatoes / make 3 bean chilli to go in them!
Unexpected guests need to pop over to discuss something very important musically, they require feeding (chilli anyone?).
M.M no time for my tiny, weeny, enormous poem.
He is very apologetic and insists he will read it before bed.
I try to stay up, write more but end up listening to an audio book (Shogun, by James Clavell one of my all time favourites) and fall asleep outside on a lounger.
E-mails, a couple of my friends said they enjoyed my poem (I hope they are not just saying that to be nice?).
I am covered in mosquito bites.
05 May 2018
I look like I have the mumps and the bites are itchy. They are everywhere. How did they down there?!!
No exercise or meditating, I am in too much of a bad mood and it is stinky hot even at 10am. Joined the Poetry Society to cheer myself up and because I have, after all, written a poem!
Several persons (who shall remain unnamed – you know who you are) laughed to and at my face when they dropped in, which is not funny actually. I did not offer them any refreshment or nibbles.
There are people who pop in for a bite under the pretext of needing something from M.M, that’s why there is always something yummy almost ready. I like feeding people great quality healthy food and indulge in this positive habit whenever I can.
Many moons ago I even had a healthy take-away in Berlin, but I was way before the current healthy eating zeigeist, meaning (for once, albeit briefly) I was a trendsetter.
M.M. finally read my poem and he genuinely loves it and has encouraged me to write more (then sent me to the other room as he continues to compose another hit!).
Swimming in the high praise I prepared the most delicious Red Thai Curry from scratch, beat the carrot cake batter rather too enthusiastically. ‘Doorstop’ was the only comment M.M. managed to utter just before his teeth practically glued themselves together. Nearly broke the electric toothbrush.
A beautiful night spent with M.M. under the stars.
I am a woman, in her prime.
06 May 2018
Another morning in paradise. Teeth feel normal again.
I wake full of joy at life and love and poetry and oh, everything.
Ugh, there’s sick just outside the patio door. I just stood in it.
Hopping to the outside tap I washed it off before doing the 5 Tibetans by the pool. It was that Brian Eno I am sure of it. I heard him in the field earlier, honking.
Overheard part of a conversation M.M is having (can only hear his end) “Ok, so what am I getting? The trots or the trots and movement?”. Oh dear, I hope neither one and certainly not both.
I deliberately point towards the toilet, just in case, with raised eyebrows. I am ignored. So I go food shopping.
The smallest Ma and Pa Supermercados here have more organic and biodynamic and non gluten and this replacement for that and nut milks than I have ever seen outside a Holland and Barrett. For me it is like being a kid in a candy shop. Of course I overindulge in chocolate buttons on the drive home. I arrive with a brown moustache, but no guilt ‘cos those buttons are a superfood. Right?!
It’s the weekend so there will be an email from My Dad to tell me what goodies he got in the car boot. He has this amazing ability to spot unusual items of value, buys them and flogs ‘em on Ebay.
There is a whole ritual and strategy involved from which way round to walk along the stands to meeting fellow ‘buyers’, comparing purchases and drinking coffee. It would make a brilliant TV series.
Email from Pa arrives. Oh no, rained out – how British.
7pm collected by C.C. to go to the Baroque Ballet in Santa Eulalia.
We decided to buy tickets at the door.
8.10pm in queue, no-one seems bothered about the late start.
The building where it is is really odd, a modern construction by the beach that has the energy of a limp biscuit. I have been here a couple of times and have always got sick building syndrome (it’s construction and vibe bring me down, man). Many ballet schools and local clubs here, not many Northern Europeans.
Strange content, more swaying around than ballet but nice try, bit of poetry woven in (did not understand a word). The piece did not seem to have a beginning middle or end (did not realise it had ended until others started leaving). We left happy to have got out and supported local art but strangely unfulfilled as if we had missed something.
Home by 10.45pm.
I am so grateful a don’t have to wear a tutu to work (or go to work for that matter).
07 May 2018
Clouds before breakfast, whatever next. Nice amble into the day.
Chi machine, balls* and 5 Tibetans, cats fed and oat cake made.
Off to play chauffeur. We have this thing with a few friends where we give one another lifts to and from the airport. Always making sure the transfer includes a nice brunch, lunch or dinner. Thus making a 20 minute journey into at least three hours, excluding driving time.
Park the car and go in and join the eclectic assortment of people and dogs at the arrivals terminal. This is always fun during the summer. The things you hear! The sights to be seen (and that is just the Newcastle flight arriving!). Realize I forgot to lock the car, run back out – the radio is on and key in the ignition.
