Poem for Davey

How amazing are your thoughts concerning me God,

How vast is the sum of them.

17|07|13

Cala Gracio

San Antonio

Ibiza

Proper tea!

Dear Davey

I know numerology makes sense to you,

With everywhere you've been.

But you are not Jesus.

In spite of the fact that your middle name is Chris,

And your mum is called Mary (Happy Birthday Mary).

But you are important.

You are significant.

You are God's Son.

The maker of all the universe,

Of Sun and stars

Of spinning galaxies and orbiting atoms

Has his eye on

You.

He knows when you sit down and when you stand.

He knit you together in your mother's womb.

God's thoughts about you, Davey, outnumber all the grains of sand.

And now God whispers to you,

Telling you that,

You are significant,

You are important,

You are his son.

You're not an angel,

Or a devil,

But the choices you make matter.

You're not a wizard,

Or a higher being,

But you are the apple of God's eye.

And now God whispers to you,

Telling you that,

He wants the very best for you,

That your body matters

That your spirit matters.

And he really couldn't love you more.

Spanish Words I Can Understand.

06|07|13

Carrer d'Alicant

San Antonio

Ibiza

ABSOLUT cereal with UHT milk

I don't speak much Spanish, but I'm learning. I'm finding that I know more than I think I do, because of words in common with English.

Nicki and I responded to a call from a bar worker and arrived to find a young man asleep / unconscious outside. He was almost completely unresponsive. Very white, so no need for Spanish. Luckily he was wearing a hotel wristband so we knew where to take him. He was massive. We managed to get him into a wheelchair and got a good workout pushing him up slight inclines.

At the hotel he continued to be unresponsive so the reception staff suggested we leave him on a sofa in the foyer. We wrestled him onto the sofa. The movement was enough to bring him around. He vomited whatever was in him. I believe the Spanish word is borracho. After a while he was able to talk and tell us his room number.

So we found ourselves waiting for a lift, trying to keep the brickhouse gentleman steady, the hotel security guard escorting us. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a pair of legs coming down the stairs. Male legs. Followed closely by a set of genitals. Once the owner of the legs had appeared in full we could see that he was in his forties and shaved all over. At this point the security guard noticed. Without even blinking he got his radio and rattled out rapid and incomprehensible instructions. Incomprehensible apart from the final word – an emphatic "Nudo!"

The security guard then escorted us up to the room. As he was fiddling with the room key Nudo appeared at the end of the corridor, wandering towards us. I tried to draw the security guards attention with a tentative aqui, but he was somewhat preoccupied with the key. He only noticed when Nudo pushed past, continuing his journey wherever he thought he was going. Another security guard tore round the corner of the corridor in hot pursuit, and our security guard joined him. I imagine there ensued a hilarious game of cat-and-naked-man around the hotel, but we never got to find out as once our friend was in bed we slipped out and went home to bleach our eyes.

Bienvenidos a Ibiza!