Cocktail TIme!

May was dead and any holidaymakers who ventured out didn’t go far beyond the West End and its street of bars, so the lack of tourists was a little disturbing.  I was in a miserable mood as I’d left my RayBan Aviators on the bar when I nipped next door to the OK Corral, only to discover they had been stolen when I returned.  I could barely afford new RayBans, but sought out a new pair in Ibiza Town and never put them down again.  Dave set himself up in an apartment just outside San Antonio and I stayed there for the first month. A number of ‘characters’ were now turning up as the summer season started (Late May), amongst them a guy from LIverpool everyone called “Cat” (I think his real name was Paul).  Cat must have been pushing fifty years old and he was the go to guy for marijuana.  There was Les the Chef, (who surprisingly was a chef!) and a guy called Barnsley (he was from Barnsley!).  Later that summer a tall skinny lad from Preston arrived with his chubby friend looking for work; Dave called him “The Preston Pencil”, (Long, thin, pointless).  I ended up sharing a ground floor apartment with 3 bedrooms, with Les and Cat as it was close to the centre of town and the bar.  Great for stumbling back to bed alone or with company, but bad if you wanted to keep your possessions as it was impossible to securely lock any doors. 

Bar Confusion’s opening hours were the same everyday and we opened seven days a week from mid-May until the middle of October and the tasks were the same everyday.  Stock up 11am, open at noon, show Pirated movies from noon until 6pm and  then close until 7pm to shower and change.  I would re-open the Bar at 7pm and we remained open until 2am sometimes later if still busy.  Dave and I worked in the bar all summer long, no one else helped, except for Becky his wife if she was on the island, as Dave did not trust anyone else near the till.  The Preston Pencil and his fat friend propped customers in the street for us for a few days and Dave let them sleep in the stock room, (the till was emptied every night), as they had no money nor anywhere to stay.  They were evicted after Dave found out they had drunk two small bottles of chocolate milk in an attempt to ward off starvation.  They left the empties in plain view whereas they could have dropped them through the barred rear window and no one would have been the wiser, the fools!  After we closed for the night I’d go to a club until 6am, sleep until 11am and then start all over again. 

We gave up stocking barrels of San Miguel as the cooler was worse than useless and only stocked bottled beer; Heineken, San Miguel and Amstel.  We served tequila slammers, 

liquor shots, wine and eventually a small selection of in-house cocktails; the names of which I invented and retain the copyright to and will share a little further on.  The spirits were all the local hooch, Ron Blanco (Bacardi), Ron Negro (Dark Rum), there was a cheap and nasty Vodka and a foul Whisky that had never seen Scotland in its short life; a dodgy brandy that doubled as drain cleaner and Larios Gin that wasn’t too bad, all things said.  We also stocked all the brand name spirits as well, Jack Daniels, Smirnoff, Gordons Gin, Bacardi Rum, Courvoisier Brandy and a few blended scotch whisky’s such as Ballentine, which is popular in Spain.  The trick was to top up branded bottles with the cheap rubbish unless we knew the customer, who then got the decent stuff which was kept under the bar.  Most of those “in the know” asked for a Smirnoff and Coke rather than just Vodka and Coke or a Gordons Gin and tonic as opposed to simply a Gin and tonic, by way of example. 

During May when we were quiet we’d call it a night early and go to a club with an English band around the corner.  I got up one evening and sang a few George Michael songs and the guys in the band said they might have a gig for me in July at the Miss Playa Bella contest.  As the Island started to fill with holidaymakers we eventually found ourselves getting busier especially after showing the films during the day.  It stunned me how anyone could spend good money to go to a sun-kissed island and choose to sit in a bar and watch grainy pirated copies of films on a 19” Portable TV?  But  they did and we profited from it, bless ‘em.

