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As the biggest and probably most expensive night of the year in most clubbing fans diary, plans are usually pencilled in way in advanced for New Years Eve. However, me being me of course left it to the last minute to make and for a long while it looked like I had a date in with my Nan, Grandad and Jools Holland.

Luckily I got my arse into gear at the very last minute and got tickets for Countdown in Nottingham. As I’ve admitted before I’m not a huge Drum n’ Bass and with a line-up that would of leave most DnB heads foaming at the mouth, I was sceptical also feeling robbed at paying 38 quid for a ticket but felt it was my only option.

I hate the way Club promoters use New Year as a way of bleeding us all dry, knowing that were all going to give in and pay the ridiculous tickets and drinks prices in fear of missing out potentially on the best night of our year.

I kicked off the standard NYE preparations on totally the wrong foot by making the serious error of dying my hair a luminous red and staining my scalp and hair line, just hours before I was meant to be out and there I was standing in the bathroom looking like a disgruntled member of the munch bunch. I tried my best to hide this mishap with foundation and carried on getting ready, spending a good 35 minutes starring blankly at my wardrobe, eventually picking a T shirt from small Polish Brand MisBehave which I absolutely love and a pair of mesh leggings.

A model looking much better in my wonderful T-shirt.

Despite being New Years I really didn’t feel the need to make to much of an effort knowing that by about half 11 most people wouldn’t even remember their own names let alone what I was wearing.

Countdown was being held over 4 venues, Stealth, Rescue Rooms, The Rig and Rock City, we headed to the latter first to see Logistics and they blew my mind, you of found me a sweaty mess right at the front. Caught a bit of Caspa in the Rig, back into Rock City for the Countdown with High Contrast, which was of course amazing, the venue had reached its capacity of 2500 and had the best atmosphere ever!

The rest of the acts I saw after this were a bit of a let down, Scratch Perverts failed to impress playing pretty much the exact same set that they did a couple of months back when they were in Notts and the finale of the night Annie Mac was absolutely pants, playing a completely average set.

I appreciate she’d already played in London and Leeds but she just looked like didn’t even want to be there, If you can’t hack it don’t bother man!

Even so I can’t say that the previous two events put any sort of a downer on my night, and even though my lovely new purse defiantly felt the strain I undeniably had the best New Year Eve I’ve ever had, and If its anything to go by 2010’s gonna be a gooden!

Ticket:£38.00
Eyelashes (which I ripped off after about 17 minutes of being out):£5.00
Petrol (to get to Nottingham): £25.00
Money spent on drinks:£50.00
Taxi home:£5.00
Essential KFC the morning after:£5.29

Total:£128.29
OUCH!

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Theres no doubt about it, I’m back in England. My hangover resembles that of a vodka redbull fuelled evening. After a few days of recovering from my Ibiza haze, I ended up back in my local nightclub last night – Smack. Oh sorry I’d better explain that - I haven’t suddenly started talking about hard drug nicknames – no, no. That IS its name – or at least that’s what it says on the doors.

They take the pleasure of serving all their drinks in little white plastic cups, sound familiar? Please do tell me if they do this anywhere else. They’re good for the whole crack down on drunk violence thing, but bad for actually being able to drink your vodbull poison without the cup getting squashed in your hand by a passer by.

It makes it very difficult to count how many drinks you actually drank and how many exploded in your hand before getting to your lips!

The dance floor was kind of like an angry mosh pit last night, lots of boys jumping around and throwing themselves headfirst into their associates. I think this was due to the odd selection of music coming from the DJ box.

One minute it was Kings of Leon and the next it was Chase&Status, I think it was making everyone confused and causing them to thrash their heads around. Was it rock, pop, dubstep? Not to mention the fidgety minimal stuff. Who knew!

When I ventured out for some ‘fresh air’ I found my friend slurring at a bouncer and arguing that he should be let back in. Quote: “I’ve spent thousands of pounds in this establishment! My drinking habit is single handedly keeping it running!”. Not sure that’s the best way to get back into a nightclub, but kudos for managing to construct the sentence.

Now, I fear I may only be highlighting the fact that ‘our generation are a bunch of raving binge drinkers.’ But my good friend makes a valid point. We spend thousands of pounds going clubbing and, economically, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

 Someone’s got to keep it going right? Even if it does mean embracing plastic cups. Don’t worry Gordy – we’ve got it covered!

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You know it’s not summer anymore when you start freezing your bum off in a queue for a nightclub.   Most opt for the – get to the club as quick as you can and make sure you drink lots so you don’t freeze when you go for a cigarette – option.

At Stealth they have a sign next to the cloak room which reads: ‘Leave your coat in here at your own risk!’ I’m not joking – it actually says that. I always find it amusing when the dopey looking boy they put there has to rummage through about 100 jackets piled on the floor and flung around the place to find yours. Him: ‘What does it look like?” Me: “Umm its black.” … He often looks like he might cry when he realises just about every other coat and jacket in there is black.

