Miss W's blog

A letter to Santa…

Hello. You might remember me. Miss W?

We’ve had quite a bit of correspondence in the past, since about, ooh I dunno, around the late ‘70s. Sometimes you answered, sometimes you didn’t.

Dear Santa

Hello. You might remember me. Miss W? We’ve had quite a bit of correspondence in the past, since about, ooh I dunno, around the late ‘70s. Sometimes you answered, sometimes you didn’t. Most times though, I have to say, you really came through with the goods come Christmas day. Impressive. I like your style. So anyway, I really hope you’re still on your game in 2012 because I have quite the specific Christmas wish list this year and if you can manage to pull it out of the bag – or magic sack as the case may be – I PROMISE I will forever be indebted* to you.

*Yep, even more than that time I said I’d be forever indebted to you for a blonde, blue-eyed Cabbage Patch Kid with freckles in the mid ‘80s.

So, dearest Santa, all I want for Christmas this year is the perfect Ibiza boyfriend. Please. Pretty please, with two Pacha cherries on top.

It’s not too much to ask is it? Someone who will appreciate it when I play Richie Hawtin mixes all day, every day, someone who doesn’t mind me swooning over DJ W!ld 24/7, someone who shares my obsession for Luciano…

Someone who will clean up my house after those spontaneous midweek after parties (before I’ve even woken up), someone who’ll fetch me crumpets when I have a craving, someone who’ll carry those hefty eight-litre bottles of water up through the cobbled streets of Dalt Vila without complaining, someone who doesn’t mind that I always seem to take up three quarters of the king sized bed, someone who thinks I always look pretty even without make-up and on a hangover (or worse, with smudged make-up on a hangover)…

Someone who doesn’t mind my penchance for all things pink (and yes, that includes Luciano’s lock of hair), someone who’ll watch Gossip Girl marathons with me rather than leave the house on a weekend (don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul), someone who’ll take me home before I’ve had one hierbas too many (is there such a thing?), someone who encourages me to wear leopard print leggings in public…

Someone who’ll spontaneously swim in Salinas in the middle of winter, someone who’ll teach me a new Spanish word every day (and conjugate it too), someone who’ll sing Lana Del Rey (or Lady Gaga) karaoke with me, someone who will always leave the last biscuit in the tin for me, someone who can make a damn good cup of tea, someone who’ll stand in the middle of a crowded dance floor raving their heart out with me in August despite the heat, the crowds and the Italians…

Someone who likes to eat three meals a day in bed with me (and my cats), someone who thinks my jokes are funny (even when they’re clearly not), someone who’ll drive to the north of the island just to roll around in grass and look up at the stars with me, someone who uses the Agent Provocateur website to buy me gifts (as opposed to using it as substitute porn), someone who will let me win at Monopoly every time, someone who believes in magic, fairies and… someone who believes in you Santa!

What’s it gonna take? Cookies? Cake? Beer? Brandy? Hierbas? Say the word and I’ll make sure it’s yours. You know where I live right? I don’t have a chimney, so feel free to just buzz my doorbell on Christmas Eve and I’ll come up and let him in.

And yes, before you ask, of course I’ve been good all year, I swear. Well, apart from those times when I was naughty… but come on now – we do live in Ibiza after all. And it’s not like you haven’t indulged in one too many here and there now is it Santa?