Last night I was talked into attending my first ever foam party. 

The foam party takes place every Friday at probably the only real night club in the town – Coyote´s disco pub. We all know what that means, right?  Old recollections of 'The Venue' in New Cross, 'The Works' in Canterbury etc. and you would be so wrong.  These places are better!

My arm was well and trully twisted when my new pal 'TorquayDD', said "So, are we going to the foam party later?"

I found myself saying "Yes, it's going to be a real laugh."  And although so wrong, on so many levels, I was right. 

In Costa Teguise there are a few places the British like to hang out, and at times I had best confess that, being British, I have in the interests of research investigated them all. 

Obviously I have taken these distasteful forays with a purely scientific approach to understanding how other tribes (within my own tribe) live, with their different cultures, different customs etc.  One question still unanswered is that I am still not quite sure why people come to a place like the rock only to sit in a bar eating fried food, drinking beer and tea, watching the x factor surrounded only by Brits – I think this is really odd.  It is just beyond me, but I am trying.

Back to the point.  The foam party can only be described as carnage.

The foam is generally cold and sticky.  I have been reliably informed that this is normal for foam parties.   Clothes get saturated.  In all the hullabaloo my feet were trodden on and my flip flops which have served me so well since the 22 March were broken.  Boo!  If one put a drink down, it was almost immediatly stolen.

The lights were good and despite my ears perpetually feeling like I have a pair of fingers stuck in them, the music was so loud, there was a physical effect as the heavy resonating beat forced itself through my bones.  I think, without wanting to exaggerate, my knee might just have occasionally bent in time with the music thereby creating a strange effect of a wobbly tall person badly imitating what a minority of people could possibly describe as a dance!   This went on for about 90 minutes.

So the conclusion, having seen a bunch of people who were either too young or in my opinion in some cases too old (insert my name) to be there smearing themselves with ash-flicked bubbles and alcohol induced vomit-fuelled foam:

I am sure that some who were there enjoyed it.  For me it was purely entertainment seeing how hedonistic people become, given the introduction of a drop of fairy and a big hair drier.  You must obviously empathise how I am just above all this sort of thing, operating on a higher plain.  Of course, it was a real chore seeing a writhing mass of wet dancing bodies all looking to meet new and interesting people.  

So the recommendation?

If you don't fancy seeing a group of people get wet and dance to the point of drunken exhaustion and if you don't want random people coming to talk to you in a slurd way, telling you why they want to be your friend.  Don't go.

End.