I know it may sound odd that I’m talking about coat rooms and cardigans but I hope some girls would agree that clubbing attire is a bit of a dilemma in the winter. Rarely do you see a girl clubbing in trousers and even tights are starting to be seen as a no, no. 

There’s always that iffy moment just before you’re about to leave the house when you suddenly have a panic about whether you can brave the walk without a jacket or not. Then comes the part where you start asking all your girl friends if they’re taking one. Somehow it seems better to be freezing in numbers, rather than on your own. 

How crazy it is that we refuse to hang up the summer skirts and dresses. And you can be sure that bottles of fake tan will be knocking about the bathroom all year round too. If I had my way, it would be ok to have pale legs and wear an Eskimo jacket to a drum and bass night. But maybe that’s just me. The funny thing is…I’m not sure boys even take much notice! Perhaps I will…

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Sprinting up the drive way of Amnesia dragging a very drunk Gemma behind me wasn’t exactly how Id seen my night going when I originally arranged to go see Armin, Roger Sanchez and Markus Shultz last night. We were meeting friends and had kept them waiting for well over an hour. We slowed down as we got to the corner, trying to retain some form dignity to find the pair of them with huge smiles on their faces. I was a bit scared to be honest, considering id expected the standard ‘where the fuck ya been?’. Very out of breathe I tried to apologize but was quickly cut off and had a camera rammed in face. “We just met Armin” they said.

I couldn’t believe it, the picture was of them two and Armin, arm in arm in Amnesia carpark. Considering one of them is the biggest Armin fan I’ve ever met I couldn’t hold it against them to much, but still!

Naturally, i couldn’t really see the night itself topping that moment in the car park, but as is often the case, i was wrong. Like most nights on the Island the crowd was brilliant, very mixed and all there to have an amazing night. We started off in the main room catching the last 20 minutes of Markus Shulz. I’d been looking forward to see him but must admit i wasn’t overly impressed, compared to some of the stuff i had of his on my i-pod. I found him a bit a flat at times and was often distracted by his Orc like appearance. The man is not easy on the eyes i can tell ya that for free!

It was around this this time that my friend Gemma’s flip flops snapped, however like a trooper she carried on the entire night, despite the many shards of glass that embedded themselves in her feet over the course of 5 hours. Well done Gemma! Your efforts have not gone unnoticed!

The heat got a bit to much in the main room so we headed to the mix mag terrace to check out a bit of Roger Sanchez’s 7 hour set. I went in with no preconceptions on what to expect, but was met with a perfect mix of commercial dance, techno, trance and Ibiza classics, all accompanied with amazing visuals. He was Ace!

After about three hours of dancing like fools, we decided to try and make use of my Amnesia ‘gold’ card and find the apparently cheaper VIP bar… Well after about 20 minutes of searching and being chucked out of several sectioned off areas, the location of this elusive bar is still a mystery to me, i had to give in and pay the completely reasonable 15 euros for a vodka and coke. Places like Amnesia must be buying in bottles of spirits for about half that price. I cant imaging the money they take each night. I shall never begrudge the £3.80 i pay in Nottingham ever again!

At 5.30 we headed back to the main room to catch the last half hour of Armin. I’ve seen him three times now and each time i can’t help but feeling like I’m witnessing something a bit special

I fly back to the UK tomorrow, and i can honestly say Ibiza has given me possibly the best summer i will ever be luck enough to have. With the above night defiantly being one to remember!

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So, I’ve landed on the notorious white island that is Ibiza! What excitement at the sun burn and monstrous headaches ahead of me…. Oh how I’ve missed being able to wave glow sticks around and not be branded too un-cool for doing so.

I’m still recovering from last night’s adventures. After having a disaster with a bottle of fake tan I did fear for a moment that I’d have to go swimming to fix the catastrophic streak marks I’d branded myself with. It was all very traumatic but there was no way I was going to showcase my pasty, british legs next to those exotic Ibiza beauties. Urgh – their positively glowing sun kissed skin makes me want to vom sometimes, it doesn’t matter how much St Tropez I plaster on it still feels like quiet desperation!

If you’ve ever been to Space in Playa d’en Bossa, as nightclubs go – you’ll agree it’s pretty impressive. I thought I was mildly hallucinating when a girl on stilts walked past me quite casually at the bar. It’s hard enough keeping your balance on your feet let alone on stilts – how do they do it?? Kudos to that.

Back home I wouldn’t bother battling to the front of the dance floor but the drinks prices slowly burning a hole in my purse spurred me on to get my moneys worth music wise. See, I can hide my pale complexion but I’m still a Brit at heart.

My favourite thing about Ibiza is the clubs are a show. The lights, the music, the ice jet machines, the dancers, it’s all perfectly choreographed. Oh I’m sorry…ice jet machines – yeah pretty amazing huh. But I won’t get too mushy on the place – I still have a hangover that resembles death.

I’ll leave you with that thought while I go and remove the chunks of sand from my shoes, I think their must have been a post club trip to the beach – now there’s a sentence I’d never say in England. Stay tuned!

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