Which explains why I'm sat here on the balcony waiting for the kettle to boil so I can make a pot of tea and take it over the road to where the Commander in Chief sits on the beach waiting for refreshment. I have already been entrusted with the making of the day's second coffee which was the most carefully made coffee these hands have ever made. The hand is only painful if it gets touched now so that's good.
It's been a most memorable day, probably one of the most memorable in a long list of memorable days.
Yesterday we were told that today would be cloudy and so it was, at first light there was a cloud to the north so we decided to head off in that directon. By the time we left it had gone and the C's had risen by another few at least. Anyway, our course was set and off we went in a northerly direction.
Wandering up to the narrow guage railway through equally narrow streets, not overly busy either, was a pleasant enough start to the day except that only 25% of the escalator was working. (I'll explain that one day when not much happens!
A trip to the north and our first proper "explore" had begun.
Arriving just after 10 at the top end of the town a stroll down to the seaside was in order.
Thus began a day neither of us will ever forget. Firstly, outside a pub called "Bar Bigots" my left calf went all goey and hurt a bit. Especially going downhill. At least the seafront would be flat so we pressed on. It got warmer.
The sea front. Wow! It wan't the sheer number of people, like the prom in August I'm used to that which is why I avoid it. No, the numbers were not really the issue.
The slowness of their progress wasn't an issue either, after all a stroll is just that.
The queue for the outdoor exercise bikes, the octogenarian P.T. instruction on the beach wasn't an issue either. Well done them for doing it.
No, we simply didn't know where to turn so that we could laugh out loud without embarrassment.
I have never seen such poor dress sense involving so many people in such a small place in my entire life. And neither have you, unless you too have been where we went, when we went. Everywhere you looked, from every direction there were persons attired in ways that defy belief unless seen and even then it's hard to believe what you're seeing, acres of sprayed orange faces, Marge Simpson hair in a pale purple, blonde or mixtures and one in vivid red, men with hair blacker than kiwi polish and more lines under the chin than Bart Simpson could fit on his blackboard. Plastic diamonds in abundance, gold chain and bracelets by the barrow boy load. Vests in abundance, flagging skin held in place by cyclists shirts sizes too small. This is where Del and Rodney came and made a killing.
Little did we know that the headland north of the beach on which I'm now sitting, in a nice blue and white checked shirt with light shorts and sandals without socks hides not just a different world but a different planet.
At least my calf muscle caused me to limp slightly which at least initially gave me a slight feeling that I belong on the same one but after we saw the mobility scooters guided tour, including tandem mobility scooters in line astern navigating the throng like a row of frozen peas sinking through treacle we just didn't belong. It's not the mobility scooter in themselves, I'm glad for anyone to get around
however they can but they were driven by ex boy racers who hadn't realised that "Cooper S" only refers to a trim level these days, or a diesel. Nutters.
At the end of the prom there was a row of steps, quite a few and quite steep and pretty much unsused.
As we were about to begin the ascent we noticed a beach, smaller than 'Widden with a lifeguard on duty and there it was: Ena Sharples, topless. I was laughing so much I couldn't get the camera to my eye fortunately for all of us. There are some things best not seen, but now that you have the idea you will understand how we felt. I'm sure that with time I'll recover.
Up the steps and here was 'The Old town' Pint of Beer 1 euro; English fried Breakfast XXL 4.90 and a man playing the accordian to a taped percussion and guitar track. Miss Marple would have smiled and recognised what he was playing. Actually, Miss Marple would never, ever, have been here. However, as we completed our ascent we saw the next beach to the north.
Serried ranks of tower blocks and a beach with not only Ena, but I think Hilda Ogden was topless here as well, and Stan was wearing a pink tee shirt under a green maniki, fifteen gold chains and twelve bracelets bearing down on his flip-flops.
Tobacco smoke wafted up, beer bottles rattled, accents we could recognise chortled and swore at each other or no one in particular, each louder than the other.
