I coulda had class, I coulda been somebody!

Neil and Jocelyn Riley came out to stay with Dave and Becky at the villa which was great for Becky as she’d most certainly been getting bored.  Her devotion to Dave was stunning; she’d collect bottles and tidy up and when not needed, sat on a chair in the storeroom behind the bead curtain reading a magazine.  Rebecca did spend quite a lot of that year back home in England leaving Dave and I to it, so to speak.  It was great to have Neil and Jocelyn in town and we all hit the beach or walked down to Café’ del Mar.  The summer heat coupled with long working hours, all night clubbing and the need to be “up” for it and continually “on” the job, started to take it’s toll and began to change my behaviour.  Everyone who walked in through the doors of Bar Confusion had a right to expect not just great music, a great atmosphere, outstanding cocktails (!) and plenty of laughs, but for Dave and I to reflect the fact that the “Party Island lifestyle” was indeed one never-ending party for us both. In trying to live up to expectations, changes in my personality manifested themselves in a number of ways; my alcohol intake steadily increased to keep up not only with my peers but with the customers as well.  

Either the pace of life either needed a break in the form of sleep, (and that was highly unlikely to take place and of course didn’t), or I would have to resort to chemical support to get me through the summer.  There were very few days off or even lunch breaks let alone early nights once the season was in full swing.   My staple diet was a grilled chicken Bocadillo, (a small bread baton cut lengthways and crammed with meat) eaten on the run between changing VHS tapes and serving drinks.  What actually enabled me to dodge sleep and maintain the breakneck pace was easy access to drugs, and they allowed me to “cheat” both body and mind into performing way beyond normal limits.   I’m not going to preach and whine about drug taking, how I was taking them for good reasons; there are no ‘good’ reasons.  I don’t condone drug taking and after the 1989’s ‘Summer of Love’, I tried Cocaine once more and decided it was not for me.  I am not apologising nor seeking to explain away my behaviour.  I have never enjoyed smoking Marijuana or Hash/blow, it made me sick, dizzy, tired, very hungry and thirsty. More to the point, drugs are expensive and I didn’t have the money to buy them and wasn’t so into them that I need a fix to get me through the day.  The drugs I took were more of a crutch to lean on during the long nights and days that summer.  Honesty forces me to write about my drug taking and the months spent managing my life us drugs and alcohol, cigarettes and women all in abundance, all indulged if not too extremes, then certainly knocking on that door and to the point where I started to really dislike myself.

Cat (Mr Hash) and his acolytes were regularly popping into the bar and it was through this crowd that I gained knowledge of a new name in town. Billy, (Whizz, Speed, Amphetamine) presented himself one night as I went into the storeroom to grab bottles for the bar.  On a shelf laid out in neat lines 2 inches long was a white powder. I knew it was ‘gear’ but did not know what type.  I went back to the bar and asked Dave about it.  He served the customer in front and we nipped back followed by one of Cats mates Danny.  “Its Billy, Jonny Boy,” said Daniel, “Speed.  It’ll keep you going all night, just don’t go mad as its not cheap.”  Danny was obviously the provider and neither he nor Dave ever asked me to pay for any of these ‘performance enhancing’ drugs and to be fair I never offered as I was not exactly earning a mint. 

Dave thought the opportunity to ‘live the island clubber lifestyle’ more than made up for anything resembling a decent wage and he was not about to ‘up’ my wages just because I was performing beyond expectations. I sniffed a line up my nose and was told to rub anything left on the shelf into my gums, which I did.  I went back to work and I was soon more energetic, eager and active which was a positive I figured.  I didn’t take Speed every night; it wasn’t available every night, more likely twice a week on average.  It did have an effect though and alongside increasing my intake of water, I also increased my intake of Jack Daniels and Vodka.  Beer was for afternoons only or following an in-frequent day on the beach.  When Dave did fancy a day off we’d both have a day off and besides, you can’t keep nipping off to empty your bladder when running a bar and serving drinks all night, so shots of Jack and Tequila became the norm.