As May ended and June began we noticed increasing numbers of people passing outside in the evenings so Dave and I took turns to try and divert people into the bar pointing out the merits such as the music we played, as opposed to the crap they would get bombarded with later on in the clubs.  Whitsun Week was a turning point and we steadily increased patronage especially amongst the students who loved the music and my now famous (in their minds) cocktails.  The aim was always to get women into the bar before groups of men.  Women were far more likely to come in if they could see other women were already being served or were sat outside drinking, whereas they’d move quickly past if a group of sweaty lads, in football shirts and sombreros were singing along to U2 and trying, (but falling well short), to hit the notes Bono hit.  Invariably we’d succeed in getting girls in first, through sheer persistence and charm…………………

The Managers of Es-Paradis, Star Club and Pacha came in and handed over 200 or so cards for their clubs entitling the bearer to free entry and/or a free drink once inside.  We would write the name ‘Bar Confusion’ on the back of the tickets and when handed over at the club they’d be counted up, so the club concerned could see which bars their customers were coming from.  This was good for us as we not only got free entry and access to the VIP bar/lounge inside, but also a free bottomless bottle of our choice of spirit behind the bar.  We would have a bottle of Smirnoff Red, (The real stuff) behind the bar and free pour our own drinks, marking the bottle with a black pen ensuring no one else touched it.  These freebies enabled me to invite scores of women to Es-Paradis or Star, showing off as I walked straight past the queues and into the VIP area.  To be handed a bottle of Smirnoff to give the girls free drinks all night long loosened quite a few pairs of knickers. 

June saw business picking up nicely with new groups of students coming into the bar saying that they’d been told to come to Bar Confusion by friends returning to University after their holidays.  I was “seeing” plenty of women and Dave christened me, “The Snoggo Kid”, on account of my eagerness to slap my lips onto the next pretty face showing even the slightest interest.  Rather than being frowned upon, fraternisation with customers was positively encouraged and I worked out a rotation system whereby I’d focus my attention on a girl who I knew was in the second week of a two week holiday, whilst simultaneously chatting up her replacement, who I’d ascertained was just starting the first week of her holiday. 

It was easy to spot the new arrivals as bright red sunburnt arms, shoulders and faces were more than apparent.  This juggling game was spiced up by my throwing in at least two or three one-night stands per week into the mix thereby risking the possibility of the girls all turning up to the bar at the same time, which happened once or twice much to Dave’s delight and to my initial embarrassment which soon turned to laughter.  On one occasion this was fortunately resolved to my advantage after one girl had stormed out and the other two got chatting, which resulted in a Ménage à trois, impressing both Dave and the regulars.  An un-written rule was that no one would denounce or embarrass another bloke whose wife, girlfriend or partner came out from the UK to see him.  There were a couple of girls who came back out to the island to see me and stay at my place after their initial holiday was over; for either a week or a long weekend.  During their stay no mention would be made of my antics in their absence or any comment made as to the girl’s motives or personality, an unwritten ‘club rule’ if you will.

With Dave’s “Bar Confusion Mix Tapes” attracting new and returning customers to the Bar we needed something else to ensure the student crowd chose Bar Confusion over the other numerous places in town for pre-rave drinks, so I invented my own brand of cocktails which proved to be the solution. Well the cocktails and my skill in delivering Tequila Slammers fast, and with minimal spillage.  The cocktails had to be different; original, exotic, eye catching, intoxicating (very) and appealing by name.  I decided against anything requiring the addition of a fruit garnish, (cherry’s, lemon slice, lime segment, raspberries, strawberries etc.) as it took time to add and mix. I was very mush against additional decorative flourishes such as Umbrella’s, whipped cream, stirring sticks etc. as they added to cost to serve and finally the cocktails wouldn’t require any special glassware such as a Martini Glass, again due to reduce cost. 

