For Gracie.

To the one person who told me to document my holiday antics until I returned to still-quite-sunny Newcastle, to update her, so here you go Gracie. I told you I'd do it. Some may be slightly beating around the bush, for dignity's purpose.

Tuesday 9th July 2013: San Antonio Bay, Ibiza.

As I sit surrounded by young people and one or two families, not satisfied with the way I look in the bikini I'm wearing, the sun blaring down on the stony ground by the pool, I realise how perfect this is. There's the usual lot. The girls who are ready to have the time of their lives, tanning straight away and spend their days giggling away and admiring the lads, and the lads who perhaps fancy themselves a bit too much, tattoos in show and have a bottle of whiskey with breakfast. I have Taylor Swift playing on my iPod and it's so hot, my hair has done that *woo hoo* thing that Phoebe says. A picturesque backdrop of woodland and sand, our hotel is situated literally a minute's walk away from the sandy coastline of San Antonio Bay. Bikinis, sunglasses and pints are out in full-force. All Inclusive alcohol has just kicked off at half ten and we're already drinking what is fondly known in Geordieland as Trebles. A mad week ahead I think. I miss by blog but my notebook and phone will suffice. Cue the cameras and fasten your seatbelts, you're about to have the best week of your lives.