Rectify my lax behaviour and am back in time to greet Fluff n Puff as they come out with their luggage in tow. We drive to the oddly named Botafoch for a huge Passion breakfast.
I listen with glee to their tales from far flung lands and distant seas.
Then I read them my poem. They love it. I know not why, but these two wonderful people have for some reason known only unto themselves, taken my creative endeavours to heart.
They are always willing, keen even, to read what I have written.
Their advice and constructive critique is as valuable to me as their enthusiasm.
Example: chapter one of THE book, passage one, man flings himself over cliff to his death – I wrote “2 feet to his death”.
Puff kindly pointed out you would barely scrape your knees and perhaps many more feet were needed for death to occur! Sound advice.
We arrange to go dancing one night and I drop them off in the north and drive home to jump in the pool. Spent the evening drawing a storyline for my book (hey it counts as writing, sort of) while M.M did some music stuff with a man over Skype.
I am loving and loved.
08 May 2018
5am cat fight, I jump out of bed and run out of the house, naked, M.M has not stirred. Go in completely the wrong direction because I am deaf in the left ear and cannot identify where sounds originate (see the earlier overheard M.M. Skype call about Trots and Movement, he probably said something completely different).
By the time I find them it is all over. In fact it is as if nothing has ever happened. It is only later in the day that I find the small bird in bits near the tree where the fight had been.
There is a funeral parlour in Ibiza Town called Pompous Funerals. I bury the tiny thing with dignity. See a hazy figure in the distance.
Hey, Brian Eno I am watching you.
Lie on the chi machine and fall back asleep. Resulting in a crick in the neck and no blood in my feet (the footrest is higher than the rest of the body). Throw myself into the pool to untangle and readjust my limbs. Better. Think about how lucky I am and how grateful to be able to have this summer on this amazing isle.
We have been invited to test the healthy option menu at a new restaurant on one of the well known beaches this afternoon.
Yummy, a chance to dress up (maxi dress, floral print) and have someone cook and wash up for me. We have a lovely tasting menu with all sorts of odd takes on standard healthy dishes.
I really wish they would ban couscous from healthy menus, I do not wish to eat something in a restaurant that I make easily and cheaply at home, use some imagination please – unless you’re Moroccan in which case… go for it. We overeat but it is all easily digestible so there is no sag in energy like you get after a heavy pasta dish.
Afterwards we go for a long walk down the beach. M.M does his thing (sweeping me off my feet). Upon seeing me looking out to sea, hair swept back by the wind he says “You look like a film star”.
I am smitten and girly for the rest of the day and quite a bit of the evening.
No-one gets any more work done.
I am beautiful in my lovers eyes.
09 May 2018
Right this is it. I have had a weeks fun and now it is down to the graft.
I am going to do 2,000 words or a minimum of two hours in the morning, regardless of what they are.
Did 2,000 words about how difficult it is to get into the flow. Took over an hour. Deleted it. Wrote nice passage about main character and his lady love, Hannah from Hove, in 20 minutes, refuse to check the word count, I don’t care!
Chi Machine and 5 Tibetans, cat massages, oat cake and dinner prep for six – my version of tapas, oodles of it.
M.M has to go meet the people in Ibiza today, so the house is all mine until 8pm. Decide to put on the Big Chill Soundtrack (I have simple tastes – one of the reasons M.M loves me so much is ‘cos I am not into music). Dance and sing at the top of my voice because no-one is watching.
The dinner party arrive in 3 cars, spill out stuck to their Smart phones and talk shop the whole time. They are are blown away by my culinary skills (no modesty required). Afterwards they all head out to a party. M.M does not join them. His comment on the ‘industry’ evening is “How utterly boring”.
Our official party years are over, we are no longer lured by the beat and prefer to snuggle at home. I do dip my toe into the water every now and then.
Leave all the washing up for tomorrow and have a glass of wine by the pool with M.M before bed.
I am a cook and hostess.
10 May 2018
Lovely sunrise again, but that is as it should be. I am on Ibiza after all. Great enthusiastic and energy laden start to the day.
It began with the washing up!
Chi machine, meditate, balls, yoga-lates and swimming (moderate amounts of each before 10am).
Really in the flow with words today. A magnificent 3 thousand before M.M awakes and some of them even worth keeping.
