Big yellow signs all over MY plaza this morning. Apparently work starts on some sort of redevelopment tomorrow. Why didn't anyone tell me? May have to change my pitch - see how things pan out. In the meantime I have an all new image for Ibiza Autumn 2016.
Shaved. Hair trim. New hat.
From bottom to top...
Pair of Palladium, French Foreign Legion desert hiking boots in natural mustard. Tough as tough these things and currently
as. Expensive, but a wise investment. Worn with laces untied over plain black cotton socks.
Trousers. Very nice chocolate coloured Italian designer stuff. Smart as fuck.
Black satin shirt worn open over a plain black T-shirt.
Hat is currently natural grass reed colour with a small orange rose and little tiny lilac butterflies with diamond things. Nice and sparkly. They spill from my hat onto the black shirt. Got them off some kiddies head band at the Chino for a €1. Really smart coordinated Ibiza look this. Very serious, but with a touch of humour and delicacy. The beautiful girls at the Pirate Fashion shop tell me I've got it spot on. I love the way they dress, so it is the only approval I need really. They love the butterflies going form my hat to my lapels to my shirt breast pocket. I cannot wait to conquer the World of Fine Art and become a fashion designer
(forgot to mention all important accessories: pocket full of pens, pencils, folds of paper and a pair of classic Ray Bans (obviously not real)).
My health is unsurprisingly hurting. Burning the candle at both ends. From head to toe...
Psoriasis on my scalp.
Conjunctivitis in my eyes.
Skin cancer on my temple.
Finished with the stomach bugs, but my chest is constantly niggling.
Kidneys will not let me forget about them.
Snotty, sneezy, feverish.
Nuasea.
Booked swanky hotel with hot bath for a couple of nights to recuperate. Prices are in my budget once again.
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Hungarian Adam (who turns out to be neither Hungarian, nor Adam) found me the other morning Four weeks after we all assumed the worst. Not surprising I couldn't find him, or get any info'. But, he is now in Barcelona trying to sort out a new passport. He looks like an ill 80 year old man. He died Twice. Went through a double blood transfusion and spent a total of Four weeks in intensive care and the trauma unit. I suspect (strangely) the only reason he lived (other than getting professional help in time) is because he took some pills with all that booze and Methadone. He is heading home to get himself into rehab.
Someone else I won't mention yet is hopefully flying home Thursday. He is in a very vulnerable situation. Old enough to know better. Obviously doesn't.
Found a local travel agent who are happy to work with me on getting people home as cheaply as possible. This is not all about the goodness of my heart. It is very pragmatic ground clearance done in the most economical way.
Thunder stormy autumn here now. Leaves and litter are whisking round the wet streets and plazas in little eddies. Very melancholic. I'm off for a strong beer and MJ spliff.
Totally on the up here now. I am going to be very comfortable for at least a month.