EUnity

Much has been written in the preceding 72 hours about the team spirit of the European Ryder Cup team and how the efforts of those 12 men and one midget brought the peoples of nations usually at loggerheads with each other together as one. You could argue that with the Yanks on the opposite side, there must be far more nations than just the UK, Ireland, Spain and Sweden queuing up to join the battle for the Sam Ryder trophy.

Still, for all the hopes as to what long term significance this might have for the Continent (none), the antithesis presented itself to me this afternoon in the most unlikely of places. I popped into my local barber's for a long overdue snip only to find that the owner (who quite clearly uses the frequently empty shop to launder money he makes from his extra-curricular activities) was not in. In his place were two dizzy bottle blondes. It transpired that the one not cutting my hair was the dead-eyed mate of the other, there to reminisce about the two-week cultural exchange they had just returned from in Ibiza.

Our illuminating conversation left me pondering many questions, such as, 'Was the dead-eyed friend's husky voice the result of:

a) too many fags
b) too much drunken shouting, or
c) handing out too many throatjobs to passing strangers.'

The answer is clearly d) all of the above and more.

The other questions were generally variations on a theme, that theme being: "Is there any hope for humanity?"

Why? Well...

Cunt 1: "We went to loads of the clubs there - Manumission, Pacha, Amnesia. They were well wicked."

Cunt 2: "Yeah, except for Amnesia, especially on weekends."

C1: "There were too many locals there on Fridays and Saturdays."

C2: "Yeah, you felt like you just didn't belong."

Then mere seconds after this insight in the crashing death of civilisation, this:

EB: "So is it just Brits that go to Ibiza these days then or do you get people from all over the world?"

C1: "Oh, you get people from all over, not just Brits."

C2: "Yeah, there were loads of people from Wales."

Hand me the razor blade.

Yet they weren't finished there, oh no...

C1: "We saw someone die."

C2: "Yeah, when we was in one of the clubs."

EB, eagerly anticipating an E-overdose, frothing at the mouth, end of season spaz attack story: "Really?"

C1: "These guys were fighting and it spilt out to the entrance of the club."

C2: "Yeah, one of them who was getting kicked in fell down the stairs."

C1: "He banged his head on the bottom step and it bounced up really badly, like."

C2: "Yeah, and there was this pool of blood all round it."

C1: "Someone picked up his head, but it dropped straight down again and we said, 'I bet he doesn't make it'."

C2, chuckling: "Yeah, so we decided we'd had enough and went home."

Ain't you glad they're back.