I haven’t felt particularly inspired to write this blog post. After seven failed attempts, I’ve decided to accept that photos and captions are probably the only way to create and conclude the Ibiza chapter of my blogging career.
Without further ado, let’s dive in.
I own fifteen shirts (give or take three). Anne owns more than I could count (because she stores them in different countries). She’s wearing one of my shirts in this photo.
Visiting Ibiza Old Town was one of the highlights of our trip – and by Ibiza Old Town, I mean S’escalinata and their bean bag chairs.
“If we keep walking, I think we’ll eventually get to the north coast” – yours truly attempting to process and explain simple island geography. April 7 2017.
There are different levels of trust. Jumping on the back of a scooter driven by someone with no scooter driving experience is one of the higher ones.
We kick up a fuss when cover is £5 in Glasgow, but we forked out €35 to get into Pacha. We like to claim it was the best night ever, but if I’m being honest, I’ve had better nights in Glasgow. For a fraction of the price.
I’m not good at spending entire days at the beach, so some might argue that going to Ibiza was a bad decision. I don’t necessarily disagree, although we did have a good time while we were there. Travelling to Formentera while hungover? Now that was a bad decision.
This might sound conceited, but whenever I look at this photo, I think Du er så smuk med havet som baggrund, which means You’re so beautiful with the ocean in the background. Blame the 2001 film Flyvende Farmor (English: Flying Grandma).
I wish the lighting was to blame for our paleness, but alas, our genes are the culprits.