There were children with chest hair in the ball pit but the ball pit was a spa bath and the spa bath was a karaoke stage. It was 10pm.
Freddie's party at Ibiza Rocks House at Pikes – a charity driven tribute marking the birthday of the once frequent guest and friend of the hotel, Freddie Mercury - continued in this obscure fashion well into the morning; the unique abode steeped in hedonistic history seemed to bring out the eccentric in most of us and silently encouraged absurdity with every lewd sculpture, every stuffed fox head hanging off the wall with a cigar in its mouth, every skeleton quite literally in the closet.
The only rule at Pikes last night was to sport a Freddie-esque mo. The thick moustache proved to be a wonderful social equaliser, as guests came from every splendid or sordid squawk of life from the age of seven to seventy-eight and yet for the most part interacted with as few boundaries as backpackers on a post high school euro tour.
There was live music from The Rolling Soul, there were house party themed DJ sets from many, including Lottie, Mark Jones, Antz and friends and 2MercuryBJs (that's 2ManyDJs if you want to be boring about it) plus karaoke style squeals and bellows from anyone that was up for Freddieoke in the luscious bathroom of Freddie's suite. The only slight let down was the removal of the bed from Freddie's bedroom, obviously to create a bigger dance floor. There is an unbridled joy that comes from a bunch of would-be adults jumping up and down on a bed and this had previously been the icing on the house party cake for me, so I'd be sad to see that probably unsustainable tradition go, springs be damned.
For one excellent half hour of the party I got a candid insight into a miniscule part of the colourful life of Tony Pike from the man himself (founder, past owner and generally the soul of Pikes) which I desperately absorbed like a sponge, hoping I would retain every drip of detail but then remembered next to nothing when I woke up this morning. Nothing I can publish, I mean.
There were many brilliant conversations, a few rubbish ones pretending to be brilliant, lots of dancing to this or that classic from almost every genre of the last fifty years of music and most importantly plenty of unrepeatable party antics. Around about 5am I saw Tony Pike sat with a neon mohawk wig on his head next to some guy playing a ukelele, and later on I got into a bin.
Online bookings for Ibiza Rocks House at Pikes Hotel
Words - Jordan Smith, Photography - James Chapman