Still feel inclined to keep the D.J Dildo character even though the M.A (Manuscript Assessment) lady said get rid of him. To which I replied “Bugger off the Dildo stays in”. Yes, my wording could have been more wisely chosen, especially as the conversation was taking place on a bus in Sussex – me speaking into a phone. One pensioner looked disapproving but I swear her blue rinsed friend grinned at me.
M.M hates DJ Dildo too, but I think he is just a weeny bit jealous as he is well aware that many of my characters are based on my past.
Girls seem to like him (DJ D character) but men just don’t get that he is so much more than the original ‘dick’ for the popular sex toys.
During a break, walking round the pool I come up with the idea of a poem called Brian Eno. Make notes, including not getting sued!
Popped out and got Buddha Bowls and Tacos from Wild Beets (our favourite) so no prepping or cleaning required.
M.M and I are like ships passing in the corridor all day.
We share tea breaks and meals but are totally in our own creative zone. This is comfortable and enjoyable for us both. We should do it more often.
Friend from Poland who lives in Berlin calls, would like to stay for a week in August. Offer her and her brother the garden to set a tent up. Deliberately forget to tell M.M.
In order to ‘switch off’ I listen to an audiobook, The No 1 Ladies Detective Agency by Alistair McCall-Smith.
I am a creative person.
11 May 2018
M.M comes to bed as I arise. Must have been a productive night.
Housework and general tasks take up most of the morning.
Decide to have a day off creativity, after all yesterday was super good!
Call Klara Kopf and invite her for coffee and croissant in Santa Gertrudis to catch up. The little village in the centre of the island is an absolute treasure. There are quaint knick knack and clothing stores, supermercados and plenty of restaurants open all day (no 2-5 siesta) year round.
I’d say it is the most cosmopolitan village on the island.
We often come here to meet people or buy little bits and pieces (me!). M.M has dubbed the area the ’hedge fund managers graveyard’.
Klara is one of the nicest young ladies I have met in recent times. It may be an old fashioned expression but it fits. In her 30’s, trilingual, running a business, commuting from Germany to Ibiza. Head screwed on but hopeless at love. She tells me what she has been up to and I read her my poem! She shows me a pretty B&W flyer about a Literary Society that has sprung up and invites me to go to the launch at La Galeria Elefante at the end of the month with her.
I decide Tanit is on my side, my creativity has been up, I feel great and there is a community of fellow ‘writers’ for me to play with.
Oh happy day.
Snippet of conversation overheard on the way out,
“That G5 technology, it will calcify the pineal gland you know.”
Late afternoon, huge row with M.M about ‘family matters’.
We bounce away from one another all pm and eve.
My spaghetti ‘gnese was tinged with resentment, his was laced with it!
After many calls to the UK, M.M and I finally cannot help ourselves from laughing at the absurdity of the ‘feuding’ family situation.
Theirs are not our problems to solve. We decide to show a unified front, keeping our opinions and advice to ourselves, as they never listen anyway. All family members are discouraged from visiting. Banned in fact. We prat around saying ’No’ firmly with various different hand gestures.
I am a bastard, like my dad.
12 May 2018
Wonderful morning. Hot.
Chi, med, balls, tramp and yoga-lates (ablutions) before 9am.
Bake oat cake. Bung a vegetable stew in the slow cooker.
Cats flopping and rolling around like kittens (they do not often show affection so I lap it up while I can).
11am a lovely lady who gives amazing facials that include meditation and relaxation arrives. I found her a couple of years ago and try to see her a few times when we are here, my ‘treat’ to my body.
I duly lay down for an hour and a half al fresco. My face is squiggled and pushed and pulled. I am connected to Universal Energy and am absorbing it’s healing properties…which is nice.
What a life, after seeing the facialist off and chilling with a fruit juice (freshly pressed) I manage to finish Chapter Five.
M.M and I head off to a meeting re noise levels at the beach restaurant, where he’ll be DJ’ing. Noise pollution is a big thing on the island this year. They are seriously cracking down and closing places at a rapid pace. In a very Ibiza style operation, we submit our views, suggest solutions and are completely ignored. We were there for show – no-one ever had any intention of listening to us. Whole thing takes way too long, which irks me. I try to hide it, not very successfully.
M.M gives me a ‘look’ and not the sexy one.
I take a wee walk and have a smoke with a nice girl I meet sitting near the water. She is due to start work in a few minutes.