I started out with a single cocktail containing spirits on the shelf behind the bar, Brandy, Vodka, Gin, Crème de Menthe? (For colour obviously!)  Throw in Southern Comfort, Tequila and lemonade, although coke or OJ could be requested, (customers choice of mixer; I wasn’t bothered) and there was your basic Confusion Cocktail.  Not a particularly flavoursome mix I grant you and after drinking the first one I’d mixed by way of a taste test, both Dave and my words were “Oooh, ya bastard!”  So that one was named “The Bastard”.  The name written in white paint on the mirror behind the bar for all to see and it went down a treat with the customers who loved saying, “Two Bastards over here mate”.  My next trick was to swap out the Crème de Menthe for Blue Curacao along with adding another glug of Brandy and another of Vodka.  This was called, “The Fucking Bastard”.  

When asked why the extra expletive, I said that the additional shots would make that clear when drunk, which it blatantly did with, “That was a fucking bastard!” echoing around the bar.  This new beverage proved just as popular as its illegitimate little brother and so I branched out and within days along came, The Twat” and “The Wanker.”  Orders came thick and fast, shouts of “I’m a Bastard, she’s a Twat, he’s a Wanker and that guys a Fucking Bastard,” ensuring they got what they wanted and everyone knew where/who they were.  The fun both women and men got when ordering these drinks cannot be underestimated and once we became known for our music and cocktails we became very busy indeed.

I had wanted to go to Pikes Hotel, the location for the Club Tropicana video by Wham! so Dave and I drove up one Sunday afternoon.  In 1989 the car park in front was a dusty mix of sand and shingle lifting into the air like a swarm of mosquitos as our car skidded over the surface and came to a stop.  Once the dust had settled we walked toward the low level buildings built into the hillside and up a row of stairs and onto a patio, a large cabana suite to our right and the infamous Club Tropicana pool in front.  

We walked around the building to our left and toward the pool bar when a young guy in his early thirties approached and asked if he could help us.  He was Anthony (Dale) Pike, the son of Tony Pike, hotel owner, raconteur, party organiser and friend to the stars.  We told Dale who we were and that we were running Dave’s Confusion bar that summer and gained trust and friendship to a degree.  Dale welcomed us and Dave regaled Dale with tales of football as we sat at the bar and had a drink.  In return Dale recalled stories of the celebrities who had stayed there.  We talked about the Wham! video and my attempts to be a George lookalike.  Dale said that George would be staying at the hotel in June whilst performing at concerts in mainland Spain. 

I decided there and then that I’d get back to the hotel and try and meet George and as I was still a budding if unsuccessful songwriter figured he might like to record a song of mine, (you have to have a dream in this life and a dream bonded to unbridled confidence also helps, so much so that I carried my lyrics books with me everywhere just in case).  Back in town the tourist numbers were building and various friends of Dave’s began to show up at the bar including Keith Bertschin who had played alongside Dave at Norwich City Football Club.  He was now playing at Walsall FC and had bought almost the entire first team over for an end of season holiday.  Also in town were Rod, Ray and Danny Wallace, three brothers playing for Southampton FC, 

along with a few others Southampton FC players.  Dave decided to organise a game on the local pitch in San Antonio and most of the professionals agreed to have a game.  I was having problems with my back so agreed to referee the game and to make up the numbers a few lads on holiday were asked if they wanted to play alongside professional footballers and they all agreed (who wouldn’t?).

I am pretty sure anyone who has played football at any level has played on a pitch that lacked a certain something; was missing a few features that made it not quite the surface one would hope for.  In the case of San Antonio Town FC the missing features were; Grass, Lines marking the pitch, Nets in the goals and an absence of a flat surface.  What it did have was sun-baked hard clay, covered in sand and small stones and pockmarked with holes and cracks.  I wonder what the team managers would have said had they seen some of their million pound assets running around such an awful pitch?  The stars were split evenly between the teams and Dave decided his best position, seeing that he couldn’t run, was to stand in the centre circle and ping passes out to the wings and into the goal areas. 