One of the more unsavoury characters to turn up was a big brute of a guy called Gary and his wife Caroline. She was cute, pretty and beaten almost to a pulp on a weekly sometimes, daily basis.  He and Caroline had turned up looking for work in early May.  Apparently he was a builder and did find work on the island and a couple running a small bar/club nearer the strip gave Caroline work clearing glasses and propping for them.  Any money she earned went into his pockets and he disappeared into the night returning in the early morning to their small flat to give her a smack and then go to his job.  Caroline became a regular in the bar and she and I became close but not too close, I was more an ear for her to talk to and besides, I think she feared that had she had an affair of any sort he’d kill her.  She’d tell me how he’d come home still smelling of other women, stinking of vomit and drink and try to rape her, (there is no way a woman consents to sex in those circumstances), although more often than not failing to perform.  He had no redeeming characteristics at all and after weeks of listening to this horror story I spoke to Dave and asked what could be done. 

Eventually a group of the English Bar/Club owners got together and bought her a plane ticket off the island.   I borrowed Dave’s car and dropped her at the airport one day whilst the beast was working. I parked up near my flat and walked down the small hill to the bar to go to work only to find him outside stamping up and down.  “Where’s my wife?” he shouted as I approached.  I told him I had no idea where she was and said “How would I know?”  “She is always in there with you,” her said, pointing towards Confusion, “You little shit.”  This was not going to end well unless I got some support and wondered where it was going to come from. This guy was at least 6’3” and I was 5’9” on my best day.  I said something along the lines of “why do you give a shit, you’re fucking all the pigs running around the island anyway!” This elicited the not unexpected response of a push in my chest and his face so close that his spittle was hitting my face as he shouted.  He moved me around so my back was against the doors of our Bar and my escape routes were restricted further, but I continued to smart mouth the ape.  Was I mad?  Probably.  But fuck him, he was a bully and a sick-making bully at that, so I wanted to make sure he was engaged here in town and not patrolling the island looking for Caroline and hitting on the idea of going to the airport.

The yelling finally (thank god) alerted Kaz in the OK Corral, (who had contributed a large amount to the air-ticket) and she came outside and saw what was happening.  She went back in and got Dave who was sat drinking a beer with Reg and Souness.  Dave came out and immediately stepped in between fuck-face and I and walked towards him giving me room to edge away from the doors.  From then on with Dave standing at 6’3” and eye-to-eye with him the bully barely said a word and simply moaned saying, as his meaty fists pointed in my direction, ”He’s always with my missus.”  Dave told him to grow up, that we were friends but nothing more and besides, he was shagging everything left by everyone else, so why did he care?  He slopped off, his knuckles dragging on the floor and wandered towards the main street of bars.  I looked at Dave, “That’s the last time I save you from a kicking.  Stay away from other blokes wives, especially the nutter’s!  Now open up the bar and get Who Framed Roger Rabbit on the TV!” 

I never saw or heard from Caroline again and the ‘Neanderthal’ left the island shortly afterwards, to where I do not know?  That was an example of Dave coming to the rescue but Dave was also a selfish, self-centred bugger who sought loyalty and devotion in others to his cause, but more often than not he failed to reciprocate and I found that immensely frustrating.  I trusted Dave and the shame of it was that his life, personality and opinion of others up to that point, had been greatly affected by people who had ripped him off, dropped him in it or had taken the piss.  So for Dave to trust anyone else was going to require a great deal of faith on his part and despite my best efforts I’ve always been of the mind that he was watching me, constantly.  As principled as I believe I am, and I live by a set of principles that are basic and simple tenets; (don’t steal from anyone, especially friends; be honest, try to be kind its easier than being an arse, and treat everyone as an equal), I could have been the risen Christ and still have been a suspect in Dave’s small world of intrigue and suspicion.  And that was a bloody shame and shame on him for what followed as well.

My brief meeting with John Fashanu when in passed him my demo tape in Ricks Place in Norwich had long been forgotten, as I was hard at work serving tourists.  “Fash” was so far from my mind that when Kaz came into Bar Confusion one early June afternoon from the OK Corral and said, “I’ve got John Fashanu on the phone,” Dave immediately assumed it was for him.  The OK Corral had a phone in the kitchen and we’d provided the number to friends and family in case of emergencies.  “He’s not ringing for you Dave, its for Jonathan,” said Kaz pointing towards me.  Dave stopped in his tracks and I inwardly smiled as I walked around the bar to go with Kaz.  In the OK Corral kitchen I picked up the gravy stained receiver and said “Hello?”  “Jonny Boy,” said Fash, “Found you at last mate.  Look, you know you handed me your George tape, well I’ve got something for you,” he said.  My stomach flipped, “Great, what is it?” I asked, half expecting a wedding do or nightclub show at best. “It’s a Pilot for a TV show mate, using lookalikes to impersonate pop-stars and they get votes to see who is the best one,” said Fash. “Fucking yes please,” I said, but I knew Dave needed me here and was already worrying as to how he’d manage without me.

