Return to Ibiza
What time is it? You don't say. I was supposed to return from sparkling Ibiza to drizzly London (deservedly voted best city in the world) early this morning. But I returned to Ibiza instead. Why? Maybe, I wasn't ready to leave or maybe, I was destined to sit down and write this wayward zigzag of words. I must have been reeking of inner struggle at the airport this morning (to leave or not to leave the magical island), a magical deity must have picked up on this, pointing me to the willing hands of a fellow traveller. Those hands stole my iPhone and my bank cards, I spent two hours gesticulating and pulling X-factor contestant faces to policemen and Lost & (not) Found еxecutives, missing my flight...and eventually returning to Ibiza. Now I'm sitting at a beach cafe in Figueretas , drinking my third glass of Pinot Grigio , savouring the last bony bits of my Paella Mixta , typing away. A karaoke piano version of Coldplay's "Parachutes" blends into "Be w