I’d never seen Dave play before and watching him smack forty and fifty yard passes direct to feet was quite something.  The lads making up the numbers however were making certain that the professionals knew they were in a game and were sliding into tackles that would have someone in hospital had I not stopped the game.  Rod and Danny were enraged at the tackles and so I asked everyone to remember, especially those amateurs playing, that some people were putting their livelihoods at stake for what should have been a kick about.  All agreed to tone it down a tad and we started off again and once that tackles had stopped scything people down we had great time.  The heat was tremendous though and frequent stops for water were made with players simply walking off, grabbing a bottle and wandering back onto the pitch. I don’t remember the final score but know that we knocked it after an hour and all headed back to Confusion for beers and laughs, the professionals and amateurs getting along fine.

Confusion! Confusion!

As House and Acid were predominant, the island was gearing itself up for what became known as the “Summer of Love - 1989!”  All the major clubs, Ku (later re-named Privilege), Amnesia, Space, Pacha, Es-Paradis and Star Club, were preparing to deliver what the clubbers wanted; Bottled water at extortionate prices, celebrity DJ’s and House and Acid Music.  The licensing laws on the island at that time stated that all clubs and bars had to close for at least two hours per day.  Space, a club just outside Ibiza Town launched that year, was an ‘open-air’ club and fed on clubbers who wanted to continue partying into the late morning (Midday) its dance floor packed with people waving bottles of water above their heads (occasionally drinking it to stop themselves dehydrating from the Ecstasy Tablets and Speed they’d taken), and shouting their heads off at the Airliners that flew directly overhead, as they landed and departed from the islands airport just a few miles along the coast.  As well as Space; Amnesia, Ku and Es-Paradis were also open air and were renowned for their late night (3am) foam parties and as they were going to be limited in the main to selling huge quantities of bottled water, not alcohol, they inflated the price of water to near £5 per 330ml bottle and doubled entry prices to compensate for lost revenue.

The bars in San Antonio (in what is called The West end) were all vying to attract clubbers for early drinks and dancing with a number of gimmicks; male and female ‘props’ in the street offering two-for-one drinks and free shots; live music, cocktail hours and happy hours.   Bar Confusion was not on the main drag so we needed something dramatically different but equally as enticing, if not more so, to attract customers.  We needed to differentiate our product from the mass-market offering available everywhere else (Is what a Marketing expert would say).  The only customers in the first weeks of the season would be holidaymakers passing the Bar as they walked from their hotels into town or from town out towards the west coast and Café Del Mar.  Café del Mar had become “The Place” for the ‘Chill out scene’; Ravers would flop down on the imported sand beach which covered the hard rocks beneath, (the sand would be washed away each winter requiring new sand every spring), crack open a litre bottle of finest water and watch as the sun slipped below the waves, listening to soon to be classic chill-out music played by the DJ’s who would then re-appear and at the top clubs later that night playing music at the other end of the musical spectrum.

The real brilliance of Dave’s plan, our “Differentiator” was the music we’d play and how we’d promote the bar.  Prior to our departure to decorate the bar, Dave enlisted the help of Vic, who had a vast collection of music in all formats.  Providing him with 50 or so blank tape cassettes, Vic was asked to copy onto them all music that fell within strict limits, which was either by the bands listed or fell strictly within the same genre, bands such as: U2, REM, The Alarm, The Cure, Killing Joke, Pixies, Sisters of Mercy, The Associates, Simple Minds, Water Boys, The Smiths, Joy Division and New Order, Talk Talk, The Fall, OMD, Morrissey, Tears For Fears, Art of Noise, The Adventures, B-52’s, Depeche Mode, A Flock of Seagulls, INXS, Gary Numan, Soft Cell, Talking Heads, Bowie, Stone Roses, Happy Mondays, Inspiral Carpets, James, The Charlatans, The Farm, Blur, Oasis, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Clash; I could go on and on.  There was definitely no disco, no love songs and no soft rock.  Although I was allowed the occasional Wham! or George Michael song by way of appeasement, I never heard them played.  My input was very limited which was probably for the best.  In between some of the songs, Vic inserted vocal clips from movies (Robin Williams shouting “Goooooooood Moooornnnnning Vietnammmmm!!” for example) and the chant “Confusion” from the New Order song of the same name and after which the bar was named, would jump out between numbers as well.