Given the strength of the joint she has just kindly shared with me I wonder how she will manage – mind you I have no idea what sort of work she is doing. I start imagining her as a yoga teacher, a waitress, a washer-up, a nanny, a comedian or a croupier. M.M shouts “Come on, we’re leaving”. I make him drive as I am not fit to do so, giggle at nothing all the way home.
Go to bed and fall asleep immediately. It is 9pm.
I am stoned.
13 May 2018
Another shit day in paradise, I think this is a quote but can’t remember from where.
More sun, more housework and ablutions (chi, meditate, balls, trampoline, yoga-lates).
The water here is so chalky, washing machines have to be replaced every 2-3 years and I am always having to replace the tap washers.
They get so clogged so quickly that no water comes through. We are lucky to have a posh osmosis machine that provides our drinking water.
Half the chocolate buttons have disappeared, wonder who ate them?
Lovely e-mail from My Dad sent this eve (at lunchtime he sent pictures of the two items he bought at the car boot this am). It says they have already sold and
‘The instrument (an Abbe Refractometer) went to New Mexico – made by Hilger & Watts who I worked for in the 60’s. I may well have assembled and calibrated it! The nice brass buckle went to Australia.’
La Paloma for dinner with Fluff and Puff.
This place is an institution for foreigners, a must for celeb spotting and falafel salad.
Cute and pretty terrace covered in mismatching furniture with attentive friendly staff. I love it here because of the mix of people,
First time I came there was table of very beautiful witchy women in their 60’s, garbed in boho chic discreetly rolling joints in between courses. For some reason this really impressed me.
Conversation at the table of 12 next to us halts completely as the latest arrival shouts out “So what do you think is gonna happen with Brexit then?”. It is as if all the diners take in a shocked breath en masse before releasing it in an outraged ’tut’. The woman who had said it, blushed and was not heard speaking again. How dare she shatter the Ibiza Zeitgeist, which is eternal and joyful. Like Camelot.
We all look suitably disapproving before continuing with our meals.
I am so full.
14 May 2018
Cats wake me, I greet the day only slightly dehydrated (wine at dinner, hierbas* after).
Make a ginger and cayenne tea – zing through ablutions.
To Santa Eulalia to find replacement washers/tap tip sieves.
Practice my Spanish on the hardware shop assistant, we had a nice chat and I was able to purchase the required tap tips.
It is always interesting to walk around ‘town’ six months on.
Funny how, every year the renovations and upgrades never seem complete in time. I have seen restaurants open in the last month of the season having ‘worked on’ the place through the busiest time.
Shops and eateries come and go. With bad locations it is obvious they are not going to last but for those that do get a good space the rent may be too high to sustain them through the first few years to become established.
On the other hand some go on to flourish, like the Passion Empire or Los Otros* or Meke* to name but a few. The ones I mentioned are all run by people who have moved to the island and managed to navigate the ‘system’. In my experience, many average Spanish from the mainland find it too expensive to live and work here. There is always a problem with accommodation for staff in the summer.
The value of the Ibiza ‘brand’ has meant people with spare cash buying up flats and houses for renting out. Workers cannot afford the rent and the properties stand empty out of season, not to mention the loss of revenue for the hotels and thus their staff are affected.
Don’t get me started, ggggrrrrrr.
Run into Klara and her mum in the post office (I send my Dad the most ghastly postcards I can find, regularly), we go for a coffee on the sea front. Stop at Can Guasch on the way home to stock up on fruit and veg.
M.M is busy in the studio.
He has sent me an e-mail (?) to let me know;
I am to collect a D.J/Musician/Producer at noon tomorrow, bring him back here and hand him into the studio. Lunch is to be served at 2pm prompt. At 6.15pm I am to take the DJ (etc) to his hotel so he can get ready to play at Pacha. Well that is tomorrow sorted then.
Make spinach quiche (not one of M.M’s favourites – I love quiche and salad, reminds me of a pub lunch in London).
M.M so in ‘the zone’ don’t think he actually notices what he has eaten for dinner.
Lose him to the ’studio’ for the rest of the night.
Listen to an audiobook (classic Sherlock, always relaxes me) in the moonlight.
I am learning Spanish (the interacting with shopkeeper method, it is very practical).
15 May 2018
Up before dawn, writing, writing, writing.
Surface around 9am for ablutions and cake (baking).
Back to the keyboard.
Shit, forgot about the transfer.
Mad dash to the airport. Bloody plane is an hour late.
Grab a coffee and croissant at Costa and I hang about people watching. There are the usual “Oh darling, what have you been up to” with air kisses from traveling types with backpacks and tents, to the fresh young things looking to work and party their way through the season (fat chance).
