Scary bouncers and Germans in hot-pants - Los Fab opens…

Well it’s been an experience this week….

I wish I could tell you that the Los Fabulosos opening was rammed to the gills with Jade Jagger et al partying like their lives depended on it - but it didn’t quite work out that way.

The venue we moved to wasn’t what you could call the most professionally run establishment we’ve ever seen.  The manager is also co-promoting a huge night at a 10,000 capacity club which kicks off this Friday - he needs 6,000 in every week for the whole summer just to break even (and I’m bricking it about getting 400 in).  So as you can imagine we weren’t exactly high up on his agenda.  

Second a pair of very scary bouncers wouldn’t let us open until the door-girl arrived - she rocked up at 1.30am.  So a lot of our punters had turned up and had been promptly sent packing by the two aggressive roid monkeys as there was no-one to take the money.  They didn’t return.

Thirdly the venue was surrounded by a lot of gay bars - a lot.  Now I’ve been known to enjoy a sing-along to YMCA and have even occasionally worn women’s clothes - me in a saucy nurse’s uniform on my stag night is giving people nightmares to this day - but what response can you seriously expect if you walk over to 10 Germans in leather hot-pants with white vests tucked in and invite them to a world music night?  And some of the teenage boys milling around gave a whole new meaning to ‘passing trade’.

Despite all of that there were a fair few positives that came from the night - the DJs were incredible despite the circumstances.  And we have changed our pricing structure and our marketing now for when we launch at our proper venue too so that we get the club full early on.   And the people who did make it through the doors (and there were a few by the end) had an amazing time.  Loads said it was the best music they’d heard on the island for years and all of them said they’d come back.  Another very encouraging sign was that the majority were Spanish & Italians who had come specifically for the music.  And best of all, everyone danced like crazy.  And there was even one or two hot-pants wearing Germans in there.  I think they came more because they fancied my brother after his slick sales spiel than they were into afrobeat mind.  

So we live to fight another day and we planted an acorn.  Let’s just hope it grows…

 

 

Less than a week to go…

Yes, in five days time it’s the first Los Fabulosos party…. gulp.

I’m already a bag of nerves and have got the fear that no-one is going to turn up. Mr B has set up a Facebook event and I can’t help myself from counting the attendees every day. He says it’s pointless, but I just can’t help myself. So far there are 18 agreed, plus Mr B, me, his brother and Hula Girl that’s 22, but if you include the three DJs it’s 25. Erm….

Anyway, it’s like a poster factory in our flat at the minute. We didn’t want to fork out for separate posters for the first night, so have stuck a piece of paper across it saying ‘opening party’ (sorry Guapa - it’s honestly just a thin strip and doesn’t mess up the design). I feel like I’m back at primary school doing art what with all this cutting and sticking. The Rock God helped us out (again) by printing the stickers for the flyers and invitations - he is truly a legend that man, and will be guest of honour on Thursday. 

We’ve had some good coverage so far -

Ibiza Now magazine - http://www.ibizaa-z.com/print2.php?name=Los%20Fabulosos

Times Online  - http://travel.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/travel/destinations/spain/article4065578.ece

Sun Online - http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/ibiza/article1266990.ece

All very exciting. Plus we’re looking forward to appearing on Ibiza’s Sonica radio station - http://www.ibizasonica.com/ - between 4pm-6pm on the big day itself. Make sure you tune in!

Toni, Lola and the amazing hula-girl…

Mrs B and I have been in Ibiza for around six and a half weeks and we’ve settled in really well.  The cafe we frequent the most is a great place run by a lovely Spanish couple - Toni and Lola.  The pair of them work incredibly hard - they are up at 6am and their cafe is open until midnight most nights.  Usually the pair of them are smiling and in a good mood but as midnight approaches the smiles fade and are replaced by a look that indicates that the beer you’ve just ordered is your bleedin’ last and after that you can bugger off.  Well that was until they met the amazing hula-girl…

Hula-Girl is a hula-hoop artiste who has landed in Ibiza looking for summer work and who is going to be helping us out doing some tropical hula at Los Fabulosos.  The things she can do with a hoop need to be seen to be believed - especially to some heavy afro-latin music at Los Fabulosos (getting the hint?).

