What’s coming home?

Aside from the obvious stuff like, it’s a bunch of fit men kicking around a round ball, many of those men get paid silly money for the honour, it’s a sport also known as soccer, that it makes normally completely reasonable and sane men crazy and most importantly it has given me (and the rest of the female population in the world) the gift of David Beckham. Oh, and that there’s a World Cup of sorts going on at the moment. Now here’s something else I didn’t know this morning (and I am quite ashamed to admit this, but for the sake of a good story I’m prepared to embarrass myself).

I had no idea that Stormzy was basically the king of grime. My only saving grace here is that I did at least know WHO Stormzy was – only thanks to a certain South Londoner I know called Miss C who is constantly blasting his tunes over her Ibiza rooftop terrace – and I knew he was going to be in Ibiza this week, but having been living in a little Dalt Vila shaped bubble for the last six months, I had no idea the event he was hosting and playing was such a big festival. To be perfectly honest, I just thought he was some local rapper from London who was kind of connected with some friends of mine in Ibiza. [STORMZY, IF YOU’RE READING THIS, I’M SORRY. PLEASE BE MY FRIEND.]

So, now you’re caught up on two things I didn’t know this morning. After waking up, I (like most people in the world) started scrolling through my phone with bleary eyes and seeing post after post on social media saying: ‘It’s coming home.’ Hmmm… what is this IT people are speaking of, I wondered? And what home is it going to? At the same time, I started seeing Stormzy – you know, that rapper guy I thought was a friend of a friend – all over the press, making headlines for stopping his gig at Ibiza Rocks to watch the penalty shootout between England and Colombia in last night’s FIFA World Cup Match. WHAT? I thought? Is he mad? You can’t just STOP a gig like that in Ibiza.

Well, apparently you can if you’re Stormzy, who went straight back onstage after the big win while the crowd – who must have been 99.5% polite and patriotic Brits for allowing the break in proceedings – went absolutely and utterly insane, turning the festival atmosphere up to 11. Trying to look like I was down with the cool kids, I instantly jumped onto Stormzy’s Instagram account, where he’d just posted ‘IT’S ACTUALLY COMING HOME.’ And then finally, by taking fact one (I know nothing about football) and pairing it with fact two (I had no idea Stormzy is a legend), I learnt that IT is football and HOME is England (as a non-Brit, I think I can be excused for not knowing that).

In addition to learning about the home of football – so called because the game was invented by the Brits in the 19^th century, for those nunces like me who didn’t know – I also learned that Stormzy’s real name is Michael Ebenazer Kwadjo Omari Owuo Jr. I can understand why he may not want to get stuck signing autographs with that moniker! Turns out you really do learn something new every day. And while I’m not sure any of this newfound knowledge is going to be enough to get me down to Playa d’en Bossa to buy a red footy jersey from the looky looky men on the beach and watch the quarter final between England and Sweden this coming Saturday (although I must admit, I do find Swedish men very attractive… hmm, maybe I need a yellow jersey), I do feel that I can now attempt to participate in any future conversations about the game. And I might just make sure I go see Stormzy next time he’s in town! Photography By Elliot Young www.eyphoto.co.uk for Ibiza Rocks.