And lets not forget the “Yah, we do live here all the time. It is fabulous, yah I speak Spanish of course”. That very ‘well preserved’ woman in designer jeans and big brand sunglasses was standing right in front of the exit door. When a small, older gentleman asked in polite Spanish “I’d like to get past please”, she stared at him blankly, clearly having not understood a word. I burst out laughing pretending to be looking at something on my phone. Thinking ‘typical Notting Hill Luvvy’, then remonstrate myself for being judgmental. I am probably a bit of a luuvvy myself.
I have met the D.J/Musician/Producer before and so find him easily when he comes out from the airport building. We joke about the instructions I got, already an hour out by then.
Apparently I am not the only one to receive such missives.
To expedite matters we stop at a Deli on the way home and get huge filled baguettes (lunch), lasagne and wine (dinner).
M.M in fine fettle (got a lot done already or had a great royalty statement or a great review?). The two of them disappear to play ‘master and servant’.
I go back to the computer, a few hours later I warm the lasagne and open the wine. Take the stuff to the studio, I am not invited in.
Leave the tray outside the door like some tweeny in a Holmes story!
Look at the news. Wish we would all stop selling weapons. I just don’t get it. End up watching You Tube as research for THE book.
The black and white movie of a German Luftwaffe Pilot ’The one who got away’, can’t find it in English. Watch the WW2 prisoner escape movie, made in the ’50’s dubbed into South American Spanish.
11pm, the boys emerge from the studio looking pleased with themselves. They arranged for someone from the venue to collect the D.J/Musician/Producer. M.M sees him out and returns, by which time I am in bed.
I am easily distracted.
16 May 2018
Greet the hot morning with the cats, hanging out by the pool.
Me doing ablutions and them looking at me as if I have lost my mind
(they have seen me doing this most mornings for two weeks, what is their problem?).
Fart about with Brian Eno. It does not end well.
Writing is blank this morning. Just can’t seem to get any words out.
Give up, eat one of Kew’s cookies for breakfast (they are the best dope cakes ever and should be consumed with caution).
Go for a leisurely walk around the almond tree fields, stop to stare in amazement at everything for minutes (hours).
Feel free and easy. Smile at all the trees and flowers.
Someone stops in the lane and asks if I need help?
Hazy bubble popped as I remember who and where I am.
Turn down the offer of assistance and get back home.
M.M been up for ages and was wondering where I had got to (did not take my phone).
Spend the afternoon reading comments from my Manuscript Assessment.
“You have an engaging style of writing, but……………”
“It is not usual to introduce 25 characters in the first five pages of a book”
“Protagonists must start each chapter in one emotion and be in another by the end”
“You may benefit by researching the structure of ‘a book’ and how to write one”
Think of many diverse ways of telling the Assessment person why they do not understand how utterly splendid the book is as it is.
Imagine the two of us in Sumo wrestling suits battling it out without words.
M.M comes in to eradicate my dour mood by reminding me of how, early in his career he took on library/production music work.
Fellow musicians called him a sell out. The work was business.
This involved having your baby (creative piece) torn asunder by others who ‘knew better’. They were the client and you did what they asked. His experience has made him better at his art. He coped with the way his pieces were torn asunder and has moved on richer on many levels for the experience. We still get royalty payments every quarter.
I rally round, pull up my pants and read a short book on how to write a book (my Dad picked it up at the car boot sale last year).
It is small and easy to digest and I feel much better about my attempts so far. As I am in fact doing much of the stuff they suggest anyway.
Make gazpacho, salad and chips for tea (how refined!).
Watch the entire first series of The Durrells snuggling with M.M and cats in the evening.
I am a cookie fan.
17 May 2018
Wake up early.
Mysterious scratch on my nose, right down the centre. No Idea how it got there.
Ablutions = chi, balls, tramp, med
Cake = oat bread & carrot
Cleaning = loos and floors
Shopping = local
2,000 sloppy words. Subplot one – the romance is going well.
Subplot two about fathers is ok-ish but subplot three about the parachute pilot is really difficult for me.
As I am not a man and I did not fight in the second world war.
Other parts of the book refer to the ’90’s, raves, Berlin, London and other stuff I know.
Tried to call My Dad for help but he is off looking at a bunker somewhere and won’t be back ’till later.
It is sunny, very sunny.
UPS delivery – M.M synth addict has ‘just a little one coming’.
I’ve heard that one before on numerous occasions.
