Chances are you'll know the music you want at your wedding, you just won't be able to name it. After humming unrecognisable tunes down the phone to my fiance for…
Written by Louise Holt Last updated: September 5, 2006
I packed carefully for my hen weekend in Ibiza. Plenty of suncream, aftersun lotion, a choice of bikinis and beachwear plus a huge bag full of Alka Seltzer and Panadol! My sister, a doctor, turned up at the airport with an even larger medical kit and I began to get concerned. At least there wasn’t a veil or L‐plate in sight and I was allowed to board the plane with some dignity.
As we were all over 30 we’d made a pact to do Ibiza upmarket ‐ not uncovered ‐ and had booked a a four‐star hotel ‐ Hotel Argos in Ibiza town, far from the lager lout and chip capital San Antonio. As it wasn’t likely to be a cheap break, I’d made it clear to my mates months ago not to feel pressurised to come ‐ after all it also meant taking time of work and I could always do a night out in London as well. Most of my close girlfriends swiftly said yes, eager to have the chance to escape work and get a tan.
From the moment we arrived we began to get a few strange looks… Not only were we a party of 10 females but one had a huge belly (no she wasn’t a big beer drinker, she was seven months pregnant) and another had dragged her baby and husband along! My fiance, Jamie, said he’d sent him to spy on us but as far as his wife was concerned he was there for one thing ‐ to babysit while she partied! If that’s what married life and motherhood is like, bring it on!
Mind you, the boys couldn’t complain, having already been on the stag do a few weeks before. They’d gone to Budapest, dressed Jamie in a nurse’s outfit, got him incredibly drunk and visited a fair few strip clubs…
Our weekend was going to be a little different. We were going to enjoy getting a tan, eating out, wine tasting and then partying in Pacha. The hen holiday soon got off to a good start and after a few days we acclimatised and got used to eating out at midnight before going to a club at around 2.30am and rolling in at 6am. Determined to get a tan, we’d sleep until 10am, then hit the beach around 11am before starting on the sangria again about 1pm.
Five days later were tanned, knackered but contented. We vowed to come again next year, even if no one gets married and only invite partners if they’re needed to babysit!