Burn Baby Burn

Yours truly’s lax suncream protection regime, along with complacent disregard of Canary Island solar ray strength, means GJ Strachan has arrived at his day four’s dusk with a face as scarlet as an iPhone message emoji.

I’d like to clarify at this juncture, though, anger is the very antithesis of my current emotional status. And, in the midst of a week long sun/sea backdrop, an all-inclusive bar, along with carte blanche to gorge upon as much restaurant food as my heart desires, it’d be a piss poor show if I indulged upon such a pity party.

Amongst today’s vacation plot lines, during a poolside conversation with a fellow guest, I was informed this evening’s hotel entertainment was ‘flamingo dancing’. I’m guessing the well-meaning, but somewhat idiosyncratic, fella meant flamenco dancing.

That being said, as a precaution, I’d watch this space. After all, he may’ve been correct in his pronunciation, and this evening’s show may indeed lead to me writing a review of my evening watching a choreographed performance by pink wading birds. Their pencil thin legs decked out in tap shoes.

Anyhow, thankfully the swelling on my infected middle finger of my left hand, which has plagued me for a few days, is finally abating. This digit deflation at last affording my some semblance of movement, ie, I can finally bend the bloody thing.

A situation which I don’t know what I’m most happy about. 1) I can finally open a wine bottle screw cap without pain, or 2) the uplifting news I can now wipe my posterior with my preferred hand.

With the finger shrinks back towards normality, it’s been replaced as the most irritating dermatological normality on yours truly’s skin by a raft of mosquito bites. That being said, at least the spots caused by the insect bites only cause forearm itching, not the bottom wiping trauma of recent days….On reflection, I shouldn’t really complain about the new affliction, should I?!

As I commence this paragraph, the clock has just struck 1pm and guests have begun their slow pilgrimage to the hotel ‘canteen’. The reward an early afternoon all you can eat smorgasbord providing afternoon sustenance for scores of peoples meander around town, poolside book reads and the indulgence of cacophonous drink induced snoring.

One thing which is a real boon about a winter sun break is the desire to eat and easy access to a variety of salad dishes. Something which I’ve missed over the last few months, when temperatures drop and warmer comfort food fare tend to become the goto meals of choice… These various flavoursome salad dishes, ease of digestion and health benefits bestowed have been greatly missed.

Earlier I passed through the hotel reception, where I witnessed its thermometer displaying the current temperature at an agreeable 20.3 degrees Celsius. Passing an old lady, who had also seen the thermometers malefaction reading, I heard her inform her her husband “I’m surprised it’s that temperature… I’d have said it would be at least 20.4 degrees celsius.

Her distracted husband, who I’m gonna call George (even though I’ve no idea if that’s his moniker), produced an incomprehensible grunt in response. Prior to exclaiming “Blimey, that’s not a sight you seen everyday, love?!” while pointing out six flamingos being led towards the entertainment room stage door for rehearsal.

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