Roland must send their kids to private school on his ‘but I need it for this sound’ purchases.
Juan, the ‘Ueh Phhh Ssse’ driver is Uruguayan.
He does his job with his wife in the cab of the van beside him all day. They are so cute.
When they heard we had lived in Punta (Del Este) they insisted on introducing us to the other Uruguayans on the island.
We have been taken in like long lost children, for whom there is always time for a chat and lots of hugs.
I love this about Ibiza, there are so many international people all co-existing in harmony with (mainly) kindness and love in their hearts. I have met Senegalese (there is some connection from the slave trade and many rich Ibicencos have holiday houses there), locals, ‘foreign’ locals and out of season tourists all happy to stop and share ‘time’.
Overheard conversation snippet:
“Yeah, I like the dubby chubby bit but then you gotta go down”.
Evening, light salad and quinoa with veg, carrot cake for desert.
After dinner walk with M.M.
I am multi-kulti (multicultural).
18 May 2018
Dead bird at the doorstep.
I am gonna have his balls, I swear it.
Make note to get cage when the Vets open.
Ablutions by the pool at 6.24am, because I was awoken by caterwauling – the poor bird.
8am – 11am totally in the zone, progress in leaps and bounds.
Get crick in neck from computer use.
Back to bed with heat pad under shoulders. Hold hands with M.M for ages. Tiggi (tiny young tabby) has broken in through a fly screen and is purring, snuggling between us.
M.M decides to record her purr as a relaxation track.
Releases it immediately onto the web.
He then takes me out to lunch at Utophia on the spur of the moment.
We walked over the hill and arrived just in time to see the chef and produce arriving by row boat.
Lovely leisurely lunch – completely forgot about the vets.
Back around 7pm, still full from lunch.
No cooking and early night for all.
I am a writer (unpublished).
19 May 2018
Here we go again, beautiful sunshine no clouds!
Ablutions by the pool (hard life, so thankful).
8-11am writing with short break every 45 mins. Put aside the parachuter in favour of moving on with other bits.
Apparently I should know my characters better than I know myself, blimey that’ll keep me occupied for the next few centuries!
Poor Dirk is going deaf, D.J. Dildo has to wear support socks to play a set.
Hannah has a stalking ex, Pete Carpenter has a daughter he never knew about.
Savvy Sally is making money off them all.
Oh and they are looking for the man who wrote a message in the very old Fanta bottle, that comes from Nazi Germany.
Bollocks, think I’ll go to the pool and see if I can whip off a poem!
Nice swim, no poem.
M.M off on a music related mission in town (Ibiza).
Has left no instructions so I make beetroot borscht and huge salad.
Today my father bought a steam engine at the car boot sale.
Fell asleep listening to A Rising Man by Abir Mukherjee – fabulously written and wonderfully read, top marks!
I think he entered a short story competition, won and went on to publish a series of books about a policeman in India.
1am wake up, wondering what day it is and where I am.
No sign of M.M. Check phone.
6 messages updating me on his meetings running over and how horrible he is feeling with a dodgy tummy.
I reply that the cats, peppermint tea and ginger are waiting for him here.
Get a smily emoji (I think, my phone is one of those very basic throw away ones – so not Smart. All I can see is a star on the display).
He gets back in the wee hours.
I am hooked on books.
20 May 2018
Awake mid morning, out of sorts.
Dead mouse (tiny little thing) floating in the pool.
All felines pretending it had nothing to do with them.
Fish it out and bury it.
Do not feel like swimming.
Pool cleaning (do I have to put special product in because of the dead mouse, will the water be contaminated?)
Feed cats begrudgingly (murders the lot of ’em).
I swear Cheebo lives on Prana as I have never seen him eat.
Eat a tin of baked beans straight from the can for breakfast (used to do this with my Dad as a kid).
Signs of being British = the ability to eat cold baked beans from a tin and wearing a tea cozy on your head.
Pick up copies of Passion, Ibicasa and the Ibizan (free magazines and newspaper) whilst doing the food shopping.
I was totally flummoxed the first time someone told me that an estate agents magazine was the best place to look for alternative events on the Island. It took me ages to get used to that, they seem so incongruent.
However it does feature interesting articles and adverts for Holistic and Organic shops.
There has been a big push for wellness tourism in the last few years.
It seems to be working.
Gone is the wishy washy self developed ‘I’ve been to India and learned how to be a yogi in a week and have developed my own system’ and the courses offering to open your third eye through something unmentionable have been replaced with accredited festivals and retreats.