The outside of the bar was painted white and below the front window, Sid The Hippie, a resident English guy who’d been on the island for many years, reproduced the cover of the Joshua Tree Album by U2 in black paint and  to the left of the door, a large silhouette of The Edge.   Listed on this in chalk were the names of some of the bands and some of the pirated movies we’d play during the day.  Dave hit upon the idea that many of the clubbers would be too frazzled to hit the beach and would be happy to sit in our bar watching movies, the pirate copies such as: - Who Framed Roger Rabbit (! Go figure), Midnight Run (De Niro), Licence to Kill (Bond), Batman (Michael Keaton), Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Star Trek – The Final Frontier, Good Morning Vietnam (very popular) and Who Framed Roger Rabbit.  Obviously some of these were aimed at the younger generation as well, but you’d be surprised at what a drugged up Acid Head will watch.  I being somewhat of a soft touch, would happily allow guys to sit there watching a film without ordering a drink, whereas Dave would be asking who needed a drink, “I’ll bring it over to you,” he’d say.  If anyone declined he’d ask whether they thought this was a charity bar?  “Buy a drink or fuck off,” was his last offer before he’d eject them into the street.  Acidheads were notorious for making a 330ml bottle Mineral Water last all day, they’d sit in a trance-like state, staring at the TV screen rocking back and forth as if personal soundtrack to their life was playing over and over inside their head.  Families who came to watch the kid’s films always coughed up with Dad’s drinking numerous bottles of beer, as Mum would be downing the Southern Comfort.  Their kids would run around annoying the Acidheads, who’d moan and then be told to “Fuck off you cheap twat” by Dave as they’d spent hardly spent a peseta on beer.

Bar Confusion was next-door to The OK Corral, a typical English Pub abroad serving British beer, Sunday Roasts, Cottage Pie etc. owned and run by Liverpudlian husband and wife, Kaz and Reg and their friend Rick.  Dave called Rick either, “Souness”, due to his likeness to Graeme Souness the Liverpool FC player, (the likeness being a large moustache’) or the “Horizontal Barman”, on account of his falling down drunk one evening after a late night session as he “disappeared”, moving from the vertical to the horizontal in a second.  Next-door to The OK Corral was the Bar Quack Quack, owned by Ron and Bob, two Englishmen nearing retirement age and opposite was Bar Cantiti, an Ibicencian Café/Bar serving Tapas and drinks that attracted the locals run by a charming man called Bartolo.  

Reg, at The OK Corral had an amazing claim to fame and Dave called him the 5^th Beatle, as he had been a school friend of Paul McCartney.  Meeting the teenage Paul McCartney on the bus one day they got talking about music and Reg said he played guitar.  Paul asked him if he wanted to join his new band?  Reg said he’d, “Have to ask my Mum as I’m at College,” and his Mum said “No!”  Thereby ending abruptly before it ever got started, the career he could have had as one of the Fab Four and hence becoming, the 5^th Beatle.  The Iceman was perfectly named as he delivered all our Ice-cubes.  His father had started a water purification plant on the island and began producing ice-cubes en-masse to cater to the bars and clubs.  He was a real charmer, driving around the island in football shorts and a t-shirt in his refrigerated van.  I’m pretty certain that he’d have a beer in every bar he stopped at.  We closed up after the redecorations and caught a flight back to Luton, a quick trip back to collect anything we’d need for the summer and then we headed straight back to serve the masses.

