Sunstoke, Proud Mary, The Bulge, Twosomes and Baggage Fiasco

I can't believe it's been a week since I last updated. I'm back from Ibiza, sans luggage, quite dark, over tired but ultimately very relaxed. After my last update, I headed off to the beach for a few hours and then returned to the hotel room and sunned myself on the balcony for a couple of hours. I should have been concerned when my body seemed to be emanating far too much sweat and lo and behold, a few hours later I was crying my eyes out due to sunstroke! I'd left the Irish bar where several of them were getting hammered and walked down the beach feeling as if my head had split open. I thought it was a lack of dinner and water so I stopped en route for a steak, however after just about eating it, I hurriedly left as my head kept falling towards the table. I staggered down the now dark beach delirious and panicked thinking that I may not make it and bumped into the Irish aunties and mammies, who immediately said I looked pale and sun stroked, got me paracetomal and sent me to bed. Let's just say that it took a couple of days before I dared to lie out in the sun and even then, I hid underneath the shade. Mostly... And of course topless...

The wedding was fantastic. I watched the stunning, very radiant FiFi walk down the aisle in the beautiful hillside Spanish church and tried not to giggle as Cass sobbed like a baby beside me. Later the reception was held in this hilltop restaurant and everyone got thoroughly drunk and danced to seventies music. Cass, Beaver and I did ourselves proud when Tina Turners 'Proud Mary' came on and unbeknownst to each other, we all knew the moves. Next thing you know there are three wannable Tina Turner's breaking out the moves with all the guests in stitches laughing and we joined the bride on the dancefloor to finish off as it turns out she'd watched the I Tina movie far too many times too.

Whilst lying in the shade all week, my eyes were on stalks for The Bulge. Oh my holy God! This man was wearing a skimpy thong and I don't know how it kept happening, but somehow my spider senses would sense him in the vicinity and my eyes would be drawn to The Bulge. The Bulge became a much talked about phenomenon amongst us and the Irish Aunties and Mammies as we tried to identify what made up the bulge. I thought he had a bag of monkey nuts in there. Cass reckons he has his balls pulled to the front. Someone else thought he had marbles in there. Ping pong balls. A penis with lots of lumps on it. Socks. Satsumas. Euro coins. 'I reckon he needs a stick to roll it out so he can go to the toilet!';'Yeah like a concertina!';'Do you think it has a room of it's own?'

I had a great week away and there was lots of raucous laughing, story telling and drinks. I didn't go wild as my body is only able to cope with so much and the last thing I needed was to come back with my sarcoidosis raging through my body. This was probably the hard part of the holiday as I couldn't do all nighters and get completely obliterated every night and at times I must admit to feeling a bit left out with Cass and Beaver as in jokes about their shared wild nights became prolific and they often paired off. It was my choice to get myself in bed normally by 2 or 3am whilst they stayed out till 6, 7 and 8am, but at times I must admit to that three's a crowd feeling. I did shake off the feeling and got on with enjoying myself and relaxing, but if we have to do a week away again, I'll make sure that there is a more of a balance of people.

We had a great last night in Ibiza town, stuffing ourselves with local seafood and toasting the week. Cass took bit of a funny turn at dinner and was very unwell all night and we had to get our flight at 4.25am. In a series of bad comedy moments, we stood in line until 4.10am, were made to leave our bags at the desk, tagged but not on the machine that takes them to the plane. Tiredness had taken me over so I was having one of my hissy fits of frustration and Cass' stomach was struggling to hold up. We arrived in London and lo and behold there were no bags. Thomson, the most crap airline in the world had decided that they would rather not miss their slot so they put almost 50 people on the plane without their bags. Oh and a guy farted in the baggage hall and nearly made us puke with the shock. The air was blue yesterday in the airport as we all lost our patience with Thomson's incompetent staff who basically wouldn't tell us what was going on and we had to find out via rumour and whisper. I left Cass in the airport who had to wait for her bags and head back to Dublin and after 40 mins realised that I had got a train in the wrong direction. It should have taken me just over an hour to get home, and I got home in 2.5 hours.

The tube was hideously hot and a homeless guy in an immaculate beige trenchcoat, sockless in battered Adidas trainers with a beret and a straw hat on his head and a scarf covering all of his face bar his eyes got on the carriage with his guitar. I watched as he took off the trenchcoat to reveal a sarong and a used to be white anorak. He turned to the open window between carriages and the anorak billowed out and I swear he looked like the marshmallow man in Ghostbusters. Gosh I love London!

I've been at the boyfriends since yesterday afternoon. He sent me to bed as soon as I arrived as I was cranky and mouthy. I woke up a few hours later just in time for extra time and the penalties for England's World Cup exit. The boyf and the the couple of guys who were watching in the sitting room looked close to tears and even I felt quite upset by the defeat. Don't worry though, I made it up to the the boyf last night and he's checked me for lines on my body and I think he's forgotten all about the football now and I've passed inspection... ;-)

Enjoy your weekends. I've a whole lotta blogs to catch up on this week!