Inspired I book a Spa day at Privilege.
Check my e-mails (which I do very infrequently).
One from a friend informs me that Mercury is in someones anus or something.
Apparently anything may and could go wrong during this period.
Use this as an excuse not to write.
There is something wrong with M.M’s stomach.
He is off food and seems listless.
He is working in the studio anyway.
I arrange for a London naturopath (who happens to be here and a friend) to come round and see him tomorrow.
Mull over accidental pregnancy and it’s consequences (for THE book!).
Pumpkin soup n salad for dinner.
I am a daddy’s girl.
21 May 2018
Kept awake by bad stomach (M.M), both only slept fitfully.
No ablutions, caring for cats or writing.
Naturopath, who arrived at 10am, has recommended going to hospital to check out what might be wrong with stomach.
Now in fact.
To Clinica Rosario in Ibiza Town.
They are professional and helpful (and speak English).
We have insurance thankfully.
Apparently Spain has one of the best healthcare systems in Europe and this one is in the top ten hospitals.
Turns out M.M’s gallbladder is in a right state and must be removed immediately.
This will involve a general anesthetic and means bedrest.
I have to leave M.M in the white hospital room.
We rarely spend the night apart.
I return home alone.
Bed and relaxation music.
Cats keep me company.
I am worried about M.M.
22 May 2018
First thing to hospital for the operation.
M.M due to go under at 10am and operated on shortly thereafter.
I stay around, Fluff and Puff stop by.
We go for a coffee on Vara Del Rey.
By the time I get back, so is M.M.
He is totally gone.
I listen to J.K Rowling, the book is about a village in England..
Wait some more.
Mid eve and M.M is pulling round looking lost and confused.
Within an hour he almost back to himself (sans gallbladder).
I have received a huge list of post operation instructions from the Naturopath.
M.M can come home tomorrow, fantastic!!!!!!!!!!!
I am very happy.
23 May 2018
Glorious, glorious day.
Sun Salutations by the pool.
Lots of cat cuddles, whether they want or not!
Quick house clean, then to collect M.M from town.
I go into Nightingale mode.
Irk M.M with my constant ‘bothering’.
Irk cats with my constant bothering.
Irk myself ‘cos this gets me bothered!
Soup with a side of soup.
I am patient (sometimes).
24 May 2018
Still tetchy on the no gall front.
Naturopath comes over for update and chat with M.M.
I pop out for a quick lunch with C.C in Musset, Santa Gertrudis.
She recommends making time for writing whilst M.M rests.
To Santa Eulalia for provisions.
Overheard snippet of conversation,
“I know a place in Santa E that does workers outfits and an erotic shop. Yellow wellies are available everywhere.”
Lots more traffic on the road.
Families strewn all over Santa Eulalia. It is known for this (not it’s erotic shops!).
There are no big clubs here in Ibiza’s third ‘town’.
Yes there are only three big towns. How cool is that.
No writing, no exercise. Soup for dinner.
M.M allowing himself to be mollycoddled, think he must be feeling better.
Lucky as he has to start DJ’ing soon and his album should be off to be mastered next week.
I am tired.
25 May 2018
Ablutions – when meditating I open my eyes to look straight into the face of a sheep.
Chewing away with ears twitching.
We have a staring competition,
I blink first.
See this as a fortuitous sign and write 2,500 words about the Paratrouper for The book.
Bake cake and clean the house.
Early pm. Look at e-mail to find one from Klara K.
She has spoken to the literary society people (friends of hers of course, it is such a village here).
They have invited me to read my poem at their opening TOMORROW.
Call Klara immediately “but they don’t know me or my poem, what if everyone hates it”.
She tells me to grow a pair and use this amazing opportunity.
She convinces me to do it by saying I would be letting Tanit down if I refuse.
Panic. Get M.M to listen to me practice all eve.
Panic over what to wear.
Get M.M to give his opinion on a dozen different outfits.
Panic some more.
Decide on black linen maxi dress by Mango.
Smoke a joint M.M has found from somewhere.
Fall asleep immediately.
I am panicked.
26 May 2018
Fluffy white clouds and the herd of sheep greet me this morning.
Do my ablutions with utter mindfulness of how brilliant today will be.
Remember I am to read my poem at 7.12pm to the Literary Society.
Run around like a headless chicken for a few hours.
M.M gets up. We bake cake together, then go for a short walk.
Have salad lunch.