1989 - The Summer of Confusion

1989 was clouded by the effect Ibiza and the summer of love had on me.  Blogs for the year (commencing below), are really one long story and flow into each another, so sometimes there may not be a "dramatic ending or denouement" you sometimes get or expect to read at the end, but you'll get used to that I'm sure - thank you for continuing to read this blog-spot.  JW xx

Creating Confusion

Dave Bennetts football career was cut short in 1984 with a knee injury and whilst his ligament damage was considerable back then, it but would probably have been operable and treatable today.  Fortunately Dave was insured and given his zest for life he bought a lease on a bar in the West End of San Antonio, Ibiza; the centre of the islands nightlife and party community.  He managed it himself in 1984 and leased the bar out over the following four summers, but by 1989 he was itching to get back to he island because he knew there was a mint to be earned if you did the right thing and more importantly, he was almost broke.  He had married Rebecca and they lived in a nice bungalow in Thorpe, Norwich.  By late January 1989 Dave and I were becoming great friends, he had an infectious personality and one could not help but like the guy, even though anyone other than I would take his plans and schemes, points of view and dramatic affectations with a pinch of salt.  I just saw a nice man who was great fun to be around and he had connections.

Dave approached me in the Hole in the Wall one evening and said he wanted a word.  Given my ‘gift of the gab’ he thought I’d make an excellent barman in Ibiza and wondered whether I fancied running the Bar with him over the summer months?  I was in a quandary here as my friend Rick Holmes, the musician and fledgling rock star, had also asked me whether I wanted to set up as a two piece outfit and to go to Ibiza and play the bars and clubs?  I love Rick dearly but with only three months to go in which to build a set list large enough to match the quickly developing ‘Acid House Music’ and Ecstasy charged clubbers needs, find a regular gig, accommodation and income needed to live I decided, sadly for Rick, to choose the easier route to Mediterranean madness that year.  Rick, whilst disappointed in my decision (he has forgiven me now) still had his band (The Law) to keep him occupied as well as his job and girlfriends.  I on the other hand was finding it harder to get up in the mornings for work (wonder why) at the Double Glazing Factory, had slipped behind on payments for the Scirocco and Glenn moved out of the house as he was going to move into cheaper rooms with a group of friends.  So suddenly in the space of a month I lost my job (restructuring – last in, meant first out), my car was going to be repossessed by the finance company and my brother Richard delicately asked me to move out giving me a months notice, as I had no money to pay the rent; so it was back to mums house again.

The Hole in the Wall and Ricks place were still my main hangouts of a weekend and some weekday evenings as well.  

I started seeing a lot more of Dave and would pitch up at his house for tea, which usually came with a sauce of some kind as being a Manchester lad everything edible that was served for dinner involved gravy or if gravy was not the suitable sauce, it was replaced by some other form of liquid or semi-liquid substance poured over or around the main course.  So through Dave I was introduced to Hummus, Taramasalata, Pesto and various other delicacies.  Rebecca his wife was a slim, very attractive blonde who was quite shy and reserved but who also had a wicked laugh and was more than able to match Dave in a battle of wits.  I liked her a great deal as she was easy to talk to and was always interested in my life and what was happening to me.  Health wise, I was still seeing the Orthopaedic Consultant at the hospital and underwent a short period of physiotherapy to try to alleviate the pain and problems with my back and legs.  I was also taking large amounts of anti-inflammatories and pain medication that, whilst masking the pain, did nothing to identify the cause.  I was not overly concerned at comments such as “could be a prolapsed disc and even the spondylolisthesis” as no one seemed to be able to nail the genuine reason for my pain.  Various x-rays were taken but all proved worthless as to providing a diagnosis. 

