Tales of catastophe, sex and squalor from the Alpine Underbelly...

Belle de Neige

Saturday, 29 May 2010

Back to the island....

Once upon a time... about twelve months ago... I was a proper little Suzie homemaker. This being bank holiday weekend the ex and I were probably perusing paint swatches for the upstairs bedroom and discussing how you can do it if you B&Q it. I may have been weeding the patio.

Oh how things have changed.

A year ago I had been indoctrinated into thinking I was a totally useless human being.

But tomorrow, I am going to Ibiza. Driving, to be exact. The car is prepped. The route plotted. The overnight campsite booked. The ferries booked. The necessary paperwork is all ready, numbered and filed in the glove compartment. My clothes are all packed (I'm taking an unreasonable quantity of shoes). I have the pre-Ibiza tan all sorted thanks to being essentially unemployed for the last month. Ironically I only have one bikini...

It turns out when it comes to partying, no one has clearer focus than Madmoiselle Neige. I've been perfecting the art of enjoying myself for the last 26 years, and I'm a professional, damn it!

I have even managed to rope the boy into coming along for the ride, then flying back after a few nights on the White Isle, which adds a whole nother dimension of awesome to this three-shades of fabulous road trip altogether.

He is feeling rather nervous. I on the other hand am perfectly calm. Which is odd considering the utter fuck-headed irresponsible ridiculousness of what I'm about to do...

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