Further distractions ensue until it is time to get ready for the literary event.
What an interesting and charming group of people they were!
The Galeria Elfante is such a pretty space and was the perfect location for the event.
My reading went well. I enjoyed myself immensely, was chuffed to pieces at the whole thing in fact.
After a local publisher, a puppeteer, a children’s author and a painter had introduced themselves.
I did my thing as if it were totally natural (M.M said so).
The woman organizing it was a character, rather like a mad scientist dashing off here and there.
Upon arrival I asked if there was a program of what would be happening.
She pointed to a chicken roaming about the car park and said “Yes, but she ate it.”
How very Ibiza!
Afterwards she persuaded me to ‘pop-up’ with my poetry at a couple of their planned events.
It is their first season and I am on board!
Bang on about the event until it is time for bed.
I am ecstatic.
27 May 2018
Still on a high from last night.
Ablutions in the already hot sun.
No sheep. Cats hiding in the shade.
Too distracted by poetry to write on THE book, so lounge on the verandah playing with a couple of poem ideas.
Write a couple of rhyming ditties.
Not too impressed with them, go inside and write THE poem for THE book.
It is about the futility of war.
Whip it off. Just like that.
Very pleased with myself.
Bake cake and make bean burgers and salad.
M.M busy with finishing touches to album.
Afterwards we do a quick budget and decide to treat ourselves to raw food from W.B for four days.
I am looking forward to that, no cooking, washing up, food shopping or thinking of what to make.
It also means my system will be cleansed and revitalized…. which is nice.
Today my father bought two guitars at the car boot (he does not play guitar).
Very chilled evening.
The only sounds we hear around here are nature!
Oh, and Brian Eno.
I am so relaxed.
28 May 2018
2,500 words – nice.
Have been invited to two events post literary launch by e-mail.
The first is to visit an Atelier on Saturday night where the Ibiza Art Union do improvisation.
The second is a Story Project, where you tell stories, I guess.
Wow, this is amazing I have only been at it weeks and have already performed and been invited to do more.
My ego and I have a row.
M.M is not waking up fast enough for me to give him these great updates.
Let Tiny Tiggi into the bedroom.
Fifteen minutes later M.M calling for me to get the kitten off him.
Forgot we have to show up at an I.M.F. no, I.M.S event this evening.
Have a nice evening mingling with fellow musicians & industry types.
M.M has done too much, too soon.
He has only just had his gallbladder removed.
Take him home and tuck him in.
He is very appreciative and congratulates me on the invites to ‘read poetry’.
I am a performer.
29 May 2018
So hot already, wonder what August will be like?
Ablutions, today the ram looks at me in downward dog as if I am going to attack his lambs.
Try to communicate empathically that I am not.
It does not work.
I run indoors.
Cake and a few hundred measly words.
M.M insists I go out for a walk, whilst he rests.
Decide to bike down to the beach.
Stumble upon a wedding whilst walking along the shoreline, turns out know the bride.
Stop for a tipple or two. Bring wedding cake back for M.M.
Make passata for dinner, add too much red wine to the sauce.
I am tipsy.
30 May 2018
Sun, sun, sun.
Ablutions indoors, I am getting burned even though I don’t really sunbathe.
Bake cake and make Buddha Bowl for M.M as I am off out this eve.
M.M resting and better, album went off on time.
Now he is doing a remix, luckily M.M gets to choose if he wants to or not. The rewards of being in the business, with a solid reputation and many years experience.
Pop to La Galleria Elefante again, this time for a Ladies, Wine and Design talk.
Met the lovely organizer at the literary launch.
Tonight a group who helps cancer survivors feel beautiful and not forgotten display their project.
In bed by 11pm.
M.M in studio into the wee hours.
I am into LWD.
31 May 2018
There are clouds and it is windy, oh joy of joys.
Do ablutions outside with cats freaking as wind whips their fur around.
Listen to a brilliant Ibizology podcast with Emily Kaufman, who wrote a book called the History Buff’s Guide to Ibiza.
Fascinating how she ended up on the island and how she went on to learn and share her passion for the place and it’s history.
Bake cake and write for two hours, then delete the lot.
This sets the tone of the day, amble around thinking I am doing stuff, only to realize I have just wasted the time.
M.M practicing for sunset and thus unavailable to help get me out of the mood.
Make a sorry excuse for dinner, apologize and bemoan having writers block.
M.M points out it has only been a day and a creative block lasts longer than a day.
This sets me off whinging again!
I am grumpy.