Norwich City were playing Wimbledon at home in March 1989 and through Dave, the self anointed king of ‘The Blag,’ we always managed to gain seats in the River End Stand by a circuitous route that would lead us through the sponsors dining room and the fire escape in the corner, onto the stairs behind the terraces and out onto the seats at the top of the stand.  John Fashanu was playing for Wimbledon and was a good friend of Dave’s and that Saturday night after the game we gathered at the Hole in the Wall.  I was not planning on going to the clubs that night probably due to being broke and so turned out wearing jeans.  It was early evening, probably around seven thirty when ‘Fash’ and Dave turned up and there were barely ten people in the bar at that time.  Dave introduced me to John and his friend Glen Mace and Neil Riley joined us as we all had a beer and started chatting.  I was talking to John when he asked me whether I would go to the toilets and check whether anyone was in there?  A very strange request needed a very good reason, so I asked him what he was worried about.  John explained that as he had played for Norwich before moving to Wimbledon there was still some resentment from fans of Norwich and as such he’d had run ins with a number of supporters over the years.  “So basically, I need you to just go in and check there is no one in there before I take a piss, ok?”  ‘Fine’, I thought and went over to the toilet and as there wasn’t anyone in there I came out and told John that the coast was clear.  He went in and I stood outside as requested to stop anyone going in whilst he used the loo!  John came out and we walked back to the group we were with. Dave started telling John about my George Michael lookalike career and John said he would be happy to listen to my demo.  He asked me what I was doing later and that I should join them at Rick Place but I said I was off home as I was skint and could not afford to go clubbing.  “That’s a shame,” said John, “there might be an opportunity coming up later this year that you might be suitable for but I need the tape.”  I said I would pass it onto his friend “Mace” who was with him and lived in Norwich, he would get it to John and we left it there.  The usual crowd started to fill the Hole in the Wall and around 10:30pm, I made my excuses and left to drive home.

Sitting at home watching Match of the Day the thought of missing out on an obvious chance to get some work started to niggle and by 11:30 I was changed and ready to go back out, armed with my Demo Cassette and £20 ‘borrowed’ from my overdraft.  I parked at Hunters Squash club in the hope of bumping into John there, saving myself the entrance fee to Ricks if I couldn’t blag my way in.  The group of footballers and hangers on had already crossed to Ricks Place so I walked over to the club and succeeded in blagging my way in courtesy of a doorman I knew.  I walked upstairs but this time there were no cameras flashing, there were no crowds of screaming girls and instead, had to worm my way through the crowd to reach the bar, were I spotted John, Dave and a whole host of Norwich City footballers stood by the bar surrounded in the main by women.  I weaved my way through the group and stood behind John.  I tapped him on his shoulder and he turned and smiled a big grin as I passed him the cassette.  “That’s what I like to see, someone who is eager to make a go of things, well done, superb effort, I’ll definitely listen to this and get back to you, do you want a beer?” he said.  Later I found myself standing with Andy Townsend (now a well regarded football pundit on ITV) who was very much the worse for wear.

The DJ was playing a U2 song and Andy was singing at the top of his voice swaying around and bumping into people.  I had spoken to him a few times in the past and put my arm around his shoulder and guided him to the bar.  He put his hands in his pockets and fumbling around finally produced a ten-pound note and a set of car keys.  “One more pint and I’m going home, I’ve had enough fun for one night.”  He was staggering drunk and I looked at the car keys and the tenner and said, “I think you’ve had enough beer Andy, put your money in your pocket.  Do you want me to drive you home, I’m happy to do that for you?”  I could just see the headlines, Norwich City Footballer in Drink Driving Arrest! Or some such headline like that.  “Nah mate, you’re legend, but nah, god bless ya, nah, I’ll be ok.”  Like bollocks you’ll be all right I thought, I took his keys and led him away from the bar towards Dave and John.  “I’m heading off now chaps, I’m putting Andy in a cab and then going home, won’t let me drive his car so I’m making sure he doesn’t drive it himself.”  Whether they heard or not I don’t know, they just nodded. John shook my hand and we stumbled across the club and slid down the stairs towards the doors.  In between hugs and shouts of “you’re great mate” and moments of lucidity wherein he appeared totally sober we found the Taxi rank.  I opened the rear door of the first cab and Andy sat in the car.  I shut the door and said the cabbie, “I don’t know where he lives but I’m not letting him drive, so you’ll have to get an address from him.”  “Ok, he’ll be fine with me,” said the cabbie and I walked towards my car at Hunters and saw their taxi driving up Magdalen Street as I went.  ‘Good deed done there’ I thought.

