The fact that the Love Islanders never get out of their bed, or each others, in Ibiza says it all about them.
I’ve savoured all the islands and revisit whenever I get the chance.
I would of course though like to get my Valentine out there on my own without the family.
And when I do I will definitely get her on the pedalos by Soller in the north of the island where the Brits never go.
The family’s designated driver she’ll not go careening towards mine which my ditzy colleague did way back then.
Each of course are perennial favourites with us British.
And each have their own identity if only you escape your own tribe.
Majorca: The best thing about Magaluf is the road out and you really don’t have to go that far to arrive at more exclusive and less Britified Majorca.
You know you really don’t want to be eating a full English breakfast wtih a pint of lager under the beating heat with your top off, men! And watching Del Boy on the telly.
You’re better getting along to the nearby Western Water Park.
But watch out for the the salmon-pink Brits making a big splash and dousing you and your young lad just coming off The Beast.
And one from my childhood here where my parents got on board the fashion for all things Balearic back in the 70s.
And while they topped up on their tans and made friends with people from their own neck of the woods in I did my bit for international relations.
I had not a word of German but befriended Uwe over games of sand bowls on our Menorca beach.
Being German I think he beat me in a sudden-death shoot-off.
The sun must have got to my folks because they allowed me a freedom in the Balearics that they would never ever sanction at home in Scotland.
And that meant allowing me a half a glass of vino in Ibiza.
Pepe, the waiter from Seville who worked in Portinax , topped it up a little bit more!
Ole, ole, ole, ole!
Open wide in Fuerteventura
Now I blame those very same parents, just like Philip Larkin did, for my drinking habits on those early Thomson, now TUI holidays.
My Dear Old Dad love the exoticism of ordering a Cuba Libre (a rum and coke to you and me) from the beach shack.
And they were changed days as I would be sent to collect them. I would always ask for an Orangina which had specks of actual orange and came in a funky bottle.
And that took the edge off this nine-year-old’s sore head from the previous day’s outing on the boat to Fuerteventura, something a bit like this.
Find out first if they’ve got a porron.. and this is how you do it.
Although Mum knew that already despite never having seen a porron before. She is from Ireland after all where every drop of alchohol is saced!
So where is your Love Island… let me know and we’ll share.