Ibiza, with its sun, bars and clubs, and a justified reputation for drugs and sex, attracts thousands of clubbers in the summer. Brian Draper meets others who stay on the island to offer them a reflection of the love of God

A SLIM, young British girl in red hot pants and a white crop-top straddles a squat concrete bollard. How she manages is a mystery, as she's very drunk. As the sound of colliding beats and football chanting spews down from San Antonio's notorious West End on the party island of Ibiza, she leans back and simulates a sexual position.

Five yards to her left, Craig - a spindly 16-year-old who's given his parents the slip and drunk too deep of the party spirit with some new "friends" - doesn't have the same sense of balance. He melts from his perch on a wall into a pool of his own vomit.

The "gymnast" sees him. Rushing over, she exudes not concern, but excitement. "I wish I had my camera!" she shouts, as others gather for a moment to watch and laugh at the sideshow, before swaying back into the neon haze.

Not everyone leaves, however. . .