Ibiza, mid August, is the destination for the jet set and the Easyjet set alike. The “yoof” are getting battered at Playa d’en Bossa, the kids from reality television get their sexy dancing pouts on at Ushuaia, O Beach is wall-to-wall footballers and over at Chiringuito it’s crammed with faces and big money. Later on, after a billion gallons of rosé, at DC10 they’ll all rub up against each other like an enormous haul of sparkly, sweaty, smiley sardines — and it’s only Monday. Just writing that last sentence fills me with such a mournful melancholy for the friends, lovers and completely random strangers I have found in the throes of an epic good time on that beautiful island.
But with many clubs closed, and