I moved out of the rented house and back to mums (Again!) and despite having no money other than Unemployment Benefit, I still managed to get around, thanks to friends with cars.  Early April 1989 Dave came to see me and said we were flying out to Ibiza to decorate the bar so I packed a case and off we flew.  Dave had arranged for us to stay in a small flat near the centre of San Antonio and after a late night arrival, the following morning we walked round to the bar.   We stood in front of “Bar Confusion”, which Dave had named after a Happy Monday’s song and took stock.  Looking at the front there was a set of Georgian double doors and to the right of these was a window that opened horizontally; the bottom pane resting on the windowsill, the upper pane held in place with a hook and eye.  Inside on the right were concrete moulded seats built in booths and there were four of these along the wall toward the bar each with a marble table fixed to the floor on a single central pole.  The floor was marble tiled floor and the wall to the left, wood panelling with mirrors from waist height up to the ceiling.  The bar was on the right starting behind the last booth of seats and came out of the wall and doglegged towards the rear of the building and had a marble top.  It was around 3 metres long with a couple of San Miguel beer pumps halfway along.  Opposite the bar were the toilets; a small room holding two washbasins and two cubicles with a large mirror on the wall behind the sinks. On the wall behind the bar was a large mirror and where the bar ended there was a floor to ceiling beaded fly curtain and beyond that a store room.  The bar smelt musty; of stale wine and beer and cigarettes, the tangible ghost of party nights long past, the walls were sound but needed a re-paint and the seat cushions were beyond help.

“Right Jonny Boy,” said Dave, “what do you think to this idea?”  Dave went onto describe his plan for a refurbishment starting with painting the interior and exterior walls white.  The concrete seats would be painted white and new cushions would be found, made of sponge covered in material, he’d then over paint the walls with a design similar to the cushions. He had a special idea for the design he’d have painted on the outside.  We walked to the haberdashery and sorted through bolts of cloth until Dave found a white cotton that was covered in multi-coloured fluorescent daubs, as though a paint brush had been swept across the cloth in all directions, using blue, orange, red, black, green, pink and yellow paint.  “We’ll do the same to the walls on the inside of the bar,” said Dave.  I was not so sure but Dave was convinced and we walked into the Hardware store and found all the colours we needed to replicate the cloth on the walls.  He bought Fluorescent Blue strip lights and new spotlights with Fluorescent bulbs and Dave rang his pal who was the resident ‘Ex-Pat Electrician’ to come and fit them.  We organised the licences that had to be purchased, Music, Alcohol, Fire and Health and Safety, which was a joke in it-self as you will read further on.  On a regular basis we had to pay kickbacks to police and council officers who would turn up unannounced, invent some infraction and state that a fine was due otherwise the bar would be closed until payment was made.

It appeared that rather than working with the clubs and bars to the benefit of the whole Island the rules and regulations were built to force adherence to such an extent that, how businesses managed to survive was sometimes beyond me.  Patrols by plainclothes police or enforcement officers meant that we had to be aware not only of the music volume audible outside the bar but also where our customers stood outside with their drink in hand, the area our outside seating covered and whether anyone was smoking pot.  The street the bar was on was paved and closed to all traffic unless on deliveries.  Large concrete oblong planters (no plants in them, just dirt) marked the extent of the seating areas outwards from the bar and width ways was limited to the width of our bar.  However, should a customer decide to move a chair beyond a planter to sit with friends and be spotted by the police, a fine was issued straight away, so we were forever going outside and checking where our customers were.