“I was hoping you’d say that mate.  You need to get on a plane sharpish mate!”  John Fashanus use of the word “mate” was a constant when he spoke; almost becoming a form of punctuation in each sentence.  It later turned out that the show in question was the Pilot for “Stars In Their Eyes”, the show becoming a Prime time Saturday Evening staple that first aired in the UK the following year (July 1990) after being commissioned by ITV, with Leslie Crowther as host.  “I’d better go and tell Dave then, back in a minute, hang on!” I shouted.  I ran off to find Dave  almost bumping into him as he stood at the door of the OK Corral.  Confusion was empty and he was wondering what was going on.  I told Dave all that Fash had said about the Pilot and that I had to go to the UK, and watched Dave’s face slowly change, as the realisation dawned on him that I was going away.  “I can’t let you go, you won’t come back Jonny,” said Dave.  “What? You have to let me go, it’s my chance! Fash has done what he said he’d do, I have to go and do this Dave.” I was pissed off at his attitude, but still certain that I was going.  “Nah, you’ll get involved and then you’ll ring me and say you can’t come back as you have other stuff to do.  So I can’t let you go.”  Let me go?  What the fuck?  What right had he got to decide whether I went or not.  I told him this and that I was really fucked off that he was being so stubborn. 

“Look, you’ve got no money.  How are you gonna pay for the flight back home, I’m not giving it to you.”  I knew Fash was hanging on the phone waiting for me to come back and confirm the details.  “I’ll call my mum, she’ll pay for the flight,” I said pathetically.   I was more or less pleading with him to let me go, it was my dream break.  “Look, I’ll go and talk to Fash and explain that you’re needed here and he’ll understand.  There’ll be another chance anyway knowing Fash.  This is not a one off, he’s always got things happening so don’t worry, it will still be there when you get back.”  I didn’t believe that for a second and said, “I want to go Dave, its only fair”.  And Dave?  He turned to me and said, “Fair?  You cheeky little fucker!  You wouldn’t fucking know Fash if it weren’t for me!  You ungrateful little shit, you’re here working for me working in a dream job and I gave you this chance.  I could just say to Fash that you’re not worth it, that you’re a wanker and he’ll forget you, but I wont.”  His voice calmed a little from its rising volume. “I’ll just tell him not now and after the summer you can fucking go and do what you want with my blessing, but not now.”

With that he went into the OK Corral and I was left in the street like a swinging dick, with fuck-all to do but slope off back into the bar.  I’d capitulated and given up my chance of possibly being someone, of having ‘something’.  It could have been the thing that changed my life from dead end job to dead end job.  I don’t know where it might have led me but it might have been something better.  In my darker moments before I learned to stop having regrets, (Regrets poison you slowly but surely, until you lose everything and have nothing but regret and sod all else), I used to look back at that episode and contemplate Marlon Brando’s character Terry in the movie ‘On The Waterfront’ and his speech to his brother Charley (Rod Steiger).  He said and I quote, “You don't understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum!"  

Dave walked back into the bar some 5 minutes later and put and end to that chance with the words, “Fash said he understands.  He said it’ll be there for you when you get home at the end of the season.”  He no more believed that than I did and I sulked about for more than a week until Dave told me to cheer the fuck up!  I did cheer up when Dave, perhaps feeling bad, pitched up with Billy and Charlie the twin brothers of delight and despair who corrupted body and soul.  We worked like buggers and closed early and went to KU Club to celebrate nothing much in particular and so the circle continued to turn and the screws, (drugs, drink, women and exhaustion) tightened a little more.  Did I have a failing?  Was I wrong to decide to devote myself to the success of the bar that summer?  I was loyal, honest, and committed to the business notwithstanding what had happened. I put it behind me after a while and got on with the work at hand.  Dave meanwhile had simply chipped away at the pedestal I’d put him with a large chunk of masonry falling away and he’d started to wobble.    

In recalling those events recently with Dave he apologised and said he could not remember that happening.  It was erased from his memory but he continued to apologise and as I've written; there are no, (I have no) regrets.  

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.