Anyway we had a few glasses of vino last night and decided to decamp to T&L’s for a couple of late beers.  Hula-Girl took her hoop with her and put on an impromptu show.  A hula-show isn’t something you see every day, especially in Toni & Lola’s but it’s guaranteed to put a smile on even the most tired face.  Within a couple of minutes Toni was trying his hand at it while Lola laughed and took pictures - the regulars were even more suprised at that than someone swinging a hula-hoop round her neck at about 100mph I think.  T&L even let us order a couple of late beers and we rolled out of there at 1am.  As I said to hula-girl - if doing the hula can get someone almost 16 hours into their shift smiling then anything is possible. World domination awaits…

 

Doing the rounds…

Walking around for six hours every day asking owners of cafes, bars and shops to put our posters and flyers up in their establishments is pretty tiring - not least on the face muscles as you need to have a huge rictus grin painted on as you do it.  

The people we do talk to however are usually astonished to find that we are the actual promoters of the night in question and are actually asking their permission (most people just do it without so much as an hello) and as a result nearly always find a decent little spot alongside all the huge club nights taking place this summer.  A couple of bars have even given us the optimum position all for ourselves - the fabled toilet doors.  There’s usually only a couple of cubicles in bars over here so more often than not there’s a queue of people with nothing better to do than read a poster or flyer and as a result people fight like mad to get their posters there.  The look on the face of the guy who does the posters for Pacha as me and Mrs B sellotaped our poster to the bog door of the Rock Bar will stay with me forever.  He was as gutted as we were delighted…

We’ve got a good system too - Mrs B does clothes shops and cafes as she’s good at bonding with the sales girls and waitresses, we do the straight bars together while I’ve been put in charge of gay bars (of which there are an astonishing amount in Ibiza Town).  Fortunately the gay fellas seem to like a bit of northern rough trade with a wedding ring on his finger so I’m doing all right so far.  Mrs B is treating our marketing blitz like a military operation though and I reckon she’d have me walking around in chaps, a white vest and one of those leather policeman’s hats if I’d let her. I told her - if I’m going to dress like any member of the Village People it’s going to be the Red Indian - or maybe the sailor…

Mr B

Poster wars

The opening night of Los Fabulosos is now less than two weeks away and we’ve started putting our posters up around the island.  The whole process is rather like painting the Forth Bridge.  You put one in a shop window and about two hours later you walk past and it’s been ripped down by some See You N T and replaced with some rubbish night in an even worse venue.  This means war -  for every one of our posters that is ripped down I’m ripping ten of theirs. I won’t name and shame the place in question.  

If I catch any poster monkeys ripping our posters down though I’ll put my boot up their backsides - if they’re smaller than me that is.  If it’s a girl then Mrs B is going to have a schoolgirl-style hair pulling session with her.  

I’m secretly hoping it’s a girl - fight fight fight!!!

 

 

 

 

Road rage

The Russians, who aren’t known for their liberal views, have a proverb about women drivers - a woman in a car is like a monkey with a hand grenade.  I think this is particularly unfair to the monkeys.  I’m sure with the proper training they’ll be fine when handling small arms and munitions of any kind. 

Anyway not wanting to be bogged down in any feminist nest of vipers I think the Russian proverb would be better aimed at Ibizan drivers.  It’s funny how an island famed for chill-out is such a hazard to navigate in a car.  Drivers here are about as chilled out as a rabid dog in a butcher’s shop.  They overtake round blind corners, tail-gate you and flash their lights if you aren’t doing 120kph round a tiny winding road out in the mountains at night and have no qualms about cutting across you on roundabouts or anywhere else. The standard of driving here is reflected in the amount of road deaths they have each year - shedloads of people die on the roads here.  I think that’s the official figure… 

- I’d like to send a message out to a very very lucky lady today too.  Yes it’s a year to the day since Mrs B hit the jackpot.  Happy anniversary sweetheart xx

Mr B

Fiesta forever…

So we´re settled in Ibiza and looking forward to an exciting summer.  Our fellow Ibizans are feeling the same way and have thrown a huge bash in our new home - Santa Eulalia - to welcome us to the Island.  Well I reckon they would have done it anyway, but you never know.  I´ll blog about the fiesta some more when I upload some pics. 

We´re also closing in on a venue to host Los Fabulosos too.  The owner and music director seem very nice, although the venue still looks like a complete building site.  It used to be a very ropy disco-pub called Spasms.  I mean - what the hell kind of a name is that?  Seriously who thought that up?  ”Hey boys I know you´ve been trying to think up a cool new name for your club right? Well I´ve got a cracker for you- Spasms.”  And then for someone else to go “Yeah I like it.  Let´s call it Spasms.”  No wonder it went under.

