Yikes, the cyberspace documentation of the amazing adventures of Anna has been neglected for too long I fear. One of the pitfalls of raving in Magaluf for a week. Another is glowstick related injuries, such as fluorescent goo to the eye and over-enthusiastic wielding of said rave prop.
So, I think a summary is in order.
Someone pulled a Pedro
I got sunstroke and almost vommed on ravers
A Spanish keyboard player with a perm named Tony helped A practice her Spanish
Gammon Daddies were both ridiculed and embraced
C and I discovered how liberating pole dancing is
We ate mac in a can
I rode in the lift about a billion, trillion times
Eye liner 'taches and monobrows were applied for a night out in bars
I obtained a perfect white strap across my red raw back
A 'Cribs' style video was recorded in our appartment, complete with theme music
We got addicted to Smack (a breakfast cereal)
I mourned the loss of a big bug that was murdered by C
Sand got absolutely everywhere
We blocked the shower plughole with hair, ewww
Cheap vodka is the way to wildness, especially when in Long Island Iced Tea - yum
My tankini top blew off the balcony, but was later retrieved from a bush
We met a chap from Corbridge, randomly
Spice Girls, Backstreet Boys, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, and many other classics were danced to in a cheesy club
We sat on the bed drinking tea and eating choccy wocky (as it is now known)
C took over the mic from the Spanish indie band and stomped her way through a rendition of the White Stripes
We lay on the beach at five o'clock in the morning looking at the stars
'She's Electric' became the anthem of the week
I raved continuously to DJ Sammy for hours and hours, and actually LOVED it - who knew?
This is only the tip of the iceberg too. A great deal can happen in a week. And the result of it all boils down to me sitting at the dinner table on my return, having a perfectly civilised conversation with the parentals, peeling great sheets of skin from my back and placing them on a tissue. Both surreal and gross.