Meet FatPhilB & crew at airport early morn.
Pick up battered Skoda.
Drive to Figueretas and meet up with some Uruguayan called Juan Pablo who comes 'highly recommended.' Bid farewell to Juan Pablo with a nod and a 'if ever you're in Dundee'.
Drive up to Santa G. Tapas at that bar with all the phallic cactuses on the window sill. Take 'detour' via St Joan in largely unsuccessful pursuit of instagrammable hippy pix.
Spend ages looking for Monkey Bar only to remember it closed years ago.
Carry on down to Salinas and dump the car on the dirt track to the irritation of some Belgians in a Mehari who wanted that space
Get 'involved' on the beach. Eat at ST. Cry at the bill.
Engaged in conversation by naked Dutch couple on sand who misunderstand our intentions. We don't misunderstand theirs and swiftly move on.
Whilst missus in water, flirt with Italian called Valentina in cornrows selling '100% authentic Ibiza' sarongs (made in Karachi).
Have existential conversation with FPB on the jetty about how 'life can never be this good again', moments before DJ Franco breaks into a cheesy Queen euromix.
Retrieve car, caked in dust and coated in 'hijos de puta' graffiti. Head back to apartment and 'freshen up' and slag off DJ Franco's selections to 3 mildly interested strangers on Spl forums.
Arrive at Pikes, hear Harvey drop cheesy Queen euromix. Text people in bed in Barcelona with clip, telling them it's one of the most incredible, life-affirming moments of my life.
See familiar faces from London. 'What are you doing here you c**t?! Btw i don't suppose you know anyo...'
Row with missus. Sleep in carpark. Avoid GC patrol. Swim in dawn water at Cala Gracio, dodging discarded condoms.
Prepare for Day 2.