The new place is called Somni or summat - I´m not quite sure.  It´s going to look awesome when it´s done though.  And we´re going to be doing every Thursday night from June 19th to September 18th - 14 parties in all.  We´ve even got the mysterious Sofrito crew coming over for the opening party which we´re properly delighted about.   Book your flights…

Now that all the preperation for the night is ticking over we´re both out looking for some part time work tomorrow.  Thanks to my incredible dance moves I think I´m going to get employed as a podium dancer at Pacha which is nice.   Mrs B is doing okay too - she has got a good chance of getting some work at local “restaurant” Mr Kebab - cutting doner meat and heating up pittas.  She was born to do it…

 

 

The Sax machine…

It´s been a pretty hectic few days for Mrs B and I.  On Saturday we set off for Granada with our little car fully loaded.  Never mind the bikes on the back, Mrs B´s shoes made up for a hundred weight at least.

The Saxo took it all in its stride though.  The 200km shlep up to Granada from Almeria must have been the most pleasurable drive I´ve ever had.  The Sierra Nevadas as our backdrop, a cracking radio station playing a nice selection of tunes and seeing as the road was pretty much straight no directions were needed from Mrs B. Always a bonus…

Granada was a great city .  The funny thing is though it´s a big student town and is also used as a stag and hen destination by hordes of Spaniards.  I don´t think we´ll ever see so many pissed up Spanish people ever again.  It was proper bonkers…

The next day was the big test though.  A mammoth 500km drive up to Denia to catch a ferry to Ibiza.  I was honestly bricking it that our car wouldn´t be able to do it but it smashed it man.  No worries at all.  I´ll never perpetuate lazy stereotypes about French manufacturing skills ever again…

The drive was pretty much stress free although the services we stopped at were unbelievable.  They served a full selection of beers, wines and spirits and out of about 20 people in there we were the only two people not having a jar or two to take the edge off the journey.  Imagine that in the UK?

So now we´re in Ibiza and everything is starting to come together nicely.  I´m sure Mrs B is making up some rubbish about me not helping with the flat hunting.  It´s all lies. She´s the real piece of meat with eyes…

Bye for now

Mr B

PS A message to my little nephew BP re an earlier post.  A scrotum is the Spanish word for plum… 

 

 

 

The holiday coke

There are some things in Spain that are worse than dear old Albion - dodgy drains and a rubbish selection of crisp flavours to name two - but there are some things that are incredibly superior.  In my opinion the top of tree in this regard has to go to the humble Coca-Cola.  In Britain, Coca-Cola is so insufferably sh*te that I rarely, if ever, drink the stuff. 

In Spain however it seems to take on a life of its own that lifts it to drink of the Gods status.  It’s nearly always served in a freezing cold bottle with a tall glass, ice and lemon and tastes truly divine.  Now I concede that drinking it on a terrace of a chiringuito (beach bar) in the sunshine in front of the Mediterranean Sea does enhance its appeal somewhat, but there’s something else too - an X-factor if you will.  My brother even has a name for it - the holiday coke.  I know I’m not actually on holiday but it still tastes the same as when I am so the name stays.

The wind in Almeria is still blowing a right bastard by the way.  It’s making me and Mrs B’s 16-mile round-round-trip bike ride to school a proper mission.  The locals are dead right, that feckin wind has got a lot to answer for…

 

Drinking, smerkin’ & swearin’

My Spanish teacher is cool man.  She gives a little bit about herself in every class. After a week I’ve learned that she fancies George Clooney and she’s with Dawkins when it comes to God.  She hates Hugo Chavez, George Bush and Mel Gibson (maybe he called her sugar tits the last time he was in Spain or summat).  She also hates skinny models and thinks Raul is a miserable bastard, but likes David Beckham on a purely sexual level. 

I know her mum smokes tabs too.  I heard her whingeing about having to go to the caff a couple of doors down from the school and buy her some out of the ciggy machine.  The local caff is awesome.  It’s always full of Spanish construction workers boozing and smoking at about half nine every morning.  I even seen one geezer getting poured a huge measure of brandy the other day - he skulled it, put his hard hat on and wandered over to a building site across the road.  Good man.

Everyone in Spain seems to smoke tabs actually. There’s loads of old people with those electric voice boxes strapped to their throats wandering about, like geriatric daleks, getting on buses or whatever.  One even came up to me and Mrs B the other day and asked for directions.  I was like “You couldn’t have picked a worse pair of useless Spanish speaking mofos than us two my friend.” I didn’t actually say that - my Spanish is nowhere near the stage where I can say mofo. I think we do swearing next week…