It wasn't yet 1100 and I felt an unnatural urge to not be where I was. I am so grateful that I was not alone in this.
There's an arch over some steps in a narrow street in the centre of 'Old Town,' seriously, that's what this area of this metropolis is called but it is protected by either slopes or steps, so it's visitors are nowhere near as old as are to found lower down.
A deserted street with arch and steps - we had to go that way.
That brings you out onto the street that avoids steps or slopes so it's mingle slowly around the scooters, try to keep a straight face and don't mention Victor Mildrew because if you did about a thousand people would respond. At Least. Look for a street that has a slope, easy to find as there'll be no-one using it and go that way.
Don't stop, as I did to take a photograph of just about the maximum amount of tacky tat in the smallest space - even clockwork pink ponies neighing in endless circles. I guess clockwork would be too much effort so they must be battery operated.
This was seriously tacky on an industrial scale.
You don't see advertising boards on easels championing competing brands of tandem mobility sooters for hire everywhere. But you do here.
By taking every empty street we suddenly found ourselves in a delightful but deserted park. An avenue of palms planted alternately between huge flower pots of quite a tasteful design. Relatively speaking of course.
Taste left this place when Nelson told Hardy that there were some nice seaside places in the Med and he ought to visit.
The park is a gentle upward stroll in a valley, palm lined, tower blocks to the north and south with a shapely mountain ahead. Far more shapely than some sights we'd seen, anyway.
At last, sigh of relief, the narrow gauge railway station.
Our relief was a little premature as there was one more illuminating ordeal to avoid laughing about.
Sitting, waiting and two couples, one pair younger the other older than us, but not by much, arrive.
Their arrival brought the Colston Hall to mind, I'll say no more.
Looking at the obvious route map they wanted to know if the last station was as far as you could go. Then, which way is it. Bearing in mind that the station we were on has a barrier at the north end as the lines have been dug up for improvement. I though the answer was obvious.
It still wasn't midday and it was hot.
"Are you English?" one of them asked. I was about to say no, but the politer part of the relationship got in first. "Right," asked the bloke in white shirt, beige cardigan, off white linen slacks and red canvas shoes, "What station is this, only we've just got a taxi from the seafront?"
The polite one told him, politely.
I wanted to point to my left, right, over the gate he'd just walked through, behind him and over the spot where he was stood at the station name. Not a word unfamiliar to anyone of any linguistic background but one that I won't use here as the very thought of it makes me want to burst out laughing, as indeed I've just started to do.
It was such a relief for us to get back "home" that I made lunch, poured the San Miguel, sat for a while and pondered but some mammaries just won't go away. Mind bleach or a government health warning should be made available. Maybe I could instruct a daytime TV lawyer to assert my rights to views of taste and decency.
By 1500 it was even hotter so, feeling so young and realising that nothing I wore, or didn't would compete in the bad taste stakes we'd seen only a few hours before, I put on the cossie, walked over the road, swam in the Med for at least 30-40 mins. It's colder than the Balearics in June but warmer than "meor"'s ever been but only just.
The polite one was on lifeguard duty and when I came out I was commanded to bring her tea.
This I have now done and as I write this, analogue, I hasten to add, I'm hoping that having made her lunch and tea she'll type this out for me later. I have done.
I should be grateful, though, the visit to not so much a different place as a different planet has made me feel young and sprightly. Swimming has made me feel chilled and the left calf makes me feel lame!
I've visited a planet whose inhabitants are mostly trying to be something they were once, and failing to appreciate what they are and what they have. After all, they've got themselves into the sun in January. But, all the time we were there, no one offered a "Hola, buenos dias" and no one was smiling. Once I stop seeing the funny side I'll go back and look to see what else is there to be found.
Next time we'll walk to give us time to prepare ourselves. And we'll go on a grey day when that which should be kept indoors stays indoors.
Tomorrow we'll stay put .... and rest!
All was calm, all was bright. So I swam in it. Here, this afternoon.
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